Lot 066 : The Statement

Well, hello, good friend.

So happy you could make it by.

Something came my way that I suspect you will be

quite interested in, indeed.

Knowing your penchant for the dark.

A piece of evidence from a ruled suicide.

A handful of pages written by the victim.

Moments before his death.

It comes with a note from the forensic technician involved with the case that you should most certainly read before you plunge into a murky L

that you cannot control.

I call this one

the statement.

Before we begin, I want to point out some of the customers whose names have been etched in brass on this beautiful plaque I had made above the front desk.

These are some of the members of the inner circle of the antiquarium.

We go by the Obsidian Covenant.

Recent initiates include Britt Astina, Jake Reynolds, Benjamin, Nitro Man, Lauren Johnson, Derek Errington, Justin Wilson, Bridget Criswell,

And Tom Breen.

We are ever appreciative of your devotion to the Order.

Go to theObsidian Covenant.com to receive the sacrament.

Now,

where were we?

Oh, yes.

Welcome to the Antiquarium of Sinister Happenings

and Odd Goings On.

To the proprietor of the shop known as the Antiquarium of Sinister Abonies.

My name is Jason Van Lupen.

I'm a forensic technician for law enforcement of a city that I'll keep nameless for now.

You'll have to understand that the nature of my request requires the degree of caution regarding details.

And until I know you're willing to accept the item in question, I'll have to keep things at a high level.

I have in my possession a piece of evidence from a ruled suicide.

A handful of pages written by the victim moments before his death.

However, there are circumstances about his passing that border on the paranormal, or at least I believe they do.

After all, how can you call it a suicide definitively when no body was ever discovered?

The evidence I'm transmitting to you at great risk to my own employment, not to mention potential jail time, is a transcript of said person's statement made by yours truly.

It will hopefully provide more clarity to you why I decided to contact you.

Reading it comes with risk, something I've been led to believe you fully understand.

Naturally, I'm one of the few that believe in this sort of thing, which is why it landed on my desk in the first place.

My fellow techs and presiding investigators naturally don't believe it, and I don't have nearly the same resources or capability as Fox Mulder or any Dana Scully to my side, regrettably, so I'm outsourcing as best I can.

And as I understand it, you are the best specialist in town.

Please read the transcript and let me know if you think you can help.

If you can, I will find a way to deliver you the actual pages.

Assuming it doesn't come for me next.

Please don't take long to respond.

Sincerely, Jason Van Lupin.

The statement

evidence: case number 4729,

item number 3,

date 111324,

time 418 a.m.

Place.

Remarks.

Handwritten pages.

Crumpled in closet corner behind suitcase.

Placed intentional.

Blood stained.

Likely victim.

Pages written by victim.

Detailed encounter.

Transcribed into manuscript format by Officer

for clarity.

Case ongoing.

Officer Tech.

Removed from possession.

Case ruled suicide.

Do not distribute.

I don't have much time.

I'll be dead soon.

I'm sorry for any rushed sentences or misspellings.

The statement is being written in the closet of my bedroom under great duress.

It is both my last will and most accurate depiction of what happened to me.

Statement is broken up into sections.

Biographic includes pertinent details about myself that may be applicable, biological, history, etc.

Statement section details the events that led to my death.

Final section is my remarks and goodbye to my loved ones.

Deliver accordingly.

I urge whoever is listening to this to acknowledge the supernatural elements.

I imagine you found no body, but reasonable evidence to assume death.

You'll be unsuccessful unsuccessful at ever finding me again.

If there's someone who acknowledges or understands these elements, this statement should be given to them.

I'm concerned that belief may have an impact on what happened to me.

For that reason, I urge you not to read the statement section.

I cannot guarantee you'll be safe having read this much.

But I strongly suspect you'll be at higher risk if you read more.

Do not put yourself at risk, please.

And do not allow this statement to become public, including my friends and family.

Let them believe an abduction story.

For any specialist reading, I'm sorry if this information is redundant.

I assume you have the proper precautions to protect yourself.

Thank you all for trying.

Biographic Biology: Jake Vanderwaal, 34, 5'10, 195 pounds, medium to highly active, male and male presenting, blood type A-.

No currently known major diseases or physical afflictions.

Very likely clinically depressed, never officially diagnosed.

Duration for nearly as long as I can remember, but more severe impacts with recent decade.

Declining energy levels, increased apathy, massive feelings of inadequacy.

Loss of interest in previously invigorating hobbies.

Suicidal thoughts.

Severe problems with rumination.

Lengthy rants to myself over past events when alone.

Memory issues, attention-diverging issues, excessive compulsions, potentially delusions, unresolved traumas involving past events, toxic relationships, romantic and platonic, manipulated by several in the past leading to trust issues, and dealing with the current crumbling state of society.

Major phobias, frogs and being consumed.

Unsure why about frogs, possibly repressed memory.

Being consumed is terrifying, specifically being swallowed whole by something and suffering the digestive effects.

No triggering event that I can recall for creating this fear.

Recent media consumption, horror story anthology podcasts, similar streaming shows and movies, and TTRPGs with similar themes that I create content for.

Recurring theme amongst amongst them is a notion of giving power to something through your fear and/or belief in it.

The more acknowledged, the more dangerous it becomes, and the less you can do to stop it.

Social media and internet histories can show exactly my most recent media consumption.

Consent is given a search if it's legally required, provided it is kept confidential and only used for solving this case.

Statement.

I'll try to be brief.

I'm sorry if the details are lacking.

I don't know how much longer I have before it gets through the doors.

Figured we'd take a little pause here to give you a chance to reconsider how much further down the rabbit hole you'd like to go.

Why,

there have been several warnings in these pages about exposing yourself to the content of the statement itself,

which

is about to get started.

Then again, it is likely already too late for the redemption you seek.

Take a moment and think about your next step.

I'll give you some privacy to make sure you are free from distraction,

but I'll be right back.

Why, hello there.

You've reached the antiquarium.

If you wish to leave a message, please do so with the town and have a great day.

Hello, I've lost the Bloodstone Pyramid.

I've had it for

so many years.

I always had it in my car, but then I had a car accident.

We're fine.

I moved that Bloodstone Pyramid into my next car, crashed that car.

I'm fine.

I don't think I'm able to find it, however.

And since I have that second accident and I don't have this Bloodstone Pyramid anymore, I'm just wondering maybe

if you have a second one.

I don't drive cars anymore, but I feel like I really need it.

I need another one really close.

I need to embed this one somewhere so I don't lose it.

Could you please just let me know if you have another

drop by sometime soon?

Thank you.

End of messages.

So, what did we decide?

Hmm.

You sure?

Well, okay, then.

Without further ado, your first-class ticket to oblivion.

Statement.

I'll try to be brief.

I'm sorry if the details are lacking.

I I don't know how much longer I have before it gets through the doors.

My history should suggest that I am mentally unwell.

Several unresolved issues in my life that should be treated with therapy were instead being repressed by several coping mechanisms.

I've been this way for as long as I can remember.

It was more difficult to cope in younger years, but in my adulthood, I had found healthier ways to deal with stressors through exercise, specifically running.

Today was no different.

I'd been in an extremely bad headspace for several days, the depression more pronounced with the coming winter season.

I'd been feeling directionless and unfulfilled, more so than usual.

Specifically, feeling insignificant, that I have no talent or a meaningful contribution to this world.

When this happens, I either fall victim to lethargy or run several miles until it goes away.

When I run, I run with purpose.

The training is not haphazardly done.

I focus on form, distance, and time,

and have a favorite running path along the riverside.

It's the only place in the city where I can run, uninterrupted by traffic.

When I fall into lethargy, I turn to mass media consumption.

These days, I've taken to listening to a lot of horror podcasts, creepy anthology shows, and other macabre media.

A recurring theme are horrors beyond comprehension that target victims specifically based on their belief or otherwise acknowledgement of their existence.

I believe it's that last detail for why I'm being pursued by an entity trying to devour me.

I run the same path by the river, approximately 1.6 miles upstream and downstream, with a quick lap around the park I stalk by to finish at 3.5 total miles.

My path is not unusual.

It is a designated bike path where plenty others traverse.

The end of the upstream path where I turn around, however, is the least traveled by pedestrians.

This is the collar bridge of

it brings the traffic from the northway across the river into the city proper.

I was running around 4.30 p.m.

Rush hour traffic was increasing drastically.

But the area under the bridge is a vacant lot where the homeless come to stay out of the rain.

The city cops have been ruthless lately, so it's been more empty than usual.

It's also home to a a pair of roll-off dumpsters, accessible by the side road at the end.

A common dumping ground for everyone.

Unsure who owns the dumpsters, but everyone uses them to discard things quickly and improperly.

I use the side road just past them as my turnaround point.

When I first passed the containers, I noticed an unusual item on the pavement that had missed the bin.

It looked like a discarded cleanroom suit, or at least that was my impression of it.

What else would have such large hands wrinkled up on the ground like that?

It was white in color, mostly opaque, plastic-like material, but seemed...

thin.

It was windy.

The trash was being caressed by the air currents.

I remember distinctly my mind wandering to a creative dark spot, clearly influenced by my recent media consumption.

Thoughts such as, what if it's actually alive?

And flesh jacket come to mind.

Crawling on the wind looking for any stray bit or morsel of unfortunate passerby for its next meal, envisioning it grabbing my ankles if I strayed too close.

I gave it a wide berth all the same, rationalizing possible medical ways like needles being near it.

I made the turn on the side road and came back to the object after 30 seconds.

The previous thoughts didn't leave me despite my mounting exhaustion.

I continued to give it a wide berth with the same uneasy feeling of dread.

After I passed it, I gave it a quick glance over my shoulder.

It was following me.

I don't mean a deluded paranoid misconception.

I don't mean the wind made it look like the hands were crawling along the ground towards me.

I was lucid, and there was no air current at that moment.

The hands were pulling themselves across the pavement in my direction.

I panicked and dropped into a sprint, launching myself out from under the overpass into the adjacent hotel parking lot.

I don't know if that building has security cameras on the outside, but if they do, you might be able to find footage of this next part.

I looked behind me to see if it was still following.

It had stopped.

I stopped running and stared at it, hoping I was deluded.

The plastic hands weren't crawling across the pavement anymore.

They sat in the shadow of the overpass.

It was still sunny at this point.

The parking lot was covered in the setting sunlight while the overpass was in shadow.

I believed this to be a factor in its behavior.

At the moment, I thought I was suffering a mental break, and I'm sure I looked that way to any passerby.

Until a squirrel darted past the plastic hands.

The NCD grabbed it.

The sound of squeaking, crunching, and flesh ripping could be be heard well over the rush hour traffic from the bridge above.

I don't recall how long it took, but when it finished, the sun had set more and the shadows grew.

The entity moved with them, inching closer to me from the overpass.

I never ran so fast in my life.

My only thought was to get home as quickly as I could while there was still light.

I wasn't sure how far it could follow or if it could track me in any way.

I was desperate, knees screaming, lungs on fire, feet bleeding in my shoes, but I managed to get home when there was still a moat of sunlight on my building stoop.

For the record, I live on the third floor, uppermost, of a privately owned historic building in the city of Berlin.

Probably redundant if you find these pages in my closet.

After my encounter, I quickly went inside and up to my apartment, making sure the doors were all firmly locked behind me.

When I finally calmed down enough to breathe, I tried to rationalize what I'd seen.

My only only conclusion was that I had become truly unhinged.

My delusions had reached a state of physical manifestation and I can no longer deny my unstable state of mind.

I spent the evening tending to my bleeding feet and signing up for an online therapy service.

I don't believe my denial was strong enough.

I attempted to go to bed early but refused to start nightly rituals until an hour well past sunset.

Reflecting back, I must have done this to unconsciously keep watch for anything approaching.

I'm unsure when I fell asleep, but I know I awoke after midnight.

One of my cats was meowing loudly.

He's an orange tabby, six years old, rescued, named Felix.

He's extremely docile and only ever makes a fuss like this when his younger sister Lizzie, two-year-old black cat, adopted from shelter, is doing something she shouldn't.

or when something is amiss in the environment.

I got up to see what the issue was and saw Lizzie pawing at at the front door.

She was attacking the minuscule gap to the outer stairwell of the building, playing with what looked like a piece of white plastic.

She was aggressively attacking it while Felix was screaming at her.

It looked like he was trying to get her to stop, then started screaming at me when I walked in the room.

I didn't make the connection.

My mind was foggy.

I should have.

I really should have.

I'm so sorry, Lizzie.

Felix.

You deserve so much better.

I started chastising the younger cat and was about to pull her away from the door when she succeeded at pulling the full amount of plastic from underneath it.

A white, sterile hand, like that of a cleaning suit.

I froze when I finally made the connection.

The hand immediately grasped the younger one's sounds of crunching and screaming filled my apartment.

The older one leapt in to scratch at the hand trying to kill Anita's sister.

But another hand worked its way under the frame and grabbed him too.

I stood helplessly empathetic while their bodies were crushed and dragged under the door frame.

I saw the fingers attempting to move their way back under it after no more than a minute.

Whatever it was, whatever it ate, it didn't seem to affect its size.

I pushed a chair in front of the door and ran for the bedroom.

I quickly barricaded its ceiling the gaps as best as I could, then hid in the closet shortly after.

I'm aware of how stupid this decision was, and how I was guaranteed death for it.

But after writing the details, thinking back on all of it, I knew I could never survive.

Not if it found me this easily.

It would do so again if I ran.

It would hurt anyone and anything in its path to get to me.

Nowhere is safe.

And what would be the point of living like that?

As evident from previous statements, I likely wouldn't have made it very much longer anyway.

Especially with Lizzie and Felix gone.

I'm not going to let anyone else get hurt.

Instead, I decided to make the most of what time I have left making this statement.

I keep a journal by my bedside and thought I could write down what happened as best as I can.

I warn you and whoever else may read this, urge you, exercise caution.

I think belief of this thing might be a trigger to allow it to hunt.

I heard no screaming from my neighbors, not even a text asking about the commotion.

I also cannot explain how it managed to find its way to me without being noticed.

It has allowed me to write this statement.

I suspect it wants others to know.

It has been too long.

You should have crawled in by now.

It must know.

It wants others to know.

I hope beyond hope that someone exists that can fight this thing.

These things.

I can't believe there isn't someone.

Nor can I believe this flesh jacket is the only entity.

I hope my information is useful.

That there's something here that helps you fight it.

Final affairs.

Treat this as a last will.

My immediate family gets everything.

Mother, father, brother.

To distribute as they see fit.

Do not tell them how I died.

Do not tell them of the entity.

Do not give them hope.

Let them believe in an abduction story.

Use a John Doe to fake my death if necessary.

But even if you do not believe this, even if you chalk everything to insanity, please do not

tell

them.

Let me disappear.

Please.

And tell them I love them.

And to not dwell on my death.

Please.

There was nothing you could do.

I don't care how.

Just don't tell them the truth.

I hear shifting from the door.

It's coming in.

I won't let it have a living meal.

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Thank you for your patronage.

Hope you enjoyed your new relic as much as I've enjoyed passing along its sordid history.

It does come with our usual warning, however.

Absolutely no refunds, no exchanges, and we won't be held liable for anything that may or may not occur while the object is in your possession.

If you've got an artifact with mysterious properties, perhaps it's accompanied by a history of bizarre and disturbing circumstances.

Maybe you'd be interested in dropping it and its story by the shop to share with other customers.

Please reach out to antiquariumshop at gmail.com.

A member of our team will be in touch.

Till next time, we'll be waiting for you whenever you close your eyes

in the space between sleep and dream.

During regular business hours, of course, or by appointment.

Only for you,

our

best customer.

You have a good night now.

The Antiquarium of Sinister Happenings, Lot 066, The Statement.

Written by Jason Van Lupin, starring Trevor Shand as Jack Vander Waal, Conan Freeman as Jason Van Lupin, Ryan Lee as the official, featuring Stephen Knowles as the antique dealer, engineering production and sound design by Trevor Shand.

Theme music by the Newton Brothers.

Additional music by COAG and Vivek Abishek.

The Antiquarium of Sinister Happenings is created and curated by Trevor and Lauren Shand.

Follow us on Instagram and Twitter at Antiquarium Pod.

Call the Antiquarium at 646-481-7197.