Lot 059 : Encore

R equals I.

Oh, ha ha!

Do come in, friend.

Been a minute since I picked up this old thing.

Reminds me of...

days gone past.

Before this place, when things were...

a whole hell of a lot different.

I still sure love music, though.

It's one of the few things that never truly leaves you.

And I gotta tell you, the events behind this item I've set aside for you today will never truly leave me either.

Someone dropped this by just yesterday, in fact.

Fresh to market, as they say.

A bag full of keepsakes and memories from concerts and rock shows.

Everything from ticket stubs to guitar picks.

And, well,

I'll let you finish the rest of the song yourself.

It's a catchy little number called

Encore.

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 Lucas Payne, Gato Blanock,

Nova Freakin' Battle,

Nathan Raimi, James Welsh,

Kentucky Cried Frickin,

Andrew Clark,

Hostess Snacks, and Gage Hawthorne.

We are ever appreciative of your devotion to The Order.

Go to theObsidiancovenant.com to receive the sacrament.

Now,

where were we?

Oh, yes,

welcome to the antiquarium of sinister happenings

and odd goings-on.

I was starting to think that going to the concert was a mistake.

Worse than that, I was starting to think that my mother had been right.

She had told me it wasn't safe for me, a young woman, to go to a concert by myself.

Especially not in the dead of one of Maine's harsher winters.

But Mickey Darling came to the East Coast so rarely, how could I miss the chance to see them, even if I had nobody to go with?

There were even rumors on the Reddit forums I followed that they were going to play some of their sad Brad tracks, and honey?

You and I both know I need a chance to hear those angst-inducing tunes live.

I hoped it would give me strength to get through another week of soul-crushing discussion posts and retail shifts, because espresso was just not cutting it anymore.

It was getting too hard to manage without any type of little treat.

Besides, I comforted myself, I was a 21-year-old girl.

I had to take risks.

In fact, there came a point where it was risky to not take risks, especially at my age.

And every time you listen to your mother, you lost a few youth points.

I didn't have any to spare at this point, as I felt certain I was halfway into a retirement home, because my soul was so old.

But even if it was a risk I had to take, it would have been nice if I could have stayed on the turnpike on the way home, even if the speed was reduced to 45 miles per hour due to the lashing snow.

But the overturned 18-wheeler that jackknifed around a slight turn had ruined that possibility.

At least I hadn't gotten caught up in that, I thought.

My mother had felt the same when she called to verify that I was not inexplicably driving the trailer instead of my beat-up sedan, as her anxiety had made her believe.

Still, I was sour enough to think how much nicer it would have been to be on the main roads instead of these tree-lined tunnels of sheer darkness.

Since my GPS had given up, the swirling snow blocking any signal, I had been driving aimlessly along country-ass roads that were plowed half-heartedly by yokels and their dying trucks.

I couldn't see more than a few feet in front of me, and my only guides were the occasional root signs that popped up like hitchhiker thumbs along the roadway at random intervals.

They at at least confirmed that I was still on the road and not cruising through a barren cornfield.

But even these signs were getting harder and harder to see through the snow that shot against my windshield like I was punching into hyperspace.

I longed for that dimension I only knew from Star Wars if it meant that I could be home in my own bed a second sooner.

How I longed for my fuzzy blanket and the reproving but relieved look on my mom's face when I walked through the door.

She would wait up for me.

She always did.

It was comforting to think that somewhere in all this darkness there was a light on just for me and a woman sitting next to it waiting for me.

It was awful spooky out here, all alone.

There were no lights behind or in front of me, except for those on my own car.

So it was easy to imagine that a vengeful god was crumpling the world into a paper ball in preparation of chucking it all into a cosmic trash can.

Perhaps I was the sole survivor because I had been the only one dumb enough to go out on a night like this.

Maybe I was the only person that hadn't been raptured because of my stupidity.

As I was reflecting on this, I crossed in front of a gap in the thick wall of trees.

To the left of me, noticeable only because it was composed of a darkness slightly more profound than that of the surrounding foliage.

Just as my hubkep passed the edge of this gap, leaving it behind me like so many unremarkable miles before it,

a set of headlights flicked into illumination, like the eyes of a predator, opening at me.

And a glance behind me revealed a pickup truck.

The truck was in bad shape.

Even in the weak light of my brake lights, I could see that its body was more eaten by rust than not.

And its groaning gears ground out even the happy pop music dripping from my stereo.

I didn't know that why I did, but I locked my car doors at the sight of it.

The truck kept creeping closer and closer to my little car, until its fender practically scraped my bumper.

Its engine drowned out all sound but its own existence.

I knew that I had been driving slow, but surely not slow enough to warrant such tailgating.

Especially with the snow still threatening to bury us both, cars and all, in a white sarcophagus.

A turn cropped up to the right of us and I took it.

I wasn't sure where it would lead.

For all I knew, it could be taking me further from home.

But I had to test the theory that had been forming in my mind since the truck had merged onto my journey with me.

I tried to manually slow my breathing through some dumbass grounding exercise.

as the truck's headlights once more illuminated the back of my eyelids.

Five things you see.

The fucking snow, a fucking tree, the road, that fucking truck, and more fucking snow.

I took another turn, and another, and then another.

The truck kept pace with me, never allowing an inch of distance to grow between us.

My foot found its way to the gas pedal, surmounting even my fear of an accident, and I pressed down, urging my car to go just a little bit faster to earn me some space from that skeevy-ass truck.

I could hear the engine of the truck revving response as it sped up to match my pace.

My foot pressed further down on the pedal, aching to be flat on the floor.

A few inches blossomed between our vehicles as I sped up, but then...

Red and blue lights began to dance and pulse between us.

A visual heartbeat that soothed me for a brief second.

Thank God,

I said aloud.

It was probably the first time I hadn't felt a sinking in my stomach when spotting the signal of the agency that was supposed to serve and protect me.

There was no feeling of, oh fuck, I really can't afford a ticket today.

Just trace amounts of relief.

Relief that I wasn't alone and that I was being followed by somebody fulfilling their professional duties and not some freak out for a midnight stalking or to get their jollies from scaring young women.

Maybe they would even be able to help me get home.

My window was down before the officer had exited his truck.

Once again, I couldn't help but notice the pitiful state of the truck.

There was no way he could blame me for not recognizing it as a cop car.

It was fucked looking, even for a main undercover car, I thought.

But cops weren't really known for their understanding around here.

They always expected you to know shit you had no way of knowing.

Like the speed limit on a random-ass road.

But far be it from me to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Hello, I called out cheerily as he approached the car.

So glad to see I'm not the only human out in this neck of the woods tonight.

He was a tall, broad man dressed in the faded blue uniform of the local sheriffs, although be it a little more warm than most I had seen, and wearing a beanie instead of their tall hats.

Couldn't blame him for that, given the extreme chill of the evening.

And as for the state of his uniform, who knew how many cars he had to pull out of the ditch on a night like tonight.

I reflected how silly it was that my initial fear of this man was turned to some degree of comfort by the pointed little star I had spotted on his chest.

One identical to so many children's toys.

But in an icy hellscape, one must take saviors where one can find them.

I think I would have settled for the abominable snowman in that moment.

Or the proverbial bear of women's thought exercises.

Just some living being to distract me from my own anxieties and to show me that life was being sustained out here.

Now, what's you doing way out here on a night like this?

Uh-oh.

Looks like someone's in trouble.

Pardon the interruption, but I have a small legal matter of my own to deal with in the stockroom.

Tell you what, I'm gonna tend to what needs tending.

You make yourself comfortable.

And don't you touch a damn thing while I'm gone.

Just kidding.

I probably wouldn't.

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.

My name's Alex.

I called before.

My friend, who died one year ago, he just showed up one day with this card game he got from your store.

I thought I was going crazy, because

it's my fault he died.

Look, I asked you to tell me how to play this game, but I never heard back.

And I lost.

But I didn't die.

My friend looked at me and he said, good game, loser.

The next thing I know, I woke up and two weeks had passed by.

I blacked out.

But that's not the weird part, though.

I went to my YouTube channel, the one I told you about.

All my videos are gone.

They're just erased off the channel.

Except for one.

It was a review of this card game.

The one my friend brought.

I still don't know these rules because when I talk about how to play the game, I started speaking in this other language.

I don't even know if it was a language.

It was like sounds.

I have no memory of ever making this video, but

what scares me is...

I read all the comments

and they all talk about a game night.

A lot of them said it's going to be the biggest game night since 1945.

I saw the symbols matching cards on a photos taken from a mass suicide that came from that year.

I don't know if the people in the comments are referencing that, but I think that's pretty coincidental, and I think it's what's happening.

I'm terrified right now

because

the followers that I keep getting,

it just keeps growing and growing.

Tell me, how do I stop this game, please?

I just, I need to know how to end the game before somebody gets hurt.

I don't have much time.

There's a countdown.

And I only have a week.

Please.

Just tell me.

How can I stop this game?

End of messages.

Thanks for your patience.

You know, it seems to me like we are just about to get to the chorus of this song.

Could be a hit.

Let's sing along if you know the words.

Shall we?

To show me that life was being sustained out here.

Now, what's you doing way out here on a night like this?

The sheriff asked.

He answered his own question before I could open my mouth.

Did you go to a show down Boston ways?

Yes.

I laughed at how quickly he had appraised the situation and felt relieved at not having to explain my poor decision-making skills further.

I sure did.

He leaned his arm on my window and peered down his snelt-like nose at me.

Even in this half-upright posture, he towered both over me and my car.

A touch of the old anxiety stirred my pulse into beating a little more rapidly at the sheer size of him.

Didn't anybody ever tell you it's not wise to go out in a snowstorm?

Yeah.

My mom did.

I should have listened to her, but I didn't think it would be that bad, you know.

But now, I can't even get any cell service way out here.

I've no idea where I am, or how to get to where I'm going.

It's all

pretty scary.

Well,

I'm glad you came out.

I must have looked confused because he hastened to add...

Glad you came out this way, I mean.

And I happened upon you.

I was waiting in my little spot for trouble to come, and sure enough, it came in the form of you.

He grinned, and I couldn't help but notice that he was missing most of his teeth.

The ones that remained were slightly gray and seemed too sharp.

Oh, are you able to help me get home?

Or at least to a hotel?

Or somewhere I can park for the night?

Sure.

He spat a wad of bloody phlegm onto the side of my car.

Where are you trying to get to?

Uh, I'm trying to get to Augusta.

Awful long way from home, are you?

But I can get you there.

At least get you back on some main roads.

Why don't you follow me, kid?

Okay,

yes, that would be wonderful.

Thank you.

Don't thank me yet.

Y'all never thank me after.

I garnished it with a nervous laugh.

He just slapped the side of my car, making me jump upright, and plodded through the snow that was already piling up again on the plowed road.

He pulled his car in front of me and began guiding me down a series of roads, each more curvaceous than the last.

The trees began to grow so thickly around us that I became genuinely concerned that we were no longer on a road.

But he just kept going, and I just kept following.

I felt like Eurytus being led out of Hades by Orpheus, but at least, like her, I was being led out.

Until I rounded another corner and...

and he was gone.

There was no trace of him.

No fresh tracks in front of me, just a glaring whiteness shimmering like a white mirror under my headlights.

I crept forward another few inches, but there was truly nothing in front of me.

Nothing but the driving snow and that horrible, unending darkness.

I eased my car into reverse, desperately hoping it wouldn't stall out on me.

But then those headlights winked into action again.

The truck eased its way from behind some trees and placed itself directly behind me, blocking my exit.

My fingers clenched around the wheel as the sheriff came padding over to my window again.

He knocked on the glass until I rolled it down a crack.

We're here.

Uh, where is here?

Depends on your religion, I suppose.

You'll be able to tell me what it looks like better than I could.

But it'll be a lot hotter than this for you where you're gone.

Before I could react to his cryptic message, he took a Swiss army knife from his belt and began slashing my tires one after the other.

I screamed both at the action and at the dried bloodstains and chunks of gore that I noticed adorning his shirt.

Chunks of one organ or another even partially obscured his glimmering badge.

There was a hole just below it, the size and shape of a heart, as though one had been dragged out through it.

I struggled against my seatbelt, desperate to crawl out of the car, but he was too quick.

In a second, he had me by my ponytail and used it to pull me out of the car and hurl me into the snow.

You did this to yourself, you slut.

Horing yourself after false idols with their sweet voices, trembling before them.

You women are all the same.

I'll show you how we treat whores here.

Cut you up and spread you to the winds, like God intended.

He crossed a distance between us and lifted me by my Mickey Darling sweatshirt, freshly purchased at the show.

He began to hack it off my body, his knife slashing the shirt and my skin without discretion.

My screeches filled the air as fat, scarlet drops of my blood fell to the snow where they lay sizzling against its freezing purity.

Once he had caught the last scrap of fabric off me, he raised my wrist before him and sliced off my drink bracelet.

The knife cut deep into my flesh, blood flowing freely from my sliced vein.

He raised the knife again, this time making a lateral cut, so a cross was cut into the meat of my arm.

He is the only one whose son should adorn your flesh.

He whispered, before tossing me to the ground once more.

The cold seeping through my exposed skin as though it wanted to freeze my inerts and turn me solid.

While I lay shuddering, he started grabbing scraps of my shirt and tucking them neatly into a Ziploc bag that he kept in his pocket.

He was humming something under his breath.

I don't know why, but the disgust I felt at the discrepancy of what he was singing and what he was doing gave me the strength to crawl through the snow towards his truck.

He was too busy hunting for the dark scraps against the white snow and my fallen blood to notice as I clambered into the cab of the truck.

Fuck!

He had taken the keys with him!

I locked the doors to the truck as I cast about for something I could use as a weapon.

Unfortunately, the click of the locks alerted him to my scape attempt, and he began to saunter through the snow towards me, laughing.

What the fuck was laughing at me?

He continued humming as he dug through his pocket for the keys.

And I flung my hands about searching for something, anything.

There was a collection of drink bracelets hanging off the rearview mirror, making me realize that I was not his first victim.

And if I didn't find a weapon, I wouldn't be his last.

There would be more of us.

My hands grasped the pilfered police light, the thing that had tricked me into relaxing, into letting down my guard, into trusting, and thus had signaled my doom.

I grabbed it, yanking it up by its tangle of cords as it pulled the door open.

I dove forward, slamming the heel of my hand into his nose like the self-defense videos I had watched had taught me.

I felt it crunch beneath my hand, with no small amount of satisfaction, and watched as he stumbled backwards.

I dove out after him.

I swung the cherry on its wire above my head like a lasso before whacking him with it between the eyes.

He fell to his knees before me before toppling onto his face in the snow.

He groaned once, the sounds of a pig being slaughtered.

I ignored this as I dug through his pockets for his keys.

Once they were securely in my hand, I prepared to flee to the car, but I hesitated.

I reached down to his quickly cooling body once more to pull out the Ziploc bag.

In addition to the scraps of my shirt, it was full of paraphernalia from dozens of different concerts and shows, most splattered with blood, as well as an ID card that I could only assume had been from the cop he had killed.

I clutched the bag close to my chest.

I got you, I murmured as I slid into the truck once more.

This won't happen again.

As I backed up, I saw his hand twitch in the snow, and his head began to rise.

Without a second thought, I put my foot flat on the gas and ran over his skull.

I was rewarded by a wonderful cracking sound followed by a soft squelch.

I swear I heard a chorus of women laughing too.

But that might have been just in my head.

Either way, I found myself patting the Ziploc bag once more as I cruised through the night.

I don't know how long I drove, but eventually I came to a small town where one shop was still illuminated.

Some sort of antique shop.

Lucky break, I thought, as I padded across the threshold, still clutching the bag that might be all that was left of these women.

Women like me, against my chest.

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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 059, Encore.

Written and consigned to the Antiquarium by Emily Elwell.

Starring Tanya Milevich as the woman.

Nicholas Goroff as the sheriff.

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.

Hello, and welcome to the world of Scare You to Sleep.

I'm your host, Shelby Novak, a show for those of us who need something a little stronger than counting sheep, who find horror to be a strangely relaxing escape.

Here you'll you'll find a myriad of fright-filled tales, from fictional to true stories, to high strangeness to guided nightmares, where I take you on a journey through your own personal nightmare.

So come get lost in the terror with me.

Listen to Scare You to Sleep, wherever you listen to podcasts, sweet screams.