Lot 054 : Baby Food

Today's episode is sponsored by I Know What You Did Last Summer.

Get It Now on Digital.

When five friends inadvertently cause a deadly car accident, they cover up their involvement and make a pact to keep it a secret rather than face the consequences.

A year later, their past comes back to haunt them, and they're forced to confront a horrifying truth.

Someone knows what they did last summer and is hell-bent on revenge.

As one by one, the friends are stalked by a killer.

They discover this happened before, so they turn to two survivors of the legendary Southport massacre of 1997 for help.

Starring Madeline Klein, Chase Sue Wonders, Jonah Hauer King with Freddie Prince Jr., and Jennifer Love Hewitt.

I know what you did last summer is a perfect summer slasher, says Jordan Cruciolo of NPR.

Your summer is not over yet.

Don't miss a killer movie night at home.

Records on micro cassette.

In fact, there's still one inside.

Oh, the uh shoelace tied to the thing.

Yeah, don't mind that.

All will be revealed in due time.

For now, how about you take a listen to this one called

Baby Food?

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 the wonderfully kind Nicole Wartooth, Jamie is Sharp, Jerica Rodabaugh, Cairo, the K-Identity, Deadly Nightshade, Guggernaut,

Mask,

Andrew Pear,

and Morghooks.

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 should back up.

Start with the inciting incident.

That's what we call it in the storytelling game.

The event or decision that begins a story's problem.

Everything that happens up to that moment is backstory.

Everything after is the story.

which we'll get into.

So,

here it goes.

You ready?

The bodies of the recently deceased are returning to life and attacking the living.

The down-home colloquialisms are as colorful as they are endless: Zeke's, geeks, walkers, stenches, fuckfaces, bus brain bags of shit.

But

they all mean

the same thing.

Zombies.

I don't even know who will hear this.

I guess someone will find it eventually.

Maybe a hundred years from now.

And if you are listening, then you know what I'm saying is true.

SARS, SARS,

swine flu, COVID,

zombies.

It was only a matter of time,

I guess.

What little backstory I have, I've managed to piece together from talking to others I've met on the road.

How much of it is true,

I can't say.

But in a world where zombies are actually a thing,

I've got to say,

I believe just about everything I hear now.

You got a bridge you want to sell me?

Great.

Where do I sign?

So, the backstory is, a lab tech researching a new strain of necrotizing fasciitis, that's flesh-eating bacteria in the event there's no more internet by the time you hear this,

Working at a CDC quarantine station outside Seattle, unknowingly got himself infected with said horrible shit.

He went home.

He kissed his wife and kids.

He pet the dog.

He felt sick.

He went to bed.

He died overnight.

He came back to life the next morning and ate his wife and kids for breakfast.

The dog escaped.

Lab tech guy then went out and bid, or ate, depending on who you believed at the time, his way through half his neighborhood before he was shot and killed by some good old boy taking his Second Amendment rights out for a morning walk.

The initial reports that circulated believed that the man had suffered a psychotic episode.

One guy I talked to in Whitefish, Montana said that folks around there heard it was the work of Islamic extremists poisoning the drinking water.

But then, I was in Whitefish, Montana.

Then the others coming back.

The ones he'd bitten and eaten.

His wife and kids.

The little neighbor boy.

The guy across the street whose borrowed lawnmower he still had stashed in his garage.

They all sat up straight as Sunday services and started walking again.

That's when the reports changed.

That's when it's hard to believe, but began to to precede every newscast.

Except in Whitefish, Montana, where they probably still think it's terrorists.

It's hard to get most people to agree on anything, especially something as unbelievable as this.

But

one thing, no one disagrees with.

No matter their belief in the what or where or when,

is how fast it happens.

By all accounts, from the time Lab Tech Guy sank his teeth into Miss Lab Tech Guy and Lab Tech Jr.

until the last of the neighborhood victims sat up, less than an hour had gone by.

One hour,

60 minutes.

The entire world started to come undone in the time it takes to watch an episode of scandal.

If you didn't DVR it and lean on the fast forward button to blow through the commercials.

Inciting incident?

Check.

Backstory?

Check.

So

let's see.

Where do I begin the story?

My name is Elmore Pretty, and I'm probably dead.

Or rather, I'm probably one of the undead.

That's one of the reasons I'm recording this diary.

For posterity.

I'm also recording it for my daughter, Selwyn.

Because the world that she'll inherit will look a lot different than what we had before.

In a way,

I also think talking about things helps me deal with what's happening.

Not to rationalize it, of course.

You can rationalize the dead coming back to life.

You can sequelize it, but you can't rationalize it.

Because as Ray Lovelock says to Christina Galbo and The Living Dead at Manchester Morgue, the dead don't walk around except in very bad paperback novels.

Only, now they do.

Sorry, Ray.

If this were a sci-fi movie, I'd call this diary my captain's log.

That sounds so much cooler, but I'm not stranded on a crippled spacecraft drifting endlessly through the cosmos, waxing poetic on how small we are in the grand scheme of the universe.

This isn't that.

Instead, I'm hiding inside a dumpster in three feet of shit a pathologist probably couldn't identify, waiting for the six zombies that chase me in here to fuck off!

I feel like a goddamn food truck.

Look, Look,

I know I'm talking into a tape recorder.

It's hanging from a shoelace around my neck.

I'm not crazy, and I'm not delusional.

And I know the chances are better than good that no one will ever hear this.

Maybe not even someone.

But it helps me.

It helps to talk about it.

So.

That's what I'm going to do.

I'm going to talk to you, dear listener, about my day.

Each day, until they run out.

And given my current situation, that day could very well be today.

I guess we'll just have to wait and see.

If I don't make it, this will be the shortest diary ever recorded.

If I do, I'll record something tomorrow and fill you in.

Wish me luck.

I'm alive.

I snuck a peek and the zombies are gone.

I guess the stink I was marinating in all night finally power the front of my yummy man flesh and they lost interest in me.

It's that or they got bored or waiting me out.

Either way, I'm alive.

So, yay!

To commemorate the wonderful occasion of not being dead, we're gonna kick this diary.

You know what?

Fuck it.

It's a captain's log, and I'm Captain Elmore Pretty of the USS Dumpster.

So,

we're gonna kick this thing off in style with me telling you a little bit about myself

I'm a writer by trade, and up until the world took its big shit, I'd made a decent living working as a narrative designer for an independent video game company.

But my real passion is writing books, horror books, or junk, my father's term for pretty much anything that wasn't a Clint Eastwood movie, Hockey Nine Canada, or drinking beer.

As a kid, I was a special effects and splatter movie nut.

When most kids had posters of Jose Conseco, Samantha Fox, or Duran Duran on their bedroom walls, mine were plastered with pull-out posters from Fangoria magazine and newspaper clippings of movie ads from the entertainment section of the Friday paper.

My heroes were gut slingers like Rob Botine, Steve Johnson, and Tom Savini.

And I was ravenous for anything and everything creepy crawly.

Things coming out of crates and eating people, people turning into weeds, dead people coming back to life.

And the redder, the better.

I had all the video nasties on VHS carefully collected and curated.

I read Salem's Lot when I was 10 years old.

and would routinely follow my mom on thrifting trips to Value Village in search of anything written by King, Barker, or Koontz,

the three wise men of horror.

I was a died in the wool horror hound man.

But now,

I don't know.

Now it's real, and I don't want it.

When I was a kid, I used to dream about the zombie apocalypse.

We all did, didn't we?

What's your zombie survival plan?

I remember sitting around with friends bullshitting about what each of us would do if the dead came back to life my buddy pete tollen was gonna load up his dad's truck and hit the sticks go off grid and wait it out red dawn style pete didn't mention if he was gonna take his dad

fern goyer decided he would boost a ferrari or a lambo

and drive really fucking fast to Alaska or maybe the desert.

Someplace with no people and lots of wide open space.

My zombie survival plan was to head to the local mall.

I would get the whole place locked off and then I'd go on a hunt.

I would hole up and live out the fantasy like they did in Dawn of the Dead.

But I didn't do that.

When the zombie apocalypse crawled off the page and into real life,

I just shit my pants.

Selwyn and I were on our way home from a Saturday trip to Wild Waves Water Park in Federal Way, Washington.

She loves Hooks Lagoon when the first report came in.

Metallica's Ride the Lightning was stuck in the CD player of my Turd Brown 98 Toyota Corolla and refused to play or eject.

For my Gen Alpha listeners, Bluetooth wasn't an option on Turd Brown 98 Corollas.

Oh,

and CD is a compact disc capable of holding up to an hour's worth of recorded music.

And now that I've said it out loud like that, it really does sound fucking antiquated.

So.

Because of my antiquated car and its antiquated music system, I was stuck listening to the radio for the long drive back home to Vancouver while someone napped in the back seat.

I still remember the afternoon drive at 5 DJ breaking in midway through REO speed wagons, can't fight this feeling to announce that a suspected outbreak of rabies was sweeping across western Washington state.

She said a state of emergency was in effect, and people should stay inside and lock their doors.

We were sitting in the border lineup, and what she said next made my stomach flip.

U.S.

Customs and Border Protection, in agreement with the Canada Border Services Agency, have banned all travel between Canada and the United States.

She kept talking, but I'd stopped listening.

That was 18 months ago.

Since then, everyone and their fucking shadow knows it wasn't rabies.

And someone and I have been surviving on the road just trying to get home.

We made our way east into Idaho and then Montana.

I thought maybe we could cross back into Canada somewhere along the way, but all the crossings, Eastport, Port Hill, and Rossville, were sealed up tight.

And if the thought of schlepping it into the bush with a five-year-old had ever crossed my mind, The MAGA militias and the fuck Trudeau rednecks that patrolled the invisible line between our two countries convinced me otherwise.

So, I just turned back around.

Go west, young man.

And now

here we are in beautiful Spokane, Washington, home of the Spokane Hoop Fest, the world's largest basketball tournament and the birthplace of Father's Day.

In the before times, before the world took its big shit, I had a weird obsession with collecting obscure facts about places I'd been.

Old habits die hard, I guess.

I try try not to leave our squat too often, but Selwyn needs her food, and I thought I should probably get some more batteries for my little tape recorder if I plan on keeping this audio log going.

I found the tape recorder in a doctor's office in Idaho.

I was looking for meds for Selwyn when I saw it sitting on the old Sawbones desk.

It's an analog deal, the kind that uses real microcassettes and alkaline batteries.

Which is ACEs for me because if there's one thing no one seems to want at the end of the world, no one but me and my little Pearl Corder L100 Olympus microcassette recorder, it's AAA batteries.

The tapes are a little harder to come by, but luckily the good doctor had a small stash of blanks in his supply cabinet.

I listened to the tape that was in the recorder when I found it.

Seems the doc had a touch of old-timers setting in, so he would record little reminders of himself.

20 milligrams of Cipolex to Mrs.

Spooner for her depression, 40 milligrams of OxyContin to Steve Baylor for a bum knee, 30 milligrams of tetracycline to young Ronald Sheldrake for his apocalyptic acne, or terrible pizza face, as Ronald himself put it to the doc.

There was even a note about Kitty Tamplin wanting weekly azempic injections to help manage her type 2 diabetes.

Even though the doc suspected it was more about her taking Easy Street to a size 10 before the summer pool season kicked in.

I wonder how the doc's patients would have felt if they knew their GP's cheese was starting to slide off his cracker.

It had been me and Selwyn for so long.

I'll admit, it was nice hearing someone else's voice, even if it was just a forgetful old man listing off patient prescriptions and suspicions.

I still listen to that team from time to time.

So sorry for the interruption.

Elmore sure knows how to paint a picture with words.

Him and Selwyn should start one of those podcasts I keep hearing about.

There's a chance it could go viral.

I don't know about you, but I am feeling rather famished myself.

I'm gonna grab something real quick and be right back.

Today's episode episode is sponsored by I Know What You Did Last Summer.

Get it now on digital.

When five friends inadvertently cause a deadly car accident, they cover up their involvement and make a pact to keep it a secret rather than face the consequences.

A year later, their past comes back to haunt them, and they're forced to confront a horrifying truth.

Someone knows what they did last summer and is hell-bent on revenge.

As one by one, the friends are stalked by a killer.

They discover this happened before, so they turn to two survivors of the legendary Southport massacre of 1997 for help.

Starring Madeline Klein, Chase Sue Wonders, Jonah Howard King, with Freddie Prince Jr., and Jennifer Love Hewitt.

I know what you did last summer is a perfect summer slasher, says Jordan Cruciolo of NPR.

Your summer is not over yet.

Don't miss a killer movie night at home.

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.

Hi, um, my name's Alex.

I needed to reach out.

Uh my best friend got a card game from your store, but he died a year ago.

See, we used to have a YouTube channel reviewing board games, but then I pushed to have it changed into a prank channel.

And

the one prank that I pushed him to do

got him shot.

But now I see him at the dinner table with these cards.

And I don't recognize the symbols or the pieces.

The closest I could find was this mass suicide in 1945.

And

she sits there smiling.

He just says, let's do a quick game.

And for a while, I would just go to my room and I could hear him shuffling the cards outside my door.

He'd knock and say, come on, let's do a quick game.

At first, I would just ignore him.

But now when I go to sleep, I end up waking up at the table with a dealt hand.

Each night, there's less and less cards in my hand.

And she's just

kind of just smile.

It makes me really afraid of what's going to happen if I lose.

Look, I know you don't do returns, but if you can call me back, please, if you could just tell me the rules, maybe I have a chance.

I just need to know the rules for the game, and maybe I can win.

Please,

I only have two cards left, so if you could just, please.

I just need to know how to play the game.

End of messages.

Thank you kindly for your patience, friend.

Now back to Elmore's dumpster and the zombie apocalypse already in progress.

Even if it was just a forgetful old man listing off patient prescriptions and suspicions,

I still listen to that tape from time to time.

Warden called,

Elmore,

you're a free man.

oh god damn

fresh air

Okay

The coast looks clear

so

I guess it's time I get to doing what needs getting done

There's a Walmart about three blocks east of here.

I saw a small group of people about a dozen or so move in a week ago and I know they have food

Walmart is one of those big centers that used to sell meat and produce along with the usual shit.

This one even has a subway and a regal nails.

I wonder if Kitty Tamplin came here for her monthly Manny Petty.

Our Walmart back home didn't have a Regal Nails or anything like that, but it did have a McDicks,

which,

if you saw me back then, you'd know was both a blessing and a curse.

God,

I would do dirty things for a quarter pounder right now.

It's suicide going in through the front of the store.

I'll go in through the nail place.

I can pretty much guarantee I won't get any static in there, and it'll let me get a view of what things look like inside.

Alright, here I go.

Okay.

I'm inside.

This place is huge.

The group squat in here is set up in the back of the store, so there's lots of room for me to move around.

Still,

I have to be quiet.

I managed to find a choice pair of beaver canoe sweatpants and a little stuffy for Selwyn.

Now I just need to find her food, and I can split.

Okay,

I'm at the back of the store.

They've got their gear laid out in neat rows.

Rolled up sleeping bags, folded darts, bundled rope, backpacks, flashlights, and a few rifles ranked against a dozen stack cases of spam.

Why would they lay out all their gear like

oh

I see

okay,

it's a honey pot.

I've heard about squats using these lure in thieves.

Like the idol tempting India at the starter raiders of the lost ark.

Come on, there's no danger here.

And then

you take a poisoned dart to the neck.

This group is better organized than most I've seen.

But lucky for me,

I don't want any of that shit.

I'm just here for the food.

I'm outside again.

The honeypot wasn't a trap.

It was a diversion.

They wanted whoever came snooping around the place to go for it and leave.

Just ignore everything else and go away.

They were protecting the food.

I grabbed what I could, but they were on me, man.

Shit!

These guys aren't fucking around.

I'll update again when I'm safe.

One of them tagged me.

Looks like a 308, maybe.

Went right through my leg.

Fuck me.

That's a big hole.

God damn it.

It busted my femur.

Or tibia?

Or whatever the big one's called.

It missed my femoral artery, though.

I think.

How do you even tell that?

I'm getting a little light in the noodle.

I need a tourniquet.

Hey,

what are you doing?

Where's my dad?

Morning, little Cheerio.

If you make another sound, I'll cut your throat and leave you here to die.

You understand me?

Good.

Let's go.

Get off your ass.

Move.

I'm losing

a lot of blood.

Fuck, I'm so dizzy.

That kid...

That food...

It got away.

I should have chloroformed him again.

But I couldn't carry him with my legs the way it is.

This may be my last...

My last recording for a while.

Someone isn't safe.

I've got to go.

Don't you fuck your move!

Over here!

He's down here!

Whoa, that leg is messy.

Looks like I got you pretty good, doesn't it, huh?

Are you hearing me, man?

Ease up on him.

Hi, my name's Pauline.

What's yours?

Please.

Please.

Someone.

My daughter.

Daughter.

She's sick.

Oh.

Well, that's something I don't give a half a fuck about.

Tell me why you took Charlie's boy.

Yeah, you some kind of pedo fuck.

Myron, I'm talking to the man.

Careful, Pauline.

He's going first, Pat.

Listen to me.

You uh...

You want to be very mindful of how you play the next few minutes of your short life because

Pauline.

What, Charlie?

there's something moving in his back

Marin

dump it out

Jesus fucking Christ that's a kid's hand Jesus God that's a kid's fucking hand man

this asshole is bad it's moving

How come it's moving?

It's one of them.

That's how come.

Don't brown your pants, Charlie Cooper.

Me?

You're the one hollering.

Look at you.

Shut up.

Don't hurt her.

Don't hurt her.

That's your little girl?

What's left of her, it looks like.

That's why you snatched Robbie.

You looking for a trade-off.

Kids don't get no warranty, no.

What's dead is dead.

No.

That isn't it at all.

He was gonna feed her.

Robbie was gonna be her food.

Am I right?

He wouldn't have suffered.

Robbie,

pick that head up.

And be careful.

Take it by the hand.

Don't you touch her?

Someone, honey.

It's daddy.

He's fucking falcon cute.

There ain't nothing in that head pound except mashed potatoes.

You're talking into my deaf ear, pal.

Go ahead, Robbie.

Robbie, leave, just leave it.

Come on, Pauline.

Can't we just put him down and be done with it?

You know that's not how we do things.

But this is not right.

You going soft in the attic, Charlie?

This man was gonna feed your boy to that

thing.

Probably in small, easy-to-chew pieces.

Do you really think he deserves the kindness of a bullet?

Well,

do like Pauline says, son.

Oh,

it's squirmy.

Let's get little Selwyn fed, shall we?

Robbie, bring her here.

Now,

I want you to hold her close to his throat, okay?

Come on,

closer.

That's it.

Little closer

now.

Keep her still

and let her take a nice

big

bag.

What's going on, Mr.

Gibbon Girl?

Libyan.

Eat up again, girl.

It's okay.

Daddy, we'll make the pain

go away.

Can we go home now?

What about him?

Leave him.

Let him down.

U.

W.

H.

H.

G.

T.

K.

P.

I.

U.

Q.

W

N

U.

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 054 baby food Written by Reese Savitas, starring Conan Freeman as Elmore, Everett Shand as Robbie, Romy Evans as Pauline, Jay Hicks as Myron, Trevor Shand as Charlie, DeQuintero as the radio voice, featuring Stephen Knowles as the antique dealer.

Engineering production and sound design by Trevor Shand.

Theme music by the Newton Brothers.

Additional music by Conan Freeman and COAG.

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

Follow us on Instagram and Twitter at AntiquariumPod.

Call the Antiquarium at 646-481-7197.