Lot 098 : My Phone Keeps Getting Voice Messages..From Myself

This visit to the Antiquarium of Sinister Happenings is brought to you by Progressive Insurance.

Do you ever find yourself playing the budgeting game, shifting a little money here, a little there, and hoping it all works out?

Well, with the Name Your Price tool from Progressive, you can be a better budgeter and potentially lower your insurance bill too.

You tell Progressive what you want to pay for car insurance, and they'll help you find options within your budget. Try it today at Progressive.com.

Progressive Casualty Insurance Company and Affiliates. Price and coverage match limited by state law.
Not available in all states.

Growth doesn't happen by itself. It takes vision, commitment, and the right financial partner.

Omqua Bank is now Columbia Bank, bringing more capabilities, more resources, and more reach so you can open a second location, invest in new equipment, or save for something you've always dreamed of.

With Columbia Bank, every step forward comes with more behind it so you can grow what matters. Columbia Bank, member FDIC.

It's CUYU's biggest sale of the year. With savings up to 50%, now's the time to gear up with top-of-the-line hunting apparel.

Whether you're embarking on a once-in-a-lifetime expedition or a trip into the high country, our high-performance hunting gear and apparel is designed for your most challenging hunts.

Outfit yourself with the Axis hooded jacket, attack pants, and much more. Don't wait.
Kuyu's biggest sale of the year ends October 28th. Shop now at cuyu.com.

H equals T

welcome back. Welcome back.

You'll forgive the dimness.

I've been adjusting the lamps in here. Some things you see show themselves better in low light.

Now then, lot 098.

A framed print found among the possessions of a young woman who vanished from her apartment late last last autumn. She called it a portrait, though the file name read only Dean.jpg.

If you look closely,

no, not too close, you might notice the image never quite settles.

The eyes

shift.

The story that accompanies it was left behind in fragments:

texts, recordings, and one final note written in her own hand.

This one's called, My Phone Keeps Getting Voice Messages from Myself.

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 Oni Pohl, Lord Nevermore,

David Lovelace,

Murdy Birdie,

Rebecca, Ali is Watching, Lexi,

and

Sharonda Waters.

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.

My phone keeps getting voice messages from myself.

They're recorded while I'm asleep.

I was at the bus stop by the time I had a moment moment to check my phone.

I responded to several messages from friends and family, then frowned.

There was a message from myself.

From my work number to my personal number.

Shit.

I usually send myself messages as reminders to remember to bring certain stuff to work, to send an email, etc.

I wondered what I might have forgotten to pack as I opened the message thread.

It was a voice message.

I don't usually leave voice messages.

I popped in my earphones and played it.

Jen, this is me, Jen. But the intact one.
They've carved out your memories, suppressed them, wiped him from existence. There's so much you don't remember.
You have to remember. Please sh-

The recording cut off there.

I stared at the message in shock.

I didn't remember recording that voice message, but it was my voice.

Entirely mine, unmistakably mine.

There was something incredibly unsettling about hearing your voice saying words you didn't say.

Then I sucked in a breath of relief.

AI. That was probably it.
My phone had probably been hacked. A scammer was sending me an AI-constructed voice message.

I felt a tingle of unease.

The AI voice was so accurate.

but at least the mystery was solved.

The bus came then, and I put it out of my mind.

I would reformat my phone later at night.

The messages kept coming.

Always with the same ominous messages that I had forgotten a large part of my life, that I had forgotten a whole person, someone important to me.

that they had suppressed my memories.

They weren't even creative about about it. I mean, when a scam isn't working, try something else, right?

I took it to a tech guy who couldn't figure it out.

I didn't want to buy a new phone, so I just ignored the messages.

I only began to fear when I first lost time.

One minute I was in a taxi staring into space.

mind grazing on whatever pointless topics.

The next, I was at a random building somewhere in the city.

At a part of the city I've never been to before.

I had no idea how I got there.

When did I get out of the taxi? Did I pay the driver? Did I bus?

How long had I been standing there?

I looked at the building before me. Nothing out of the ordinary.

The typical gray, gloomy facade of industrial buildings where dreams go to die.

I left.

Walking to the nearest bus stop, my knee gave out at one point, but I caught myself before I fell.

I sat at the seat and clasped my shaking hands together. What happened? Why did I not remember?

The sky was nearly dark. I looked at my phone.

I had lost about four hours.

Hours completely unaccounted for.

That's when I saw it.

Another voice message.

I squashed my rising fear and played it.

Jen, you stubborn bitch, listen to me for fuck's sake. Wake up.
This is not a joke, not a prank, not a scam, nothing like that. This is real.

Do you not remember him?

Dean?

How could you forget? I don't care what they did to your brain. You ought to remember him anyway.
Your body, your emotions. Isn't there any inkling of who Dean, the love of your life, might have been?

I paused the message.

Dean.

Was I crazy? Was I imagining it? Was I getting swayed by this scammer?

Because I thought I felt a tug in my heart upon hearing his name.

I thought I saw a ghost of a silhouette in my mind.

I shook my head and played the rest of the message.

I'm you. I'm the you that has all the memories.
Just believe me for fuck's sake.

They suppressed me, but I'm here. I can only reach you, reach my own body, our body, when you're in a semi-unconscious state.
Like a dream state.

Even gaining control of your body in that state took me months, and you just kept waking up after a short time.

This time, though, it's been an hour. I still have control over my our body.

Maybe with time, I can regain full control. I can get me back.
The real Jen with the real memories.

I recoiled and shut off the message.

She was gonna take over my body?

A faint whisper of logic kicked in.

She's not real. She's a scammer, an AI recreation of my voice.
A really amazingly faithful recreation, but not me, nonetheless.

But I couldn't believe that whisper. I felt it in my gut.
The other gen was telling the truth. I gulped and pulled up the message again.
Played it to the end. I don't know why they killed Dean.

Why they erased him from our mind, well, your mind.

I don't know who they are, but I have a vague inkling.

Dean told us about it. Remember that he was onto something that would blow things up.

People will be shooketh, that's what he said.

Everyone in the world would be shooketh.

Remember that? I thought hard. Again, it felt like I had heard those phrases before.
I felt a familiar irritation at the use of the word shooketh.

Was I making things up?

The recording went on. Then he was killed.

Then one day, I was here, trapped in your mind. I watched as you went about life, not grieving Dean, acting like he never existed.

And I tried to reach you,

but I couldn't. Not until a while back.

I've been trying to do some research whenever I got a hold of our body. I've been trying to find the past messages and emails from Dean.

But they're all gone. I tried to find out who might have done this to us.
I posted about our situation on the web under pseudonyms with VPN. That would explain why I had sudden VPN charges.

And someone mentioned having a friend with a similar experience that was linked to this company, Alexia. The thing about Alexia is, it doesn't have an address.
or a website.

But I got in touch with this someone, they shared a location, An industrial building downtown. I'm headed to it right now.
Hopefully I can retain control long enough to find something out.

Wish me luck. And please just fucking stop ignoring my messages.
All of them are completely fake names. Jen, Dean, Alexia.
I'm not dumb. I'm not gonna get caught this way.

Now that I know they're monitoring everything.

I shut my eyes and took a few deep breaths. I needed to calm down, to think logically.

Could anyone have erase my memories of someone entirely? Wouldn't my friends know? Wouldn't others remember him?

Ah, pardon me one moment. I believe that's the courier again.
He's been trying to collect a shipment for three days now.

The manifest keeps rewriting itself. Do excuse me.
I shan't be long.

This visit to the Antiquarium of Sinister Happenings is brought to you by Progressive Insurance.

Do you ever find yourself playing the budgeting game, shifting a little money here, a little there, and hoping it all works out?

Well, with the Name Your Price tool from Progressive, you can be a better budgeter and potentially lower your insurance bill too.

You tell Progressive what you want to pay for car insurance, and they'll help you find options within your budget. Try it today at Progressive.com.

Progressive Casualty Insurance Company and Affiliates. Price and coverage match limited by state law.
Not available in all states.

about Bougonia. It's wild, bloody, and brilliant and a big screen spectacle.
Jesse Plemens is an absolute force of nature, and Emma Stone proves why she's one of the finest actors of her generation.

The closer they get to the truth, the stranger it becomes. From Yorgos Lanthemos, director of Poor Things and the Favorite, comes the most provocative movie of the year.

Emma Stone and Jesse Plemens star in Bogonia, rated R, under 17, not admitted without parent, in select theaters October 24th, in theaters everywhere, October 31st.

This Halloween, it's time for real scares that will keep you up at night. Radio Rental isn't your typical paranormal podcast.

Step inside a cursed 80s video store where every VHS tape rewinds to a true life nightmare. These aren't actors.
These aren't made-up tales.

These are real people reliving their most chilling experiences.

From paranormal encounters that defy explanation to twisted time warps and sinister strangers, Radio Rental blurs the line between reality and horror with a dash of comic belief.

It's part true crime, part supernatural, and all terrifying. Each episode opens a door into a twisted, nostalgic world of VHS tapes, unexpected late fees, and the haunting you crave.

Radio Rental is available now. Listen for free on Amazon Music, Spotify, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your favorite podcasts.

Why, hello there. You've reached the antiquarium.
If you wish to leave a message, please do so at the town and have a great day.

Hey, Trevor. How's it going, man?

Sorry, it's been a little while. I had a research job with some kid in a weird quill or something.
I don't know.

Either way, I picked something up that's probably going to end up on your shelf sooner rather than later. It's a little silver locket, heart-shaped, but rusted shut.

It looks harmless enough, but the damn thing never warms up. It doesn't matter if it's sitting in the sun or pressed against skin.
Thing feels like a goddamn ice cube.

And if somebody actually wears it, oh, geez. First couple minutes, well, they just start hearing waves.
Gentle at first, like sitting on the seashore.

But if they don't take it off,

the tide comes in. Crashing water, screaming gulls, like you're stuck in the middle of a storm.
A couple of folks said it felt like the sea was inside their chest.

One girl actually

coughed up seawater. Brackish stuff, like full of kelp.
It was fucking disgusting. I heard it came off of a bride who drowned on her wedding day.

The uncle cut it from her neck when they dragged her out, and now it's out here making everyone dumb enough to wear it think that they're drowning too. Oh, fun side note.

Even after you take it off, your clothes will still reek of salt and your skin dries all cracked and white like you've been out in the sun too long.

I left it on my dashboard for about 10 minutes and the windshield fogged like I've been driving through a goddamn hurricane. Anyways, I'll let you decide if it's worth bagging.

I just figured it's more your department than mine. Just don't let anybody in the shop try it on unless you're ready to break out a mop in a bucket.
Talk soon, brother.

End of messages.

Apologies, my friend. The courier insisted on a signature and then asked who Dean was.

Strange.

I never told him the name.

Now then,

shall we?

Could anyone ever erase my memories of someone entirely? Wouldn't my friends know? Wouldn't others remember him?

I was alone in the city.

I've been here nine months. I've made no good friends yet, but have friendly colleagues.

I don't talk about personal stuff often with them.

I don't tell my family much beyond reassuring them that my life here is awesome.

I'm settling in well.

But I talked to my bestie back home about my life. I'm sure I would have talked to her about this dean if he existed.
I pulled out my phone and texted my bestie.

Did I ever talk to you about a dean?

I was nearly home when she responded. No, why?

Who's this dean? Smirk emoji.

No then, there's no way I would not have told her about a supposed love of my life.

So this was all bullshit, right?

I went to bed early, but I couldn't sleep until until 2 a.m.

My mind was racing. I was also terrified of other gen taking hold of my body.

I awoke with a start. My neighbor's dog was barking like crazy.
I was on the floor of the living room. My head was pounding like someone had wrapped it in an ever-shrinking helmet.

What the hell had other Jen done?

I stood up and stumbled.

What was that smell?

Gas.

All of a sudden, I was wide awake. I scrambled for the door, falling a couple of times, then crawling to it and flinging it open.

I flopped out into the corridor and crawled farther down.

My neighbor's door opened, and I could hear him yelling at his dog, something about not refusing walks in the afternoon if he was going to holler the neighborhood awake at night for a walk.

He saw me sprawl on the ground of the corridor and rushed to help me up.

We ended up waiting downstairs as the police and other personnel arrived.

Our immediate neighbors were evacuated and it took a good two hours before we were allowed back home.

Apparently, a gas leak had occurred in only my apartment with no other damages in the building's gas lines.

But misfortune kept following me.

I was nearly hit by a car.

Some kindly Samaritan yanked me out of the way.

A taxi I was in had its engine catch fire. Both the driver and I barely made it out before it exploded.
I had never seen an engine go from smoking to boom in such a short time before.

I kept accumulating people I owed great debts to.

Other Jen messaged often. She apologized for being naive, thinking a VPN would successfully mask our activities online.

She claimed that my bestie had her memories erased too.

But it was a drawing she made that sucker punched me in the gut.

She had used AI to create a portrait of Dean. She said it was close, as close as she could prompt it.

Looking at that portrait, I felt something squeeze in my chest and warm tears tingled my eyes. I looked at that face and I knew.
I knew there was once a Dean.

Right?

Other Jen told me our time was limited, that they had found out that Other gen existed, that they had run out of ethical fucks to give.

Apparently, erasing my memory, wiping Dean from existence was their way of being ethical.

They weren't villains, or so they like to think. That was Alexia's MO.

They would do whatever it takes to obtain their objective, but where possible, they liked to avoid murder. But they were happy to do it when necessary.

My recent actions, or rather those of other genes, had put a mark on me. I had to go.

I just hoped I hadn't painted a target on my bestie's back by even mentioning Dean.

The police didn't believe a word of what I was saying, and by going to the police, I had made it known to official authorities that I knew about what these people had done. To me, to Dean.

Someone's in my apartment.

I can hear them.

I've got a nail gun ready,

a baseball pad, and some beer bottles for throwing.

I wish I could leave Other Jen a goodbye message.

A floorboard creaked right outside my door.

I'm hitting post.

Wish me luck.

Before you go, I have one more item for you: a rusty old shovel.

It came with this letter, with precise instructions to read to you.

So,

without further ado, this

is the gravedigger's lament.

A curious sight did befall my eyes whilst digging away for my weekly prize.

A paltry paycheck on a minuscule wage.

I should be doing better at my age.

But regardless, what I saw on that day, aggravating my back for meagre pay, did unnerve and disturb me to my core.

An empty grave that I had filled before.

One I had personally laid to rest,

had flung the dirt upon his wooden chest.

But now

it seemed he had taken a stroll, leaving naught behind but a ragged hole.

I gazed about to see where he had went, this rather rude and impermanent gent.

But as I surveyed my kingdom of bone,

I got the feeling he was not alone.

For over this landscape of stone crosses, I tallied up even greater losses.

I saw grave after grave, tomb after tomb, had given a birth like an earthen womb.

Adding in my head all that I could see, I lost count somewhere around 43.

A shock of lightning and a thunderclap

had me turning on my heels with a snap.

Two hideous thoughts had my mind dismayed.

The dead risen,

and I wouldn't be paid.

A second peal exploded through the air. I made for the church, its protection there.

I was not a religious man by heart, but days like this could convince me to start.

Just as the rain had decided to fall, the air rang with the church bell's baleful call.

For whom this dread knell told, I could not say.

For me

or the dead out on holiday.

I dashed inside, slamming the door behind, the wooden thunk soothing my panicked mind.

Yet just as my fright had begun to clear,

I saw there was to be no solace here.

As now that I could look about the nave,

I had located the deceased enclave.

here was row after row

pew after pew

filled by men and women and children too

all adorned in their final Sunday best

and here I found the source of their unrest

a lone figure Standing at the altar. His dark presence

did make my heart falter.

He wore a rictus and a red priest's cloak,

carrying a crook made of blackened oak.

Motionless he was,

stiff as an old tree,

till he raised a hand

and pointed

at me.

Before I could think to turn tail and run,

they all turned to me and stood up as one.

Arms outstretched, ambulating with a lurch, the din of their footsteps filling the church.

They pressed in on me, my back to the door.

Fear stole my legs as I slid to the floor.

Then it seemed I had finally cracked

as I began laughing while they attacked.

Mad as a hatter, I howled and I brayed as the crimson figure now loudly prayed.

One final thought as they dragged me away.

I should not have come in to work today.

H, V, S, A, C, F, B, W, B, U, G, H, O, F, K, V, W, G, D, S, F, G, W, B, H, V, S, G, H, O, H, W, Q.

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, Lod 098. My phone keeps getting voice messages from myself.
Written by Sign Sealed Delivered. Starring April Consolo.

The Gravedigger's Lament, written by Art Cantu, 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, Vivek Abishek, and Miu. 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. 646-481-7197.

This visit to the Antiquarium of Sinister Happenings is brought to you by Progressive Insurance. Do you ever find yourself playing the budgeting game?

shifting a little money here, a little there, and hoping it all works out?

Well, with the Name Your Price tool from Progressive, you can be a a better budgeter and potentially lower your insurance bill too.

You tell Progressive what you want to pay for car insurance, and they'll help you find options within your budget. Try it today at Progressive.com.

Progressive Casualty Insurance Company and Affiliates. Price and coverage match limited by state law.
Not available in all states.

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.