The Antiquarium of Sinister Happenings - Lot 007 : Malum Oceanum

Episode Date: August 24, 2023

..and the third angel poured out his vial upon the rivers and fountains of waters; and they became blood.She Sells Sea Shells By The Seashore / The Sea Is A Cruel Mistress - Written by Xx_Kronik_xXFollow the subreddit r/KronikNightmares for moreYou’ve Actually Heard This Before, I Just Made Sure You Forgot - Written by Lighting NationsFollow the subreddit r/thoughtindustry for moreStars Rebekah Kennedy, Lauren ClareFeaturing Stephen Knowles as the Antique DealerTheme music by The Newton BrothersAdditional music:CO.AG ([e-mail]) Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for advertising.

Greetings and salutations. Thanks for stopping by to visit our collection of Curios. Ah, you've got good taste. That's a genuine helm straight off a galleon destined for hell. It'll carry you across a trilogy of dark adventures. She sells seashells. The sea is a cruel mistress. And, you've actually read this before.

I just made sure you forgot. Welcome to the antiquarium of sinister happenings and odd goings on. Much is known about the woman who sells seashells by the seashore. Only that she appears just before sunset, right through to morning, standing behind a table full of wares. People that have seen her claim to have seen different things laid out. Things that were not always nice. But the thing that always remained consistent with each account, was the vast array of glimmering seashells, dangling from streams, seemingly being held up by the air itself.

To everyone outside our small village, she is a myth. A tale told to children. But to us, she is a horrible reality. As I said before, we don't know much about her, but we do know that she has been here far longer than we have. Every morning at 6 o'clock, everyone in the village has to go to the seashore and place a single shell that has been generously coated in their own blood. You can't trick her with animal blood either, she will know. Many have tried to take her for a fool, and many have found themselves being chopped up and sold as her wares. Some say the blood is what gives the shells their beautiful shimmer. Others say that we are contributing to summoning some. something, that all these centuries of our ancestors and our own blood offerings were to bring

forth something unknown and maybe even apocalyptic. All I know is she scares me, enough so that I will happily drain every last drop of my life essence for her if it means I won't end up being sold in parts on her table as those shells clanked together above my mangled remains. I have never bought anything from her before. But a few people have purchased some shells from her. She doesn't accept cash only blood, which is drained into scales to make a purchase. The body parts never sell, though.

Only the seashells. They probably just end up washing up on some beach somewhere, probably found by some child happily playing in the shallow. Those who purchased shells all claim to be plagued with strange dreams. When they tried to throw away the shells, They found them later that night laying on their pillows. The dreams drove some so mad that they drowned themselves in a scene, while the others took the dreams as a message from God,

telling them to kill their entire families. The ground has been shaking more ferociously recently, and there is definitely something stirring down there to think they may have been right all along. Maybe we have been unknowingly summoning something, But if we stop our sacrifices, we all die. And as selfish as it sounds, I have no intention of dying. As miserable as this trapped existence is, at the end of the day, it's still existence.

And I plan to hold on to it as long as I have blood left to give. And tomorrow, I might just purchase a seashell. Leave a message. Just wanted to say I love the podcast so far. I'm a mail carrier out in a very rural area. So listening to you guys helps pass the time and keeps me company. Can't wait until the next one

and stay strange and creaky, my gold's friend. Please help, please. I don't know how my phone's working right now. I attempted the elevator game and I got off on the wrong floor and I don't know where I am. I'm in my home, but it's not my home, please. I don't have very long. Please help me.

I think my phone's about it. of everyone here at the Antiquire. The sacred right already in progress. Should you become uncomfortable at any point during your experience? Please reach out to an associate or press stop on your device immediately. Thank you. November 14th, 1877. Captains Log 1.

It appears we are caught in a terrible storm. The deck beneath my feet is swaying so much that I'm struggling to maintain my balance. Huge waves are battling the hall. As I were creeks and moans, I have never seen waves like this before. and have never heard thunder as loud. The rain is so heavy that to step outside my quarters would be like having buckets of water

thrown over my head. I fear it is going to be a very long night. Captains Log 2. I'm here reports that some of the men are claiming to have seen something in the water trailing of the galleon, but I suspect it is probably just a whale. Though I must admit that this storm

has me feeling quite uneasy. In all my years as a sea woman, I have never seen weather like this. Captain's Log 3 This storm seems to not only have brought with it to misery and danger, but manness as well. I heard shouting outside my cabin, and when I braved the vicious elements to go outside and see what was going on, I was shocked by what I was witnessing. It wasn't shouting, I had heard, but chanting in an unknown language on their knees, merely keeping balance from the constant swaying,

and the rest was standing there, watching the scene with eyes as wide as my own. I tried to intervene, but they ignored my orders, and the chanting only grew louder as I shouted. Then they began to wave their hands in the air, moving as one in complete unison. And suddenly, seemingly coming from the heavy black clouds above, echoed a frightful screech.

I retreated back to my cabin instantly and locked the door. Whatever that noise was, it sure didn't sound natural. Captain's Log 4. I felt something big brushing against the bottom of the ship. It tilted the ship so violently that I was swung against the cabin wall. I heard the screams of men on deck, as they were flung to the drink. Luckily for me, my cabin protected me from going overboard. But I do appear to have received a broken leg in the process, along with some minor bruising.

Captain's Log 5. It's been two hours since the screaming stopped. I know everyone is dead, their blood is flowing beneath the door, pulling up into a thick red puddle. Men who I deeply regret not helping. Whatever is outside knows I'm in here. It whispers my name, beckoning me to come outside. And the more fogier my mind becomes,

the more enticing and the offer becomes. In my mind, when he was 15, he became fascinated with wizardry. From the outside, it looked like he just really needed a girlfriend, or perhaps a new hobby. Preferably one that was an imaginary. But then one afternoon, he invited me up to his room, stabbed my index finger with a needle, and mixed it into this strange broth. Anytime I tried to speak or clear my throat, I got side-eyed in order to remain quiet. until the experiment was complete.

Just as I was about to suggest he speak with a school counselor, an orb of white light appeared in the middle of the room, hovering directly between us. It wasn't a trick or a prank, as far as I could tell. I just sat there, dumbfounded. So this friend of mine, he explained this forbidden science was fueled by pain, which is why he jabbed my finger.

For the next six hours, he showed off incredible tricks and then asked if I wanted to learn. Within two weeks, we were both practicing behind the bike sheds at school or in my dad's shack. We agreed if anybody caught us, we'd say we were making out or doing drugs, anything except the truth. It wasn't long before we reached the limits of what you can accomplish by slicing open your own palm. But now we had what the books described as the hunger, a thirst for power. Around the neighborhood, people stared at us, whispered about the losers who broke into the county park after dark and mixed potions. So this old fogie, a real busy-body neighborhood watch type, he whipped together a mob one night and came after us. My friend and I had no choice other than to use our newfound abilities for self-defense.

Around us lay 16 humans, each clinging to life by a thread, 16 potential fuel cells. We thought we'd hit the mother load. We were wrong. All of a sudden detectives started breathing down our necks. People wanted answers about what happened to their neighbors, their husbands, their sons. Seeing no other choice, we created a powerful elixir that made the entire, neighborhood forget these individuals, that anybody ever lived in those empty houses. Unfortunately, this all but depleted our reserves. It clearly wasn't a sustainable

method of harvesting pain. That's when my buddy made a suggestion. We could operate with a much lower profile. All we needed was a single battery. One victim whose agony we could siphon for hours on end and simply make them forget the experience. that way we could do it all again the next day and the day after that and the day after that

the most out of the process we need is to ramp up the victim's dread beforehand to tenderize the meat so to speak so if you haven't figured it out yet I hope you've been sitting comfortably because we're about to get started

thank you for your patronage hope you enjoyed your new relic as much as I've enjoyed passing along its sorted 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.

Oh, you think just because you're only listening to my voice that you have nothing to be concerned about? Let me assure you that your visit to the antiquarium, whether in the flesh or in your mind's eye, is most certainly not in vain. You are the architect of this place. I must say you've done a hell of a job. Even the way you have given me a face and carved out the most minute details of my person in that cerebrum of yours is quite, impressive indeed. Therefore, the items you procure within these walls, even on a metaphysical level, are very, very real and are now and forever part of your

subconscious. All part of our standard bill of sale, really? Till next time, we'll be waiting for you whenever you close your eyes. In the 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. Aquarium of Sinister Happenings, Lot Zero-Seven, Malam Oceanum, featuring she-sells seashells by the seashore, written by Chronic, narrated by Rebecca Kennedy, The Sea, is a cruel mistress.

Written by Chronic. Narrated by Lauren Claire. Follow the subreddit Chronic Nightmares. That's KRO N-I-K. You've actually heard this before. I just made sure you forgot. Written by Lighting Nations. Narrated by Rebecca Kennedy.

Follow the subreddit thought industry for more. Featuring Stephen Knowles as the antique dealer. Theme music by the Newton Brothers. Additional music by Coag. Engineering Production and Sound Design by Trevor Shand. 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 646-481-717.