The Antiquarium of Sinister Happenings - Lot 008 : I Am A Deep Sea Diver // Death Walks Into A Bar

Episode Date: August 31, 2023

I Am A Deep Sea Diver - Written by Lighting NationsFollow the subreddit r/thoughtindustry for moreDeath Walks Into A Bar - Written by K.G. LewisFor more, go to https://www.amazon.com/stores/K.%20G.%20Lewis/author/B07TWJM7FGStars Trevor Shand, Chris Koehne, Anthony James, Seth Autumn, Lauren Clare, Jarrett RaymondFeaturing 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.

Hello, and thanks for dropping in. Take your time and look around the shop. Every item has a story. One darker than the next, unfortunately. For instance, this barnacle-covered tank and mask over to your left? It's the subject of a disturbing course of events. Make sure you come up for air for this one called, I am a deep sea diver.

Welcome to the antiquarium of sinister happenings. and odd goings on. A deep sea diver. In case you missed it, scientists recently released audio footage of a cavern collapse along the ocean floor. All names have been changed to keep me out of hot water, legally speaking.

For six days, I shared a cramped metal pod with three other divers, 594 feet below sea level. At that depth, there was a constant risk of explosive decompression, which would result in the cholesterol from our veins being about the only thing left to bury. On the sixth day, a grainy voice spoke over the comms link and gave us a green light.

Then Boss told us to strap on our suits. These came equipped with circulating hot water systems to prevent hypothermia. Typically, four-man teams split into groups of two alternating shifts, not us. Boss was 42 years old and a good family man. I remember how choked up his voice got speaking with his daughter before submersion. When he found out my wife was a woman, pregnant, he gave me some great advice. Build a nest egg and get the hell out of

the diving game, makes him. Soldier and Gamble, I didn't know quite so well. Soldier mostly read in his bunk and trained, whereas Gamble just complained about how none of us played cards. He said the minute the cash got wired into his account, he was booking a suite at the Bellagio. Considering the money we were making, I doubted even if he could blow through the earnings at a black check table.

You ever been on a job that pays this good for a single day's work? Gamble asked me one afternoon as we sat in the main chamber. An egg-shaped compartment 20 feet long by 16 in diameter. I shook my head. How about you, soldier? Nope. He answered, while doing clapping push-ups in the space between our bunks.

It's just weird, you know. All that talk of planting charges and local biodiversity, it sure doesn't sound like we're blowing up a cavern. Boss sat up in bed and made a cut it out just. his eyes flicking toward this little black cube in the ceiling. A camera. My hand literally cramped up from the mountain of NDAs our employers made a sign, which is another way to say the suits took discretion very, very seriously.

Once the command came in, we each used the bathroom. Pro tip, if you want to work in this industry, learn to shit on command. And then piled into the diving bell through a hatch in the ceiling. Like always, I concentrated on my mental exercises. exercises. Breathe in. They were about the only thing that kept me from obsessing over how, if anything went wrong with the detachments, the chamber would crumble like a tin can. Gages, switches, and monitors lined the curved walls of the bell. They lit up as we slowly rotated into position and then flushed outside into the cold water. Boss's voice came over the radio in

my face mask. Take it nice and slow. Be complacent. Let's do this once. You can't imagine. what it's like down there in the bowels of the planet. You're free falling into an open void while Lord knows what swims around you. Every so often you'll feel a ripple and know some strange alien life form just pass by, inches from your face. Guided only by our headlamps, we plunged until a bumpy and uneven surface rose to meet our boots. Then we hop walked around like astronauts. The floor sucked at my ankles. It felt like standing on a shagged carpet that shivered and flexed every once in a while.

Not like any cavern I'd seen. So far as I could tell, we'd landed on some sort of formation with stadium-sized holes threaded throughout. Steep, sudden drop-offs my lamp couldn't touch the bottom of. I'd never seen anything like it. Why had they sent us here, of all places? In near-zero visibility, the four of us spread out and planted our charges. As the distance between me and my teammates grew, the radio feed broke apart. And an intense panic washed over me.

Breathe in. Breathe out. A dive coordinator once told me, if you can't roll with mishaps, you need to get the fuck out of the ocean. He was right, too. Once, my suits umbellicles got tangled in a boat's tool rack, and the jerky movements from the crashing waves overhead almost separated me from my gas supply. For a moment, I squeezed my eyes shut and prepared to meet my maker. Then, my brain kicked into gear.

Through a combination of discipline, training, and sheer dumb luck, I somehow cheated death that day. After two hours laying charges, rounding several chasms along the way, I closed in in our starting position. Boss's voice crackled through my face mask. How we looking? Only one more to go, I answered, relieved. Same here, said Gamble. Fifteen minutes later, our three headlamps converged at the meeting point.

Soldier, as usual, kept his response as short and sweet. Most likely, he picked up that sharp methodical communication style in the military. Breathe in. Soon we'd return to the cabin, spend five days depressurizing, then I'd get home in time for my son's birth, but I'd rush by and whirled around us as something big swam past, something none of us could see. Maybe it kept out of our lights deliberately.

Boss, who could monitor all of our vital signs through a little monitor, attached to his wrist, pointed his light at me and said, 600 plus feet, pelican eels, hatchetfish, octopus. But none of those stirred the water quite like that. Boss said, after another quick glance at my vitals, a yellow blob bobbed towards us as soldier rounded a pit, laying one final charge along the way.

While he drifted closer and closer, boss performed a few last-minute checks. But before he could give the all-clear, The ground flexed and water particles stirred in front of my helmet. A powerful suction reeled us all downward like hungry quicksand. As my thoughts circled back to my pregnant wife, I hope she'd be well compensated for her husband's death. As the intensity of those ripples swelled, each of us careened off in different directions.

Someone shouting, what the fuck has happened? Over the comms, it might have been me. Everybody, stay calm. Boss said, as calmly as he can manage. Breathe in. Lose your sense of direction at that depth, and reorienting is a real bitch. Unsure what way was up and still clueless as to what actually knocked us off course, I kicked in the direction of the nearest light. Our torches drifted closer and closer, still spread out across an area the size of a football field.

For a few glorious seconds, I thought everybody might make it out alive. But then, as more shockwaves pulsed out, I got this sense of a giant organism, Leviathan-esque in size, and somehow denser than the surrounding blackness, snaking its way out of the pit. One of the lights vanished. In an instant, somebody was gone. Swallowed. Taken! My chest went into furious convulsions as I floated helplessly,

frozen in place until part of me became vaguely aware of Boss's voice screaming. I swam up in the direction of the pod, chasing the two remaining beacons. Breathe in. You didn't even see what happened. At this depth, your mind plays tricks. My brain was so fogged out I don't remember climbing back inside the bell. We're worried about the mechanism sealing properly. The hatch closed with a hiss of air, followed by metal divvets sliding into place.

Once the water drained, Boss got on the comms and brought up soldiers' telemetrics and the hope we could save him. Surely there hadn't actually been some kind of giant life form out there. Surely I'd only imagined that part. The data recorded by soldiers' suit, before it went offline, indicated the poor bastard plunged 1,203 feet in 30 seconds.

His internal temperature spiking 30 degrees. My hands would not stop trembling. Not just my imagination then. Nobody even suggested the idea. And from the expression on Boss's face, I didn't think any of us would ever breathe a word about this. No wonder the suits running the operation took discretion so seriously. After Boss punched in a few more keys, a countdown began.

Pursive force of a powerful blast made us rattle in our seats. A metal groaned all around me, and for a second, the bell went dark. I waited for the smooth walls to compact into a sphere no larger than a marble. Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, lights blinked back on, one at a time. A collective sigh of relief went out. Then boss pushed the comms link and announced we were ready for DSAT. DSAT stresses your body. For five days, we endured joint pain, headaches and shortness of breath, speaking only when

absolutely necessary, unsure whether whatever took soldier might come back for us. What even was it? Had the charges been meant to kill it? Did it live within the chasm? Or had we actually been walking around on some nightmarish creatures back? We emerged pale, disoriented, and drained, like prisoners released from solitary. After so long under artificial light, the sun burned my retinas. Up on the ship, they let us take showers, had the chef whip up meals of our choosing,

and then let us call our families only after reminding us about the NDAs. The ship docked off the southern coast of Greenland, where a taxi transported us to a private airstrip. Boss Gamble and I didn't hug, shake hands, or even say goodbye. We simply nodded at one another. I'm too much of a coward to tell soldiers' family what happened, so I'm sharing it with you instead, after since that day, partly because of the guilt,

partly because a giant lump forms in my throat at the mere thought of getting back into the ocean. And whenever that happens, I force myself out of that waking nightmare by focusing on the exercises. You have a message? Please do so with the tone. Thank you. You just want to say I love the podcast. It's good for when I'm walking alone in the dark to the best stop. Hello to the team. the Antiquarium. I just wanted to say that I love spooky shows and spooky going on and have been listening to a lot of similar stories that similar establishes, so I'm not new to the world

of strange objects, but recently there was an episode about a certain vinyl record, shall we say, that had me actually screening at my phone and my device and absolutely refusing to knock back. excellent excellent work I can't tell you it's been such an amazing addition to my day just something new and refreshing and the next time I'm in the area consider this me adding

my name to the waiting list for an appointment you guys keep up the amazing work and have a very very spooky day sure hope they had a sea creature claws in their insurance policy I've got one more for you if you've got time

this might look like an ordinary lowball, but it was at the center of a terrifying affair known as... Def walks into a bar. Everyone stopped what they were doing when the figure in the black robe stepped through the entrance to the bar, holding a scyce. All eyes followed him as he walked up to the bar, the handle of his scyfe, tapping the floor with each step he took. How can I help you? The bartender scattered, Jeff said. His voice was deep and hollow sounding.

Who's by the name of Bob Smith? I don't know anyone by that name. This is the soggy rose. Is it not? It is? Then this is the right bar. Anyone here, no way. Bob Smith?

A moment later, a man sitting at one of a tables stood up and pointed across the bar to a man sitting in a corner booth by himself. It's Bob Smith right over there. Deff walked across the room and stopped in front of the man's table. Considered lying, but then thought better of it. If Def had come for him, lying to him about who he was wouldn't change things. He'd catch up to him sooner or later. Yes, I'm Bob Smith.

Stand up. Can I finish my drink first? Stand up. Okay. Bob stood out of the booth and quickly got to his feet. Death said, pointing towards the exit with his scythe. I beg your pardon. I said go out.

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. 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 certain. 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, 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 space between sleep and dream. During regular business hours, of course, or by appointment, And only for you, our best customer. You have a good night now. The Antiquarium of Sinister Happenings, Lot Zero-Zer5.

I am a deep-sea diver, written by Lighting Nations, narrated by Trevor Shand, featuring Chris Cohen as boss, Conan Freeman as Gamble, Seth Autumn as Soldier, Stephen Knowles as the antique dealer. Death walks into a bar. Written by K.G. Lewis. Narrated by Lauren Clare. Featuring Jared Raymond as death.

Chris Cohen as the bartender. Trevor Shand as Bob Smith. For more, go to Facebook.com slash KJ. Lewis author. 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. Theme music by the Newton Brother.

Follow us on Instagram and Twitter at Antiquarium Pod. Call the Antiquarium at 646-481-7197.