The Antiquarium of Sinister Happenings - Lot 010 : Do Not Go In That House (ft. Nils Frykdahl)

Episode Date: September 9, 2023

An immersive horror experience as you are beckoned into a house of madness and depravity.Do Not Go In That House - Written by Trevor ShandStars Nils Frykdahl, Addison Peacock, Jade Shand, Trevor ShandFeaturing 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.

Back again, I see. We love repeat customers. Let me see. What do I have for you this time? Ah, yes. A set of keys. All different shapes and sizes. Some old, some new.

Now you might be thinking, whatever could I have use for with a bunch of random, regular-looking keys. That's where you'd be sorely mistaken. for they unlock a disturbing night of mayhem. Go into escrow for, Do not go in that house. Welcome to the antiquarium of sinister happenings,

and odd goings on. Bennett Manor on the hill. From the halls, your blood will spill. The devil's mark on floors of oak. On pain and suffering, you'll choke. Screams are all that fill the air. Ten thousand people? Murdered there.

Past the door. There's no way out. Driving down a stretch of road for what seems in eternity. The rain continuing its relentless soaking in the windshield. The wipers struggle to keep up. You're exhausted from the banal repetition. The blurred yellow lines from the freeway chomped up by each of the blades as they fall towards the hood of the car. It's hypnotizing.

You were in no shape to leave home on such short notice. The unexpected funeral of someone who meant an awful lot to you put you behind the wheel on this dreary evening. Your destination is maybe three hours away, you notice, as you glance down towards your phone. It looks like it's still a while to go before any. Turns. Great. The charging cable wasn't in all the way. You love it when that happens. You look back up and try to make out the road through the waterfall punishing the glass. Your eyelids all of a sudden feel like they weigh a thousand pounds.

And the cake is the most beautiful thing you've ever seen. It is your 100th birthday party and from your shoulder blades and ate beyond anything you have ever experienced. The awful tearing of skin radiating. across your back as something fights to emerge from underneath. Blood sprays from fresh wounds as sharp cartilage framing slip tops of oily black erupt from inside you. The attending guests look on in great pleasure.

They are old children. Their faces being washed with oceans of blood cascading from reptilian wings that are moving slowly up and down on either side of you. They laugh as they raise their hands in the air to welcome your Hey, you're dreaming. Wait the fuck up! Things begin to come into focus as you slowly awake. You're on the side of a stretch of road.

Your car wrapped around a tree. A large branch punctured through the passenger side window had just narrowly missed you. You grab the rearview mirror that is hanging by a broken piece of plastic and see that your face is in one piece. A few minor cuts from the glass is all. But it feels like tiny little. pellets being shot at you from point-blank range.

You contort and stretch your mouth. You move your arms across to your seatbelt and unlatch it, gliding your legs over as you open the door and lurch outside. You grab your lifeless phone in the process. Standing outside, you feel bruised, but okay. The rain has weakened. The mist causing the blood to run into your mouth with a taste of copper. You survey the area around you, looking away from the wreck of rubber and steel.

Up a bit further, you see some lights dangling in the horizon. You decide in this moment that those lights are your salvation and start your ascent out of the woods, up from the ditch and along the side of this deserted dirt road. As you get closer, the lights become windows. Closer still and the windows become the eyes of the second story of a stately Victorian house on a hill. It is nestled on either side by vacant farmland, save for a rusted old hearse in the gravel driveway.

You were standing at the foot of the house now. The architecture is stunning, but decaying. From the base of the staircase, the front door is up about six steps in the center, draped with carved gingerbread spindles, a tower on the left with large patches of exposed beams revealed by aged paint and plaster that had lost their battle of relevancy over time.

This mansion feels incredibly out of place in the middle of nowhere like this, almost as if you were imagining the whole thing. Perhaps you were back in that twisted mess of steel, nuzzled into the deployed airbag, unconscious and delusional, creating this whole entire thing in your mind. The uncomfortable throbbing you feel all over your body says otherwise.

You tell yourself it is likely from the reflex of tensing up every muscle in the milliseconds prior to impact. It feels like the day you went to the gym that one time, three weeks after New Year's Day, with a little too much enthusiasm. You go up the steps to the door. It creaks wide. And standing there is a tall man in a black suit. He is gaunt, but youthful. Pale with not a hair on his head.

Dark circles around his eyes of what resembles grease paint. He is staring at you and won't? Yes! Black tar coats his teeth and it drips down his chin, running along his neck. There is an uncomfortable elegance to the odd man. Suddenly, a little girl appears by his side. Welcome to Bennett Manor, the precipice of your eternal damnation. She runs off.

The odd man doesn't acknowledge her. He is just standing there with the same maniacal toothy grin. Frozen in place as he stares right through you. He won't stop smiling. You explain your predicament the best way you can muster As an intoxicating blend of awkwardness and fear Warms your soul until a chill hits your spine A funeral

The odd man remains as if frozen in time Tar pouring from his twisted smile onto the floor At once he springs into action Come hither, my sweet fawn. A fawn, a phone, maybe you could use a phone. I believe I've got one around. Please make yourself at home. The odd man contorts to a curtsey.

Emotions you inside or slam shut behind you on its own. You enter the parlor. The entire room is paneled in dark. wood. Fated heavy red velvet curtains straight from the windows and pool onto the floor. A fireplace cracks and wheezes as your host takes a seat on an emerald fainting sofa. The manor smells of its age. One hundred years of lacquer, books, and Christmas Eve's on the earth. It is absolutely delicious. You spin around slowly to take it off. all in. The throw rugs piled on top of each other corner to corner as if to give safe passage to a

floor of quicksand. Nothing is unsettling about this place at all, except for the odd man who was perched on the sofa with his large grin and stare, not to mention the sound of a woman sobbing, coming from somewhere inside this house. You wonder, If the odd man noticed that you noticed. You were about to say something, but he does first, almost leaping from the sofa. Ah, the phone. Mr. automobile accident. I never did get your name, but then again you didn't get mine.

And that's likely for the best. Yes, I do prefer that way, kind, sir. The man walks out of the room and down one of two hallways leading from the parlor. Now, define the wretched thing. As his voice trails off, the sobbing you heard earlier is elevated. From out of the silence, words. My sincerest apologies for the interruption, but it appears as though there are some issues with an unhappy customer. Tell you what?

Let me go take care of things real quick, and I'll be right with you. Well, there you are. Been looking all over for you. So sorry about the minor inconvenience. Now, where were we? Out of the silence. Words. Nerves pump an uncomfortable cocktail of endorphins through your veins.

As you follow the screams down the opposite hall that the odd man entered. Worn wallpaper. peeling from the walls adorned with flickering candle sconces, light your way as you get closer to the source of the tears. Yes, you're almost there. Second door on the left. Hurry before he gets back. You pass a closed door and approach your final destination. The sobbing has all but subsided as you wrap your hand around the brass lion head to turn it. Inside reveals a 10 by 10 foot room with some rusted old appliances aligning one side of the wall. On the floor, a large pentagram and laid into the parquet that looked to be as old as the house itself. In the center,

a concrete cylinder from the cylinder is a chain. At the end of the chain is a beautiful woman in a blue dress. There was a clasp around both ankles. Her hands shackled together. gotta get me out of here. That man is a monster. He tricked me to get me. It could come inside this place. He's done sick, horrible things. We don't have much time.

She fights through tears and reaches out towards you. Helpless. There's a key. Further down the hall, in the kitchen, hanging on a hook next to the stove. But pay you mind to the butcher. If he sees you, there might be nothing left of you to hold it. You turn back out to complete the terrifying task, but just as you pass the threshold.

When that cabinet on the other side of the room... She kicks her feet towards it. You run over. Inside, a 38 revolver. He keeps one round in it. If you see him out there, shoot him. And for God's sakes, do not miss. Or you will be dragged into a living hell so horrible.

Death will be the least of your worries. Julia! You hear a voice, bellow in the distance, followed by footsteps, quickly approaching her prison. Do you let him touch me? Julia, you know full well we don't talk to strangers. You raised the 38 and pointed towards the doorway. The gangly arms of the odd man swing into the room,

followed by his bulbous, greasy head. That insane smile turned up so high on the corners now, you swear it's cutting into his cheekbones. His teeth are practically invisible. They are oozing with so much slick, dark, goop. His eyes quickly widened at the side of the barrel of the gun, pointed at his face. Kindly, sir, you have no idea. You are splashed with the horrid fluid from his mouth as you pull the trigger.

The lone round leaps from the chamber and strikes the man in the shoulder. He hits the ground with a thud, unconscious. As blood pours from the wound, you are frozen in fear. You drop the gun by your side and slowly leave the room and head on to the kitchen. A hulking, windowless, rusted metal door. Standing with his back toward you is a massive man in an apron that is stained in red. It even paints his rubber boots that rest just below his knees. He raises a cleaver.

And as his arm swings up, it reveals the top half of a human torso on a large wooden block in front of him. It's the butcher. He can feel your presence and swiftly turns to face you. Who is in my kitchen? To the right of you is an old gas stove. And beside it, a hook with a large skeleton key. You lunge and grab it as the blade leaves his hand. It swings across the room and is embedded into the wall just beside you.

The torso in front of him rolls onto the wall. the floor. The intestines spilling forth like a hundred snakes. You dart back past the sheet metal as the butcher charges towards you. The key drops out of your pocket, clanks onto the floor and bounces into the room where the woman is chained. You continue

running down the hall. You glance back to see the butcher has dropped to his knees and is holding the odd man. Oh, now you've done it. You race onwards to the end of the hall. The butcher gets up to continue the chase. You find yourself in a dead end as he quickly

approaches you. You notice the panel in front of you is recessed in the shape of a door. You instinctly reach out your hands and begin feeling the walls, hoping for a way to make your hunch a reality. You feel a latch under the lip of the wainscot. You squeeze it as the wall pushes open. You stumble into a dark room as you close the panel behind you. You notice a deadbolt and slide it shut. The door shakes twice to the butcher's struggle as the footsteps just as you turn around to take in your surroundings. You fight the to the groginess to realize you're strapped to a dentist chair. Toughs of stained orange foam pokes through in patches between your legs.

You can feel the stale, foul air, hit your teeth and pierce your lungs, making you want to vomit. You do. Bile cascades out of your mouth quite easily as you feel metal armatures holding it open. You realize you've been fitted with a cheek retractor. That's when you hear the dream. the drill. You fight to escape.

The leather straps on your arms just seem to tighten. Your legs won't move. Standing in front of you is a... Well, you could only really describe it as a creature. It is wearing blue scrubs, smeared in yellow and orange. A mix of dried blood and vomit. Its face is scarred and oozing. Tiny black sunglasses,

its eyes. Its mouth gapes open displaying rows of sharp fangs. It emits a terrifying scream. You are shaking in fear as the creature approaches with the rusted drill. It is standing over you now and there is nothing you can do about it. The tool pierces your gums and bores into your flesh. The pain nearly knocks you out instantly, but you feel fight to hang on. The beast hurries back to a small metal table and grabs a pair of what looks like pliers. They grab on to one of your front teeth

as it is slowly pulled loose. A long string of nerves follow along and snap as the tooth is extracted and dropped onto a pan. The beast seems content and grabs a thin steel

wire returning for more chaos. You pass out and come to again in seconds. The monster wedges the wire in between two of your teeth and slices into your gums. Your mouth full of the taste of blood as it pours out of you, soaking your clothes. It pushes the wire deeper and makes another awful sound. All of a sudden you feel the weight of the beast pressed towards you, pushing you into your seat.

You can see the shiny steel of the butcher's cleaver resting in the back of its head. With a gasp, a rush of air leaves its mouth, and you can feel the hot, pungent air on your neck. Standing there now is the woman. She begins to unstrap the leather belts that hold you in place. We must leave now. Spit and gore trails from the mouth to the metal gear as she removes it from your head. She pulls you up and gripping each other's hands. She guides you through a tunnel that winds around once to the left and once to the right,

before emerging above a pale pink tub in the bathroom. You climb out and soon find yourself back in the hallway opposite the kitchen. The odd man's body has moved a few feet from where it once was, and he is letting out small groans. The butcher is still alive. Run as if everything depends on it. This is a madhouse. You can hear the way to the butcher's boots bending the floorboards towards you.

Julia, you won't lash out there without all. The woman drags you towards the front door, slides open the drawer on a small table next to it, revealing a set of car keys. She hurriedly unlocks a door in the two of your barrel down the stairs towards the black hearse. She throws you the keys. Drive! You both jump in. At the doorway of bed and manner, you see the odd man and the butcher hobbled over in defeat, bracing themselves on either side of the door as you make your escape down the hill and turn onto the road leading back to the freeway.

Adrenaline is pumping through your body. It seems after an eternity. You are still struggling to get your breath and regulate every function in your body again. You are speechless in shock. You don't even know where you are or where you're going. Your passenger. The beautiful woman in blue is fast asleep. Her dark hair resting on your life.

The sleeve of her dress falls towards her as she shifts suddenly and falls back into slumber. It is then when you notice a small. stick and poke tattoo on the woman's right shoulder. If found, call 203-4-1-3-3-1-2-22. 203-441-22. 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 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 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 Zero One Zero. Do not go in that house. Written by Trevor Shand. Featuring Trevor Shand is the narrator. Nils Frightall. as the odd man

Addison Peacock as the woman Stephen Knowles as the butcher Jade Shand as the little girl Stephen Noles as the antique dealer 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 Brothers. Follow us on Instagram and Twitter at Antiquarium Pod call the Antiquarium at 646.46 81797.