The Antiquarium of Sinister Happenings - Lot 023: My Wife Has A Removable Face

Episode Date: December 9, 2023

Samantha has something she needs to tell you….Written by NS LEWIShttps://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/hhmlt9/my_wife_has_a_removable_face_ive_never_glimpsed/Narrated by Trevor ShandFeaturing Allison Cositt as SamanthaConan Freeman as chrisFeaturing Stephen Knowles as the Antique DealerTheme music by The Newton BrothersAdditional music by:CO.AG ([e-mail])A Deep Voice by Myuuhttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m8L4mfRUU1EDeadly Sorrow by Myuuhttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9PuO7f3NLKoUnseen Horror by Kevin Macleodhttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0YltZHrsOfcTartini's Dream by Vivek Abhishekhttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OKanA-7CliUDark Forest by Vivek Abhishekhttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3agbTAU68jcUsurper by Vivek Abhishekhttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JbKnGWKYfywCursed by Vivek Abhishekhttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RywCuFpMo_QCalling From The Wood by Vivek Abhishekhttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NPoyrwo9gRQLeviatan by Vivek Abhishekhttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H4eDE9NnFmU&list=PLyCgk9_wvHOnXbk88AxuBtqIHqrRuPQr-&index=25Dark Room by Vivek Abhishekhttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6GbCAC1z754The Bunnies https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MVTNY6G-x3QSUBSCRIBE us on YOUTUBE: https://bit.ly/3qumnPHFollow on Facebook : https://bit.ly/33RWRtPFollow on Instagram : https://bit.ly/2ImU2JV Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for advertising.

Look who it is. Aren't you a sight for sore eyes? Indeed. Only a few weeks left till the big day. You get your Christmas shopping done. Ha ha. You know good and well you are in the right place. We got the gifts that keep on giving round here. This small jewelry box would make a perfect stocking stuff. Go ahead. Open it. Yes. A paper clip.

But you know it's much more than that. This ain't your first rodeo. It's a bit of a family heirloom that I am passing on to you called. My wife has a removable face. Welcome to the antiquarium of sinister happenings and odd goings on. has a... I've never glimpsed what lies beneath it, but my best friend has.

Samantha told me about it on our third date. We were watching a movie on her couch when I made my move to kiss her. She whipped her hand in front of my face and blocked me. There's something you need to know. I braced myself. Here it comes. I'm not ready for a relationship.

Nothing to do with you, of course. It was the absolute last thing that I wanted to hear because I was already crazy about her. Wow. Uh, okay? I have a removable face. You have a what now? I was about to laugh, but she was wearing a deadly, serious expression.

I have a removable face. Uh, is that like a metaphor or something? No, my face is literally removable. Look, and closely. She lifted her chin and traced her jawline in the finger. You can see the seam. After admiring how beautiful her. her neck was for a dizzying moment.

I leaned in for an inspection. It was very hard to see. But it did look like there was a slightly unnatural transition there, from her face to her throat. I grew dizzier as a dozen questions rushed into my brain. Don't bother asking why or how or anything like that. I can't tell you that. If that's going to be a problem, you should leave now.

I'm letting you know this because I like you, and I want to take it to the next step. But this is non-negotiable. Okay. I said unsure of what was happening. Not a problem. So, so what? You got a removable face. Who cares?

It looks good. There's something else. Once a day, usually in the evening, I have to remove the face and disinfect the inside of it. If I don't, it will rot. This takes about an hour, give or take, depending on how my day went. During this time, you must never, ever look at my real face. Never. Do you understand?

Yeah, got it. Don't ask about it. Don't look at your real face. Samantha stood up. Now, I'm going into the bathroom to clean my face. That will give you plenty of time to think about what I've just told you. If you're here when I'm done, that's great. I would like that.

But if you're gone, I'll understand. She turned and walked into her bedroom. I sat in stunned silence as I heard the bathroom door close. I gave the thing some serious thought. It was possible that it was a joke of some kind. It was possible that it was a delusion. Was it possible that it was true? Well, it was certainly possible to transform an actor's face with movie makeups,

so I suppose it was possible that Samantha wore up. removable face every day. Maybe she had had a horrible accident where her flesh had been mangled. Maybe her face had been melted by acid or burned by fire or the skin shorn off by heavy machinery. If it had, I would never know. Because she would never tell me. And I would never see it.

I pictured a face of raw, naked muscle rotting away. Could I kiss her if that was what I was kissing? But wasn't that what we all were under the skin? just muscle and bone and blood and squishy organs. I paced around the living room, running my hand through my hair. I like Samantha a lot. She was smart and funny and beautiful. But was that beauty real?

Did it count? Did it matter if it was real or not? Was I being superficial even worrying about it? When she came out of the bathroom, I was still there. I looked at her face. She smiled And I was in love We dated

We moved in together We decided to get married For the most part It was a completely normal relationship Typical of two young people in love Building a life together During the day it was easy to forget about the face altogether It looked natural enough

And only in certain positions In certain lights Was there ever any indication That it wasn't natural But every night was the same Samantha would close herself in the bathroom, sometimes for an hour, sometimes for two, and clean the inside of her face. I'd tell you the curiosity never left me. I would sit there and wonder, what was under that face? I mean, I'm being honest when I say I came so close to barging in on her a few times, but I never did.

I did occasionally ask her about it, about what, if anything, had happened, about how it was possible to make the removable face look. So fucking real, about what it really looked like underneath. I tried to coax her into showing me, assuring her that I loved her no matter what, and didn't give a damn what a real face looked like. I was just curious. That's home. She never showed me, or told me the story behind it. She didn't get upset at me unless I was really badgering her.

She'd just shrug and say, You know you can't see it. You know I can't tell you about it. I never told anybody about Samantha's removable face. It's not that she asked me not to. I just didn't think it was anybody's business. Except once. Once I did tell somebody.

So sorry to have to stop you for a quick sec. But do you hear that? Well, wouldn't you know it? The fire alarm battery is dead. Always happens at the worst times, doesn't it? Make yourself at home while I go take care of it. Only the sincerest of apologies. There we go.

One dead battery replaced. Too bad the same thing can be said about our poor Sammy's face. Let's peel another layer off this one. Shall we? Except once. Once I did tell somebody. It was during my bachelor party. We had rented several cabins up in Big Sur and spent the night drinking.

and packing our noses with powders that we shouldn't have been packing her noses with. Everybody else had passed out, and the sun was creeping up behind us as I stood on the majestic cliffs with my friend Chris, looking down in the Pacific waves, crashing against the rocks.

Chris was my best friend, as close to a brother as I'd know. We'd grown up together and visited each other at college often and spent the summers together, you know. After college, we moved to different cities, but we stayed in close contact. standing there over the cliffs I told Chris about Samantha's removable face.

At first, he thought I was joking. Then he had a thousand questions, most of which I couldn't answer. What's underneath? I don't know, man. I don't know. Doesn't that drive you crazy? Not knowing? Lots of stuff I don't know.

Don't know how to do calculus. I don't know what happens when we die. But dude, she's about to be your wife. And you don't even know what she looks like. I mean, I'd have to take a look. Like, you could set up a camera in the bathroom? That's where she does it, right? Set up a camera, have a look, and then you'll know.

Yeah, I mean, it drives me crazy. I've asked her a million times, but she told me, I could never look. I got to respect that man. Even if I don't like it, that's love. Telling me to respect a woman? up is down now. Then we fell back into talking about old times as a new day dawned. Chris was in town for business just this last week

and planned on spending the weekend at our house. The conversation of Big Sur had happened four years ago and we hadn't spoken about Samantha's removable face since. Despite keeping in close contact and seeing each other as often as two people transforming into adults in different parts of the country can. It happened on Saturday evening. We were lounging lazily. in the backyard deep into the beer, having just finished with some grilled steaks when I got a text

from work. God damn it. I had to make a word call. Seriously? Said Samantha, raising an artificial eyebrow. On a Saturday night? My biggest client, baby. I'm so sorry.

It is what it is, I guess. I'm just going to head inside a bit and get cleaned up. Chris, are you okay just hanging out for a bit? I'll be fine. Got my beer, got some weeds to pull. in your garden. God knows your lazy-ass husband isn't going to do it. Those tomatoes are choking to death.

It's a tragedy. I rolled my eyes and went into the side yard to make my call. Fifteen minutes into it. I heard the screams coming from inside. Both my best friend and my wife were wailing in terror. I dropped the phone and ran into the house and down the hall to our bedroom.

Through the open door, I could see that the door to the master bathroom was also standing open. She sounded so desperate. Desperate. Desperate and horrified, that made me desperate and horrified, and I wanted to rush into the bathroom, but I knew suddenly that that would be a mistake. I knew suddenly that Samantha didn't want me to look at her real face, not out of a sense of vanity, but for my own, for my own safety. Chris staggered backwards out of the bathroom. He was holding a straightened out paperclip, which he had

used to pick the privacy lock. Now he was stabbing it again and again into his fucking eyes, shouting gibberish. He was clearly in the depths of madness and turned my stomach to see you. mutilate himself. No! I'm fucking an ambulance! Don't kill me in. I turned and ran back to the side yard where my phone was lying in the newly mowed grass. My client was still on the line, alarmed, asking what was happening.

What all the screaming was? I hung up on him and called 911. When the paramedics arrived, Chris was having a seizure in the hallway. Samantha was stroking his head, sobbing. Her face was on, but it had been done hastily and everything looked a little off. Has been dark this past week. My best friend is in a psychiatric hospital under suicide watch. He's completely blind and mostly catatonic,

except when he slips into a violent, babbling mania. The doctors are optimistic that his state is temporary, but... They don't know the truth about what caused it. Because I told the paramedics that Chris had taken a large dose of psychedelic mushrooms and fallen into psychosis. I saw no good reason to tell the truth about what had happened. Who would believe that one look at my wife's real face would make somebody insane? At best, we would be the subjects of a long investigation. At worst, we would have to prove that what we were saying was true.

by showing somebody Samantha's face and the same fucking thing would happen again and what after that? And no interest in finding out. For Samantha's part, I knew that she would never consent to show anybody her real face no matter what the consequences of refusal were.

I did get a follow-up call from the police asking me to confirm my story. The hospital found no traces of psilocybin and Chris's blood. though that's not unheard of since it has a short half-life. If they end up testing his hair, I'll likely be in a lot of trouble, but that's truly the least of my concerns. Samantha, she's in a state of her own. She still cleans the inside of her face, though not as regularly.

And when she puts it back on, it's always crooked. It's always crooked now, and it's beginning to smell. I've tried to assure her that it was not her fault. He knew, I said. I told him that nobody was ever allowed to look at it. He knew, and then he broke into the bathroom. This is not on you, baby, please. On me?

That one look at my fucking face makes people insane? Please, I just need some time alone. As for me, I'm doing my best to hold it together. What's strange, though. Despite what happened to Chris, I still find myself curious about what my wife's real face looks like. More curious than ever.

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 helped. 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 antiquarium shop 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. The Antiquarium of Sinister Happenings, Lot Zero 2,000.

3. My wife has a removable face. Written by N.S. Lewis. Narrated by Trevor Shand. Featering Allison Cossett as Samantha. Conan Freeman as Chris. 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, Mew, Kevin McLeod, and Vivek Abyshech. 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.