The Antiquarium of Sinister Happenings - Lot 041 : Whatever You Do…Don’t Read This

Episode Date: April 30, 2024

Looking for love in all the wrong places.Whatever You Do…Don’t Read This. Just Delete Your Dating Apps ASAPWritten by Hailey HensonStarring Dee Quintero as GuinevereTrevor Shand as RyanSarah Golding as Ms. BrookfieldAllison Cossitt as StephConan Freeman as The Bosshttps://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/14tdhcp/whatever_you_do_dont_read_this_just_delete_your/Featuring Stephen Knowles as The Antique DealerTheme music by The Newton BrothersAdditional music byCO.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.

who that is, just who I've been looking for. You see, something arrived for you in the mailbox today. Yes, it's a menacing looking letter, isn't it? A rather foreboding black envelope. No return address. Nothing on it at all except this broken wax seal. One wouldn't even know who it was meant for if it weren't for the specific instructions from the purveyors of the never was to hand it directly to you at this very moment on this very day there is something inside just for you in fact it's time to summon its secrets in whatever you do don't read this 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 Max, Nathaniel Sherrick, Jordan Nelson, Victoria Owen, Easy Peasy, and Antonio Brack. We are ever appreciative of your devotion to the order. Go to the obsidian covenant.com to receive the sacrament.

Now, where were we? Oh, yes. Welcome to the antiquarium of sinister happenings and odd goings on. Somebody cast a spell on you. Yes. What, just delete your dating apps, ASAP. The first time I saw those words, my day started off like any other. I went to work at my monotonously mind-numbingly boring desk job,

clacked on the keyboard for eight hours, and had the same bland ham and cheese sandwich for lunch I always do. As I sat in the break room, halfway through my sandwich, I opened the dating app I downloaded only recently. Now I was a fairly good-looking guy, if I do say so myself. So I'd gotten plenty of matches and been on countless dates, but none of the women were really what I was searching for. Somewhere between shoving the last piece of my sandwich into my mouth and deciding whether or not to delete the stupid app, my phone pinged with a match. Gwynnevere Motley.

Well, hello, Gwynnevere. Curiosity got the best of me as I clicked on the notification and read her message. Whatever you do, don't read this. That was a strange way to get my attention. Usually they send a pickup line or something funny. Tapping on her picture, first of all, I noticed that there was only one. Wow, was she stunning. Long brunette curls cascaded over her shoulders and toppled down her back.

And thick, dark lashes adorned seafone green irises. My eyes trailed down the picture as I took in mile-long legs and tasteful curves. The little white sundress she was wearing looked like it was. made just for her. Heck, this woman was a bombshell. When I went back to the message, though, I realized it had been deleted. Looking up at the clock, I noticed that I had about five minutes until my lunch break was over. With one more glance at her profile, I shrugged and deleted the app. She's probably a bot or a scammer anyway. It's too good to be true. That night, I did the usual. ran to the gym and worked out for about an hour and a half,

picked up some tacos from my favorite food truck, and sat down to watch an episode of Black Mirror. Everything was normal. That was until about a couple of months later. By that time, I had forgotten all about Gwynnevere's cryptic message. Let me start off by saying that my morning did play out as it normally would have. I slept in until 10 a.m. and then I spent the next hour in the front yard, mowing the lawn.

It was a particularly hot. My plain white t-shirt soaked through with sweat. Tugging it off, I set it on the front porch before edging the lawn. By the time I got done, my hair was drenched and my shoulders were burned red. When everything was put back in my shed, though, I couldn't help but feel a bit accomplished. Besides Mr. Kelman's house next door, I got to say, I had one of the nicest yards on the block. It was then that I noticed the door of my man. mailbox hanging open.

I trudged over there to check the mail before shutting it closed. On the way up my driveway, I flicked through the envelopes with uninterested fingers. Water bill, phone bill, bank statement, junk mail, advertisement, Arby's coupons, and then... And then I paused. My fingers quickly came to a standstill when they landed on a plain, black envelope. Turning it over, I saw that it was sealed with crimson colored wax. Now I was really invested. Who even sends letters like this anymore?

I slid my thumb under the seal, ripped open the envelope without a second thought and tugged out the note inside. Thick, dark ink was scrawled across it, and I took no time in reading it. Let me guess. Despite my warning, you've decided to read this. I told you not to, but now, it's too late. By the time you've made it to this point, there's little chance of turning back. The second your eyes landed on these words, you just couldn't help yourself. I guess I shouldn't blame you.

I couldn't stop myself either. The curiosity was simply too much to hand. So let me at least tell you what you're in for. I'm going to warn you right. Right now, it's not going to be pleasant. But you did this to yourself. Remember that. Pausing for a moment, confusion bubbled from within me at the words.

Flipping the paper over, I didn't see any writing on the other side. That was until I glanced at the back of the envelope. I could have sworn that this writing wasn't here before. Surely I would have noticed it. In huge red letters, the words. Whatever you do. With a quick glance around my neighborhood, I wondered if anyone had even seen who delivered the letter.

My interest only grew when I realized that there was no return address. Heck, my name or address wasn't written on the envelope either. Perhaps this was meant for someone else. Surely if it was for me, they would have addressed it to me, right? Brushing it off, I ripped it to shred. tossed it in the garbage. Right about that time, I noticed Miss Brookfield on her front porch looking over. A smile stretched across her face as she raised her hand to wave at me.

Offering a wave of my own, I suddenly got an idea. You see, she was a nosy old bat, and she always seemed to sit out on her porch on mowing days. But in this instance, it might prove to be helpful. Maybe she had seen who delivered the strange letter. Sauntering across the street, I walked up the steps to her front porch and offered her a smile. Hey, Miss Brookfield, how you doing? A shiver raced over me as I watched her pale, blue eyes slide up and down my shirtless chest before speaking. A mischievous smile tugging at her lips.

A lot bitter since you got here. Her vulgar little chuckle escaped her brightly painted lips as she finally met my eyes. I've got the most beautiful breast. A granddaughter who would really love it. Miss Brookfield, I started cutting her off. I apologize for interrupting, but the reason I really came over here is because I received a strange letter in my mailbox.

One silver brow raised as she waited for me to continue. I guess I was wondering if maybe you'd seen someone deliver it. You mean the mailman? She fired back, sarcasm melting into her words as she fanned herself. No, not the mailman. I think this letter was. hand delivered. With the shake of her head, she stood and walked over to her front door. Pulling open the screen, she threw me one more glance.

Listen, I see almost everything that goes on in this neighborhood, and I can assure you that the only person I noticed stopping at your mailbox was the mailman. Okay, I, uh, thank you. Slamming her screen door shut, she left before I could even finish my sentence. I guess since the show was over, She didn't want anything else to do with me. I shuffled a bit in place, then shoved my hands into my pockets before scampering across the street and back onto my property. Nasty old woman wasn't helpful at all.

With a quiet scoff, I threw open my own front door and strolled inside. Making a mental note to keep my shirt on the next time I mowed my yard. Sunday was uneventful, and the strange letter was honestly the last thing on my mind. I had a spreadsheet I needed to get done for work, and I had to present. presented at 8 a.m. the next morning. My day flew by almost as fast as my fingers flew across my keyboard. If this presentation went well, I was sure it would end in a promotion and a race. Monday morning I woke up and was running a bit late.

Luckily, I pressed and starched everything the night prior. Rolling up the sleeves of my crisp white button down, I quickly threw on a tie, stepped into a pair of black slacks, and slid into some shiny black loafers. With a glance in the mirror, I carted a hand through my still damp hair before deciding to add a bit of gel, hoping it would stay in place long enough to survive the meeting. Everything that could have gone wrong that morning. My apologies.

My delivery driver just arrived with another shipment. She only accepts an autograph in blood. So, if you'd please excuse me for a moment, I'll be right back. I like to take my time signing. The message. So you're not going to believe this. Well, you might, given the name of the establishment. But I actually got this number from a grimoire.

I collect rare books specifically focused on the occult. And I like to hide messages. And I kind of found this code. And it's a string of numbers. and it's very obviously not locations on a map. I figured, why not try calling it? Here I am. Maybe you have a book that goes along with the one that I have.

If you can give me a call back. Thanks. And hello again. So sorry to keep you waiting. Had some trouble finding a vein. I gave the driver a few things to send out before I sent her on her way. So be sure to give the shop a call and let me know if a little something from the Antiquarium should show up. Now, let's open the rest of this package, shall we?

Everything that could have gone wrong that morning did. Throwing my car in reverse, I peeled out of my neighborhood and onto the freeway. Two people pulled out in front of me. I had to swerve when a chair came toppling off an overly packed pickup truck. And then to top it all off, I managed to get stuck in a traffic jam that was moving at a snail's pace. The time was ticking by, and as each minute passed, I was getting more irritated. My boss wasn't a man who would accept any kind of silly excuse, so in 15 more minutes, I was as good as dead. Trying to calm myself down, I switched through the radio stations.

But strangely, all of them weren't static-filled, except fingers froze on the knob. as a strange feeling of dread washed over me. The voice coming through the radio, cutting through all the noise outside. The voice, a sort of breathy wine, crackled over the sound system in my car as I whispered. A mixture of confusion and indescribable fear began to blossom. As I stared at the screen radio station.

My eyes widened as I saw the station number. The voice wavered a bit before a hissing sound filled the car. It was so ear-splittingly loud that I clenched my eyes shut and attempted to block out the noise with my hands. When I finally pulled them away from my ears, the hissing sound dropped to a low bus. His pants in slow with my glove compartment myself up the best I could. By the time I glanced up at the clock, traffic remained at a standstill, and I half expected the time to slap me in the face when I looked over at it. Instead, it still read 745. Closing my eyes, I blinked a couple of times before peering at the numbers again.

What the heck was this? A minute later, the traffic cleared up and I was moving again. I twisted the knob on the radio, trying to change the channel to something different. The incessant sound of the buzzing noise driving me insane when I heard it again. That voice. I must have looked absolutely ridiculous, but I didn't care. I raced through my gripped the steering wheel so tight. near simmering dangerously close to outrage.

Without so much as a second thought, though, I watched in horror as my foot pressed down on the accelerator and my hands twisted the steering wheel. Within a matter of seconds, the sickening crunch of metal rang throughout my ears as I crashed into another car. Hack knocked me out cold. Sometime during the night,

it was because of the airbag. Thoughts were swimming through a thick blanket of fog. But that soon cleared within a few days. What didn't clear was the guilt that hung over me like a cloud when the car weren't severely injured, but I did find out that it was a mother and a young child. Both of our cars were totaled, but despite everything, it was written off as an accident. It was determined that I'd passed out before my car swerved into the other lane. But I could have sworn I was conscious.

The voice told me to swerve. I was sure of it. and that's what made me feel so horrible about the whole situation. I would have taken full responsibility. Guilt was a horrible feeling, and I hated every second of it. I should have spoken up. I should have taken accountability. I should have fought just a little harder to block out the voice.

I finally made it back to work at the end of the week, though. I was pleasantly surprised to find that my boss had looked over the spreadsheet that I'd emailed and decided that despite me not, being able to present it like I'd intended. He was very impressed. In fact, he wanted to see me in his office at two that afternoon to discuss it. Deciding to go ahead and take my lunch, I headed to the break room and pulled out my usual sandwich. For some reason, I was only able to eat about half of it, though, before I started feeling kind of sick. My eyes darted around the room for a trash can before I finally ran over to the sink, flipping the edge of it. I wasted no time

and emptying everything in my stomach. As I tried to get myself under control, sitting on the counter, flipped between about a dozen stations before it stopped on one. Sweat, beat it atop my brow as I tried to fight the urge to comply. My eyes widened in horror as I watched my hand twitch and my fingers flex as I tried and failed to stop myself. Slowly it lifted

And then wavered only a moment Before flicking on the garbage disposal switch The blades roared to life Their metallic teeth gnashing together In hopes that something might drop within its grasp More bile began to climb up my throat As I shook my head and hoped that the voice would stop Inside the garbage disposal

A small sob broke from my lips As I watched my hand once again betray me Slowly it dipped towards the sink closer and closer Rintil. Oh, hey Ryan. I didn't know you'd come back yet. The sound of one of my coworkers

successfully broke the trance. And once again, my hand was mine. Steph, could you, uh, could you turn off the radio? My voice was shaky and uneven as I fought the urge to vomit again.

Huh? What do you mean? It is turned off. A nervous laugh bubbled up from my throat as I cleaned myself up and turned to face her. My hand reached up to scratch the back of my neck awkwardly.

Yeah, right. Yeah, sorry. Sorry. I managed to stutter out. A sympathetic smile tugged at her lips as she unwrapped her own lunch. Are you okay? No. I wanted to scream. I'm so freaking far from okay than I'm hearing voices. But instead, my hand came up to fidget with the sleeves of my button down before I rolled them up and said, I guess I'm still a little out of it.

I locked eyes with her and tried to play it off. You know, just a little brain. fog still. With a mouth full of salad, she simply nodded in understanding as she chewed. Based on her expression, I'm not sure if I convinced her, but that was the last thing on my mind. Throwing up a hand, I waved to her as I strolled out of the break room and back over to my cubicle. As I took a seat in my chair, my leg bounced anxiously. I wish that envelope hadn't ever shown up in my mailbox. I wish whatever this was would quit happening.

I wish I'd never even read any of that letter. More worried part of me wishes I'd have at least read it all the way through. Maybe it might have provided an explanation about why I'm experiencing all this and how to make it stop. There's no way that I could constantly live my life on edge, worrying about my own body betraying me at any given moment. A glimpse at my clock didn't make me feel any better. The meeting with my boss was in ten minutes.

and whatever confidence I'd worn that morning had now melted into a thick sludge in the bottom of my stomach. With clammy hands, I pushed myself up from my chair and made my way across the room. The second I stepped in, he smiled at me and pointed towards one of the chairs in front of his desk. Take a seat, Ryan. Notting, I sat down in one of the leather chairs and tried not to fidget. Now... He began, his voice gruff and gravely. Let me pull up those spreadsheets real quick.

so we can go over them. Hmm? I was really impressed with your work, and I think... The shrill scream of his office phone interrupted the conversation, and he was quick to pick it up, holding one of his calloused hands up in a silent apology. Yes? Yes, Farah.

He paused before peering up at me. Yes, he's in here. Would you like me to give him the phone? Pulling the phone away from his ear, he offered it to me before going back to looking at his computer. The second I held it up to my ear, all of the blood drained out of my face when I heard a voice wavered, and my breaths were uneven as I replied. No, the slim silver pen gleamed up at me from the desk, but I refused to play into this game any further. A glance at the phone screen made me feel like I was losing my mind.

The phone number read, 6-6-6. Whatever this thing was, it impersonated Farah, and it was able to contact me through a number of ways. I broke out into a cold sweat as my other hand drifted towards the pen. My boss still typing away. No, I repeated. A little more firmly this time. There has to be away. I sputtered out before settling on.

What did the rest of the letter say? The silence on the other side of the receiver was loud as I waited for a reply. My hand halting for a moment. If you want this to stop, there's one simple thing I need you to do. The voice said, its tone strangely excited. Anything. I begged, desperate to be free of the curse. Pass it on.

The next couple of seconds, I listen to this thing tell me the most vile, sinister things I have ever heard in my life. But please know. That by the time you've finished hearing this anyways, it's really too late. You're already interested. You won't be able to help yourself. All I can say is that I warned you. Don't listen to this alone. 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 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, Lod041. Whatever you do, don't read this. Just delete your dating apps ASAP.

Written by Haley Henson. Starring D. Quintero as Guinevere. Trevor Shand as Ryan. Sarah Golding as Miss Brookfield. Alison Cossett as Steph. Conan Freeman as the boss. 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. The Antiquarium of Sinister Happenings is created and curated by Trevor Morin-Shand. Follow us on Instagram and Twitter at Antiquarium Pod. Call the Antiquarium at 646-481-7197.