The Antiquarium of Sinister Happenings - Lot 042 : If You See A Missed Call From Someone Named Diane Vale, Break Your Phone

Episode Date: May 8, 2024

The singer from a local rock band gets repeated phone calls from a mysterious woman. Stars Jessica Rothe (Happy Death Day) and Jill Larson (The Taking of Deborah Logan)If You See A Missed Call From Someone Named Diane Vale, Break Your PhoneWritten by Moe TStarring Jessica Rothe as The SingerJill Larson as Diane Valehttps://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/15snk6t/if_you_see_a_missed_call_from_someone_named_diane/Featuring Stephen Knowles as The Antique DealerTheme music by The Newton BrothersAdditional music byCO.AG ([e-mail])Leviatan, Tartini’s Dream, Immaculate and The Ceremony by Vivek AbhishekSUBSCRIBE 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.

What do we have here? Ha ha ha. Good to see you as always, friend. Oh, have I got something special for you today? A musician from a local rock band came to drop it off just this morning. Seems as though it may be the source of something rather troubling. Now, I know you likely aren't in need of a used phone, but whether you want one or not, that is precisely the situation.

you're indeed in the middle of. That's because it's already yours. Ha, ha, ha. Diane Vale, ring a bell. It should, since she keeps asking for you. In fact, there she is calling again right now. Let's send you straight to voicemail for, If you see a missed call from someone named Diane Vale,

break your phone. 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 Void Dragon J-L-A-D-27, Michael Ledger, Tudor, Teradactor 3,000, Jungie's right hand, Howard Vascone, Mark Davies, Kim Kay, and Sarah.

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. The phone didn't actually ring that I'm sure of. I carelessly picked up and scanned the notifications like all other normal human beings in North America. I check my cell every 15 minutes for that sweet

dopamine rush that comes with a notification of a new text or Snapchat message. And so I was pretty surprised when I saw I had missed a call from 20 minutes ago. After all, my phone had been sitting in front of me on the table the whole time, and it usually emits an obnoxiously loud notification ping anytime anything happens. The thought that I had missed my ringtone of Natalie and Brulio's tour and playing, hey, leave me alone, I chose it half ironically, was surprising.

I checked the notification, assuming it was most likely spam, and was surprised to see that the call came from my local area code and that it even had a real-life name attached to it. I mean, usually when I get a scam call telling me that Interpol has me on a watch list and that they'll lock me up forever unless I pay $213 via a very, very shady e-transfer. It's from a private caller. This time, there was a name. Diane Vale.

It was still most likely a spam call. but I had recently been playing some modest gigs and opening up for up-and-coming artists with my band, and I'd made sure to hand out my music business cards, don't judge me, like candy at this point. I figured it wouldn't hurt to call back with this small, exciting but irrational, what-if, thought in the back of my mind, and so I did. After a few rings, I heard someone answer the phone. Hello? As the voice on the other end, sounding almost.

concerned. Curious? Is that an old lady? Hi. I'm calling because I think I have a missed call from this number from 20-ish minutes ago. Oh, is that right? Wow. She started.

Her voice weathered and hoarse. Yep, definitely an old lady. I'm so sorry. I must have misdialed. Aw, I forgive you. I thought to myself. Cell phones are a lot, even for me sometimes. As much as I wanted to take this opportunity to ask this woman what her experience with TikTok was to see if the question would melt her brain.

I figured it was good to end the call here. You know what, no worries at all. I hope you have a great day. Well, thank you, dear. And before I could press that bright red icon with the retro phone handle to sever all ties with this woman for the rest of my life, she quickly squeaked in right after. I was trying to reach my husband. Yes, that's what it was. He must have a similar number to you.

Oh, right. Yeah, I imagined you were probably just off by a digit or two. It happens all the time. I said, so ready to hang up immediately. Yes, that's what it was. I was trying to reach my husband, but I called you instead, which means I wasn't able to reach my husband. That is right, you wonderful, sweet old lady.

I think, therefore I am. You called me, therefore you did not call your husband. Wow, logic. I'll try him again now. Thank you for being so sweet and tender about this. Oh, again, no worries at all. I said, hanging up right after to avoid her throwing more mind-blowing revelations my way. Like, if I was on the phone with her, that means I wasn't on the phone with someone else right now.

Wow Listen, despite my snark At the time, I thought the whole exchange Was actually a bit sweet That was the prevailing thought Anyway, when I saw her name show up On my caller ID a week later To the sweet, sweet tunes of Natalie and Boolea

Screw you, that song is a banger I decided to answer Hello? Diane took a while to respond this time You almost seemed surprised when she did. Wait, you're... You're not Martin.

Nope. I think you must have the wrong number. The revelation approached Diane at a glacial pace. Eventually, it clicked for her. She answered with certainty. Ah, you must be the same woman I called last time. My, your voice sounds so clear. Yep, it's me again.

Well, my goodness, you must be fuming that I have. accidentally reached out to you again? Oh, no. Not at all, ma'am. You're all good. Best of luck reaching your husband. Oh, well, it's not my husband this time, actually. It's my brother. I'm trying to call. Gotcha. Well, best of luck. I got to run. I hung up the call just as she was mid-sentence through her response. I don't kind of rude doing it, but at the same time, you have to nip things like this in the bud immediately before they drag out. I mean, if someone on a cold call around the street asks you for 20 seconds of your time, be stern, say no, and move on.

It's the foot in the door technique. I had to quash it before she felt empowered to share a series of boring stories with me. It wasn't until nighttime that same day that I realized it was pretty weird that she contacted me on another mistyled call, this time after trying to reach her brother. Did her husband, her brother and I all have very similar phone numbers? or something? I pushed the thought aside and moved on, and after two weeks of no mistyles,

I assumed she'd moved on too. It turns out that the third time was the charm, actually, and this time Diane's reappearance was only frustrating, and nothing else. I heard the tail end of my ringtone playing at what must have been, like, 2 a.m. in the morning. I got up just as my phone stopped ringing and checked who the call had come from.

man again. Except this time it wasn't just one miss call. It was 20. She'd been trying me for over an hour, and I'd just slept through it all, apparently. So I blocked her number and went back to bed. In the morning, I noticed she'd also sent some voicemails. Not a kind of morbid, annoyed curiosity I decided to give them a listen. I expected to hear a mundane series of messages about her day, the incident at the bank, a complaint about oranges at the supermarket that got 20 cents more than usual, or, I don't know, her frustration that her husband and her brother still weren't answering her calls. But instead, as I listened, every voicemail was the same. Breathing. Just breathing. One voicemail after another. Continuous. Running for minutes.

each out of time before cutting out to the next message. Occasionally, it felt as if her breathing would rupture like she was just about to start crying, but she never did. What in the ever-loving fuck? I wasn't sure if I should have been creeped out, or if I should have felt really bad. Regardless, I was able to rationalize all of this again. She clearly was just terrible with technology in the line,

leave your message after the beat meant nothing to her. Never mind the fact that answering machines had been a thing for a really long time before the advent of voicemail, so she really must have been living under a rock to miss all of this, I decided to run with my half-baked explanation for the purpose of buttoning up all this in my head as quickly as possible. Thanks to me blocking her number, the next couple of months were business as usual. All was normal in my world. Yes, I would still get a strange, sinking, feeling. in my stomach every time I thought about Diane's series of late-night calls, but overall, the

hustle and bustle of everyday life allowed me to put the incident behind me. Then, on a not-so-special day, at a not-so-special time, my phone started ringing. I instinctively went to pick it up as I was actually awaiting a call from one of my friends at that moment. I almost had an angerism when I saw the name Diane Vale on the color I dee. My curiosity on how she'd overridden me, blocking her number was quickly quashed when I realized that her number looked way, way different this time. It definitely wasn't for my local area code. She changed numbers to reach me.

I answered the phone. My sincerest apologies, I didn't mean to interrupt your call. In fact, it seems pretty important. Don't mind me, I just have to close the shop for a quick sec, to pick up something from a consigner. They parked two blocks down. So I'm going to go grab it from them. them. Unlike you, they refused to come anywhere near this place.

Leave a message. Favorite shopkeeper. I hope this phone call finds you well. I just wanted to thank you for those darling little gargoyles I picked up the other day. Although when I picked him up, no, no, Sanford. I told me that one. Good boy. Quite anticipated that I knew how to train these little lovebugs. And I just wanted to let you know Grotask it down from there. Good. Oh, just be expecting to see your friends again

someday. Thanks again. Bye. End of messages. Now that was interesting. All I can say is you better go and start thinking of ways to protect yourself. spiritually. Ever since you let me into your head,

you know you are bound to this place. The shop lives inside of you now, and forgive me for saying this, but I am not so sure you are ready for what's to come. I digress. Get back to that phone call. I'd hate you to leave Diane wait.

I almost had an aneurysm when I saw the name Diane Vale on the color ID. My curiosity on how she'd overridden me blocking her number was quickly quashed when I realized that her number looked way, way different this time. It definitely wasn't for my local area code. She changed numbers to reach me? I answered the phone. I don't know what the fuck is wrong with you, but stop fucking calling me. I'm good for dating. alone.

I'm alone. My husband, my brother, my family, and sins, they've all passed. Look, I'm sorry to hear that really, but that's not really an excuse. I just need to someone to talk to. One little conversation, then you won't need to hear from me anymore, I promise. I promise. I promise. I promise.

I promise. I promise. He calls. I promise. Okay. Is weird as this whole ordeal was? Seriously calling a stranger because you're lonely under the pretense that it was just a wrong number? If getting her to talk about the heartache that comes with growing old alone and losing everyone you love was enough to put her at ease,

then I could probably. Probably burned 10 minutes for it. Secretly, I was more frustrated at the potential kids, grandkids, or extended family that this woman may have who'd left her all alone with no emotional or social support. Sometimes it feels like I've always been alone and yet I have memories of a time when life was full. There was company, laughter, liveliness. I can distinctly remember moments where it felt like I had almost done too much socializing, where the presence of others was almost overbearing, if you could believe it. You don't say.

In hindsight, what a strange and foolish thought for me to have had. I decided to multitask. At a concert later in the evening, I figured I could put her on speakerphone, who started getting ready. I went to the bathroom, placed my phone on the countertop right next to the sink, and started doing my makeup in front of the mirror. You know, I'm sure that reminiscing on the past probably brings back some mixed feelings. I'm sorry to hear that you feel alone nowadays. No old friends or extended family around for you to talk to? No. Everyone I've been close to has passed. Damn, that really does suck. I tried to approach the conversation

from a new angle while applying eyeliner. It might be a strange question, but is there any way for you to try to make some new friends, you think? Or do you have any kids? I've tried with my kids. No luck. They never answer.

Oh, that's such a shame. But on the topic of new friends, yes, absolutely. I would certainly love to make some new friends. That's good! I said. But as I spoke, something felt off, chill going up my spine.

Like, I don't know, like something inside me, some inner barrier had just been broached. It's a hard feeling to describe. I hope you can find some way to feel empowered. I continued, shaking off the weird feeling. To make some new friends and even get everything you still can out of life. You know, you should never give up on making your life a fulfilling one, you know? Even when the circumstances aren't great. Man, it was really pulling out.

all of the platitudes today. Never. Never, ever. I've always been persistent. I've never been one to give up hope on having and maintaining a wonderful life, not a chance, not in a million years. I tried to focus on her words in this conversation, but I kept getting distracted.

I noticed the strangest thing in the mirror. My free hand was caressing my hair slowly. in a really strange way. Why am I doing that? I returned my arm to its normal resting position and went back to dabbing on some concealer under my eyes. I'm really sorry to hear that. But every time I feel hopeful,

I sink into sadness again. It was a brutal accident. We were all in the car. It was my brother driving. He had this brief moment of negligence. he was distracted in conversation and had turned his game. And it was at that same time that another driver in another car had a moment of recklessness.

It was a perfect accident, almost like the opposite of serendipity. Two momentary lapses leading to a terrible cosmic mistake. It was cursing. My cheek. Wait, why was I caressing my cheek? I mean, yeah, my skin's amazing, but I don't usually feel compelled to touch it like that. I brought my free hand back to its resting position yet again. That's fucked up. I'm truly sorry about that. And just so I'm following that accident is how you lost your brother? Everyone. My brother was driving. His wife was beside him in the passenger seat. And in the back of the car, it was myself. my husband and my sister.

That's, excuse my language. Like, I'm genuinely so sorry. I can't even imagine how it would feel to survive something like that and have to go on while losing the closest people to you, you know? No answer from her for a little bit. Just her breathing.

It must have been emotional for her to recall all of that. I could sense that we were probably going a bit too deep and at this point I was ready to wind things down. I wasn't even really sure if this conversation was going to do any good for her anyway. And so I started thinking about ways I could wrap up this civic duty I'd undertaken. It's a void. Yeah, I totally get that.

Like, we probably don't want to get into it too much, but, like, I've lost people close to me, too, and it definitely feels like a whole... Where you end up when it all ends up. When it all ends... What? Also, my involuntary movements were really starting to wig me out now. I almost felt like I was suffering from a concussion or something.

One minute I was standing up straight, swiping on some lipstick. The next I was leaning over the sink with my face nearly pressed against the mirror, staring deep into my own eyes. It was time to end this call. I'm really sorry to hear that, and I feel terrible about everything you've had to go through. I really hope you can find some peace and solace. I unfortunately have to go, though. Is that okay?

You know, when the crash happened, even though I felt my skull crack and my spine snap and blood and fill my mouth, choking me while the rest of me remained a mangled mess, it still felt like I was alive for much longer than I should. Fuck that, I'm out. I felt a movement come from within me, was pushing my hair back.

But I wasn't the one doing it. But then I thought when I'd finally crossed over, that I'd be connected with everyone again. Why are my hands violently clasped together? Why do I feel like there's something blossoming from me? I'm so thrilled, you called back and kept answering because I swear to you, this has all happened for a reason. And I'm almost there.

Her speech started to become a riot. I could hear it in my head. I was trying to unclasp my hands and hang up the call, but I couldn't overpower it. Stay on just a little longer, dear. I'm almost there and feel myself taking over. Youth, this is wonderful feeling. I spoke through clenched teeth as I felt myself blacking out. I got the fuck away from my body.

I growled. In an instant, something deep in my gut told me that I was only a few seconds away from losing myself completely. So with a strange bursts of instinct, I smashed my head against the bathroom in the mirror, breaking it. My hands were still clenched together, forcefully. It didn't feel like her spirit inside me had weakened in the slightest, so I braced myself for more. What an unkind and selfish thing to do to my body. She shouted, but I cut her off again by slamming my head against the wall. I did it again and again, and again, but I could still hear her fucking voice croaking over the phone.

I pushed through this time making sure I didn't hold back. With a wind-up, I smashed my head as hard as I could against the thought of encounter. It hurt like a motherfucker. I had a sense of vigor of my own. I'd rather be dead than have anyone else in my body. I felt her impact on me weak and ever so slightly. As her voice came through the call, I could feel myself on the brink of losing consciousness.

I wasn't sure if it was from the head trauma I'd incurred, of my spirit was about to slip away, but I pushed as hard as I could one last time. I stood up, brought my head down like a hammer to the counter where the phone lay knocking it and myself to the ground. Amidst the excruciating pain and confusion, I felt the sensation of freedom for a few seconds. I leveraged the brief lucidity that came with the insane amount of adrenaline in me and crawled over to the phone. I tapped through the screen and notifications and then almost deranged manner, just as I heard Diane about to say something else, I hung up on the call. Jesus.

I screamed in place on the bathroom floor for what must have been a minute. I screamed even louder when I heard my Natalie and Brunley a ringtone play to signify another incoming call. Caller ID. Diane Fail. I hung up the call immediately, but it was interrupted by another call than another. And another, Diane was calling simultaneously from different numbers over and over again, each call interrupting the previous one before I even had a chance to hang up.

I ran to my hallway closet, found my toolbox, opened it, secured a hammer, and ran back to the bathroom. Without a second hesitation, I smashed my Samsung Galaxy S-23 to pieces. Even after I'd destroyed it, I'd continue banging the hammer into my bathroom room, getting all the bullshit and head off my system. I was done. I stood up slowly. The mirror was broken, so I could only imagine how bruised and battered my reflection looked. With the adrenaline subsiding, the insane amount of pain, I felt all of my body became even more apparent.

Like Diane said, it hurt for... But I was still here. And it was probably time for me to go to the hospital. No concert tonight. Probably for the best. I could explain to the cops later why I was screaming while trashing my own bathroom. It took me a while to feel comfortable getting a new phone. I still remember the puking sensation I felt months ago when I saw her name pop up again on caller ID. This time, my new ringtown, electric lights, orchestra, evil woman.

I blocked it, which is what I did with every other number per mutation she used to call me as the months continued. The skin-crawling sensation. and every time she tried to reach me was always the same. But, thankfully, as time passed, her calls started becoming pure and further between. Maybe she was starting to make peace with the void, or, alternatively, she was using that spare time to finally learn how to text from the great beyond. I got my first text from her a few weeks back, Not even an XOX or a TTYL.

At the time, I left and thought it was stupid. Lady, if we all end up in a void, and you've already been seemingly alone in that void for what's felt like an eternity, then it's probably safe to say that it's a big fucking void where you won't ever find me. That's a prevailing thought I like to keep. But every now in despair.

specifically in the mornings when I wake up after a nightmare all of my nightmares nowadays seem to take on the same tone it's a regular-ass dream and then out of nowhere I turn a corner and off in the distance the dream extends into a black void and standing on the edge of the void where the darkness meets my normal dream surroundings is Diane she's looking at me with an intense stare and a subtle smile and she's waving. And for that brief moment,

it all feels unbelievably real. The thing I hate most about these nightmares is how my body caves sometimes. Every now and then involuntarily, I'll catch myself waving back. I wonder if we're allowed to bring things with us into the afterlife. If so,

I'd like to ask my loved ones to bury me with a hammer. Your patronage. Hope you enjoyed your patronage. 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, in 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 042. If you see a missed call from someone named Diane Vale, break your phone, written by Mo T. Starring Jessica Roth as the singer, Jill Larson, as Diane Vale, 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 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.