The Antiquarium of Sinister Happenings - Lot 045 : It's Tough Being The Daughter of. A Superhero//We Called The Wrong 911

Episode Date: June 7, 2024

It's Tough Being The Daughter of. A SuperheroWritten by Trash TiaFeaturing Dee Quintero as MillieMark Redfield, as the news reporterEverett Shand as EthanConan Freeman as StarmanWe Called The Wrong 911Written by Jay Tee 13Narrated by Trevor ShandFeaturing Conan Freeman as JerryDee Quintero as MomMark Redfield and Everett Shand as The Paramedicshttps://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/1cbvbar/we_called_the_wrong_911/?share_id=Mbb4rWMo5tNh5ChlQqYkm&utm_content=2&utm_medium=ios_app&utm_name=ioscss&utm_source=share&utm_term=1https://www.reddit.com/r/TheCrypticCompendium/comments/1d9kq87/its_tough_being_the_daughter_of_a_superhero/?share_id=vNiucen0FR0wR-1m7Px90&utm_content=1&utm_medium=ios_app&utm_name=ioscss&utm_source=share&utm_term=1 Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for advertising.

Oh, now who do we have here? Ha ha ha ha ha. Ah, my friend, you have plunged so deep into the depths of despair. Might as well keep on going. Nothing can save you now. How you are fallen from heaven, O Daystar, son of dawn. How you are cut down to the ground. You who laid the nations low

Has a ring to it, don't you think? Come on over here for a second. I've got something to show you. Now it might seem unremarkable, but this little black Sharpie has been to hell and back. Let me tell you what happens when you call the wrong 911. 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 Joey Galvin, Abigail Shane, Imogene, Nico, Sebastian Houston, Chad Rushton, Wireless, Mike Tansy, and Henri McKinnon. 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 oddgoing. On. Called the wrong... Please, fucking help.

Jerry grasped his stomach. His face contorted in a grimace of pain. I... Ah, my stomach. I think I have a tummy ache. I unsuccessfully stifled the laugh. Then we were rolling around the basement, hooting and hollering.

A couple hours into our smoke session, we couldn't help but try a few harmless prank calls. We exhausted our options of the local restaurants and calling Jerry's cousin, with my phone before we got the brilliant idea to try 911. I was against it. Jerry's argument was we lived in a small town and the operators wouldn't mind a break from the boredom.

He won. Oh, my tummy! Holy fuck! Jerry wailed. He threw his arms above his head, pretending to gasp for air. I cackled slapping my knee. It really wasn't funny, but we were zonked out of our minds.

Jerry had flung his phone across. crossed the room during his exaggerated performance. I stumbled toward it, short bursts of laughter firing from my chest. The call was still connected. No problem I went to hang up. A woman's voice droned through the speaker. Oh, I was like, no, a...

Line disconnected. Seriously? Damn it, Jerry, fucking... He was still riding on the ground. Oh, God, dude, I think they're actually fucking coming. He stopped and craned his neck until he was looking at me upside down. For real? Yeah, they said someone's coming.

Now what? Jerry paused. A confused look passed over his face. I think they can track that shit now. No way. That's got to be illegal. Tracking your location? It's the police, not some hacker in a Starbucks. Jerry moved quickly towards a TV and plopped himself down on the couch. Whatever. They pull up, we say wrong house.

He brought up Netflix. The marijuana and my system soon scrubbed a worry from my thoughts. We sat and enjoyed the show until a dull knock from upstairs interrupted. He jumped from the couch and looked at me wide-eyed. Shit! We were at Jerry's house, both in high school. His parents were out of town for the weekend, but if they heard about this, he could forget about summer break. I didn't think they'd actually come.

Shut the fuck up and relax. He was starting to really freak. There weren't any windows. His basement was completely underground. Another knock floated down the stairs. Unable to bring his attention back to the, the TV, he jumped in the air again. The lights on upstairs.

You are an idiot. Jerry's eyes were hot red. In contrast, the situation was sobering me up. I scratched my head, lovely. All right, I think I can talk to him. Just stay down here, okay? He thanked me profusely and gave me water to chuck for my breath. At the top of the steps, I looked back.

Jerry gave a thumbs up and waved me on from the bottom. Like he said, the living room lights were on. And through the opaque glass on the front door, two silhouettes. I glanced at my reflection in the mirror and walked nervously toward the front. That saved me from the paranoia. I've suffered. From the living room birthed uncanny shadows through the screen door on the faces of the two outside. Soundless and seemingly, from each of their shadow-masked faces,

I could only make out a wide smile with behind the screen. Good evening officers. Listen, here's what happened. Apologies for disturbing you. One interrupted. There has been an emergency. We are looking for Jerry. The alarm bells started ringing.

Wait, who? All right, I think I know what's going on here. You guys, how do you have the wrong house? I moved to close the door. We had never mentioned our real names on the call. That voice sounded familiar. It was enough for me to jump away from the doors if electrocuted. One of the silhouettes outside pressed its face into the screen.

Jeremy, come here right now. Jeremy's voice called limply from the basement. Air evacuated from my lungs. The screen door was opening With no thoughts in my head Besides to flee To put as much distance between me and the thing coming in I scrambled up the stairs to the second floor

It was closer than the basement And I locked myself in a bathroom I started to type out a text to warn Jerry There were muffled voices from the living room Where's my mom? She stepped outside What seems to be the problem Jerry? Oh, that

That was an accident We butt dialed you, I think Yes, your friend Do you know where he is? I sent a burst of text to Jerry Don't trust him Your mom's not here, get out Yeah, I'm not sure

He was supposed to answer the door Um Is everything all right Jerry? There was a pause Then Jerry spoke Unshur and slow Is it okay if I step out to talk to my mom?

She must be really worried. But steps start before the sounds of a scuffle. And the sounds of glass shattering. Quiet him. Fear was beginning to dissolve. The urge to save my friend powered my legs. I crept down the stairs. Pain, lowets from the dark eyes.

I have a rookie here with me today, so please. Halfway down the stairs. The slowest I've ever moved was right then. I was clear. Two men in paramedic uniform, standing over Jerry. He was on the ground, bound by straps with gauze shoved into his mouth. One of the paramedics with long hair knelt. He ran a hand over Jerry's face, who shook him off and he helped. Give him some monoxide. The long-haired paramedic reached into his bag and began attaching

tubes to a gas canister with the red letters C.O. scrawled across it. Jerry's eyes widened, and he began thrashing even harder. He attached the other end to a mask and turned a valve on the canister. A hissing sound filled the room and the gas mask was forced over Jerry's mouth and nose. After 30 seconds, Jerry's attempts to free himself noticeably weakened. He was unconscious. During all this, I tried to think of someone who could help us. I don't want to call anyone afraid they'd hear me from where I was.

My parents were sleeping if someone was awake. They'd probably call 911. That's what fucking brought them here. Do the assessment. The paramedic directing the long-haired one was short and stocky. He turned the valve and the hissing quieted. He pointed at Jerry signaling long hair to continue. Once again, he ran his hands over Jerry's face.

Then through his hair, reaching behind his ears down to his neck. Long hair went over Jerry's entire body. Protting, pushing, groping every inch of him. When he reached his toes, He turned towards his partner, flashing a grin. Nothing's wrong with him. That's terrible news. What was the chief complaint?

Abdominal pain. He shook his head. We missed our offering tonight, young, healthy. This one will make up for it. Bag and tag. You'll learn a lot from him. Long hair nodded and exited the house. The stocky one rummaged through another bag and pulled out a Sharpie.

He lifted Jerry's shirt and began drawing a dotted line below the navel. I can't see you. Somehow I knew he was talking to me. But I know you were there. I want you to know this isn't any fault of yours or his. This us. You can call it coincidence or fate. Whichever you believe.

Gap the Sharpie, the dotted line had become a dotted oval. stretching across Jerry's abdomen and encircling his belly button. Long hair walked back in with a stretcher. They quickly loaded Jerry up. He was still unconscious with the mask on him. Long hair wheeled him out the door and the other called after him. That's where you're going to cut. Get the tools ready.

He looked into my eye. He smiled. When he spoke, he used Jerry's voice. Does your tummy hurt too? When the house was empty, I cried so hard I passed out. In the morning when I woke, I searched the entire house for Jerry. For proof, there was all a nightmare. There was no evidence of Jerry or the paramedics.

I haven't seen them since. The story that stuck was I woke up and he was gone. I got a ticket for the weed. That's really it. There's nothing to prove my involvement. nothing that could prove anything really. Just lose Jerry that day. I can't even ask for homework answers anymore.

All the adults tried to hide their conversations about me. Not that I care much. To be honest, I'm still looking for my best friend. A week ago, it was late driving home from work. An ambulance pulled up beside me at a stop. Its lights weren't on, but I kept my foot on the break when the traffic light turned green. I tried to get a look inside from the back window, but it was too dark to see.

Well, next time you go straight to urgent care. Ha ha ha ha ha. Well, if you can stomach one more, there's another item I've got on hold just for you in the back. Make yourself comfortable, and I'll see you in the blink of an eye. Thanks for your patience. So, you like comic books? Whether you do or not, that is exactly what you are holding in your hand right now. This is a rather obscure one.

Only copy in existence, actually. Issue number one of Star Man. It's got a great story in it. Dive into this nightmare of Blood and Pulp called It's Tough Being the Daughter of a Superhero. Tough being the daughter of a superhero. My daddy was an amazing man. Known as the world's hero.

He used his newfound powers to take down every self-examble. claimed villain. Daddy was responsible for bringing down the cerebral trainer, stopping the psycho-sucking brains out in Times Square. I was Millie, daughter of Starman. Millie Myers. Channel 7 News stood in front of my door when I returned from middle school. Did you know that your father, Starman, has managed to apprehend the son of the world-famous villain Six Eyes? Six Eyes was infamous for brainwashing the president. His 19-year-old son, Cartwright, wanted nothing to do with him. Pushing past the anchorman, I dived through the door.

Strolling inside, I dropped my backpack in the hallway. I pretended not to see the marks where Daddy nailed wooden blanks over the door. I pretended not to see the 1,000, 3,000. Three hundred, seventy tally marks. Where's dad? Ethan Myers, my twin. He was watching the TV that no longer had a screen. In the basement,

Daddy is interrogating the villain's son. I grabbed a glass of orange juice, took a quick sip, and held the drink to my brother's lips. He gulped down half of it. Mom wants him too, Millie. I pretended not to hear him, skipping down to the basement, ignoring the smears of blood dripping down each step.

I entered the basement. Daddy had already opened up the boy's head. Around him were rejects. Corpses piled to the ceiling. Limbs and heads and torsosos contortes. and merged into one mass of gore. But there were also successful villains. The cerebral drainer and rat face had been ripped apart

and put back together again. Starman's smile was wide, running his fingers over the bare brains of the villain's son, who was squirming, sobbing, screaming, and still awake. I wasn't allowed to. If I screamed, I would end up like Ethan. 1,400 days since Starman walked into our house and announced he was our new daddy.

1,400 days since he lasered my mommy's head off and sent my brother spiraling. 1,400 days since Starman burned my sister alive because he only wanted two children. Starman's grinned widened, and I watched the villain's son writhing under his touch. I could see the tiny sparks of electricity running from daddy's fingers, forcing his victim into submission. Right erupted into maniacal gables.

His eyes Loan back I found myself laughing too My daddy said We can't have heroes Without villains now can we I reached out Protted the boy's brain

Everything About cutting up humans Because humans We're bad The people like daddy Were better I grabbed a scalpel giggling.

One thousand four hundred days since Ethan and I tried to escape Daddy. 1,370 days since we started to scratch our days of captivity into the door. I knows how many days since I lost my fucking mind. Thank you for your patronage. Hope you enjoyed your new relic as much as I've been. 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, Lot 045. It's Tough Being the Daughter of a Superhero, written by Trash Tia, featuring D. Quintero as Millie. Mark Redfield as the news reporter. Everett Shand as Ethan. Conan Freeman as Starman. We call the Wrong 911, written by JT-13, narrated by Trevor Shand, featuring Conan Freeman as Jerry, D. Quintero as mom, Mark Redfield and Everett Shand as the paramedics. 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 646-481-78 7197. Additional music by Coag and...

Additional music by Coag and Vivek Avichek.