The Antiquarium of Sinister Happenings - Lot 086 : Third Watch

Episode Date: June 30, 2025

Lot 086 : Third WatchWritten by Dominic EagleNarrated by Trevor ShandFeaturing Jessica McEvoy as The WomanMelissa Medina as Officer BowanConan Freeman as Officer HarlingRomy Evans as The Interrogatorhttps://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/1kky6pw/a_woman_entered_our_police_station_at_323am_and/For more, visit : https://www.youtube.com/@BlackVolumes**Unsought Goods: Give your summer closet an upgrade with Quince. Get free shipping and 365-day returns when you shop at quince.com/HAPPENINGS - https://www.quince.com/happenings Featuring Stephen Knowles as The Antique Dealer Theme music by The Newton Brothers Additional music byCO.AG ([e-mail]) Vivek AbhishekSUBSCRIBE to them on YOUTUBE: / vivekhsihba  LIKE them on FACEBOOK:  https://rb.gy/nhgn0iFollow them on Spotify/ iTunes/ Amazon: https://tinyurl.com/rxdcjqtClement Panchoutwww.clementpanchout.com Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for advertising.

X equals B. There you are. Stitch to fate as always. Come on in. The archive breathes easier with you near. Another night. Another lot. This one was left at our doorstep in an evidence box.

No return address. No badge number. Just a slip of paper inside that read, keep the batteries out. It doesn't help. The object in question is a flashlight. Heavy, steel-bodied, government-issued. Its surface is cracked and caked in blood long-dried to rust.

The lens is fractured, and yet, somehow, it works. Not always. Only once a night. It turns on exactly at 3.23 a.m. No matter where it's stored. No matter who's watching it. And when it does, the beam flickers and stutters. Like it's trying to say something.

Like it remembers. Police records trace this item to a now decommissioned station in Ohio. The building is condemned. Official records end in 2004. But the night in question, the last night anyone was officially on shift. occurred in the fall of 2003. It's not listed in any logs, but we have the report, or rather, we have what's left of it, and we have the light.

This is Lot 86. This is the story of Third Watch. 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 frame. on desk. These are some of the members of the inner circle of the antiquarium. We go by

the Obsidian Covenant. Recent initiates include Danny Vega, Kayla, Duss Combat Wombat, Patricia Graham, Kyle Turner, Ali G,

Eliza Vita Sparengen, Roger Prine, James Springer, the second and jeweler tequila we are ever appreciative of your devotion to the order

go to the obsidian covenant dot com to receive the sacrament now where were we oh yes welcome to the antiquarium of sinister happenings

and odd goings on woman entered our police station at 3.23 a.m. and begged to be arrested. Let's take a second and start from the beginning, okay? What crime have you committed? None. She choked out, lungs recovering from her dash into the station. I frowned from behind the counter, readying myself for one of those nights, like no other night. Then why should I arrest you, ma'am? The squirly woman catching her breath with hands against her knees,

cranked her neck backwards so sharply that the joint popped. Because we're all in danger. Then her eyes began to ping frenetically between the station's entrance and myself. I lent my elbows a little more deeply into the counter, pushing forwards to take a better peek at the building's automatic doors. There was nothing beyond the glass panes

but the black of night and silhouetted trees. Is somebody following you? She shook her bobblehead, making her neck pop another couple of times. I winced a little at the woman's frailty. She was slinging her skull around so violently that I started to wonder whether she wanted to launch it free. Pitch the damn thing for six.

Now, I'm an officer of the law. I faced men and women with twice and thrice the stature of this me. frightened woman, so I don't know how quite to explain how or why. I felt such terror in that moment. I was chilled by the woman's breath, or the words carried on it. There are three other officers at the station here tonight. We're not alone.

Will those stores count? Shivering as she eyed the glass entrance again. Count in what way? I need the smallest indoor space possible. He told me that I won't be able to exit a room or a building or a prison without spoken approval. He said I need permission to leave. And who told you that? I mean, you're wasting our time here.

I don't understand, ma'am. Explain what's happening. Do I have to do something criminal? You won't just arrest me? Yeah, that's generally how it works, ma'am. I'm just a little concerned about why you want to be locked away this evening. Well, morning. I assume it is something to do with keeping yourself safe by getting off.

the street, given that you say you're in danger, however. Jail cells aren't hotel rooms, in case you didn't know. I don't need to protect myself, all of you. What's happening out there, Thatcher? I tried my damnedest not to gulp, but the unnerving woman was making it difficult for me. This lady's asking to be arrested. But she says she hasn't committed a crime. Officer Bowen offered me a raised eyebrow.

Then put her hands on her hips as she looked at the woman. What's your name, Love? Tamzin, please. Will one of you lock me up? I need to be locked up. About to happen. Hey, what's about to happen, Tamzin? I don't know.

It's inside me. Something about those words, and her tone of voice, instilled me with fear beyond anything words could describe. For it was of fear, not of this world Officer Bowen on the other hand seemed unamused she leant towards my ear and whispered

Okay I think we need to get this lady some of psychiatric help She might be in danger She might be but that's for a health care professional to decide Don't you think? Not to police officers At 3 o'clock in the morning Tamson Here's what's gonna happen

I'm gonna leave you with Officer Bowen here Just for a second while I make a call in the office all right? No, please. Please. Just arrest me. There isn't time for any of this. Okay, I need you to relax, Tamsin. We're going to help you, okay? We're going to figure out what's happening. Together. I shut the office door behind me, then made the call. The idea was to avoid potentially upsetting or aggravating the distressed civilian.

Bone and I had no idea how she would react to the arrival of a mental health specialist, so it seemed best to keep the information to ourselves. The office overlooked the main entrance Through a horizontal one-way window So I watched Bowen and Tamsan talk Whilst the phone rang And when I made it through to a specialist I explained the whole situation to her

She said that Tamsan was in need of a proper health assessment I know it's late So I'm happy to escort it to the hospital myself Don't worry about that And then came a voice not quite her own No escort you all Managed to wrap my head around my unease at her sudden shift and vocal timbre.

I clocked hands and smiling at me from the other side of the one-way window. She shouldn't have been able to see me, but I knew somehow that she could. I'm got to do with it too. Lights in the station caught in with a sharper pang of terror. The pain persisted afterwards,

leaving me sitting in the dark. Phone screen lighting my face, with an invisible blade lodged stubbornly between two bars of my rib cage. moaned in my far from rigid hand. I rushed back out into the darkened area behind the counter. But Officer Bowen wasn't there. Tamsin wasn't there either.

A flashlight bounced down a distant corridor, beyond the counter, painting the walls in light, offering only a slight reprieve from the suffocating darkness. Then came Officer Harling into the entryway. Oh, Thatcher. Thank God. Someone's here. Oh, looks like we've had a power cut.

Shining the beam of light onto me, Hanner and joined Officer Harling as we ran down a hallway that led into the heart of the station, desperate to locate the cries of our two fellow officers on the late night shift with us. This is Officer Harling requesting backup power cut of the station and potential disturbance. We opened ourselves in the station's break room. There, we witnessed a horror. I will never forget. Officer Bowen and Officer Rodman

were both lying on one of the tables, sawed neatly in half a little above each of their pelvic areas. A beam from Harling's flashlight caught the sheen of the blood, and the tables laminated plastic top. And the whites of the victim's eyes, mouths hung open in the screams they had unleashed during those final seconds of life and still hope. Their deaths were so strong.

swift and relatively painless. But their expressions told another horrifying story, paralyzed in fear. Vocal cords unable to expel a sound, screamed, and rushed towards our severed officers, dropping his torch to the floor as he ran, plunging us back into darkness. One moment. Just now. Did you hear that? Something metallic rolled off the shelf behind me. And the light. It's on.

It's 3.23 a.m. We take precautions here. The light is kept beneath triple seal glass, silver filament casing, blessed by four conflicting religions. Still, it flickers. Still, it remembers. Take a breath.

Step away from the speakers. This story isn't done with us yet. But neither are the lights. The message. You know, I just wanted to say that Love message has so far just found it starting from the beginning, and so far, very, very impressed.

I mean, I grew up on horror stuff, and this is, no, it's fun little bite-sized bits of horror. I'm, you know, I appreciate y'all. Doing what you're doing. You're doing a great job. And we're back. The beam faded. It always does.

The light never stays on long. Just long enough to notice. Now where were we? Ah yes, yours. The screaming. Let's finish what we started. Shall we? I hoped and still hope.

Their deaths were swift and relatively painless. But their expressions told another horrifying story. One that left me paralyzed in fear. vocal cords unable to expel a sound on the other hand, screamed, and rushed towards her severed officers, dropping his torch to the floor as he ran, plunging us back into darkness.

I'd seen something for a moment at the back of the room. Harley picked a torch up. I begged, rummaging in my pocket from my phone. They're gone. Harling sobbed. No longer the sturdy officer of the law I'd known for five years, but a weeping mess.

I was a mess too. A jittery, terrified. It wasn't sturdiness that kept me awake and alert. Wasn't my duty to the law. I need Harling to pick up his torch because we weren't alone in that room. Pick it up now, Harling. They activated my phone's light.

Harling was fucking gone. Glow. Whoever's in here. Reinforcements. or on the way, so... Roger, we'll escort you all. As I realized that Harling's call hadn't made it through to anyone.

That voice, inhuman and indistinct, to anyone, came more slaps from behind me. Only a few, and when I spun my torch around, I expected to find nothing there once again. So I screamed when I saw her,

changed the whites of her eyes. for deeper into the back of her head. Her mouth was impossible. It spanned the breadth of her face and then so. And it opened beyond human limits, hellishness. It revealed not human teeth. But incisors of obscene length, which tip tapered off to the finest point,

which dripped with blood. Anines and molars to the sides were unthinkably sharp, unthinkably capable of cleaving a creature neatly down its center. Do you want me to stay, officer? The thing cooed as if playing with its food. Then she charged towards me, and I screamed louder than my lungs were built to accommodate. Screamed as I braced for death. Screamed.

And feels a little hazy between that moment, which I expected to be my last. When at which the responding officers found me, they said they'd arrive in 20 minutes. But it may as well been hours. or perhaps only seconds. I was interrogated about the demise at my fellow officers, including the disappearance of Officer Harling, who was a suspect in the case, along with Tamzin,

the mystery woman visible on CCTV footage before the blackout. The discrepancy between your story and the truth is curious. What discrepancy? Well, the power to the building was undoubtedly cut, yet the automatic doors were standing open when backup arrived at the station. I felt my skin pale, said I'd need permission. Leave. 1981, a nine-year-old boy named Travis Deirden

vanished while walking home from school in Gravel Switch, Kentucky. No witnesses, no fingerprints, no body. Five months later, a box of unlabeled audio cassettes was delivered anonymously to the Boyle County Sheriff's Department. The return address was written in a mixture of animal blood and engine oil. What follows is a compilation of those tapes, arranged chronologically by forensic analysts. Authorities refer to the individual caption on the recordings only as subject 36. His voice has never been matched to any known suspect.

The child's voice, however, was confirmed to be Travis Dearden. Tape 1. The basement. The tapes detail a process that local authorities describe as a form of psychological unmaking. The kidnapper does not physically assault the boy in any traditional sense. Instead, he forces the child to forget his name. Then his parents. then his own body. Tape 3. Game time.

Forget where I keep my arms. On tape 6, the boy refers to himself only as the one inside. His speech patterns are erratic. He begins repeating sounds that are not human. Tape 6. The one inside. Inside the head is the animal. but remembers teeth. I saw him crawl out of the wall.

He brought me rope and made a birthday hair. He says he's my shape now. Can I be buried? Or do I have to keep breathing? Can I be buried? Or do I have to keep breathing? Forensic analysts detect background noise on tape 11, believed to be a rural AM radio station

broadcasting the local obituaries. The names read on the tape were those of children who had not yet died. Tape 11. The funeral game. The names. Pretty names.

Erica, Jacob, June. My name was June, I think. No, I was just the idea of her. You peeled me into pieces, and I spilled out other people. You're almost ready to go outside again. You're almost critical. On March 9th, 1982, the final tape arrived. The envelope contained no return address, no fingerprint evidence.

Inside was a single cassette labeled simply Let Him Out. He left the door open behind his teeth. I wore his... I walked in his face. Now it's your turn to listen. Press play, press play, press play. or I'll go back to your house instead. The gravel switch tapes were never officially released.

The sheriff who handled the case burned down his home three days after listening to the final reel. His last words were scratched into his bathroom mirror. The tape learned my name. Then it wore it. Don't press play. Don't let me in. He's made of listening. made

here It's I Ptq I L-I-T-Q I-L-I-T-Q I-L-I-P-T-Q I-L-I-P-T-Q I-L-I-P-T-Q

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, Lot 086, Third Watch, written by Dominic Eagle, narrated by Trevor Shand, featuring Jessica McAvoy as the woman, Melissa Medina as Officer Bowen, Conan Freeman as Officer Harling, Romney Evans as the interrogator. 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, Vivek Abyshek, Clement Panchout, and Red Light Chill. The Antiquarium of Sinister Happenings is created and curated by Trevor Lauren Shand. Follow us on Instagram and Twitter at Antiquarium Pod. Warning signs of satanic behavior may be...