The Antiquarium of Sinister Happenings - Lot 092 : The Face In The Fountain

Episode Date: September 2, 2025

Lot 092 : The Face In The FountainWritten by Joshua Ramey-RenkDavid Piper as The EntityFeaturing Stephen Knowles as The Antique Dealer Theme music by The Newton Brothers Additional sfx by Lara’s Horror Sounds 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/rxdcjqt Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for advertising.

L equals B. Well now, you've arrived at just the right moment. I've uncovered something heavy from the archives, and I dare not move it alone. This cracked stone fragment once formed the mouth of a courtyard fountain in a remote hotel, tucked away in California's wine country. White walls, vines climbing higher than the windows,

and in the center, this face. Travelers whispered it didn't merely pour water. It watched. Its eyes followed. Some even swore it showed them faces that weren't their own, rippling up from the depths like memories that never belonged to them. The hotel is gone now, left to ruin. But the fountain's face remains, chipped.

and cold, resting here in the antiquarium. This is Lot 092, the face in the fountain. 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 Ammarie, John Yeagerline, Alanna Pitt, Harry Mermaid, Teresa Moser, Michelle, Black Cat Lucky, Ski and Ashley Owen, and Gieko Starchild Unicorn.

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. I have not always been, as you see me now. I don't mind so much. Though the constant spewing can be a bit...

Boring, after a while, at least I'm not a grotesquery. One of those carved stone warnings to humanity, I can still delight and amuse with my Baroque beauty. While all they can do is... Well, gargle. No, I was not always thus. face hallowed with inappropriate seasonal fruits. I mean, who puts corn and oranges on the same carving?

They don't even grow in the same climates or ripen at the same time. But at least they are pretty. Their vibrant colors make a lovely wreath around my noble features. And those features have remained quite handsome over the year. thanks to the attentions of the hotel staff. Oh, no, not the maintenance crew, never them. I think they would just as soon have me replaced with some rocky stone water feature and be done with it. Or better yet, in these drought-prone hills, remove me entirely and put in a nice flat mosaic.

Something that doesn't need pipes or electricity Or to have its paint touched up No, it's the gardener who keeps these colors fresh in my plaster clean A gardener who treats me like she would tend a faithful pet She keeps an eye on me to make sure I don't get up to mischief Grooming me with an occasional demossing or refreshing my colors or if not like a pups like a god, being tended by an acolyte. It was she, the gardener, who first brought me here after she and her sisters had called me forth in their pride

and their ignorance with what you will. But people have no business meddling with things they cannot understand. And while it's perfectly normal to want vengeance, did none of them imagine how poorly it would go for those that brought me up from my hidden waters? Do like the red on the apples. It's a special paint. Once she makes up herself from the iron-rich soil of these hills, among other ingredients more befitting a god, of course.

It's as red as the flames that flickered and burned, as she and her coven mates danced around the spring. Far back in those hills, you see, just now fading as the sun sets. Yes, they danced, skyclad and anointed with Jasmine and Myrtle. To call me forth as the local one said could be done in times of need or of desire. When it comes to vengeance, is there a difference? A man had harmed one of their sisters quite badly. In the coven had read of the things that natives claimed could be brought out from the dark corners of the hidden waters in these hills. They dance to summon wild magic to deliver justice to the abuser.

His victim did not dance. She sat quietly inside the circle of flames. The bruises in the firelight The color of the grapes that are my beard Purple and shades of darkest shadows Hiding secrets I came when they called Gathering myself and emerging upon the sacred stone that sat

Carved by the millennia flowing water Just outside the wellspring itself Out of the wild oaks and the tamed fields My limbs the gnarled roots of the trees that shaded the spring. My eyes, the color of the gold and silver, sometimes found in the rivers of this land. My breath held both the sweet scent of the misty hillsides at dawn,

and the sulfur tinge of the steam boiling up through the rocks of this region. With new life, there was fresh desire coursing through me. The power of the rutting stag and the furthing, Stag and the fierce bore, the dancers pausing in slight fright at the sight of me, and then swept up in the magic of their own creation. They danced again, new and wilder gyrations, stoking the energy of their intent, and yes, their own desires. One was there to be their voice. Speaking to me of bargains and imprecations. We made a pact amongst ourselves, the witches and I.

I would met out punishment upon the one who had harmed their sister. She and her family had lived on this land for generations. Her blood and my flesh sang to each other in recognition. Yes, I would do this thing, and they would serve me and honor me for. a year and a day. I did say that God was not a bad comparison, didn't I? This is a persimon. Again, not exactly in sync with the others, but what a color, a true treasure of the land, something more than orange or gold or sunset pink, but made from the essence of all three and more. The sky was that same color, dawn, as I strode forth and stepped out of my grotto for the first time in many years to do my part of the bargain.

The vineyards were as shiver as I passed through them, new growth springing up in my footsteps to the music of flowing water. While that delicate shade filled the morning with secret color, it would be the last color the man saw as I embraced him in his field where I came upon him. Tendrils of the same green you see woven about my head wrapped about his legs, his waist, his arms, and at the last breath, was stifled by the thick leaves covering his mouth and nose. But his gaze, that I left clear until the end. They held him like an infant

wrapped tightly in my gnarled arms as he beheld that vision of the glorious morning color until its treasured color faded from his eyes until all that was left for him was the endless

endless. Wait! Do you hear that? The sound of water dripping. Impossible. The pipes here. were sealed decades ago.

Hold still. I must check the case. If that crack in the stone is bleeding again, I'll need to fetch cloth before it spreads. Stay with a fountain. Don't look too long into it. Leave a message. My daughter is a good girl.

She has a free ride, a scholarship to an Ivy League. college next year. She's kind, she's sweet, she's a good girl, but she bought a ring from your shop. And where is it? She, it's changed her. It's not my daughter anymore in the neighborhood. Now, though I'd swear it smiled at me while I worked. Shall we? I held him like an infant, wrapped tightly in my gnarled arms, as he beheld that vision of the glorious morning color, until its treasured color faded from his eyes, until all that was left for him was the endless, endless, endless black. I returned to my spring, to the coven, my wild energy not yet spent.

The magic of the summoning sending fresh strength to abutting lust, at first one, then another of the sisters into my embrace. We gave into my sweet breath in my fiery strength, died forgotten how fragile mortals can be. In my hasty romp with the wild dancers, I overstepped and did damage of my own. They left more than one. as bruised as their sister

who had been the cause of all of this. I regretted the harm, but as I said, they should have known better. They should have understood that the magic cannot be tamed, only directed, and only for a while.

As it was, the damage was done, and my regret could not undo it, but that regret did distract me a while. For just long enough, there was one who was prepared, who had foreseen what might happen. The dancing flames had died down as my lust was sated, and I was pulled, surely as if my own limbs were vine-trapped and being dragged to this place, where you and I are having such a pleasant exchange. In exchange, I might add, that only surprises one of us.

There was only her, the sister of the woman who had been harmed by the man I took their vengeance upon. She who had called the Coven together, and she who knew what might happen, she who I now call the Gardner. The Gardner had captured the stone that had sat at the entrance to my spring for all those long years. and set it within the bounds of this fountain. She had marked sigils and signs around it, into binding across it, and it used the very wild magic of my life and lust against me.

Vine sprung forth and fixed me to this place, and while I struggled there was no escaping the enchantment she put upon me, imprisoning me to her will. So, perhaps not a god after all. As my mouth opened to rage against my captivity, she applied the first of many colors. The dark red of my lips, made of the soil and her blood and her own will. And I was lost to her forever. That was many years ago.

She has kept up her coven's bargain, tending me far longer than the year. and a day promised. All the while, keeping the wild magic at bay and bent to her intentions, she cares for the gardens here. And nobody has questioned the fountain spilling water from its alabaster face, surrounded by leaves and fruits. The bounty of field and forest. She keeps sweet myrtle and fragrant jasmine blooming around these stones.

And there are worse places to be imprisoned. No, I have not always been as you see me now. But... That was only the beginning when bound me not in spite. But from the knowledge that vengeance had its own course, and those must be paid. And vengeance was often a handy thing. So why not keep her end of the bargain in her own way?

just as she bound me she bound herself to serve me fresh plaster re-application of the red to my lips when they get too pale cleaning the waters that gather in the pool below me

and calling me forth from the mindless gushing stupor when needed as she did tonight you see colors are important handprint on the face of your young woman is a sign and a notice to those who can read the fresh mark. And the fading stripes on her legs, showing from too short a skirt, a volume of ill

things is written there. Yes, they tell a story, not one as compelling as the look of fear she gave you when you yelled at her for being slow out of the car, or how she winced when you took her by the arm. Why such long sleeves, but so short a dress? You didn't think anybody would notice, did you? But most of all, the way you are now, even as you feel the tickle of fine Jasmine leaves caressing your skin, from an errant creeping tendril, the gardener missed. Is it errant? Or is there purpose there? And you're coming here.

Wasn't that frightened woman's idea, was it? And it wasn't yours either, correct? What was it that brought you here? A prize in some contest you don't remember entering? And of course, not her idea, because she doesn't have a say in what happens, does she? You decide where you're going, don't you? Ah, yes, the raffle. One with the tickets sold by your secretary's child, turn money for their school field trip to the horticulture center.

Your secretary, who I've never seen. But I suspect wears Jasmine perfume at times and has the look of a wild dancer in her eyes when she's angry. Your secretary, the one who introduced you to the woman you brought with you tonight. Somebody she thinks of as a sister. Yes, I was not always as you see me now. But we all change. I'm here now. The face in the fountain.

This is my fate. And this is yours. The creeping vines are your final embrace. And the sky left last vision. Neufusant blooms of color, the dark. 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. Best customer. The Antiquarium of Sinister Happenings, Lot 092, The Face and the Fountain, written by Joshua Ramey Rank, starring David Piper as the entity, featuring Stephen Knowles as the antique dealer,

engineering production and sound design by Trevor Shand, theme music by the Newton Brothers, additional sound effects by Laura's horror sounds, 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.