The Antiquarium of Sinister Happenings - Lot 098 : My Phone Keeps Getting Voice Messages..From Myself

Episode Date: October 23, 2025

Lot 098 : My Phone Keeps Getting Voice Messages..From Myself Written by SignedSyledDeliveredStarting April Consalo https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/1nb5sop/my_phone_keeps_getting_voice_messages_from_myself/ The Gravedigger’s LamentWritten by Art Cantu Featuring Stephen Knowles as The Antique Dealer Theme music by The Newton Brothers Additional music byCO.AG ([e-mail]) Vivek Abhishek Myuu SUBSCRIBE 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.

H equals T. Welcome back. Welcome back. You'll forgive the dimness. I've been adjusting the lamps in here. Some things you see show themselves better in low light. Now then, lot 098, a framed print found among the possessions of a young woman who vanished from her apartment late last autumn. She called it a portrait, though the file name read only dean.jpg.

If you look closely, no, not too close. You might notice the image never quite settles. The eyes shift. The story that accompanies it was left behind in fragments, texts, recordings, and one final note written in. her own hand. This one's called,

My phone keeps getting voice messages from myself. 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 Oni Pole, Lord Nevermore, David Loveless, Murdy Birdie, Rebecca, Ali is watching, Lexi, and Sharonda Waters. 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. My phone keeps getting voice messages from myself. They're recorded while I'm asleep. I was at the bus stop by the time I had a moment to check my phone. I responded to several messages from friends and family. then frowned.

There was a message from myself, from my work number to my personal number. I usually send myself messages as reminders to remember to bring certain stuff to work, to send an email, etc. I wondered what I might have forgotten to pack as I opened the message thread. It was a voice message.

I don't usually leave voice messages. I popped in my earphones and played it. Jen, this is me, Jen. But the intact one, they've carved out your memories. suppress them, wiped him from existence. There's so much you don't remember. You have to remember.

Please just... The recording cut off there. I stared at the message in shock. I didn't remember recording that voice message, but it was my voice. Entirely mine. Unmistakably mine. There was something incredibly unsettling about hearing your voice saying words you didn't say. Then I sucked in a breath of relief.

AI. That was probably it. My phone had probably been hacked. A scammer was sending me an AI-constructed voice message. I felt a tingle of unease. The AI voice was so accurate. But at least the mystery was solved. The bus came then, and I put it out of my mind.

I would reformat my phone later at night. The messages kept coming. Always with the same ominous messages that I had forgotten the large part of my life. that I had forgotten a whole person, someone important to me, that they had suppressed my memories. They weren't even creative about it. I mean, when a scam isn't working, try something else, right?

I took it to a tech guy who couldn't figure it out. I didn't want to buy a new phone, so I just ignored the messages. I only began to fear when I first lost time. One minute I was in a taxi, staring into space, mind grazing on whatever pointless topics. The next, I was at a random building somewhere in the city. At a part of the city I've never been to before. I had no idea how I got there.

When did I get out of the taxi? Did I pay the driver? Did I bus? How long had I been standing there? I looked at the building before me. Nothing out of the ordinary. The typical gray, gloomy facade of industrial. buildings where dreams go to die.

I left. Walking to the nearest bus stop, my knee gave out at one point, but I caught myself before I fell. I sat at the seat and clasped my shaking hands together. What happened? Why did I not remember? The sky was nearly dark.

I looked at my phone. I had lost about four hours. Hours completely unaccounted for. That's when I saw it. Another voice message. I squashed my rising fear and played it. Jen, you stubborn bitch, listen to me for fuck's sake. Wake up.

This is not a joke, not a prank, not a scam, nothing like that. This is real. Did you not remember him? Dean? How could you forget? I don't care what they did to your brain. You ought to remember him anyway. Your body, your emotions.

Isn't there any inkling of who Dean, the love of your life might have been? I paused the message. Dean, was I crazy? Was I imagining it? Was I getting swayed by this scammer? Because I thought I felt a tug in my heart upon hearing his name. I thought I saw a ghost of a silhouette in my mind. I shook my head and played the rest of the message.

I'm you. I'm the you that has all the memories. Just believe me for fuck's sake. They suppressed me, but I'm here. I can only reach you, reach my own body. I've been gaining control of your body in that. took me months and he just kept waking up after a short time. This time though, it's been an hour.

I still have control over my... I can get me back. The real gen with the real memories. I recoiled and shut off the message. She was going to take over my body? A faint whisper of logic kicked in. She's not real. She's a scammer, an AI recreation of my voice.

A really amazingly faithful recreation, but not me nonetheless. But I couldn't believe that whisper. I felt it in my gut. The other Jen was telling the truth. I gulped and pulled up the message again, played it to the end. I don't know why they killed Dean,

why they erased him from our mind, will cure your mind. I don't know who they are, but I have a fake inkling. Remember that he was onto something that would blow things up. People will be shook. was what he called would be shooketh.

I thought hard. Again, it felt like I had heard those phrases before. I felt a familiar irritation of the use of the word shooketh. Was I making things up? The recording went on. Then he was killed. And one day I was here, trapped in your mind. I watched as you went about life, not grieving Dean, acting like he never existed.

And I tried to reach you. I've been trying to do some research. I tried to find out who might have done this to a station on the web under pseudonyms with VPN. That would explain why I had sudden VPN charges. And someone mentioned having a friend with a similar experience that was linked to this company. The thing about Alaxia is it doesn't have an address. Industrial building downtown. We find something out.

Wish me luck. And please just fucking stop ignoring my messages. All of them are completely fake names. Jen, Dean, Alaxia. I'm not dumb. I'm not going to get caught this way. now that I know they're monitoring everything. I shut my eyes and took a few deep breaths.

I needed to calm down, to think logically. Could anyone have erased my memories of someone entirely? Wouldn't my friends know? Wouldn't others remember him? Ah, pardon me one moment. I believe that's the courier again. He's been trying to collect a shipment for three days now. The manifest keeps rewriting itself.

Do excuse me. I shan't be long. The message. A research job with some kid in a weird quill or something. I don't know. Either way. I pick something up that's probably going to end up on your shelf sooner rather than later. It's a little silver locket, heart-shaped but rusted shut.

It looks harmless enough, but the damn thing never warms up. It doesn't matter if it's sitting in the sun or pressed against skin. things feels like a goddamn ice cube. And if somebody actually wears it? Oh, geez. First couple minutes, well, they just start hearing weights. I know it first. Like, titting on the seashore.

But if they don't take it off, the tide comes in. Crashing water, screaming gulls, like you're stuck in the middle of a storm. A couple of folks said it felt like the sea was inside their chest. One girl actually cost up seawater. Brackish stuff, like full of kelp. It was fucking disgusting. I heard it came off of a bride who drowned on her wedding day.

The uncle cut it from her neck when they dragged her out, and now it's out here making everyone dumb enough to wear it, think that they are drowning too. Oh, fun side note. Even after you take it off, your clothes will still wreak of salt, and your skin dries all cracked and white like you've been out in the sun too long. I left it on my dashboard for about 10 minutes in the windshield fogged like I'd been driving through a goddamn hurricane.

Anyways, I'll let you decide if it's worth bagging. I just figured it's more your department than mine. Just don't let anybody in the shop try it on unless you're ready to break out a mop in a bucket. Talk soon, brother. Apologies, my friend. The courier insisted on a signature and then asked who Dean was. Strange. I never told him the name. Now then. Shall we? Could anyone have erased my memories of someone entirely? Wouldn't my friends know? Wouldn't others remember him?

I was alone in the city. I've been here nine months. I've made no good friends yet, but have friendly colleagues. I don't talk about personal stuff often with them. I don't tell my family much, beyond reassuring them that my life here is awesome. I'm settling in well. But I talked to my bestie back home about my life. I'm sure I would have talked to her about this dean if he existed. I pulled out my phone and texted my bestie. Did I ever talk to you about a dean? I was nearly home when she responded.

No, why? Who's this dean? Smirk emoji. No, then. There's no way I would not have told her about a supposed love of my life. So this was all bullshit, right? I went to bed early, but I couldn't sleep until 2 a.m. My mind was racing. I was also terrified of other Jen taking hold of my body. I woke with a start. My neighbor's dog was barking like crazy. I was on the floor of the living room. My head was

pounding like someone had wrapped it in an ever-shinking helmet. What the hell had other Jen done? I stood up and stumbled. What was that smell? Gas. All of a sudden, I was wide awake. I scrambled for the door, falling a couple of times, then crawling to it and flinging it open. I flopped out into the corridor and crawled farther down. My neighbor's door opened, and I could hear him yelling at his dog,

something about not refusing walks in the afternoon if he was going to holler the neighborhood awake at night for a walk. He saw me sprawled on the ground of the corridor and rushed to help me up. We ended up waiting downstairs as the police and other personnel arrived. Our immediate neighbors were evacuated and it took a good two hours before we were allowed back home. Apparently, a gas leak had occurred in only my apartment with no other damages in the building's gas lines. But misfortune kept following me. I was nearly hit by a car. Some kindly Samaritan yanked me out of the way.

A taxi I was in had its engine catch fire. Both the driver and I barely made it out before it exploded. I had never seen an engine go from smoking to boom in such a short time before. I kept accumulating people I owed great debts to. Other Jen messaged often. She apologized for being naive, thinking a VPN would successfully mask our activities online. She claimed that my bestie had her memories erased too. But it was a drawing she made that sucker punched me in the gut.

She had used AI to create a portrait of Dean. She said it was close, as close as she could prompt it. Looking at that portrait, I felt something squeezed in my chest, and warm tears tingled my eyes. I looked at that face, and I knew. I knew there was once a dean. Right? OtherGen told me our time was limited,

that they had found out that other gen existed, that they had run out of ethical fucks to give. apparently erasing my memory wiping Dean from existence was their way of being ethical. They weren't villains, or so they liked to think. That was Alexia's M.O. They would do whatever it takes to obtain their objective. But where possible, they liked to avoid murder. But they were happy to do it when necessary.

My recent actions, or rather those of other gens, had put a mark on me. I had to go. I just hoped I hadn't painted a target on my best. back by even mentioning Dean. The police didn't believe a word of what I was saying, and by going to the police, I had made it known to official authorities that I knew about what these people had done. To me, to Dean.

Someone's in my apartment. I can hear them. I've got a nail gun ready, and a baseball pad, and some beer bottles for throwing. I wish I could leave other Jen a goodbye message. A floorboard creaked right outside my door. I'm hitting post. Before you go, I have one more item for you.

A rusty old shovel. It came with this letter, with precise instructions to read to you. So, without further ado, this is the grave diggers lament. A curious sight did before my eyes, whilst digging away for my weekly prize. A paltry paycheck on a minuscule wage. I should be doing better at my age. But regardless, what I saw on that day, aggravating my back for meager pay, did unnerve and disturb me to my core.

An empty grave that I had filled before. One I had personally laid to rest. had flung the dirt upon his wooden chest. But now, it seemed he had taken a stroll, leaving not behind, but a ragged hole. I gazed about to see where he had went, this rather rude and impermanent gent. But as I surveyed my kingdom of bone,

I got the feeling he was not alone. For over this landscape of stone crosses, I tallied up even greater losses. I saw grave after grave, tomb after tomb, had given a birth like an earthen womb. Adding in my head all that I could see, I lost count somewhere around 43. A shock of lightning and a thunder clap. had me turning on my heels with a snap. Two hideous thoughts had my mind dismayed. The dead risen, and I wouldn't be paid.

A second peal exploded through the air. I made for the church, its protection there. I was not a religious man by heart, but days like this could convince me to start. Just as the rain had decided to fall, the air rang with the church bell's baleful call. For whom this dread knell told I could not say, for me or the dead out on holiday. I dashed inside, slamming the door behind, the wooden thunk, soothing my panicked mind. Yet just as my fright had begun to clear, I saw there was to be no solace here.

As now that I could look about the nave, I had located the deceased enclave. Here was row after row, pew after pew, filled by men and women and children too. all adorned in their final Sunday best and here I found the source of their unrest a lone figure standing at the altar his dark presence

did make my heart falter he wore a rictus and a red priest's cloak in a crook made of blackened oak motionless he was stiff as an old tree till he raised a hand and pointed

at me before I could think to turn tail and run they all turned to me and stood up as one arms outstretched ambulating with a lurch the din of their footsteps filling the church

They pressed in on me, my back to the door. Fear stole my legs as I slid to the floor. Then it seemed, I had finally cracked. As I began laughing while they attacked. Mad as I had her, I howled and I braved, as the crimson figure now loudly prayed. Final thought, as they dragged me away, I should not have come in to work.

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, Lod 098.

My phone keeps getting voice messages from myself. Written by Signed Sealed Delivered. Starring April Consolo, The Gravediggers Lament, written by Art Cantu, 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 Abyshech, and Miyu. The Antiquarium of Sinister Happenings is created and curated by Trevor and Lauren Shand.

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