The Antiquarium of Sinister Happenings - Lot 100: The Lake

Episode Date: November 6, 2025

Lot 100: The Lake Consigned by: Lucas Gandola Starring Trevor ShandJade ShandEverett ShandApril ConsaloConan FreemanRomy EvansRegan Sytsma https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/1mdhz8t/my_town_was_built_around_a_lake_nobody_will_admit/ Featuring Stephen Knowles as The Antique Dealer Theme music by The Newton Brothers Additional music byCO.AG ([e-mail]) Vivek Abhishek 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.

R equals A. Ah, welcome. Mind your step. We've had a bit of a landslide of new acquisitions this morning. Mountains tend to do that, don't they? Shift when you aren't looking. Speaking of which, do come closer. You've arrived just in time.

Because today's piece, well, it concerns a place where looking is something of a problem. Lot number 100. A milestone, yes. But more importantly, a map. A simple folded, sun-faded tour guide. Or so it first appeared when it came into my hands. Yet you see here, the paper has swollen on this side, warped by moisture that should not exist. And here, this blank shape? That, I'm told, is where. the lake should be. The lake no one will admit is there. The previous owner insisted I take it off his property immediately, said the blank space kept getting bigger when he wasn't watching. Yes, that does seem like the sort of thing you should know before I tell you its story. This one's called the lake. Before we begin, I want to point out something. 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 Katie Wilmot, Emily, Velvet Ember, Gloomy Sunday 79. Live Fat Diom. Mrs. Trigg, Kit Ross, and Roz. 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 town was built around a lake Nobody will admit The lake exists Never acknowledge Never talk about it

Never so much As think about it None of these rules were ever actually Spoken out loud during my childhood That would be acknowledging the lake after But they were as clear as, look both ways before crossing or no candy from men with beards and tattoos. The city where I grew up is built along the shoreline of this massive, crystal clear lake, nestled in the mountains. Frankly, it's a great place to grow up.

There's nationally renowned elementary schools, drug-free-ish high schools, and nature trails in every direction. The population sits at around 50,000. Decent-sized. which makes it all the more incomprehensible that no one. Not even those who just moved here. We'll admit the lake exists. One of my earliest memories is walking with my mom on one of the trails near her house,

one that skirted the lake itself. I had to be young, three or four at most. I was yanking on her arm in that relentless way little kids do, begging her to let me go swim in that lake. That's what she said. At the time, I could. couldn't understand her reaction. My parents never lied to me.

That was always their policy. Why wouldn't she look the direction I was pointing? Now, though, looking back and filling in the blanks, I remember her jaw clenched tight, a sheen of sweat on her forehead, and determined eyes staring resolutely forward, refusing to see the water just along the trail. Realize now that's what she looked like.

When I was in second grade, I had a best friend, Simon. We would spend each afternoon escaping our daily chores by riding our bikes, playing catch or other equally irresponsible forms of reckless loitering, to quote my crabby and widow neighbor. There was this one particular hill on Sickle Street we love to take our bikes down. It really was massive. We had to make sure no adults were watching us when we committed speeding violations down it they would just flip out and screech out us to wear helmets.

Each time we made the daring ride, we would do it just a bit faster than the last. One day, we did our fastest yet. We flew down the hill at a speed that would have killed us if we'd fallen. Then hopped off our bikes at the bottom. Simon and I collapsed in the grass to cackle at our sheer stupid audacity. We broke the sound barrier. Let's do it again.

My wheel almost fell off. We laughed some more. then finally calmed until we were just sitting there. Still giddy like we'd accomplish something monumental. It was such a good feeling of victory and unstoppability. Maybe that was why I said it. Do you think there's any fish in there? Huh?

Sickle Street twisted to the right after the hill. But if he kept walking straight, you'd hit the lake. That was a view we'd had as we'd madly flown down the hill. The lake. surely Simon had seen it all these times he had to have noticed it the lake

do you think there's any fish in it he stared at me any hint of accomplishment was gone from his expression I'd never brought the lake up with him before let's do the hill again there has to be it's fresh water it's huge I've never seen anybody

fishing in it but um I'm going home there it was the terror just look at it though you see it don't you I don't see anything

but it's right there Simon snapped his face morphed into a mask of hideous anger he shoved me backwards and my elbow gashed against my handlebars when I fell I thought that was it that he'd released his anger and now we could ride down the hill again

but instead Simon kicked me He rammed his foot into my side. There's nothing there! And again, I suspect a rib or two broke. Not sure, though. I never told my parents when it happened. And ribs eventually heal on their own.

The next day in class, Simon wouldn't respond to me. When I would bike to his house to hang out, he never came to the door. He never attacked me again, but he never looked at me again either. I became like the lake to him, non-existent. I mostly stopped bringing up the lake. But it was always there. Always this dark blue smudge at the bottom of my vision when I looked at the mountains. I never did stop looking at it, but nobody else would.

On walks, they would face the other way. They would comment about how pretty the mountains were, but never anything else. In school, when we learned about the water cycle, The class was dead silent with discomfort, similar to how it felt on our fourth grade sex ed day. Just talking about water made people think of it. Thinking about it, I would theorize as I laid in bed at night. Why couldn't it exist? Some people even lived on it.

A few of my friends had houses right on the shoreline with the water laughing at their backyards. But when we played, would never get close. Their parents didn't build fences to block it off. To do so might admit there was something that needed blocking. We simply ignored it. I should clarify. For years, I wondered if I was crazy.

That would make the most sense. Even if I didn't have other hallucinations, maybe somehow for this one odd thing, I unexplainably did. Except how would that explain people's constant nervousness? the catch in their throat when they turned too quickly and forgot to close their eyes. How would hallucinations explain how Simon reacted years ago? Eventually, I just stopped thinking about it so much. It wasn't hard, and I never stooped to ignoring the lake like everybody else, but it barely affected my life.

Our city was a cozy place to grow up. It was easy to forget about this one dark ink plot. No matter how massive it might be. Every once in a while, though. My curiosity would bubble up. Once, as a freshman, a new girl moved into our class halfway through the year. I cornered her after class before she could make it to the cafeteria. So, um, have you seen it?

Um, hey, sorry, seen what? The lake. The girl stiffened. Her eyes went wide, they're trembling, she said. and scurried away. She just moved here. How could she already know to pretend it didn't exist? Excuse me just a moment.

Someone's wrapping on the back shutter again. That side of the building faces a brick wall, so it really shouldn't be anyone at all. But best I check. Help yourself to the radiator by the door if you're cold. The message? Terribly sorry about that. When a wall with no door wishes to be.

knocked upon, one listens, even if one finds nothing waiting on the other side. Now where were we? Ah, yes, the lake that no one sees, except the ones who must, shall we? Another time, just after I got my license, I stopped at a gas station to buy some lottery tickets. I know, I know you have to be 18 to buy those, yada, yada, but I was friends with the cashier, and anyways, it's not like I was doing drugs, so. Let's all move past this, yeah. Maybe we'll get a winner this time. Listen, I'm impulsive and not stupid.

Nobody ever wins with these things. Somebody does. You know, I wish they did tell us who. Other states force a lot of companies to announce that I've heard. Might make me feel a little bit better about wasting my fucking paychecks on these. Some things you never get to know. Some things you have to live your whole life without the answer. Nice one Gerald.

Somebody should put that on one of those motivational posters with like a little kitten on it. After that, I stopped in the bathroom. When I came out, an unfamiliar woman was talking to Gerald at the counter. Just passing through. Never been here before. But the mountains are stunning. Hold her outside.

Hey! Holding her daughter's small hand turned to me. You dropped this. I held out the woman's lost receipt, even though nobody in the history of anywhere has ever cared about a lost receipt. you. She said anyway. You're just passing through, huh? Sorry. I have a tendency to over hear other people's conversations. No worries. I have a tendency to speak too loudly. And yes, I am. This is going to sound really weird. But do you think you could do me a favor? It's not a big deal.

The woman smiled amicably. Could you just tell me what that is? I pointed. The mountains? Her eyes trailed towards it. No, um, beneath it. Her face snapped back to me, like Simon's had. It transformed to something twisted and furious, and she clamped her hands over her daughter's eyes. How dare you! She marched back to her car. The woman had never been here before.

She'd barely even talked to anybody in our city, but she knew. Somehow she knew. This grand, terrible secret that I didn't. Another year passed. It was my senior year. And my friends and I went to prom in a group of eight. Me with my six-month girlfriend. At the time, I knew it was ridiculous to think that Sherry, my girlfriend, and I would end up working out.

She had college plans, and I didn't. Now, though, had a shot. The night was amazing. We danced until midnight. We snuck shots. Somebody had smuggled in behind the bleachers. By the time the teacher chaperones were shoeing us out, we were giggly, buzzed, and not quite ready for it all to end. You'll be happy to hear we at least have the good sense not to drive in our current state.

We live close anyway, so the eight of us walked through the dark and suburban... No, don't go in. Let's do something. Like what? We were all silent. None of our parents would be especially thrilled about hosting a group of entire. intoxicated underage teenagers. The nearest Denny's was miles away. And everywhere else was already closed.

You know what? I know what we could do. Something dangerous. That word seemed to perk everybody up. Dangerous. In high school, it was equivalent with fun. They followed me without questions down the street and through a grove of trees. We stood on the lake shore.

Nobody spoke. Oh, come on, guys. Didn't we? Wordlessly, without deliberating, the eight of us stripped down to her underwear and waited in. Our joking and giggling from before was over. Our senses sharpened, and our brains seemed to clear. Nobody said the word. It was like, even in doing this, we still couldn't bring ourselves to admit it existed.

We averted our gazes. upwards and thought about other things. We were doing this, but we weren't. The lake existed. A little more. I asked Sherry. We were nearly chest deep.

She nodded, and we waited further, past the others, until only our heads were dry. I never thought I'd be doing this. She gripped my hand. Why? You know why.

But I don't, Sherry. I don't know. Everybody seems to know what the fuck's going on except me, and I don't know how to ask or make them tell me why? Why can't we talk? I felt it. Sherry's gasp in front of me told me she did too. Indescribable.

Out of nowhere. Incorporial. There was an immediate sense of wrongness. Something had shifted in the universe. but I didn't know what. Only that something had. And that we were not supposed to be here. We weren't supposed to be doing this.

We had to leave. Already rushing back to the shore. Sherry and I followed, half swimming, half running through the dark water. I almost expected something to grab me and drag me under, but nothing did. When we sprinted from the water, we were gasping and shuddering. Half of us were sobbing. We put back on our clothes and walked back to our houses in silence. Nobody would acknowledge what just happened.

Or the presence we'd all felt. We all waved goodbye. We're gone. I didn't know it until Monday when none of them were at school. Occasionally my teachers would glance at their empty desks and quickly away, as if they'd slipped up by looking. I tried texting each friend in turn, but each time, the only message I received from any of them was invalid number. After school, I rushed to Sherry's

house and pounded on the door. Her mother answered. Her mother's eyes were vacant and red. I don't know a Sherry. Your daughter. My girlfriend. Sherry! Her jaw trembled as if she was on the verge of bursting into tears. I don't have a daughter. She shut the door. A decade has gone by. I never did end up leaving my hometown. That might sound crazy, but the city really is a good place to grow up. The people are nice. The mountains are beautiful.

And the elementary schools are safe. That's all I want for my daughter. Her safety. This is the best place to raise her. I just hope she isn't like me, though. Some part of me already knows she will be. She will question. Be curious.

Want to know the lake doesn't exist. I'll look away. Maybe if I ignore it enough, she will too. But if she doesn't, I've already resolved what to do. Once, just once, when she's old enough.

I'll sit my daughter down. Yes, it exists. Crazy. She asks, I will tell her the horrible truth. That some things you never get to know. Some things you have to live your whole life without the answer. 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 100, The Lake, consigned by Lucas Gandola, starring Trevor Shand, Jade Shand,

Everett Shand, April Consolo, Conan Freeman, Romney Evans, and Reagan Saitzma, 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, Clement Panchout, Nicholas Redding, and Conan Freeman.

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 646-481-7-197.