The Antiquarium of Sinister Happenings - Lot 114 : Harmony Care Home Chapter 3

Episode Date: February 16, 2026

Lot 114 : Harmony Care Home Chapter 3 Consigned by Quincy LeeStarring Trevor ShandAddison PeacockFiona Thraille **Much obliged for using the Rocket Money and Mint Mobile link below. It lends a helping hand to our little shop, and we’re truly grateful for the support.Rocket Money: http://rocketmoney.com/SINISTERMint Mobile: https://mintmobile.com/SINISTER https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/182dejs/ i_visited_a_care_home_and_ate_something_strange/?sort=newTheme music by The Newton Brothers Additional music byCO.AG ([e-mail]) Clement Panchout 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.

For an ad-free experience, visit the obsidiancovenant.com. The following episode briefly mentions the death of an animal. You've returned. Good. Do come in, mind the threshold. Now then, a pair of knitting needles. No decorative carving, no inscription. But the tips are stained with blood.

They are also stained with a story about two people, named Jack and Emma. I present to you, Lot 114. Harmony Care Home, Chapter 3. 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 Evan Blue, Jack Woodward, James, Lisbeth Fernandez, Wintermute

4815, Konsenduzi 180, Gina Jacobson, and Mariah Smith. We are ever appreciative of your devotion to

the order. Go to the obsidiancovenant.com to receive the sacrament. Sounds harmless enough, right? Welcome to the antiquarium of sinister happenings and odd goings on. Thought I'd check in with you. I found this old pair of knitting needles in the storage bin with the stuff from Harmony Care Home. Like everything else, I can't remember why the fuck I kept them. The tips are stained, bloody, which is not only disgusting, but rather ominous.

Definitely not the usual purpose of knitting needles. I don't care who the fuck your grandma is. However, I wonder whose blood it is. The Reddit post I wrote back then could probably shed a bit of light. Probably has another code embedded too, if you've been following along. All right, let's see what I had to say. Here goes, posted on November 20th. 23rd, 2023.

There's something about Harmony Care Home that affects the memory, like a veil or a sort of fog, so that when you're here, you think everything is normal. And when you leave, you forget that you came. Or if you do remember, have only pleasant recollections. Sunshine, daisies, chatter in the common room around trivia night, or the flaky crust on the meaty pie they serve for dinner. You don't recall the unpleasant parts, though.

Like cutting into some, said Pine, wondering what it was the fuck that you just ate, even when it's coming right back up. You know, I've spent a lot of time reaching out to the families about their loved ones here. The responses all hit the same note. Oh, he's so happy there. She never wants to leave. It's just so wonderful knowing that our sweet grand is in good hands. Sweet grand, by the way, is Bernadette Smyth out in room 201. Burns' room is the first on the right at the top of the stairs, and if you peek in right now, you're going to see her sitting in a rocking chair like a withered goddamn raisin.

Her head thrown back. Whispy white hair trailing down her shoulders. Rinkled flesh lost in a faded nightgown. Pills literally tumble out of her fucking open mouth. Her jaw so wide it looks like it's been dislocated. Multicolored gels and capsules spilling across her lap and down around her chair, scattering around the floor like skittles. Yeah, good hands.

She might be a little over-medicated, though. As a lifelong con artist, listen, I pulled a lot of shady scams in my time, but I gotta say, none of them, and I mean none of them, hold a candle to the griff that is, Harmony Care Home. It operates on the allure of an insidious lie that Gran is happy, cared for, looked after.

This is not particularly original, It's the same lie that all unsavory institutions tell while senior citizens are being robbed of their life savings. Neglected by overworked staff or forgotten as their blood is sucked dry by bedbugs. At least at most of these institutions, though, there's a morbid upside. Once you're dead, it's over. The final page turned. The curtain dropped. Death.

Being the inevitable accepted Harmony Care home, right, Byrne? No. Here there's an encore. Sorry folks, she can't talk her mouth full. She definitely can't move, though. I sometimes hear the creak of a rocking chair freaks me the fuck out. All right, if you haven't guessed yet, I'm a prisoner at Harmony Care Home. Making these posts live and direct from room 313.

It was supposed to be a secret in my first Reddit post along with a hidden plea for help, but since folks in the comments can't keep a secret to save my life. Yeah. Thanks, by the way. I'm lucky I'm still allowed to use Wi-Fi, though. Part of the deal is that I now have to write a new five-star review for every Reddit post, so keep an eye out for those. And don't believe a word I say.

The bingo nights are not as great as I make them out to be. Anyway, where was I? Um, all right. I think where I left off, I was just about to meet Darlene's granddaughter. A lovely young lady by the name of Emma. When I initially reached out to Emma Anderson, she replied like all families, informing her her grandmother was very happy. It's only after I persist.

at telling her about an emergency having to do with the grandmother's cats that she finally agreed to make the long drive out to Harmony Care Home to meet me. As I remember it, it's all a little hazy now. On that sunny autumn day, she pulls into the visitor parking lot in a gleaming electric blue hybrid. The azure sky reflected in the tinted windows. She's kind of a mystery gal. Her Instagram nothing but Korean food and lattes. I've gleaned that she's bougie. adopted, and that's about it.

That's a real huge lie that it's also hazy now. Clearly, it's like I got fucking perfect pitch or something. So when she swings canned legs out the door, it's my first glimpse of Emma in the flesh. And oh, hello, what flesh it is. Emma Anderson is an adorably petite girl who might have stepped off the cover of a K-pop album. Her tiny frame all but swallowed

in a fluffy white cardigan, the sun, winking off her sparkling earrings and carefully manicured nails. When she smiles, it's this coy flicker that makes me wish I'd styled up a bit because I'm such a gruffy tramp, and she's just so,

she's just so chic. We shake hands, her grip, lingering in mind as she leans in and asks me to repeat my name. Nice to meet you, I'm Jack. I smile. funny she peers at me over her sunglasses you sure it isn't susan wait huh oh oh shit nice to finally put a face to the name jack yeah about that her grip suddenly squeezes hard a k a susan aka what else you go by

when you're scamming innocent grannies out of their cat rescue funds it's coming oh you can and i have probably should have guessed someone in darlene's family would wise up to me lesson number one and why he should never appear in person to your victim. I mean, to the good people whose cats were rescuing here. But since I'm reformed now, I do something that's very rare for me. I tell this girl I just met, the actual truth.

And if you think about it, it's actually a very sweet story. I mean, here you have Jack, the catfisher, only now turn cat rescuer. Scammer no more! And it's all due to the kindness of his former victim, Darlene, who sent him, flowers after he OD'd and was recovering alone in the hospital in the midst of an existential crisis. Sure, I'm fudging the chronology a bit since technically I reformed before she sent me those flowers,

but it's still truth, just rearranged, and it's heartwarming. Isn't it heartwarming? And okay, maybe rescuing Darlene isn't my only goal here. Maybe I learned through my calls to the families that the care home has been charging some pretty hefty fees for its services over the years. And where's all that money going? Hypothetically, if someone were to scam away some of that cash, would the amnesia cancel out any investigation? Obviously, poking into the financial operations of a paranormal care home is incredibly dangerous. But, I mean, if I'm already here trying to rescue Darlene, anyway, I mean, you know, Emma, though, is not buying what I'm selling. Instead, she's whipping out her phone and announcing.

Everyone, this jackhole here is the guy who's been collecting donations for cats that, guess what? don't actually exist, just like Susan doesn't exist, unless you think this scruffy tattooed loser looks like a Susan. I try to interject that Darlene is sick, but Emma won't stop narrating. And finally, I grab her wrist and yell. Hey, I'm a pretty short guy just over five, six, but suddenly I'm aware how tiny she is.

Her wrist completely enclosed in my grip, and, oh, this is not a good look. What go of me, creep? She's dying, Emma. My brain finally sends a signal to my hand to let go, and I back up and explain. That's why I called you here, okay? Please, let me take you to her.

You have to see her. The first flicker of doubt punctures Emma's self-righteousness. What are you talking about? I was here earlier this week. She was fine. The staff, you have to see her. Toward the ivy-covered building looming behind us. Emma frowns, but tucks her phone away.

She grumbles something about getting me arrested if I try any funny business and I warn her that we might get a frosty reception from the front desk if they suspect she's investigating Darlene's care. I suggest we stick to the story that we're here for the cats. I grab a book from my car,

a prop to help once we're inside, and the two of us head in through the double doors. Since I'm in the company of a legitimate family member, Lolita this time simply asks us to sign in and points us upstairs. Once we've gotten to the second floor hallway, I hand Emma the book from my car and ask her to take a look, saying, It'll help prime your mind.

It's a Stephen King novel, but I've switched the dust jacket with chicken soup for the soul. As she examines it, I explain. Everyone who visits, all right, only sees the cover. Seems fine until you start reading. Even then, depending on which scene it is, you might not notice anything wrong, but keep reading. and eventually you realize you're in a horror novel.

Cute. Emma hands it back to me. So is this a metaphor for you? Don't think you're going to distract me from... Emma. You're only seeing the dust jacket right now. You'll see the truth. It's a good idea for you to record the meeting.

Once you see Darlene, you're going to know what book you're in. Just be ready. As I reach for the knob to her grandmother's room, I paused to turn back to her. and whatever happens in there, you keep... Darlene Anderson is one of the easiest marks I've ever had, falling very quickly for my scams after the first disfigured cat pictures I sent, more than 10 months ago.

I stole a few thousand from her through repeated asks for donations for imaginary vet bills. And while initially I made elaborate mock-ups of receipts, Darlene became such good friends with Susan, my cat lady persona, that by the time karma cut up to me and slammed me into a coma, I just sent her an ask and she'd throw money my way. This whole relationship says a lot about us. How much I deserve what I'm going through. And how much Darlene.

How much she doesn't. For what it's worth him. For what it's worth, I'm sorry, Darlene. Here's how I want you to picture her, okay? 57 years young. With luxurious auburn curls and twinkling eyes and just the hokeyest cat sweater if you've ever fucking seen. with a unicorn pashine covered in sequence.

Imagine her, holding her precious brown tabby macles. Both of them in ridiculous hats that she knitted herself. As she's headbutting her chin so hard, you can almost hear his purr. Got it? Okay, hold that in your mind. Now with Emma and tell, I swing open the door. That piss assails us. Mingling with the odors of unwashed flesh and rotting deaths.

The dim room is cluttered with discarded clothes, bags, medicine bottles from cat vomit, encrusting the rug, barely distinguishable from the dark pattern. And there, Darlene sits, in a faded armchair by the window. Her fingers working at knitting a small woolen cap on dirty knitting needles. Every so often, she strokes an object in her lap, a very lump that was once a brown tabby. This party is bloated. The stomach stretched like a drum and maggots wriggling in its eyes. Hi, Grams! Emma's nose wrinkles, but she bursts.

How are you doing? And steps in to kiss her grandmother's with her cheek, squeezes a wrinkled hand. Emma, how nice of you to visit. Darlene Coos. No, none of this is nice. Does Emma really not see? Hey, Darlene. I step forward, big smile.

It's Jack. Remember, you asked for help with the cats? I'm here to pick up Mickels. Well, that's right. Darlene's withered fingers caress the brown fur. I don't think he needs the vet anymore. He hasn't been throwing up. Yeah.

He looks... He looks great. Technically, she's not wrong. He definitely does not need the vet. That is true. You know what? Even so. I say bracing myself. Better safe than sorry.

Then I scooped a dead cat into my arms. Darlene reaches out, distressed, and marounds on me. Give him back. Gladly. I expel the breath I'm holding and let her take him. But I keep one hand on that very dead, very decaying cat, touches his stiff whiskers. His face frozen in a grimace, lips pulled back over bare teeth. Her finger graces one of the larvae wrinkling in his eyes.

Darlene, behind us from the chair, is crying out in dismay. But I keep my grip on Emma's arms. Suddenly, Emma shudders and drops Mickles. He thuds to the floor. Emma's breathing is hard. Her eyes on the phone, which she points at the dead cat, as I scooped the body up and give it to Darlene. The old woman cradles that bloated dead thing to her chest.

His voice shakes. Get here. I can't. I can't remember how she... How she even came to be here. I told you. It's like a dust jacket over your mind. Caring, compassionate, harmonious senior living.

I quote the care home slogan to Emma. That's what it makes you think while this place consumes your loved ones. The same unnatural forces that make Minkle sick are making her sick too. Sucking away her life. I studied Darlene, softly whispering her love to the dead cat. She looks more like a woman in her 70s and her 50s.

Who knows if it's too late to restore her even if we do get her out? Can I need a wheelchair? I decide, turning for the door. I really doubt that care home will let us just walk out of here, but we can try. Jack. What? Jack, the cat. Her grip on the phone trembles.

Still trained on her grandmother. He was not sick. Huh? Of course he was sick. But then I look back and realize what Emma is seeing. The dead cat's fur is darkly stained from several puncture wounds, and I look at the tiny woolen hat in Darlene's lap, resting on the end of those darkly stained needles. Ice shoots through my veins.

Darlane looks up, her eyes widening at my expression of dawning horror, as if the same appalling revelation is cascading through her too. And then suddenly, the old woman's face contorts in a scream, and she stabs me with her fucking knitting needles. I wince, as Emma disinfects and cleans the punctures. We couldn't bring out Darlene. As soon as she stabbed me,

I'm lucky she didn't hit an artery, by the way. Lolita and a couple of nurses burst in and yelled at us, claiming we induced a fit and shoeing us out because the resident had to be be medicated. Afterward, Emma wanted to bust back in and demand her grandmother be released. But those nurses, even if we weren't outnumbered, there's no possible way we can fight the nurses.

Besides, even if we tried, Darlene obviously was not willing to come. Whatever sickened her body also corrupted her mind. And later when she calmed down, she kept telling Emma over the phone that she wants to stay. So Emma, Emma called the police.

It went about how I expected. In the end, the cops threatened to arrest us if we continued to cause a disturbance to the residents and staff and escorted us away from the premises. It's taken Emma while to cool off from all that, okay? I just can't believe. How can they get away with this? She rants as she cleans the puncture wounds in my chest and shoulder.

Even now, she's still under the sway of the illusion. Looks at me funny when I tell her the nurses were rotting corpses, that one of them had the ID tag for Kendra Jones, and her eyes were gaping sockets in her teeth. We're literally falling out of her decomposing face. Emma knows I'm not lying, yet doesn't quite believe me about the horrors simmering under the surface of reality. The only thing she knows she saw for certain is that her grandmother is severely ill,

and that her cat is dead. Finally, she sighs and glumly finishes applying the bandages. You know, you should really go to a hospital. Yeah, and if we lived in a fantasy world where health care was free, I would. She frowns. delicate brow wrinkling as this never would have occurred to her. What are these scars on your chest anyway? Top surgery.

Huh? What is... Oh! A light bulb flickers on and then dims. Wait, so you're... But if you're, then... What exactly do you have down... Preliaamma?

Going right to the personal stuff, huh? But I just smile and say... I'll show you mine if you show me yours. What? No, no, I'm not... No! No! Her face goes scarlet And she smacks my shoulders

Jesus, I'm not flirting with you asshole Ow, fucking come on If it weren't from me, you wouldn't even know about Tarleen In fact, you won't know Which is why we're gonna have to do this I asked to borrow her phone And then lean in for a selfie urging It'll be better if you smile

Emma side-eyes me But gives the angriest little smile That's so cute by the way you got to see it And I take a selfie of the pair of us before setting the pick as her phone's background. This, I explain, along with some calendar alerts and messages I'm sending, should be enough of a trigger to get her here tomorrow. You won't remember what's going on at the carolmone,

but you'll see my picture and be mad about it. That's for sure. You're going to be all, Ooh, Jack, that terrible awful scammer asshole. What a douchebag. OMG, going to expose you! She's glaring at me for the falsetto voice, by the way. I don't sound like that.

Totally do. But fine. Not a bad plan. Why'd you ask me to smile? Because you're cute when you... Ow! Fuck! Oh! God, it's like being stuck in a group project with the class clown!

I get down to business. I've got a list here of all the recent residents and visitors. Quickly, I outline the work we're going to have to do. Emma's fingers fly across her phone as I spitball ideas. She's already organizing all my jumbled notes into spreadsheets and shared drives. Super overachiever. Definitely a straight-A student. She's wrong about me being the class clown, though.

I'm actually the class dropout, which is exactly what she needs right now. Because forces like whatever is behind Harmony Care Home do not operate according to the rules she's accustomed to. They have their own hidden sets of rules. In a game you have to figure out before you lose. And Emma's such a good girl. Acting as if getting those perfect grades and doing what she's told will mean victory and success.

And in her world, sure. Being brought up in a rich family and attending a celebrated university, it's like the rules were made for girls like her. Guy like me, I couldn't even afford the loans. Not that it matters since I also never got my GED, but to win against something like this place, you can't be good. Can't stay inside the lines. Or you just wind up like the police and the relatives.

Leaving a five-star review. You've got to be a cheater and a liar. Emma would tell this story the way it happened, but I'm telling it the way I need it to happen. That's a very important distinction you'll understand in my next posts if I can play my cards right. But for now, we're still in the planning stages, and I caution her, whatever you do, back here alone. Ever. Got it? Why?

I mean, if we need to learn about the place. You asked me how Darlene became a resident. You don't remember, right? for us, because I've seen the names on the visitor list. I checked them against the resident list, and responses from families I've reached out to. And if what the family members have told me is true, Lolita does not ask every visitor to sign the log

because I have a bunch of names of family who say they've recently visited, but their names do not appear on the sign-in log. In fact, the most recent visitor to sign in before Darlene is the name all too familiar. Gerard Williamson. Actually, nearly every name on the resident list was originally a visitor. And the only two visitors not yet in the resident list? Jack Wilde. Emma Anderson.

Assigning our names at the check-in desk does not mean we're safe. No. It means... 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, 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, our best customer. The Antiquarium of Sinister Happenings. Lot 114, Harmony Care Home Chapter 3, consigned by Quincy Lee, starring Trevor Shand, Addison Peacock, and Fiona Thrail,

featuring Stephen Knowles as the antique dealer. Engineering Production and Sound Design by Trevor Shand and Lauren 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.