The Antiquarium of Sinister Happenings - Lot 130 : The Watcher

Episode Date: June 18, 2026

Lot 130 : The Watcher   Consigned by Brandon Faircloth Starring Trevor Shand April Consalo Michael Floyd   Theme music by The Newton Brothers   Produced by Kevin Seaman   Additional music by CO.AG ([e-mail])   Clement Panchout   Vivek Abhishek   SUBSCRIBE to them on YOUTUBE: / vivekhsihba   LIKE them on FACEBOOK:  https://rb.gy/nhgn0i Follow 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. Welcome back. From what I've learned from our visits, old friend, you have a rather discerning eye for the finer things. I've got something that fits the bill indeed. An oil painting. A stone well surrounded by trees. No signature. No title.

Nothing to suggest it should be worth a second. in glance. Yet beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and every piece of art has something to say. This is the watcher. 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 Lilif, William Mayorga, Kim Rye, Clara Franklin, and Mary Brunette.

We are ever appreciative of your devotion to The Order. Go to The Obsidian Covenant.com to receive the sacrament. Sounds harmless enough, right? Welcome to the antiquarium of sinister happenings and odd goings on. So three years ago, I was looking at the local job classifieds online when one of the ads caught my eye. Now, not because of what it said, but actually because it said so little. Best I remember, the ad just read, Job Available, Good Pins. No benefits. Discretion required.

It then listed an email address, and really that was all. At the time, I was managing a music store. But I had already started hearing rumors that we're going to be shutting down within the next year. I know the likelihood of a transfer to another store was pretty fucking slim. I'd been morosely looking at job listings for the last few days, but this was the first one that stood out. only because I was bored and it was really fucking weird. So, I sent an email, of course.

It was like half an hour later, and I had a response. It told me to go to a particular office building in an upscale part of the city at a precise time for my screening. So I went. And after waiting for a few minutes in the lobby, I was taken into an office where I was given a series of forms and questionnaires to fill out. They collected them and told me that they'd be in touch.

Truth be told, I'd almost forgotten about the whole thing until like a month later. I got a call, saying I had moved on to the second stage of the hiring process. I was again given an address in time, and when I arrived, this time it was a totally different nice office park like 20 miles away from the first one. I was meant by a man who introduced himself as Mr. Solomon. Well, Mr. Solomon escorted me into a large room that contained a chair and a desk. On the desk were two large monitors, a keyboard, and a mouse. Also, a bolted-down metal box with two oversized buttons on it.

One red. He told me this room. It was a model for the place that I was going to be working if I took the job. He described this job as follows. I'd be working seven shifts of six hours every week. My job would be pretty simple. I'd arrive at work 10 minutes early

and enter an outer area that was sort of like a locker room. I would have my own personal locker there. I would store all belongings in that locker and change into the provided work clothes. I was never under any circumstances to carry an item of my own into the surveillance room. As for what I was to do in the surveillance room, I was told that the monitor on the left

would constantly show a live stream from a high-definition camera in a remote location. My job was simply to watch the camera. Once an hour, I would get onto the computer attached to the right monitor and enter a brief log describing anything interesting that occurred in the last hour. I would have no pens or pencils or paper, and I should never try to take any kind of written notes about the work whatsoever.

As for the red and green buttons, well, the red button was only to be used if there was an emergency. This meant something on the video or in my workspace that required outside help. The green button was to be hit if I saw something on the video feed. that was particularly noteworthy. It would tell other people somewhere that, at least in my opinion, something interesting was going on, obviously. Solomon stressed that, while I was given discretion on when to use this button,

I should err on the side of only using it if and when, something of real significance occurred. He pointed out the camera on the ceiling of the room we were in. He said the real room was going to be the same. My work would be observed, and other people were watching the room on the video feed as well. He said I was only redundancy in case other systems failed. He then smirked and asked if I knew what he meant by redundancy. I nodded, trying not to show my irritation.

I don't talk that good to people, so sometimes I think I'm dumb. That's okay. Let him think that if you pay me good enough. Speaking of which, the pay was very good. 35 bucks an hour. Now, this worried me. I was already thinking that this was some kind of psych experiment or secret government job, which I was okay with,

but that kind of money to sit and watch a screen? You know, my mom always told me that if something seems too good to be true, well, it probably is, and this was something too good to be true. I asked if I was going to be doing anything illegal. Solomon laughed and said, no. I asked if anyone was going to get hurt. Again, he shook his head, no. He said the reason they were paying so much

was because they needed employees that were motivated to be professional and discreet. The work they were doing was important, and for various reasons, it couldn't be discussed. If I took the job, I would have to sign papers promising I would never discuss my work there, or I could be sued or blocked up. I'm only breaking that now because of everything that's happened.

So I took the job. Because they wanted me to start right away, I had to quit the store with absolutely no notice. I felt really shitty about that, but I was excited about the new job, too. It was a lot of money and seemed like really easy work. If it'd be boring, really. I was nervous, but there was something more to it. But I told myself I'd just have to see. No point chickening out and wasting a good chance because I let my imagination go crazy.

crazy, right? I was given the location of the job itself, and when I went there, I was amazed that it really was just like the model room I'd been shown with only a few differences. There was a locker room he had to pass through to enter the surveillance room, and there was a small bathroom attached to the real surveillance room also. The real room had a small water cooler in the corner, but because I wasn't allowed to bring anything in with me, I had to eat before or after every shift. The biggest difference, of course, was that the monitors were turned on. The right monitor was just a black and white terminal like you see in movies sometimes, and

I could type in my logs, but no internet to look at or anything like that. Now the left monitor, it was video from a room. You would call it a bedroom, I guess, because it did have a bed in it, but it had lots of other stuff too. a TV, a sofa, a chairs, a couple of tables, and plenty of empty space in between. The camera must be high up in a corner because I could see pretty much everything except for the far sides of furniture. At first, though, I didn't notice any of that stuff. All I saw was her.

She looked to be a little older than me and was very pretty. When I first saw her, she was lying on her side on the sofa. That was the part of the room farthest from the camera. But the picture was very clear. And I could tell that she was sleeping. I found myself leaning into the monitor more so I could see her better. And then I thought about what I was doing and felt embarrassed as hell. It was like I was spying on her.

Peeping Tom, my mom used to call it. I don't want to be a peeping Tom, but I didn't want to be silly either. I needed to think about it slow. It was a good job. And I wasn't doing anything wrong, right? I mean, I wasn't hurting anybody. The woman looked fine, and the room was nice. She probably agreed to be there, and it's all some experiment or something.

I was just overreacting. So, I sat down on the chair and began my work. It didn't take long before I understood more. The woman, I took to calling her Rachel, wasn't there ever. free will. I never saw her hurt, but it was clear that she never left that room, except to go into what I think is a bathroom area that my camera couldn't see. Well, she never left the room on her own. Periodically, usually a couple times a week during my shifts, men and women in strange looking outfits would come in and take her from the room. Sometimes she would struggle. Usually she would just

go along with her head hung low. They would always bring her back. Though the times when she wasn't brought back during my shift were always the worst for me. I'd worry about her until I got to work the next day and saw her in the room watching TV or painting. She never looked hurt or even that upset, except for when they took her. And even when she fought, they were always gentle with her.

Still, I knew something. was wrong. I considered quitting the job or hitting the red button and getting someone to come so I could get some answers or calling the fucking police and showing them what the camera was showing me. Except I was scared. I was scared of losing this job and scared of what these people might do to me if I quit or or told on them. Solomon had told me when I took the job that part of being discreet was not asking questions.

I would never be asked to do more than I had already been. told, could never tell anyone what I did or saw, and I could never ask questions about what I was doing or why. So I made excuses. It was all an experiment. She was crazy or sick, and they were trying to help her. She was doing the job just like I was, or if she really was a prisoner somewhere, at least I was watching to make sure that, to make sure she was okay. If they ever tried to hurt her or I saw that she really didn't want to be there for sure I could get help then. In a way, I told myself I was helping to protect her by watching. I don't expect you to think much of my excuses.

I don't think much of it myself, especially now. But in my defense, when things changed, I didn't ignore it or try to explain it away. I knew something had to be done. Rachel would usually paint for an hour or two every day. and it seemed to always be during my afternoon shifts. The room had no windows as far as I could tell, but I guess she either used a clock or her own body's time to keep a kind of schedule.

I always like to watch her paint. The thing she was painting was always facing the wrong way for me to see it, but I could see her face as she worked. She always looked peaceful and happy when she was painting. And seeing her that way, smiling serenely from time to time if she got something the way she wanted it, always made my day.

I first noticed something was wrong when she started painting more frequently a few weeks ago. Her expression was more focused and serious. And there was attention to her movements that I wasn't used to seeing. At first, I thought she was just really trying to work hard on something, and I wanted to tell her not to worry. Every few weeks, the others would come in

and take the old paintings out anyway, bringing in a new stack of... I think the word is Candace. But it was more than her being focused. Something was wrong. She didn't look happy. And she was going for hours at a time. In the span of three days,

she had finished four paintings. I'd been growing more and more worried watching her work and when she finished the fourth. I found myself telling her to just stop and rest a while. I'd grown accustomed to talking to the monitor, talking to her in my own way. But she didn't stop. Instead, she began moving the paintings,

ranging them on the back and seat of the long sofa at the far end of the room. This is the first time I'd gotten to see any of the paintings. Even when the others were taking them out, they always seemed to be turned away from the camera. I was still worried about her, though. But I was also a little. happy to finally see something she had worked on. Happy and amazed.

They were beautiful. One was a beautiful green forest. Another was an old stone well. A third was a house sitting alone on a small island. The last was an old-fashioned looking movie theater. All of them looked like something out of a dream. With trailing lines of color mixing in the air around them like leaves caught in the wind. Look close.

that I realized the lines of color weren't random. Words. Easy to miss if you weren't looking close, and by themselves, they didn't seem to mean much. Just a ghost of a word somewhere in each of the paintings, easy to lose in everything else that was being shown. I leaned into the monitor and squinted, trying to read the words. My heart started studying, as I actually made them out, blinking and rubbing my eyes. I looked again, beating them out loud in order. Left to right.

Top pair, then bottom. Please. Placates things? Looks like Thomas has just been painted into a quarter. Excuse me for a moment. I think someone's knocking around in the basement. Give me just a moment. We'll be right back.

If you wish to leave a message, please do so with the tone. Okay, so, okay, so I purchased this really nice oil lantern from your shop the other day, but, you know, it works great. Oil seems to never end, and the fire never goes out, but the shadows that it's showing just be there. And some of the movements of unknown creatures around corners of rocks when I'm exploring caves or hiking or, you know, things I bought around the floor just, let's say they're getting a little closer every time I shine the light on so yeah I know you offer changes

or refunds just maybe some helpful instructions would help before oh god oh god thanks for your patience seems our visitor has moved on which is more than I can save for Thomas

shall we easy to miss if you weren't looking close and by themselves, they didn't seem to mean much. Just a ghost of a word, somewhere in each of the paintings, easy to lose and everything else that was being shown. I leaned into the monitor and squinted, trying to read the words. And my heart started thudding as I actually made them out,

blinking and rubbing my eyes. I looked again, reading them out loud in order, left to right, top pair then bottom please Thomas I pushed back from the monitor

and over my mouth I didn't know what to do I know how I knew this could be happening it was it wasn't just that she was asking for help though that was a big part of it it was that my name is Thomas

I thought about the camera above me and took my hand away from my face I rolled back to the desk and sat there trying to stop from shaking trying to make myself take a breath. Think about it. Slow.

The first thing was, should I hit a button? Another red button was for an emergency. If she was a prisoner or something and she was trying to escape, they might think that that was an emergency, but no one had been hurt that I knew of. And I think Mr. Solomon men saved that for something that was like a police or ambulance emergency,

not something like this. But what about the green button? This was definitely something noteworthy, not only that she was asking for help, but that she was asking me for help. I made myself stop for a moment. I couldn't know for sure she was asking me. I mean, I'd gone to school with several boys named Thomas. It was a common name. But the chances of her painting that name when I was working here, I didn't want to be silly.

But I wasn't trying to be too, what's that word? Mom used to say it when she read her angel books. skeptics. I didn't want to be a skeptic either. I had to believe it was probably meant for me. And that was something that they would want to know. But should I hit that green button? My hands were drifting toward the metal box on the desk, but I hesitated. I didn't like breaking rules, and I was scared of what would happen if I broke these. If they really were holding a prisoner, then they were probably very, very bad people. Maybe they were good and she was bad.

But I just... I looked back at the monitor for the first time since reading the words. Rachel was already moving the paintings back off the sofa, as though she knew the message had been received. A canvas in each hand, she glanced up at the camera as she moved across the room. Fucking felt like she was looking right.

My chest tightened as my hands moved away from the buttons. No, I don't know. I didn't think she was bad. I had watched her for years. I felt like I knew her. I'd know she was bad. Strange as it seemed in a way, she was my friend. I was going to try now.

I spent the rest of my shift trying to act normal and think of what to do. I mean, I knew whoever else was watching might have noticed the paintings are seen how I acted, but I couldn't worry about that right now. I'd try to play it cool and try to think how I could help her. The only people I'd actually met connected to this job were a couple of people when I filled out the papers, and then Mr. Solomon, when he showed me the model room and told me the job. I had no way of contacting any of them except through the buttons. My checks were deposited electronically, and I'd never run into anyone else who worked at the surveillance room.

You know what, that thought made me stop a second. I'd always thought it was weird that I never ran into someone when I was coming or going. and the person I was taken over for, the person who was taken over for me, I'd always figured there must be other people, other surveillance rooms even, and they just scheduled us so we didn't run into each other. And I still thought there were others. Part of why I thought that was because it seemed like I wasn't the only person who used my surveillance room. Now, the water cooler, the toilet paper, the soap,

they all seemed to go down faster than I think I was using it by myself. And if that was true, if that was true. Maybe I could figure out who they were, and maybe they'd be safer to talk to than whoever it was that I worked for. I got off work at 8 that night. And instead of grabbing some food and going home, I drove my car around the block. And then I parked down the street from the building where I worked. Nothing had changed while I drove around for a minute. No new cars had parked or anything, and if I was right,

they didn't send anyone to replace me until they were sure I was gone anyhow. So I sat. and I waited. I was tired and the street was pretty empty and boring, but I was too excited and scared to fall asleep. Every time a car passed or someone walked down the sidewalk, I tensed up. I kept imagining an SUV or van pulling up behind me,

men getting out and pulling me from my car, taking me somewhere like where they'd take Rachel to kill or torture me. Half a dozen times I almost cranked up and drove away, but every time I'd think, of her, alone in that room. She had no one but me to help her. Two hours later, a large balding man parked and started heading for the building. As soon as I saw, he was able to unlock the door and enter, I opened my car door to go talk to him. Then I stopped. I needed to be smart. I didn't know where they were, but I was sure there were hidden cameras in the locker room and outside the

building. If I go running in there and confront that guy, they'll know for sure that I'm up to something. Sighing with frustration. I shut the door back and waited until his shift was over. I considered tailing him like in the movies, but I was scared I'd just lose him or he would call someone for help, so I waited until he was walking back to his car after a six-hour shift. Hopefully far enough away that the cameras wouldn't see. And then, I'm at the main. I'm at the Man, I came to know as Charles, Jeffries. Hey, yo, man, kid, listen, can I talk to you for a minute? His back was to me and he just waved his hand absently without looking up.

Oh, God. No, no, you need to get out of here, kid. We don't let her talk. I could tell he was scared. But I couldn't risk letting him go yet. Not after all this. I stepped up and pushed the door back shut as he was trying to get into his car. Wait, so you know who I am?

I tried to not sound mean, but I could hear the anger of my own voice. He yanked at the door again, but I was still holding it. And how stronger than he was. After a second, weaker tug, he turned around. His face strained and tired-looking. Yeah, I know who you are. You work here just like me And I'm telling you

We aren't supposed to be talking We aren't supposed to meet Ever Mr. Solomon never told me that He never said it was one of the rules The man shook his head Mr. Solomon Yeah

Well There are plenty of rules they don't tell you I bet they didn't tell you What you were going to be watching Before you started did they? When I just lowered my eyes, he went on. Yeah, me either.

I've been at this job for ten years. I've seen other people come and go, usually because they broke one of those rules they never mentioned. The only reason I'm still here is because I keep my head down, my mouth shut. You should do the same

if it's not already too late. I felt my head. stomach crilling into a cold knot. Do you think they know we're talking? Do you think anything happens that they don't know about? The man rubbed his face. He looked back toward the building. A look of sadness and fear in his eyes.

Hell, for all I know, you've already killed us both. Either way, I'm done risking it. Shaking his head, he pushed me back and started opening the door. You need to stop asking questions and just do your job. It's a lot healthier. With that, he got into his car and shut the door. I didn't try to stop him this time, even though I'd already been worried about what he was

telling me. Hearing it confirmed was paralyzing. What exactly was my plan? He probably didn't know any more than I didn't. Even if he did, what could I do? what could I do with anything he told me? I walked back to my car with a heavy heart. I was still afraid.

But more than that, I was sad and ashamed. I wanted to help Rachel, but I wasn't sure how. I wasn't giving up. But as I drove back to my apartment, I could not think of what I should do next. This was not a movie.

I was not a hero, and the only ideas I had left were to either go to the police, who might be controlled by whoever I worked for, or try to get proof of her being held prisoner myself. As I parked my car and walked into my apartment building, I made a decision. Unless I thought of something better overnight, I would do both ideas. Tomorrow I'd break the rule about carrying anything in. I'd use my phone to record a video of the surveillance room of Rachel, and how she was trapped somewhere, and of me telling everything else I knew, and I would email it to every newspaper,

website, and internet channel I could think of. I then go to the police and give them a copy, too, if I could make it that long without getting caught. Maybe if I did all that, even if they got me, someone would help Rachel. I was filled with worry and dread at the idea of being hurt or killed. A part of me kept saying I should just do as I was told and the hope that it all went away, but you can't understand I couldn't live with myself if I did that.

What would you do? Even if I messed up, I felt like I had to try. I was so preoccupied that I did not hear the person coming up behind me as I unlocked my apartment door. Thomas? I turned around and felt my legs weakened as I stumbled back against my door. I had to be dreaming or crazy. I grabbed the door now for support as I looked at the woman in front of me. You couldn't be her.

But somehow, it was Rachel. Is that what you call me? I like it. My name is actually Melanie, though. She hesitated a moment before breaking into a smile. I felt my face reddening. Of course, her name wasn't actually Rachel. That was just something I made up in my head.

Still my embarrassment couldn't keep up with my confusion and joy. Is it really you? She nodded. Yeah. It's me. To be continued. BWX. 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. 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. You have a good night. The Antiquarium of Sinister Happenings, Lot 1-30, The Watcher, consigned by Brandon Faircloth, starring Trevor Shand, April Consolo, and Michael Floyd, featuring Stephen Knowles as the antique dealer.

Production and sound design by Kevin Seaman, 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 646-481-7197.