The Antiquarium of Sinister Happenings - Lot 133 : The Watcher (FINALE)

Episode Date: July 2, 2026

Lot 133 : The Watcher (FINALE) Consigned by Brandon Faircloth Starring Trevor Shand Jarret Griffis Romy Evans Galen Howard Conan Freeman   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. Tonight's object is the final painting Rachel Donovan ever left behind. Unlike the others, there are no hidden messages concealed within the brushstrokes. Just two figures standing together beneath a rising sun. For a long time, nobody knew what it meant. Perhaps Rachel did. Or perhaps, she simply needed to believe that somewhere, beyond all the fear and loneliness,

there was an ending worth finding. Let's see if she was right. In The Watcher, Chapter 4. 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 Teresa Melendez, Michael Brody,

Rahul Dwayne, Momo in de House, and Darth Lomondon. 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. I was suddenly on my feet, and it was only the raising of Solomon's gun that stopped me from attacking him.

Don't you fucking talk about her like that! Like any of you guys give her shit about her! I'll fucking kill you. Solomon's face darkened slightly as his lips thinned. No, you won't. But if idle threats make you feel better, go ahead. It will only make things harder, not easier. Feeling a stab of panicked fear, I sat back down.

What is this thing you're going to put in me? The man looked at me for several seconds before responding. I'm tempted not to tell you after you're stupid, and frankly hurtful outburst. Thomas, somewhere there is a tree, a very special tree. We suspect it's the same tree

that Rachel painted for you that time, though we can't say for sure as we've never been able to find it. It's either hidden away very well or it is able to hide itself from those it wishes not to be seen by. I just looked at him, trying to kill him by just wanting it to be so.

In any case, We have the next best thing, an ancient clipping from the tree, secured at great cost and sacrifice, and studied for a long, long time without much success. We have, however, in recent years, been given advice that this clipping could be grown in the right soil. We thought that soil was Rachel. While it did develop further inside of her,

she died before the necessary growth was finished. We have it on fairly good authority, however, that you might succeed where she failed. I fought them when they came, but it didn't matter. I woke up sometime later with a dull ache in my chest and a small, already healing scar on my upper stomach. I didn't really feel that different, other than a little bit of pain, but I knew that would change with time. Maybe I had more time than Rachel, or maybe I had less. It didn't matter. There was some kind of soft voice.

Coming from where? It wasn't in the room, it was in my fucking head. I felt the thrill of excitement. Maybe this was Rachel's voice. She had somehow stayed in the tree thing they put inside me. Never heard Rachel's voice. But I sensed this was not it. This voice was too delicate to really be heard or understood.

And it reminded me of music, coming from a distant room that you felt. in the back your mind without realizing it. It was a... It was a melody. What kind of song? But it wasn't Rachel's song. I realized with a shiver

that it was the song of the thing inside of me. At first I was afraid. But that didn't last long. It wasn't trying to hurt me. It was trapped here just like I was. But... It started.

it to sing. It was time for us to be free. I stood up and walked to the door, and as I did so, the lights went out. The door in front of me clicked, and when I reached out and turned the knob and the door it opened easily, how's this possible?

And if it could do this, why hadn't it helped Rachel get out? There was no answer, but there was also no time. I could already hear boots around the corner as the glow from flashlights began to light up the far end of the hall. They would drag me back in there, chain me up or take this thing back out of me before we could get away. If I was ever going to get out, it had to be now.

The voice was singing again, pushing me to go further into the dark, to run until we were safe. So I listened. Every door unlocked for me, every turn kept me barely out of sight. The people looking for me were barking or. orders over a radio, asking someone what was the holdup on the generator kicking on. Whatever the response, the hallways stayed dark as I drifted through them blind, but not falling. Lost, but not being found. When I reached the final door, I opened it into a bright afternoon.

My lungs burned a little at the first, fresh, unrecycled air I had breathed in a week. Blinking, I waited for the voice to tell me where to go. But it was silent. I closed the door as panic began to rise in my chest. All this sent I would get caught because I didn't know where to go. I was outside a plain brown building in the middle of nowhere. There was a road going off to the right. And to the left there was...

Holy shit. Rachel's forest from her painting. I knew it was the same force immediately and not just because of it matching the painting so fucking closely I had some strange sense that felt like a kind of magnetism or like how birds know which way to fly. Looking around for a second,

I felt like I was being pulled when I looked again at those woods. This was right. Somehow I knew this was the way I needed to go. So I went. I had made it to the edge of the forest when I heard the noise of men coming outside the beach, building. I thought about hiding, but I knew it was a bad idea. They would just catch me. And I felt

a drive to go deeper into the woods. I plunged ahead, running at close to a reckless speed, but never tripping or stumbling as I went. I would occasionally hear a noise behind me as they spread out to search, but the sounds grew fainter as I ran. I almost thought I'd lost them for good. When I heard a short cough that was quickly muffled off to my left, someone had gotten close without me knowing it. Panicking, I looked for any places I can hide. There were only bushes and trees and a well, not just a well, but Rachel's well. With the same worn, gray stone walls, capped with a weathered wooden lid. I felt a moment of happy recognition, but then it faded away. How did that help? They checked the well if they found it, and I didn't have any way to get down

in it without getting hurt or stuck. When an idea struck me, crouching low and staying to the brush, I moved to the well and gingerly pushed on the lid. At first, it resisted. But when I pushed a bit harder, the wooden circle slid aside enough that you could clearly see someone moved it. Glancing around, I eased back into the bushes, as I heard soft footfalls approaching. I could see two men.

Both of them were wearing dark body armor and carried assault rifles. Looking irritated, one of them went over to the well and shoved the wooden lid aside. side, causing it to clatter to the ground, hitting a button on his rifle. A flashlight sprang to life on the barrel. He started to shine it down into the well, as the other continued to look in every direction. I was worried he would see me if I moved. But I couldn't wait. I just had to stay calm. Think slow. Move fast. I kept expecting to hear them yell, or feel something or someone strike me in the back. But nothing came.

As the afternoon light began to dim, I saw the trees thinning ahead. I was approaching a road. It looked like a normal, public road, too. With several cars passing one way or the other as I walked out of the forest and up the hill to the asphalt. The idea of hitchhiking, especially this close to where they held me, was terrifying. But I saw a little choice. I was wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt didn't give me in my own shoes, but I had no money or ID or phone.

My only chance was to get far enough away that I could try and get help. I jumped slightly at the hiss of hydraulic brakes as a large semi came to a stop next to me. The passenger window rolled down, and an older man with white hair and a graying mustache leaned over and peered down at me. You look lost, son. You need a ride? I looked down at the door of the truck. It had a logo that said Martinez and Sons Construction and Halling.

Below, it was a cartoon man hitting a wall with a sledgehammer. Looking back up, I smiled at him. Yes, sir, I do. I woke up five hours later, as we pulled into a truck stop somewhere in Nevada. I planned on staying awake the entire trip, but that had only lasted a few minutes before exhaustion, just completely overtook me. I glanced over at Oliver Martinez, and he gave me a toothy grin.

I'm tired, but you were plumb-tuckered out. I've got a fuel up, shower, and get some grub. I'm going on to California after that. If you want to ride further, just be back here in an hour. Sound good? I nodded and thanked him again for the ride as I got out. I felt groggy from sleeping, but otherwise okay. I just needed to decide whether this was a good spot to ask for help

if I should ride with Martinez further. He seemed like a nice guy. He'd probably try to help if he could. But I wanted to avoid putting more people in danger if I could help it. Looking around, I saw we were in a fairly nice little town. I decided I would go look around for a few minutes and then decide what to do. I was only three blocks down the street when I saw the flickering lights in the distance. It was a movie theater.

As I got closer, I filmed me. my chest tightening. It was the one from Rachel's painting. Hey there, welcome to the Phoenix. The guy standing at the candy counter where the theater looked a little younger than me. And while he seemed friendly enough, he also looked slightly concerned. Ah, if you're here for the horror double feature, I'm afraid the second movie's about 30 minutes in. I can't give you a half rate if you want to see it, though.

I shook my head and tried not to look as strange and crazy as I felt. No, that's okay. I recognize this place from a picture of a friend of mine painted. I just came to ask if you knew anything about her. He raised his eyebrows and shrugged. Okay, weird. Weird, but interesting. Who is she?

I swallowed. Her name is... Well, it was. Rachel Donovan. I expected him to look surprised or excited or angry. But I could see right away the name men. nothing to him. Shaking his head, he shrugged again.

Sorry, that doesn't ring a bell. I'd say he could ask the owner, but he's on vacation this week. I searched my mind for something else to ask. Some way to make this place matter the way her other paintings had. Is there anything unique about this place then? Maybe it's history or something? The man crinned. Buddy, you're clearly not from here.

This place is super boring. Not just the theater, but the whole town. The only thing I know about the history of this place is that there used to be a house here that'd burned down. This was like in the 1920s or 30s when this wasn't even a part of town. Couldn't tell you the first thing about it beyond that, but I still bet it's the most interesting thing that's ever happened here. Okay. Well, thanks. I turned to leave when the guy called out again.

Hey, man, I'm sorry I couldn't help you more. If you come back, I'll get you a discount on a movie. Half off. If I'm not working, tell them Marshall said it was okay. I waved and tried to smile as I headed for the door with a heavy heart. Why don't you leave me here, Rachel? What's here that's going to help? I was outside again, staring up at the theater's bright blinking signs, as though they were going to give me some kind of secret signal.

When I noticed movement out of the corner of my eye, there was an alley that ran alongside the theater and went behind it to... Something. Whatever was back there. The light of a distant security lamp cast shadows along the wall of the alley. And those shadows were moving. Instead of feeling afraid,

I felt excited as I started down the alley. Rachel had led me here, and I just had to trust that there was a reason for it. Keep looking until I... And for the first time since Rachel's ordeal began, Thomas found himself standing somewhere he was meant to be. One moment, a delivery has arrived. Apologies, a small parcel.

No return address, naturally. One would think people purchasing cursed antiques would be more forthcoming. Still, where were we? Ah yes. A message left behind for someone else to find. Shall we? Rachel had led me here, and I just had to trust that there was a reason for it.

Keep looking until I... The shadows were made by leaves blowing in some wind I couldn't feel. As I got to the far end of the alley, I saw there was a small backyard behind the theater surrounded by a chain-link fence. And on the other side of that fence was the tree from Rachel's painting. Deep red, twisting bark,

and foam of green leaves waving to and fro in the night air. I felt a surge of warmth in my chest as the distance singing began again, a special tree that could not be found unless it wanted you to find it. It sat at the edge of a small overgrown lot, surrounded on all sides by buildings and yards, somehow forgotten when whatever this land had once been was divided up. Despite its location, I had a strong sense that I was the first to see it

in a very long time. Climbing the fence, I felt the jagged wire dig into my leg and rip my pants as I fell over the top. I was bleeding a little, but I hardly noticed.

I could smell the tree now. And it was a rich, good smell, unlike any I'd smelled before. Reaching out to it, I felt the singing grow louder as I touched it. I felt stronger. I'm less afraid then

than when I saw the light opening up at its roots. I didn't tremble. There was a hidden tunnel under the tree. A tunnel filled with sweet-smelling air that was like the tree smell. I was so different. And the tunnel wasn't dark, no, not at all. It glowed with its own golden light that called to me.

Urged me forward. Rain was beginning to fall. As I looked around the dark lot, I had the thought that I was leaving this world behind. And I found I didn't mind that much at all. The tunnel had continued to grow, slanting down gently and tall enough that I walked in without stooping. The roots of the tree went on and on, woven through the dirt walls as I went deeper. I looked back and saw the tunnel had closed behind me.

But I wasn't surprised. The way forward was the only way that mattered. I walked for what might have been hours, but I never felt tired. tired or hungry, and I never worried I was lost, though I had no idea where the fuck I was or where I was going. Still, I felt a surge of happiness and excitement when I turned a corner and saw something in the tunnel ahead. As I got closer, I realized it was a brick wall. But just as I began to think I'd found a dead hand, the wall faded away, revealing a dark room. I paused at the edge of the tunnel, looking out at the floor of what looked like a basement.

It was empty. But in the light from the tree, I could make out something scratched into the floor. It was the number two. I felt my pulse quicken as I thought back to Rachel's painting with the theater seats. And then I stepped out into the room. It was the empty basement of a house. And as I went up the stairs and opened the door,

I saw that the rest of the house was empty as well. No lights were on. A bright sunlight poured in through every window. And in the distance, I could hear what sounded like small waves crashing on a beach. I wanted to go and see where I was. But I forced myself to check the house first for any people or clues. But there were none. The house was utterly bare of any sign of people,

other than the numbers scratched into the floor below. My nose tingled with salty air as I saw. stepped outside. The house was near the beach on what I soon figured out was a small deserted island, and I realized with little surprise that I recognized the house from Rachel's painting as I stepped off the porch. I saw no signs of people, but I wasn't entirely alone because sitting some distance from the house was the tree. I know it couldn't be the same tree as in the abandoned lot, but at the same time I knew that it was, or at least a different part of the same tree that made the tunnels and appeared in my old world and whatever fucking place this was. Because I had started having that

thought as soon as I stepped out of the house. I didn't think this was my world. Not exactly. I could see a larger island some distance away and it might have people on it. Hotels and cars and planes or I might not. Because those things might not exist here. Either way, my newfound intuition was growing stronger, and I could tell that the texture of things was different somehow. If only just a little, not bad or scary, just different. Still, after a couple of hours exploring the island and checking the house, I began to feel terribly lonely. Even with the tree nearby, I decided to go back into the tunnel. And keep going.

The basement wall faded away as I walked up to it, and I entered the tunnels again. It was only a short time later that I found my second version of the house. Much like the first, the wall faded away into a basement. But this one was far from empty. It was a workshop of some kind. Full of tools I wasn't familiar with. I glanced down and saw 43. He scratched onto the floor.

I was doing this and why. I was going to explore the house more carefully this time, as it looked like there were people here. But then I froze. Proped against the brick wall next to a small stack of boards was the sledgehammer. Trying to be quiet, I crept over and picked it up before heading back into the tunnel.

When I was little, before daddy died, he'd loved to hunt. I never went with him and didn't remember much of what he hunted, but I do know he had an old hound he'd had since before I was born. The dog had only loved him. Well, him and being on the trail of something. When Rocker, his name was Rockerfeller, got a scent. It was like he was in a trance. He would go and go this way and that and to look at him.

It was like he was having a fit, both lost and certain at the same time. But whatever Rocker knew or didn't know, He always found what he was looking for. I felt like rocker now. I was moving faster and faster as I went down this turn and that. I felt like I was on the trail of something or traveling on memories I didn't have. Gripping the sledgehammer tightly.

I could hear the rising hum of the distant music in my head as I turned the last corner. And then it fell silent. There was another brick wall. And as I approached, it fell away. It was another basement room. but this one was much smaller. It contained a table, a closed chest,

and an old metal bed that had been broken apart. At the far brick wall, a woman was using one of the metal legs from the bed to attack the wall and whatever lay behind it. I felt my head began to swim as I looked at her from behind. And as she turned to look at me, eyes wide with surprising fear. I felt the sledgehammer slipped.

from my grips, as I stumbled back against the now solid wall. I could barely breathe at all, but I managed to get out a single word. Rachel, the woman looked at me. Her expression less fearful but still guarded. She had the bed leg partially raised in warning. Yeah? Do I know you? It was her.

But it wasn't. Much like the tree on the island. This Rachel looked a few years older, and while she looked stressed and confused at the moment, her eyes didn't seem weighted down by the same quiet sadness I'd come to recognize watching the other Rachel for all that time. Still, I didn't know how to answer her question and not sound creepy or crazy. I stared at her for a second, floundering when she asked another. You came out of the tree tunnel, right? I nodded.

Grateful for something I could answer easily. Studying me, she said. Where'd you come from? Before the tunnel, I mean. I flushed as I tried to think of the right words. Um, well, I, I, uh, I came from Texas. Originally, I mean, she grinned at me for a second before catching herself and trying to look serious again.

Yeah, yeah, okay, um, but like, Do you know how the tree works? How did you find out about the tunnel? How did you get here? Sighing. I rubbed my head and just started into it. I know this is going to sound crazy, but I had a job watching a woman trapped in her room.

And that woman was you or another version of you, and she asked me for help, and I couldn't help her. And then they took me. I found out she'd been dead for a long fucking time and could see me in the future. All right? And then they put something from the tree inside me that had been in her, that killed her.

And then I escaped. And I figured out where to go to find the tree from things she had painted. I somehow knew how to go in the tunnels to find different spots. And I'm pretty sure the tunnels lead to different worlds. And I got to sledgehammer. And then I... Hold up. God damn. Take a breath.

You're going to pass out. She was smiling again. And this time she didn't try to hide it. She looked over what was left of the bed to where the sledgehammer was lying on the floor. And did you say sledgehammer? So yeah, I believe you. I've been in those tunnels, too. My ex-boyfriend tricked me into moving here,

so he could time me to the tree in his place. Well, not tie me to the tree literally, just take his place as what? The trees buddy or something? I don't really know. It's all pretty fucked up, and I don't understand it. But what I do understand, is that that fucker walled me up in here.

At first I thought I could just pry loose some bricks over time, but nope. He put a layer of concrete on the outside this time. Good old Phil, or Justin or whatever. I mainly think of him as fuckface now. This is taking forever. I stepped up and put my hand on the sledgehammer. Let me do it for a bit. We could take turns.

We'd cleared away even more brick than she had already managed. But the concrete wall was only starting to show small cracks. I wanted to just keep looking at her. Have her talk to me. But I knew she was tired. She nodded reluctantly and let go of the hammer. Before I swung, I looked back at her. How long have you been in here like this?

It's hard to say for sure, but I think about eight months. I let the hammer drop down again as my eyes widened. How did you survive all that time? Her scowl deepened. It's the tree. It won't let me die. I just dip into the tunnel every day for a bit, and I'd never get that hungry or that thirsty.

A thought occurred to me then. Why didn't you just escape through the tunnels? She quickly shook her. No, thank you. I've had enough of seeing other worlds. Some of them aren't so nice. And I don't want to be tied to the tree more than I already am. I just... I want to get out of here, into my own world, and then I can try and figure out how to get rid of my connection to the tree for good. You know, I would have done it eventually with the stupid bed parts, but... Who knows how long that would have taken?

I'm very happy you came to help and brought a sledgehammer with you. But turning her smile, I nodded as I lifted the hammer again. Me too. We were both ringing with sweat when we crawled through the hole we'd made in the outer wall. Rachel told me that she thought her ex-boyfriend was long gone,

but she couldn't be sure. So we had to be careful. Grabbing the sledgehammer from inside the room, we made our way toward the stairs. The house was decorated but quiet, and we saw no sign of anyone as we walked to the front door and opened it. Outside, the sun was coming up on a new day. And as we walked out into the porch, I jumped a little,

as Rachel took my hand and gave it a squeeze. I looked over at her. I hadn't been able to help the other Rachel. But maybe that had never been the point at all, because I thought now she'd been able to see more than just other places are the future. She'd been able to see into other worlds and possibilities, like this one,

where another version of her was trapped and needed help, a place where I wouldn't be haunted and she could be free. In the end, even when she knew she was dying, Rachel had been determined to help us be together. The morning sun painted beautiful colors on Rachel's face, and looking into her eyes, I saw how much she was like the woman I had watched and cared about and tried to save. The woman who, in the end, had saved me instead.

I wanted to tell Rachel so many things, ask her so many questions. But all that could come later, squeezing her hand back. I walked with her away from the house. For now, this was enough. 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 in touch.

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 now. The Antiquarium of Sinister Happenings. Lot 133. The finale of The Watcher. by Brandon Faircloth, starring Trevor Shand, Jared Griffiths, Romy Evans, Galen Howard, and Conan Freeman, 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 chand. Follow us on Instagram and Twitter at Antiquarium Pod. Call the Antiquarium at 646-481-7-197.