The Antiquarium of Sinister Happenings - Lot 134 : The Bathroom Mirror

Episode Date: July 6, 2026

Lot 134 : The Bathroom Mirror I See You Consigned by Evander Halliday Starring Jarret Griffis Mark Lapointe **Many thanks for patronizing our curious little establishment through the Rocket Money and Shopify links below. Your continued support helps keep the lamps lit and the shelves full of peculiar treasures. We are most grateful.** Mint Mobile: https://mintmobile.com/SINISTER Shopify: https://www.shopify.com/tash Antiquarium shop: https://theantiquarium.myshopify.com   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. J equals T. Do come in, friend. Now then, what do I have for you today? At first glance, there is nothing unusual about this photograph. In fact, I'd wager you've seen a hundred others just like it. Family snapshots have a way of blending together over time. Yet every now and then, one refuses to stay forgotten.

No names are written on the back, nothing to separate it from the countless photographs tucked away at albums, drawers, and dusty attics across the world. Yet for reasons I have never quite been able to determine, this particular photograph has a habit of resurfacing. Perhaps the story will help explain why. This is the bathroom mirror. 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 Antoinette B. Christy S. Rachel Ortiz. Silicat. Crunchy width. And the Shaolin Shredder. 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 live alone. So who keeps writing messages on my mirror? In 18 in 2008 on the day of my birthday.

For reasons, I won't bore you with, I packed up my things and moved out. For four years, I lived in my car, working as a barista from 6 to 2 and as a line cook from 4 to 10. My plan was to work until I had enough money for my own place and then to either go to college or get a more stable job. Looking back on it now, I don't know how I did it, but by 22, I'd saved up a decent sum of money

and began my hunt for a semi-permanent place of residence. I was living in Los Angeles at the time, and though housing prices weren't as bad as they are now, It was still a pricey county. After months of asking around, I was connected with Anders, an elderly man who was leasing a two-bedroom, one-bathroom house in North Hollywood for far below market rate. The catch, because there's always a catch when it comes to affordable housing, let's be honest, was that the house had been terribly maintained.

It had been unoccupied for a year and would need some serious TLC before most people could comfortably stay in it. I, however, had been living out of a car for four years, so as long as a place had running water, it would be an upgrade for me. I moved into the house in fall of 2012. Anders gave me a tour before I got settled. He was a short, joyful old man. Well-meaning, but how do I put this, maybe not the most focused as a result of his age? At one point during the tour, he showed me the bathroom, then the master bedroom, and then the bathroom. and then the bathroom again and then the master bedroom again.

He was about to walk into the bathroom for a third time before I gently guided him down the hall. The house itself was habitable, but weathered. Dim lighting from outdated fixtures cast long shadows over peeling wallpaper. The ceiling in many of the rooms was discolored from past leaks. The faucet in the kitchen sink was broken and the bathtub was badly chipped. and a few of the cabinet handles fell off in my hand, but it comes with the territory. It was a rundown place, located in a bars-on-the-window kind of neighborhood.

But still, it was my place. I was smiling ear-to-ear when Anders gave me the keys. It's a good house with good bones. You take care of it now. Before he left, he paused in the front doorway, drawing a hand to his chin as he looked behind me into the house. I tried to follow his gaze, but couldn't figure out what he was looking at. Everything all right? Yes, it's...

Just there's something looks different about that bathroom, but I... Kept my finger on what? Oh, well. It's a good house with good bones. I know you take care of it now. And with that, he gave me a nod and left me to my unpacking. I hadn't realized how much I'd missed living in a house. I didn't care how run down the place was.

Just having an accessible bathroom and a full-size mattress to sleep on made me feel like a king. After I'd spent a few days cleaning the place up, I invited my sister and her fiancé over for dinner. I'm sure it sounds stupid, but my newly acquired ability to host a company, it made me proud. In no time at all, I'd comfortably settled into my new home. That evening, after saying goodbye to my guests, I took a shower. The bathroom lacked a traditional above-the-sink mirror. Instead, it had a wide, full-length mirror mounted on the wall to the left of the vanity. When I exited the shower and stepped up to the glass, raising a hand to wipe away the fog,

I noticed something odd. In the condensation, right at my eye level, was the word, hi. I didn't know what to make of it. Somehow the letters seemed intentional. It was hard to pass off as simply the way the steam had settled. I mean, my sister had been in the bathroom just before she left. Maybe she had written the word on the mirror with her fingertip, and the steam had only made the letters visible after my shower.

I don't know. I almost text her about it, but the message seemed ridiculous when I typed it out. Paranoid, even. I wiped the mirror down and turned in for the night. And soon I forgot about it entirely. The following week, I received a promotion at one of my jobs. And while I was grateful for the additional income, my new position meant longer days.

Additionally, I realized that a few of the house repairs were beyond my ability. So I started outsourcing some of the work to contractors. Frankly, it was annoying to only have the house to myself at night, but I didn't have any other option with my busy schedule. things were generally progressing smoothly, though every once in a while in the middle of the night I would be awoken by a sound that I couldn't quite place. When I noticed writing on my mirror again, I had been living at the house for about a month. The second sighting occurred in a, well, it was in much the same way as the first. I came back home after work and took a shower.

When I pushed back the shower curtain, I looked at the glass, and I saw written in condensation. The words, staying long? Now, okay, I could pass two letters off as coincidence, but two words? Come on. An entire question? That, no, that was no coincidence. Someone had been in my bathroom, and recently. I had contractors in and out of my house all the time, so one of them could have written the message, I guess, but why?

I got dressed and put a hand on the bathroom doorknobah about to go back into my bedroom when it occurred to me that whoever had written the message, well, they might still be around. I slowly cracked open the door, peering down the dark hallway in one direction, then the other. I listened. Very careful. Heard nothing. I walked around my house, which didn't take long given its size, and looked for anything out of place. All of my doors were locked, all of my windows were shut, and none of my personal items had been disturbed. If someone had broken into my house, they were long gone by the time I looked around.

That second message? Put me on edge for days. I triple-checked that my windows and doors were locked each night. I looked in every potential hiding spot, of which there were few in my little house, after I came home from work and before I went to sleep. And yet, though I was certain that my house was secure, I couldn't shake the sense that something was wrong. A month passed without incident. I had almost started to feel at home in my new lodgings again until one Friday morning I awoke just past 3 a.m.

I couldn't immediately tell what it woke in me. You know, off in the house, it settled at night, creaking and groaning in ways that made it sound alive. But in that moment, the house was silent. It was only after I turned my head to the side did I realize that my bedroom door, which

I was absolutely certain I'd shut, was wide open. I stared down that hole, feeling as though I was gazing into a black hole. The darkness was abysmal.

I kept waiting for my eyes to adjust. waiting for them to pick out the familiar shapes of my home, but they never did. I couldn't see a thing. So why did I feel like something could see me? Like there was something in the house with me, just feet beyond the threshold to my bedroom. Watching. Waiting. Somehow I found the courage to rise from my bed and walk towards the door.

When I made it to the handle, I grabbed. it slammed the door shut. I didn't investigate further. I didn't so much as stick my head out into the hall for a closer look. Fuck that. My bedroom door didn't have a lock. None of the doors except my bathroom did. So I dragged my bookcase in front of the door.

It was a small bookcase. And an intruder could probably ram the door open anyway if they wanted to, but not before the sound alerted me, which seems important. When morning came and I had to leave the house for work, I genuinely considered exiting my house through the window. I was almost late by the time I worked up the nerve to look around my house before I left. As always, I found nothing amiss. After work, when I reluctantly returned home for the night, I ate a quick dinner and hopped in the shower. I remember standing in the tub for a long time, mulling over my predicament.

I'd heard horror stories about people secretly living in other people's homes. Maybe I'd become a victim of a frog without even knowing. But if that was the case, then where the hell were they? There was nowhere to hide in that tiny house. I'd torn the place apart multiple times by then, checking every cabinet, every closet. The inside of the house couldn't be accessed from the crossbase, and the air vents were too small for a person to fit in. Suddenly, I heard a click.

A click so tiny that I'd almost missed it entirely. Hmm. That's peculiar. Forgive me for a moment. Could have sworn this photograph was facing the other direction when I set it down. No matter. Please, take a look around while I sort a few things out. You've reached the antiquarium.

If you wish to leave a message, please do so with the tone. and have a great day. Hi, I've tried reaching out a couple of times, but I haven't gotten a call back yet. The scarf that I bought last week, I've worn it, and it just seems to keep getting tighter and tighter, and I've tried to cut it off, and I've tried to untie it,

and it just won't come off, and it's getting harder and harder to breathe, so someone could please call me back, I'm not sure what kind of scarf this is, but I'm really scared. Welcome back. You know, the strangest thing about old photographs is that people assume they only capture what was in front of the camera. I've never found that to be entirely true. Now then, shall we?

The inside of the house couldn't be accessed from the crossbase, and the air vents were too small for a person to fit in. Suddenly, I heard a click. A click so tiny that I'd almost missed it entirely. I tore back the shower curtain, gripping the shampoo bottle like I was about to bludgeon and intruder to death with it. As I'd come to expect, there was no one in the room. But there was a new message on the mirror. This one was bold. The easiest to read of any of the messages I'd received so far.

It was three words long. Long, I see you. Some awful amalgam of fear, confusion and anger made my stomach churn. Ultimately, the latter emotion rose above the rest. I hastily dried off and threw on some clothes, then grabbed my phone from where I'd left it on the bathroom counter. I punched in Anders number and glared at that damn mirror as I listened to the phone ring again and again. I'd started to think it was too late for him to be awake when he suddenly picked up. He started to ask me how I was faring in my new lodgings before I cut him off.

I need you to tell me if there is some way that a person could be getting into this house. Every night, I check every window, I check all the doors, I check every cupboard, closet, and cabinet. And still, things are amiss. You need to let me know if there's some entry point that I'm not aware of. Anders didn't seem to entirely understand what I was asking. What? What's getting in? Okay, you let me know if you're having rat troubles.

My last tenant before you had rat troubles sometimes. Yeah, sure, I've got rats. Besides the doors and the windows, how could they be getting in? Well, there's the vents, of course. There was a chimney once. We had it all sealed up a good long one. And there's also a crawl space, of course, though I'm sure you've already poked around down there. Though I knew the home had a crawl space, I'd never had much reason to investigate it.

I was never able to find the entrance, even after ripping up all the carpeting in the house. Likely, a hardwood had been installed over the access door, making it an unlikely point of entry for an intruder. How do I get down to the crawl space? Yeah, yeah, you should give the crawl space a candor. I barely stopped myself from smashing the phone into the counter. I plan to. Where can I find the entrance? That will be on the floor of the bathroom closet.

I looked around the room. Surely I'd misheard him. Either that or he was confused again. What? I know it's an odd place for it, but it's only there because that room didn't always used to be a bathroom. Are you okay? The bathroom doesn't have a closet.

Huh? Sure, it does. Just to the left of the vanity. I looked at the mirror. At the long, oversized mirror. I'd always found it odd for a bathroom of that size to have a built-in Florida ceiling mirror. What was it that Anders had said when he first visited?

That something had looked different about the bathroom. Hmm. Setting my phone down next to the room. the sink, I stepped up close to the glass. I spent a few moments feeling around the frame, looking for a latch, and then I grabbed a portion of the right side of the frame in two hands. After one hard yank, the mirror swung open like a door, revealing a large walking closet. Anders was saying something on the other end of the line, but I was too stunned to answer. There was a square-shaped hole at the back of the closet, which I assumed led down to the crawl space beneath the house.

The closet floor was littered with all kinds of trash. Filthy sheets, fast food containers, beer cans, and I realized some of my own items. Little things I thought I'd misplaced. A sock, a toothbrush, a comb, and a small framed photograph of me, my sister, our old family dog. I crouched down to pick up the photo, perched in the doorway as I studied my younger, smiling self. I heard Anders saying my name over the phone,

except the voice, it didn't sound much like Anders at all. It was too deep, too clear, too close. When I looked up, a man was peeking out at me from the hole in the floor. He smiled at me. His eyes wide and pupils blown. His smile's so wide, it looked painful, and his hair long and matted. He was only visible from the neck up, and the harsh lighting made it look like a disembodied head was grinning at me from the back of the closet.

Horrified, I rose to my feet and ran. I didn't stop running until I made it to my car, which I promptly drove to my sister's house. The next day, I drove to the police station to file a report, An officer met me at the house to check the scene, and I showed him the hidden closet, which indeed had an entrance to the crawl space. My best guess was that the intruder was entering my crawl space from the door on the side of my house. He'd likely been squatting in the house during the year in which it sat unoccupied, and when he saw it was being prepared for sale, he had disguised the closet door so as to keep a little room for himself.

Why he decided to stay or why he was leaving me messages, I can't say. From his actions and from what little I saw of him, I think it's safe to assume that he wasn't of sound mind. Unfortunately, the man was never found. For all I know, he's still in that same neighborhood. Hell, he might even be in the same house. I moved across the country afterwards and have lived in studio apartments ever since. The thought of living in a big house

With all those rooms and corners and places And nooks and crannies And It gives me the creeps, man It's not just houses that the incident soured for me No, but mirrors as well These days, when I visit a friend or stay at a hotel I always have to carefully inspect the bathroom mirrors

Shining a light directly into their faces And tapping a finger against the glass Because the worst detail of the whole whole ordeal was that when revisiting the bathroom with the police officer, I stepped into the old closet, closed the door, and looked into the mirror. Instead of the mirror backing, I saw the officer's face on the other side of the glass. W. O D.R. S. X. Q.S. C. K. V. G. K. I. C. G. K. D. K. K. Absolutely. Absolutely no refunds. No 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 in 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... The Antiquarium of Sinister Happenings. Lot 134, The Bathroom Mirror, consigned by Evander Holiday, starring Jared Griffiths and Mark LaPoint,

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.