The Antiquarium of Sinister Happenings - Lot 137 : Just One Look // Attention : Unidentified Passenger

Episode Date: July 20, 2026

Lot 137 : Just One Look // Attention : Unidentified Passenger   Just One Look Consigned by Addison Peacock Starring Addison Peacock Trevor Shand   Attention : Unidentified Passenger Consigned by Blair Daniels Starring Jessica McEvoy Romy Evans Addison Peacock Trevor Shand ❤️ Much obliged for using the Mint Mobile and Shopify links below. Every click and sign-up helps support our little corner of the world, and we're truly grateful for your support. 📦 Shopify: https://www.shopify.com/tash 📱Mint Mobile: https://mintmobile.com/SINISTER 💚 Antiquarium Shop: https://theantiquarium.myshopify.com   Featuring Stephen Knowles as The Antique Dealer   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 Obsidian Covenant.com. J equals R. Hello, dear friend. Great to see you as always. Dating has always struck me as a peculiar ritual. Two strangers meet. Exchange a few details. Share a drink.

Then, more often than not, one follows the other home. An extraordinary amount of trust when you think about. about it. Today's acquisitions concern two encounters between strangers. We'll begin with a pair of women's shoes. The accompanying account is one I like to call, just one look. 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 Indecisive N. Y. X. T.M. Lilith. Opperwood Cheddarwurst Oofdecripes Kudenson. And Dean Jones. We are ever appreciative of your devotion to the order. Go to the obsidian covenant.com to receive the sacrament. Now, where were we? Oh, yes.

Welcome to the antiquarium of sinister happenings and odd goings on. It was a Friday night, and my date stood me up, leaving me alone in my favorite heels with a watery gin and tonic and a bruised ego. I was going to cut my losses and head home when I spotted a man with dark eyes and a wry smile, sitting alone with a whiskey and a book. Just one look, and I knew he was the kind of man who could turn my evening around. A couple drinks and some surface-level American lit talk later. He had me pressed against the door to his apartment,

one hand clumsily fumbling with his keys as the other slid up the back of my shirt. He pulled back for a moment as the lock clicked open, eyes warm and lit it with desire. Wait. Okay, before we go in, I just want to give you quick hands up. He gave me an apologetic half-smile. Sure, no problem. I can be quiet. He gave my hand to squeeze as he opened the door.

I could barely make out the silhouette of someone sitting on the couch inside, haloed by the dim light of the TV. My date, whose name I wasn't sure I'd actually asked for, sidled up to me. His lips brushed my ear, breath ghosting across the nape of my neck with a delicious shiver. The thing is, he's going to try to get your attention while you're here. But you know what, it's best you just ignore him, okay? He said it so casually. He will try to get you to.

But whatever you do, don't look at him. The pleasant, warm shiver his closeness had given me turned cold. I brushed off my own discomfort as I followed my date to his bedroom. After all, lots of people have eccentric roommates. So the guy was kind of an attention hog, so what? Hopefully, I was about to be far too preoccupied to think about some weirdo I hadn't even met. As we passed the couch, I saw the figure in my periphery shift, like he was turning to watch me go. My date locked his bedroom door behind us.

and eased me onto the bed. The warm flutter in my stomach chased the chill from my veins, and I fell back into the rhythm of exploring a new body. Lips and limbs tangling together, searching for the moment they lock into place. Then my date retreated. I'm gonna use the bathroom real quick.

Do not go anywhere. You're still fucking... He gave me a wink and slipped back out into the living room. Sitting there, waiting for him, I felt suddenly, acutely aware of the fact that the door was now unlocked. A surge of primal unease screamed at me to lock it. But that would be crazy. I couldn't lock the guy out of his own room.

Just when I was starting to wonder if he'd ever come back, there was a soft knock at the door. Hey! I called out, trying for a relaxed, sensual affect to hide the white-hot panic that had seized me only a moment ago. No response. The knob turned, and the door slowly opened to reveal someone standing there, lean and long, head nearly too high to fit through the frame. That wasn't my date.

My stomach lurched, and I instinctively jerked my gaze. toward the ceiling, remembering the words of warning. Don't look at him. Between the low lighting and the limited view in my periphery, I couldn't make out the expression on his face. But I could see him moving, taking a step into the room, toward the far wall. I watched without watching as he pressed his hands to the wall,

then began to pull himself. He crawled like a cockroach with a sudden burst of erratic speed up onto the ceiling. A flash of grinning teeth is all I saw before I covered my eyes, desperate to shut him out. I held my breath for a moment, just listening. Another breath. Not long. Ragged and harsh. I knew without looking that he...

It was panting, tongue lolling out of its mouth. I pressed my hands to my eyes so hard I saw stars spinning in the dark. The roof shook with something heavy dropped to the... ground with a thump. I opened my eyes, terrified I'd see its face inches from mine. All I found was an empty ceiling. I froze at the sound of rustling near the foot of the bed, as if someone was crawling along the floor there. Not quite underneath it, but just close enough to be out of sight unless I were to lean over the edge. The sound of soft, rhythmic breaths joined. of the rustling, moving along the side of the bed, closer and closer to me, not breathing.

That almost silent wheeze that comes when you laugh so hard you can barely make a sound. Its body pressed against the bed, shaking it as it dragged it along the floor. It was taunting me, repeating the path again and again, daring me to take a look over the edge and put the game to an end. Weez. Drag. Weas. Drag. Wees.

Wees. Drag. Keeping my eyes locked forward. I reached out to grab my purse off the bedside table. When I tried to pull it, something pulled back. I released my grip, then gave a sudden yank, freeing my bag. I heaved myself off of the bed, reaching for the door. Something scuttled onto the bed. For a moment, I couldn't move.

The bedside lamp cast a shadow on the wall, and I saw the thing in profile. Its head and neck were still, taught, but its mouth was stretching away from its face, reaching toward me as if to pull me in. I couldn't let that hungry searching mouth find me. I burst into the living room, lit only by the static on the TV screen. My date was waiting for me, standing on the opposite side of the room. When my eyes found the front door, he broke into a sudden sprint. coming straight for me with his arms outstretched.

I ran as fast as I could, crossing the threshold of the apartment just as his hand found my hair. He captured a few strands, and I gladly sacrificed them for my freedom. I tore down the street, bare feet chapping on the concrete for over an hour until I collapsed beneath the streetlight,

shaking and terrified, but finally certain I was alone. That night, I didn't sleep. I just stared at the ceiling until the golden glow of the morning. I haven't slept more than a few minutes at a time since that night. I've tried, but I don't know if I'll ever truly sleep again. Because the shoes I left behind when I ran out of that nightmare apartment, I found them sitting in my closet.

A curious arrangement. Personally, I've always found that any living, situation requiring a list of rules is best avoided. Our next item presents a rather different problem. We'll continue in a moment. There you are. I was wondering where you went. The cluttered halls of the shop make it rather easy to lose oneself.

I have another consignment with your name on it. Whether that's a good thing or not is not for me to decide. A train ticket, recovered from Union Station. Unremarkable in nearly every respect, except, perhaps, for the circumstances surrounding its final journey. This is attention, unidentified passenger on board. I believe the train has arrived. Shall we... I'd taken the train from Delaware to D.C. many times before.

7.53 p.m. out of Wilmington, arriving at 936. The tickets were cheap and the train was mostly empty around that time. It was perfect. Tonight was no different. I sat in the window seat as usual, reading as the train rocked gently back and forth. About 20 minutes into the ride, however, the intercom came on overhead. Unidentified passenger on board. I looked up. Passenger. I glanced at a passenger. I glanced. around the car. There was only the middle-aged woman I saw when I got on, several rows back. She was looking up, confused. What the hell? The voice overhead was different, too. It wasn't the usual garbled man's voice. It was a woman's, monotone and robotic. Do they mean like some kind of serial killer just got on or something? My stomach dropped. Wouldn't they have said something more extreme, though? Like, hide were making an emergency stop? This almost sounded like

they were announcing someone hadn't paid for their ticket? I glanced to the front of the car where the LED marquee was. Instead of listing the next station stop, it said, Unidentified passenger, unidentified passenger, unidentified passenger.

The letters scrolled past over and over, jittering orange pixels. Maybe they mean someone's a Russian spy or something? Or maybe it was just some sort of glitch. I stared at the orange letters. Unidentified passenger. I texted my boyfriend. The train saying there's an unidentified passenger on board?

Really weird. It's got to be fake, right? Or should I get off? Weird. Maybe just get off. I can take the next train up to you. Where you at? I pulled up maps and checked.

our location. We were just a few minutes from Aberdeen. After hesitating for a second, I grabbed my bag. It probably is just some glitch or something, but I'm not going to be some sitting duck. I turned to the aisle. A woman was standing right in front of me, the middle-aged woman from the back of the car. I jumped, banging my head on the overhead luggage rack. Sorry, I don't mean to scare you, but do you know what's going on? I shook my head. This has got to be a joke or something, right? What do they mean, unidentified passenger? I don't know.

I'm getting off just in case. I slipped past her into the aisle and started for the vestibule between the cars. Good idea. She hurried back to her seat and started grabbing her things. I pressed the button for the door and stepped into the vestibule. The metal floor shook underneath me. The landscape outside the train was pure black, except for a single small light twinkling in the distance.

The door behind me opened and the woman stepped in, clutching her bag close to her chest like a shield. I'm supposed to be at my daughter's wedding tomorrow morning. She muttered, messing with her ashy blonde hair. We just got back on good terms. If I'm even a minute late... I glanced at the window into the next car. It was empty, except for a single man near the front.

I could just see the top of his head poking. over the seat. He wasn't packing his stuff or even moving. Maybe we're overreacting, I thought for a second. No, this is how people get hurt, not changing their plans when the alarm bells start going. As soon as something is off, you get out, period. My mom had taught me that a long time ago. The train wobbled and shook. Lights grew in the distance, twinkling through the darkness. We were approaching. I stepped closer to the door, staring out the little square window. The lights grew larger.

The concrete platform rolled into sight. The squat brick building, the dark windows. Silver sign, Aberdeen Station. We blew right past it. I stared out the window. We just passed the station. No. What?

Really? I nodded. Before I could say anything else, the intercom clicked to life. Attention, passengers. Please remain in your original train car for the duration of the ride. Thank you. The woman's voice again. Monotonous.

Slow. I glanced through the window into the next car. The man was still sitting there. Completely still. No, wait. Not still. As the train took a curve, His head bobbed and lulled on his shoulders.

Lymphly. As if he were. I ran back to the door of our train car, slammed the button. The door shuddered open and we slipped inside. That guy, uh, there was something seriously. I could barely choke out the words. I know. Do you think he was...

She couldn't bring herself to say it. It, uh, it kind of looked... Like that, I glanced back at the door into the vestibule. It was still empty, but the marquee above the door now read, Stay in your car. Stay in your car. Stay in your car. What do we do?

It pulled out my phone and dialed 911. The woman and I began talking at once. On a train. Someone's dead. It won't stop. Just past Aberdeen. The operator said she'd get someone out. out to us. But deep down, I knew what could they possibly do? If whoever was driving the train

wouldn't stop, how could the police intervene? Set up a blockade? Possibly kill us in the crash? I stared out the window. Golden lights flew by, clusters of suburbs, disappearing back into the darkness. I swallowed. You... You can't survive jumping out of a moving train, can you? I don't think so at this speed Silence pressed in on us We should We should hide in the bathroom It has a lock

It'll keep us safe It says stay in the car Pointing to the marquee And you trust whoever that is Putting that up The bathroom doors are flimsy anyway If someone wants to get us They will

I closed my eyes Running my hands down my face Could we just be freaking out over nothing? Maybe that guy, maybe he was just sleeping. Maybe they passed the stop for some other reason. Maybe it really is just some glitch. The lights overhead flickered and then went out. What the fuck? The train car was only lit by the orange glow of the marquee at the front of the car. It was still flashing the same message. Stay in your seats. Stay in your seats. Stay in your seats. Stay in your seats.

This is insane. I texted my boyfriend. The lights just went out. We called 911. I don't know how they're going to get us off the train. I hit send and closed my eyes. Wait, the lights being out. Maybe that helps us.

We can hide better. What are the chances he finds us in the entire train? She crouched down. I don't think we can fit under the seats. There are benches in the back. I bet we can fit there. I slowly felt my way through the darkness of the car, pressing my hands into the cloth seatbacks on either side.

side. We reached the last aisle, where the seat configuration had been altered to have benches facing each other with a space in the middle. I squeezed down into the space between the seats, then shuffled under the first bench. The woman did the same, squeezing under the second. I felt too hot. The rug scratched my arms. The metal of the seat pressed against my head. I twisted my legs and pushed myself back so that my head wasn't poking out into the aisle. We were decently well-hidden. If the guy, or whoever it was, found us, there was no way we could escape. We were trapped.

We lay there underneath the seats for what felt like an eternity. The car rocked and swayed underneath us. My hair fell into my face. My legs ached. I knew Harry was probably texting me back, but I'd silenced my phone, and it was deep in my pocket. I couldn't contort to get it out. Not that I'd want to. What if they came by while I was looking at my phone and found us because of the light?

I was jolted back to reality by the shuddering sound of the door opening. No, no, no. I strained to listen. Soft, thumping footsteps sounded on the far end of the car. Slow and methodical. Quiet, like they were stalking their prey. The footsteps grew louder. I held my breath.

A black leather men's shoe stepped into view in the orange light, almost as if it were wet. My lungs burned, shoes frozen on the carpet, inches from my face. Then they finally took another step and another. The door behind us shuttered open and then closed. I let out my breath in short, silent little bursts, then sucked in another breath as slowly as possible. We're okay. I turned my head to look at the woman. Tears were rolling down her face as she stared back at me.

He didn't see us. Her mouth hung open. Her lips trembled. It's okay, I whispered again, but she didn't even blink. That's when I realized she wasn't staring at me. She was staring past me. I turned around. My blood ran cold.

There was something at the door, pressing its face against the window, fogging up the glass. The person that just passed us wasn't it. That was just another passenger, trying to stay quiet, trying to hide. Maybe even the guy we thought was dead. It was that thing in the window. Eyes pitch in ghastly white, barely lit in the flickering orange of the marquee, which now read, Don't run. Don't run, passenger.

The woman crawled out from under her seat. I whispered, but she was already slamming her hand on the door open button. It slowly shuddered open, and she began to slip through it. The door opened on the other end. Rapid footsteps, frantic against the carpet. In seconds, it had run past me into the next car, before the door even had a chance to close. I heard a muffled scream.

And then, silence. No, no, no, no. I bit my lip, trying to stop from crying. I knew she was dead. There was no way she could have gotten away. I closed my eyes tight, trying to push it all down. You just have to make it until the door. Bare hands on the carpet, slick with something dark.

She jerkily moved forward in a spider crawl until she was at my seat. She knows I'm here. I held my breath as its pale ankles buckled underneath the hem of its white skirt, as it began to crouch. Long, dark hair came into view, skimming down to the floor. More and more hair as it tilted its head down to look at me. It stopped just short of showing its face. I could see its hairline, its forehead, as it hung its head upside down,

inches from my face. It stopped there, frozen, waiting. I could see its entire body shift as it breathed. I could hear the high-pitched rasp of its breath. A single drop of blood dripped onto its pale hand, but it didn't show its face. My lungs felt like they were about to burst, but I forced myself not to breathe, not to move.

I stared at the hair, and the blood on its hands, the dirty white dress skimming its ankles. With a creaking sound, it caught up. The door slid open, and it disappeared. I took in desperate the gasps of air. My lungs burned. Hot tears rolled down my face. I couldn't feel my legs or my feet.

You can't let run. Run. That's what the Marquis had said. I would stay here forever in the darkness. even if every nerve of my body felt like it was on fire. I don't know how long I was there, crouched under the seat, trying to breathe as quietly as possible, pins and needles crawling up my legs,

my head pounding, my arms numb. But then the train slowed. The lights flickered back on, and the intercom crackled to life. A man's voice, as usual. Now approaching Union Station. I didn't crawl out from under my seat until the train jerked to a stop. My entire body's stiff, blazing with pain.

I pulled myself out from under the seat, hobbled off the train and onto the platform. I felt like I couldn't even walk. The bright lights dazed me. Footsteps clicked, voices murmured, suitcases rolled across the concrete. A speaker somewhere overhead announced a leaving train. When I turned back, though, I realized no one else. else had exited my particular train. Just me.

And I didn't notice the hair until I made it into the station. A long black hair entwined around my wrist. And my skin underneath it, blistered and red. Everywhere the hair had touched. Thank you for your patronage. Hope you enjoyed your new reliance. Hope you enjoyed your new relic as much as I've enjoyed passing along its sordid history. It does come with our usual warning, however.

Absolutely no refunds, no exchanges, and we won't be held liable for anything that may or may not occur while the object is in your possession. If you've got an artifact with mysterious properties, Perhaps it's accompanied by a history of bizarre and disturbing circumstances. Maybe you'd be interested in dropping it and its story by the shop to share with other customers. Please reach out to antiquarium shop at gmail.com. A member of our team will be in touch. Till next time, we'll be waiting for you whenever you close your eyes.

in the space between sleep and dream. During regular business hours, of course, or by appointment, only for you, our best customer. You have a good night now. The Antiquarium of Sinister Happenings, Lot 137, Attention Unidentified Passenger, consigned by Blair Daniels, starring Jessica McAvoy, Romy Evans, Addison Peacock, and Trevor Shand. Just One Look. Consigned by Addison Peacock, starring Addison Peacock and Trevor Shand, featuring Stephen Knowles as the antique dealer.

Produced by Kevin Seaman. Theme music by the Newton Brothers. Additional music by Coag and Vivek Abyshech. 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 646-481-719. 7.