The Antiquarium of Sinister Happenings - Lot 138 : Hunted For Sport

Episode Date: July 23, 2026

Lot 138 : Hunted For Sport Consigned by Jesse Pullins Starring Trevor Shand Jarret Griffis Mark Lapointe   ** Every time you use one of the links below, you're helping support our little shop and everything we create. We can't thank you enough for being part of this strange little journey. 📱 Mint Mobile: https://mintmobile.com/SINISTER 📦 Shopify: https://www.shopify.com/tash 💚 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   Hunted For Sport appears in the collection Lying Awake by Jesse Pullins Published by Velox Books Visit veloxbooks.com 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. Hello, dear friend. Welcome back. There are those who believe every person has a price. Enough money, desperation, or curiosity. And eventually someone will agree to almost anything. Today's acquisition belonged to a rather well-eastern. sportsman with an unusual hobby. A brass flare gun. The disturbing account associated

with it is titled, Hunting for Sport. 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 Kelly Hale, Stephen Rogers, Kylie Parks, C-B-X-T-R, Matthew Wallets, and Nikki. 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. To be hunted for sport. I stumbled across this post when I was brought. browsing the web for work. I was looking for some sort of side gig to pass the time. I was at a bit of a crossroads in my life. I'd quit my previous job to break away from the redundancy it had sucked me into.

It was a spontaneous decision with no real planning involved. Luckily in this day and age, the internet caters to people like me. People who don't care about chasing money or don't want to be tied down. It wasn't the money I was after, but the change it would provide. I felt like I couldn't enjoy anything in life. Like I was, you know, just going through the motions. That night I'd been scrolling for quite some time, skimming over job posts, help wanted here, short-handed there.

I didn't think I would find anything to suit me, really. It all seemed like the same thing disguised under a different title. That was until I found this particular ad. You know, I thought it was a scam at first. Comical dollar signs on each side of the Craiglist title like a fucking trap set for the elderly in search of credit card numbers. I clicked on it anyway Curiosity getting the better of me

You know how it goes In all caps The posting read Big money For Manhunt Volunteer At least it was to the fucking point Huh

The details below gave a brief Introduction as to exactly what the Job entailed I skimmed over them with amusement Half of me doubting it was true The other half hoping it was As ridiculous as a process respect was. I had to admit it was kind of exciting and twisted way.

There were some requirements for the job, however, and I was rather surprised to find out that I fit the bill. Must be male, check. Must be young and fit, if possible. All right. Must not be afraid of the dark, okay? Must come alone. Of course, no cell phones, no firearms, no police. Must meet the night before to discuss. Not sketchy at all. The list went on for a while, but ultimately ended with a phone number and a typed signature as someone simply named Bob. I found myself thinking it over. I didn't exactly have anything to lose.

No family nor friends. I always lived alone. The idea of wanting to pack up at a moment's notice never seemed to sit well with any of the significant others I had in the past. I don't know if it was stupidity or the need for adventure, but in the end, I fell myself grabbing my phone. I mean, how often do people get to say they were hunted for sport? Come on. The money wouldn't hurt either.

I gave him a ring. The man who answered the call was tipsy, but eager. And when I mentioned my interest in the post, he seemed to be fucking ecstatic, like I was calling to give him the lead role in a movie. The conversation was a little. It was a little awkward considering the reasoning behind the call itself, but after a few minutes of cryptic back and forth, we agreed on a meeting place. It was a few towns away, but he insisted I met him closer to his side of the woods.

The hunt would be at his estate, and I should stay in town so I was well rested for the event. We would meet at a local bar called the Sixth Shot to discuss terms and conditions. He seemed determined like he'd been waiting for someone for a long while. Go figure. He said he would understand if I was in no hurry. But with my current status of unemployment and lack of overall plans, I found myself matching his energy. I had to admit,

the concept was a little exciting if it was real at all. He decided to meet the next day. The sixth shot was a bustling little place. A neon sign with a smoking gun made it easy to find. When I arrived, I found the guy immediately. He looked about how he would expect a manhunter to look like, and he pulled it off well. A black polo and tan cargo pants, a shiny shaved head with a thick, curled mustache, all worn on a very tan and muscular body. He was sitting at the bar alone, and he lit up like a Christmas tree when he saw me,

like he knew I was the one. He patted the stool next to him, almost like he was welcoming a long-lost friend. When I crossed the bar, I was met with a firm handshake and a pat on the shoulder. He told me he was delighted to meet me, and drinks were on him. Don't mind if I do.

After a brief introduction, he got a class of top-shelf bourbon for himself. Well, I sipped on an Irish red ale. I had acquired a taste for it recently. Considering he was trying to hire me with the intent to murder me, he seemed like a pretty cool guy. We got to know each other a little before getting to the serious stuff. The people around enjoying their drinks, none the wiser. The man known as Bob was actually Robert Callahan,

a guy born into a world of wealth, and as it seemed, perpetual boredom. His father ran a very successful chain of automotive. of stamping companies that he inherited from his grandfather. By the time his father passed, there were so many buildings and people assigned to making the gears turn efficiently across the globe without his input, he was able to live a life of leisure on a seven-figure income, all without as much as lifting a finger. The companies ran themselves as he grew older,

and he filled his young adult years with seeking thrills across the globe. He tried anything that got his adrenaline pumping. from skydiving to whitewater rafting. He took a liking to hunting, which, he said, had started an escapade of finding the world's most dangerous predators and killing them. No matter the cost, he said he'd seen it all. But in all his years, there was just one thing he hadn't banked, a human. I laughed at his extraordinary lifestyle,

feeling a bit mundane when it was my turn to share stories. Mine was far from exciting. I left the more boring bits out, but I told them I spent most of my 20s as a park ranger. It kept me close to nature and outdoors, but when it's all you look at, it tends to lose its luster a little. I left that to be a cab driver in the big city. Something that kept me in transit and entertained for a while. Always moving with so many people to observe in the busy city life. But in time, I found myself too contained to the city itself, which was why I recently quit.

which brings me about to where I was now. Discussing being hunted by another man. He was fascinated, jotting down notes in a little pocketbook while he sipped his bourbon. We conversed for a time. I finished a couple of beers and he ordered another pour of bourbon. The conversation was nice. It had been a while since the last time I went out with friends.

Despite the fun I was having, we couldn't beat around the bush forever. When it came time to discuss the actual terms of our agreement, his face turned serious. I'd be paid $5,000 tonight. Granted, I still wanted to go through with it. He said this would help me settle accounts before the event. He said he owned a mansion outside of town with over 30 acres of forest land. He was outside city limits. His nearest neighbor was like six miles away.

No one would hear screams or gunshots. We'd start tomorrow night. I was supposed to get to his estate at 10 p.m. After my arrival, I would get 15 minutes to head into the forest as a head start. You explained when the 15 minutes were up, he'd promptly signal with a flare. If I had any second thoughts, I needed to address them and withdraw from the woods before the signal.

If I was still in the woods when the flare went off, I'd be shot on sight. He said I'd be paid 10,000 an hour as I survived. The hunt would go on until dawn. And if I was still alive, come day break, I'd be free to go. He'd be armed with a hunting rifle and a combat knife, and I'd be armed with my wits. It was evident it wasn't in his plans for me to survive. But that was something I'd already come to terms with.

He studied my face when he said these things. Perhaps trying to gauge my reaction. I try my best to play it cool. Despite being a little fucking nervous. He eventually asked, downing the last of his drink. Does any of this bother you? No. Not really.

I've always just tried to go with the flow. Doing that made me stumble upon your offer. Maybe if I get out and live a little, it'll encourage me to settle down for a bit more. That is, if I make it out of life. alive. I winked, and we both had a laugh. Oh man, you're a riot. If I wasn't trying to kill you, I think it would be pretty good friends. After all the details were ironed out, he paid the tab, and it was time for us to take our leave.

We shook on it before going our separate ways. He was excited for the next day. Pep in his step carrying him to his obnoxiously lifted truck. He burned out as he left, almost rear-ending a Buick as he left the parking lot. I watched him go, feeling oddly serene in the cool night air. It was hard to describe. There was no one waiting for me to come back. No one to give me a courtesy call if I didn't turn up. I don't know if it was the thrill of the challenge or just the drastic break in monotony.

I spent my life trying to not be a creature of habit. Maybe this would be the last shift off corner. Or maybe tomorrow I would just die and not have to worry about it anymore. With the moon shining bright and the cool breeze on my back, I decided I would take a walk before sleeping in my car for the night, but might be my last time to enjoy a night like this. I woke the next day in the back seat, feeling rejuvenated despite my choice of bed for the night.

Through the blinding afternoon rays, I found my phone and checked my bank account. He was a man of his word. The 5,000 had been wired as promised. I decided I would hit into town and indulge in some of the local variety and find a place to shower before it was time to meet Robert at the estate. I climbed into the front seat and left the bar parking lot. On my way into town, I called my landlord and canceled my lease.

I was already living in and out of boxes and my lease was month to month, so that wouldn't exactly be missed. After getting something to eat, I called and canceled all utility accounts for my apartment. apartment, electricity, internet, stuff like that. I'd already put in my resignation at the cab company. There weren't really any ties to my life in my apartment. I would either survive till dawn and get the biggest payday of my life or not have to worry about the next step if I failed.

Either way, this was the end of the current chapter in my life. After spending the day around town, I found myself driving to Robert's property. The sun already making its way into the horizon. horizon. His driveway was long and winding, leading to a gigantic house that looked like the surrounding forest was trying to swallow it. One moment. I've just remembered something that shouldn't be left sitting out. Apologies. Mr. Callahan was never fond of waiting. Now then, shall we? After spending the day around town, I found myself driving to Robert's property. The sun already making its way into the horizon.

His driveway was long and winding, leading to a gigantic house that looked like the surrounding forest was trying to swallow it. When I pulled up, it was already almost dark. A butler greeted me at the mansion. An old man carrying a silver tray covered in a soft cloth. He opened the car door and let me out, introducing himself only as Charles. I'll be taking your belongings now.

If you don't make it out, they will be destroyed at sunrise. Of course, I said. Handing over my phone wallet and keys, after placing them on the tray, he offered a smile. Would you like a refreshment before heading in? Mr. Callaghan said to accommodate you before heading into the forest. You truly appreciate you answering his ad. I'm fine, thank you.

I guess I'd just rather just get to it. Of course. If you just follow me, it's right this way. He gestured for me to follow him. Charles escorted me through the house. The inside was furnished top to bottom with luxurious wooden furniture. Bare skin rugs, chandeliers made of gold, paintings from the Renaissance era. The estate was definitely worth of fortune.

We passed by a trophy room. Filled wall to wall with mounts of animals from across the globe. They seemed to stare with their glass eyes, following us as we made our way through. Charles made no effort to engage in conversation, and I'm sorry, neither did I. The other end of the mansion consisted of a large patio. Waiting for us there was Robert, who seemed to be preparing for our little hunt. He was running a large combat knife over a whetstone, slowly and methodically sharpening the blade as we approached.

Propped up next to him. was his rifle. The bolt was pulled back, and several cartridges were laid out in a glass table. Next to it was the flare gun. The time is approaching. Robert nodded. He wiped the blade off and sheathed it to his belt.

I looked at his load out on the table and starting to feel sick to my stomach. This is seriously happening. Now that I was here and seeing him fully prepared, I couldn't help but feel like I was in over my fucking head. My fucking crazy? I mean, Robert stood and grabbed the gun. He picked up each 308 cartridge and loaded them slowly, one at a time, until it was full.

He racked the bolt forward and slung the rifle on his shoulder before grabbing the flare gun. Fifteen minutes? Then the flare. Having second thoughts? twirling the flare gun on his finger. No, not really. Making my way off the patio. I wasn't exactly sure what to say in a situation such as this,

so I figured it was best to just get it going. Excellent. Then I'll see you on the other side. He saluted me, and Charles gave me a nod. I turned and left the patio, making my way to the woods. Each step got heavier as I approached. the trees. The darkness behind them getting eerier, the closer I got. When I got to the tree line, I looked back at the mansion. Robert and Charles just watched

expectantly. I swallowed and ducked in, feeling the full weight of my decision perhaps a little too late. Once the mansion was no longer visible, I started jogging. I was mindful of my footsteps. A stray log or vine could trip me up. During my time as a park ranger, I spent dozens of hours hiking trails. I would survey the land weekly, picking up discarded things like trash and lost clothing. This landscape was much, much different, however. The ground was uneven. Years of collected leaves, burying fallen limbs and jutting rocks.

I was wearing decent boots, but the terrain was unforgiving. One misplaced step, and I could roll or break an ankle. I wouldn't be able to rush too much. If I could just maintain a steady pace, I'd be able to put enough distance between us and maybe find a decent place to hide. With the sunset and no light source, I couldn't see very far in front of me. I tried not to think about how much time had passed and focused on pushing forward. Ahead, the trees started to crowd.

Giant maples with lush branches blocking the moonlight that was trying to shine in. I ducked under them quickly. A twisted branch snagged my shirt and I shook it loose. Birds screeched and roused it from their perch, flapping away in a panic at my presence. Their cries echoed into the night, sending a chill down my spine. There's nothing to be afraid of, I thought to myself. Not yet, at least. I came to a small clearing, and I took a second to catch my breath.

I leaned on a tree, shaking clumps of mud and pine needles from my boots. The ground was wetter than I had anticipated. Off in the distance behind me, there was an hatchetting. echoing pop. I looked to see the flare reaching toward the sky. A little orange ball. I pushed off the tree and continued. I had to keep fucking moving. I ran across the clearing, each step squishing on the ground as I went. On my third stride, my boot stepped on something awkward and hard. By the time I heard the clicking sound, I knew it was already too late. The sudden force clamping both sides of my ankle, I couldn't help but cry out in pain.

Oh, fuck! I stumbled awkwardly to the ground, agony shooting up my leg as I struggled to breathe. I looked down at the bear trap, blood oozing from where the metal jaws were buried. I was frustrated by my foolishness. Of course he had trapped the fucking wood, so why wouldn't he?

I forced the jaws apart, the mechanism creaking, begging to bite down again. My hands shook, holding the slippery metal, and when my leg was barely free, I let it snap shut. Fuck The bite clacked into the night The sound so loud It bounced through the trees

A second later There was an excited, whooping noise He heard it He'd be coming I tried to see my ankle in the dark There were nasty gashes on either side But I didn't think it was broken I was able to get back up

It would hold weight It would just fucking hurt like hell I wanted to look back But I pushed forward instead Panic started to set in Trying to regulate my breathing, I moved as quickly as I could. One strong step. One babyed limp.

I scanned the ground, looking out for more traps. There would be more, surely. Branches whipped at my cheeks and pulled up my clothes. I tried to be more careful, but I just couldn't see them quick enough. My left foot squelched in its boots with every step, blood soaking through my sock and into the laces. I pressed on, purdling over a large dead log. I had to find a spot to hide for a moment.

Catch my breath. My heart was fucking racing. I was having trouble thinking rationally. As rationally as I could with the situation. An icy feeling of fear washed over me for the first time. In a long time. I had gotten what I wanted. A thrill to make me feel alive.

But as I looked down at my mangled leg, I was starting to regret it. Bracked in the distance. A branch next to my ear exploded. Specks of bark and dust hitting my face from the racing bullet. I threw myself to the ground and started crawling, dragging my injured ankle. I dragged myself to a large pine tree and I sat behind it. Desperately trying to come up with a plan.

The gun went off again, closer this time. The round punched into the tree, shaking loose needles that fell from above. I squinted in the dark attempting to see ahead. In front of me, the ground started to slope and I could faintly make it. out the sound of rushing water. It could be a creek or a small river. Keeping behind the large pine, I slowly stood, trying to stay concealed until I was ready to make a run for it.

I pushed off the tree and started to run for the slope, hearing the gunfire again as soon as I was in view. A fierce pain ripped through my shoulder and my arm went limp, but I couldn't stop. I started down the hill. I could see the shimmering surface of the creek below. There was something... Lobbing in the water.

Rotted logs from the looks of it. I needed to get down there. Get under the water and use the logs as cover. That was what I was going to do. I worked my way down the slope. The ground was wet. Each step threatened to slide out from under me. There were footsteps now.

Breaking sticks and brushing trees as they tried to catch up. Another fucking gunshot. The bullet whizzed over my head and missed. I tried to go faster and crouch down, but my feet were too unstable. I focused on the water, limping closer and closer like it was my salvation. I was almost there. Behind me I could hear the racking of the bolt action.

And I shot a panic look behind me. I could barely see him working through the trees 20 yards away. As I turned back to the creek, my good foot got caught on something and I fell forward. I hit the ground hard and started to roll, painfully and awkwardly in the dark. I watched my descent in a swirl of moonlight and darkness.

My elbows and knees clubbing the earth as I went. I came to a stop at the edge of the water, lying on my back, gasping for air. I could hardly move. My vision's spinning as I looked to the sky. I could hear him coming down the hill slowly, carefully. He knew he had won. He was taking his time. Exhausted and defeated.

I looked in the creek. It wasn't logs I'd seen. floating, but fucking bodies. Several of them, bloated and rotting in the clear glow of the moon. The more I looked around, the more I saw. Men, women, children. I'm not sure what I expected. Robert was there now, boots squishing as he looked down at me. A pair of black goggles were over his eyes. A wicked grin on his face. He unslung his rifle and let it fall to the ground, then pulled off the goggles and casted them aside like toys.

Disappointing. Very disappointing. I thought with you being a park ranger and all, you'd make it further. But here we are at the creek. And they never make it past the creek. Well, Robert cracked his knuckles and pulled the knife from his belt. He held the knife in both hands and brought it down. aiming for my heart. I put up my hands to fight him, but it only delayed the inevitable.

He worked free from my grasp and elbowed me in the temple. A blow that sent my vision blurring once more. My arms went slack, and he buried the knife in my chest. My lung collapsing as the blade went in. Here we go. If you want, he pulled the blade down, separating my torso down the middle, mushing, satisfied.

He left me there to die. All came out as gurgled whispers. What was that? Did you have something to say? And he knelt to hear me. With the last of my breath, I spoke my last two words, just loud enough for him to hear.

Barking and screeching, the large incision, yanking the flesh apart and a spray of blood and disintegrating organs. His reaction was the same as all the others before him. A look of pure, irrational fear. My

thin, inky black limbs burst from the gaping wound in my torso. I was on him in an instant, slashing the knife away and digging my nails into his flesh. I ripped his shirt like paper and separated his chest just like he did to me.

My piercing screeches ringing into the night until I burrowed so deep they could no longer be heard. He thrashed and oozed from every orifice as he made room for me. Just as the cab driver did, and the park ranger before him, I ate and wriggled as he expired, worming and digging my tiny frame into each limb like a fucking suit. When the fit was just right, I stood up and cracked my knuckles.

I looked at my reflection in the water, running a hand over my face to feel. I took my time going back to the estate, making sure my walk was just right, and everything was in place. The hours passed as I settled in, feeling more and more at home as I slowly worked the joints and muscles. At daybreak, I emerged from the tree line to find Charles on the patio waiting. He came to greet me immediately. Sir, this one had you out all night. Was this one better than the others? Can I get you something to drink?

Much better than the last. And, uh, the bourbon, if you will. 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 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 138, hunted for sport. Consigned by Jesse Pullins, starring Trevor Shand, Jared Griffiths, and Mark LaPoint, featuring Stephen Knowles as the antique dealer. Produced by Kevin Seaman, theme music by the Newton Brothers. Additional music by Coag and Vivek Abashak. Hunted for Sport appears in the collection Lying Awake by Jesse Pullins, published by Vellox Books. Visit Vellox Books.com.

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.