The Antiquarium of Sinister Happenings - Lot 141 : Tag // Do You See It Too?

Episode Date: August 13, 2026

Lot 141 : Tag // Do You See It Too?   My Husband And I Have Been Playing A Game Of Tag For 5 Years But The Rules Have Turned Him Into Something Terrifying Consigned by Dominic Eagle Starring Jarret Griffis Chloe Mei-Lei Bundt   Do You See It Too? Consigned by Tewahway Starring Trevor Shand Jeffrey Allen Sneed   **Many thanks for patronizing our curious little establishment through the Factor and Mint Mobile links below. Your continued support helps keep the lamps lit and the shelves full of peculiar treasures. We are most grateful. 🍚 Factor: https://www.factormeals.com Use Code: Sinister50off 📱 Mint Mobile: https://mintmobile.com/SINISTER   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.

E equals O Hello dear friend Welcome back Games are curious things We invent rules Agree upon boundaries Decide where to begin And more importantly

When to stop Of course That only works when everyone is willing A well-used cricket bat An unusual piece of sporting equipment to find its way into our collection perhaps. But you know, let's play. This is tag. 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 Moxmodius, Haley Tubbs, Eliza Wolf, Brandon Hall, and Fad Abuabsi.

We are ever appreciative of your devotion to the order. Go to the Obsidiancovenant.com to receive the sacrient. Now, where were we? Oh, yes. Welcome to the antiquarium of sinister happenings and odd goings on. My husband and I have been playing a game of Tag for five years, but the rules have turned him into something terrifying.

It all started after we saw the comedy film called Tag. 2018. For those of you who are unaware, it's based on a real story about a group of friends who played an endless version of the children's game. I think I enjoyed the film at the time, but I can't remember now. After years of this gradually worsening hell, I shudder every time I remember the concept that inspired my husband, Elliot. Let's do it. Wait, wait, right here? No, not that.

Tag. A never-ending game of tag. We live in the same house, so, I mean, it probably wouldn't be as thrilling as the film. We'd just end up sitting on the sofa, constantly tagging each other in a back-and-forth slapping match. Elliot pondered on my point, tapping his lips thoughtfully. He was always a passionate person. Once he became hyper-fixated on something, it was hard to deter him. and I loved watching his face scrunch up as the cognitive cogs word away. But this time, my amusement as fixation would be short-lived.

Okay. Elliot eventually said as we hopped into the car. Well, we could make the game interesting. How about this? Only one person can be tagged per day. The game pauses until midnight, okay? And at that point, whoever's it, they can tag the other. The night, well, I think we both know that the tagging's going to happen when we're in bed then, right?

It wasn't an unpleasant smile to my eyes, but everything seems different in retrospect. Who's saying I'll still be lying next to you? Even then, when I still thought his suggestion to be lighthearted, the way he said that sentence set my hairs on end. No, we're not going to be an old Mary. couple with separate beds. Why don't we make the starting point 6 p.m.? Okay, yeah. You want to begin?

Sure. Who's first? You. I'll be a gentleman and... Tag, you're it. Hey. He squealed, laughing as I tapped his shoulder playfully. Elliot smiled, keeping his eyes fixed on the road ahead.

And it's 8 p.m. I guess I'll have to wait till tomorrow to get you back. You are so going to be easy to catch. And the next day, he proved that. At 6 p.m. on the dot, my husband silently emerged from a hiding spot behind the sofa and tagged me. He yelped, clutching my pounding chest. I didn't even hear you come home. Oh, no, I didn't go to the office today.

I've been hiding right here for hours. When I arrived home the next day, I waited for my house. husband to walk through the door so I could have my revenge. 6 p.m. came and went. At 7 p.m., I texted Elliot to ask when he'd be home. He responded that he was sleeping at the office to avoid being tagged, and when he didn't show up the day after, I told him that tag might cost us a relationship if I was never going to see him again. His response infuriated me. Nice try. Ultimatums? Uh-uh. Won't work. I don't want to work. I don't want to be it. When I told him that he'd better come home, his response sparked a ripple of shivers across my

body. Oh, but I am home, darling. You just haven't seen me yet. Then I heard a slightest creak from the cupboard beneath the sink. When I opened the double doors, there was my husband. And ordinarily, that would have been a funny sight, wouldn't it? Just a game of tag that had reached dizzying heights of ridiculousness. But he didn't see his face. That wasn't Elliot. Not my Elliot. Bolting, unblinking, bloodshot eyes, unhinged smile frothing at the lips. But giggle. Ever since he suggested we play tag, the man I knew was gone. Throughout lockdown, given that we were living in such close quarters, the game did become slightly easier, but Elliot lost a piece of himself with every passing day.

I tried to get him to hyper-fixate on something else. No use. Still, whenever one of us had been tagged and the game paused, my husband returned to his normal self. That was when I decided I was going to stop playing. It was the only way to get him back. So, Elliot tagged me, and I didn't return the tag on the following day.

For months, things returned to normal. But then, one day, at a local restaurant, he brought the topic up again. Lisa. What? Hey, I'm right here in front of you, you know? I'm right here, so why won't you tag me? You were making me uncomfortable, Elliot. You just weren't yourself when you were it.

A fleeting glint in his eyes sent a weighty lump of fear cascading to the pit of my stomach. It was a glimmer of cruelty that had been burgeoning beneath the surface of his cold, unfeeling eyes for three years. The look that I'd hope would go away if I were to stop playing his haunted game. The true horror had yet to begin. No, no, no, this will not do at all, Lisa. He whispered in a voice hardly his own. You know, I've been patient, Lisa. I thought you were planning the ultimate move.

But no. You weren't. So I'm going to have to make a new rule. Okay? When someone is it, they must make an effort to tag the other player. Otherwise, the other player becomes it. Yeah? Look, I'd happily play the game if you could be normal about it.

Of course, yeah. I won't take it too seriously. It's fun, Lisa. It's all fun in games. That's why I want to play. That was a little over a year ago, and it was anything but fun after that. I couldn't decide whether I feared hunting Elliot or being hunted by him. On one hand, the thought of Elliot lurking around any corner of my home filled me with an unyielding sense of horror.

On the other hand, whenever he was chasing me, I felt genuine terror at what would happen when he tagged me. and one day my fear was justified. I was lying on the floor, shivering after my husband had tagged me. Tagged doesn't begin to cover it. Elliot thumped me in the arm with a cricket bat, thumped it so hard that I couldn't move. I would later find out that it was broken. New rule.

Elliot said, cracking his neck in a horde in a human way. Every tag is more creative than the last. Shaking uncontrollably, I finally snapped. I'd given the man so many chances, but physical abuse? That was the line. He crossed it, and there was no coming back from that. It was finally time to abandon the marriage. He hit me.

It's over. I'm moving out. You're not the man I married. He would have never. hurt me. Elliot froze and something inexplicably horrifying happened. His eyes blackened.

The newly darkened pupils merged with the whites of his eyes. Do you think the game ends if we end? No. Elliot asked, sinisterly snickering. You're still it.

And if you don't make an effort... What's happened to you, Elliot? it. I wailed, clutching my broken arm and sliding away from the unhinged figure who loomed above me. We're not playing tag anymore. Oh, okay, okay, yeah, sure, new role, new rule. When I next tag you, the game's over. That's, that's it. No more. No, you can't tag me ever again. I'm it. I, uh-ah, remember the rule. You only see. stay it if you make an effort. Are you going to make an effort?

Elliot gleefully said, striding towards me. I ran out of the house, left arm hanging limply by my side. I used my right hand to scoop my phone out of my pocket, and I called my sister from the side of a busy road. She urged me to call the police, but Elliot had fled when officers reached the house. I couldn't stop thinking about the blood. blackness that spread across his eyes. So, I ended up on an online forum talking about black

and dies and changed personalities. One user's comments sent chills through my body. He's got the black bug. He'll only stop playing when one of you dies. Terrified beyond words, I decided that it wasn't safe for me to live with my sister. If the anonymous commenter was correct, then Elliot's talk about the game being over would surely have spelled my end. I moved to a lakeside cabin under a different name, intending to stay far away from Elliot until I could figure out the next course of action. I woke at 4 a.m. one particularly wintery morning in December.

The sound of giggling filled the cabin, and I trembled. Walking to the edge of the upper balcony, I looked below to see a horrifying sight of the middle of the living room. A head peering over the back of the sofa. Peekaboo! I screamed and hauled my half-frozen towards the stairs, barreling toward the front door. But as my hand clutched the handle, something clutched me. I turned to see Elliot on the floor, propped up by hands and legs in a low, crouching position.

The fingers on one of his hands were curled viciously around my ankle. and he was grinning, that awful grin. Tag. Game over. His mouth opened, revealing numerous rows of unnaturally jagged, janky teeth. Poised to pounce with a vehement look in his eyes, Elliot chuckled again. I screeched, swinging my foot squarely at his jaw. As the demonic man recoiled, I fled from the lake,

house and drove far away. That was months ago. I know Elliot's still out there. Somewhere. The game's not over. Like the online forum user said, I'll only stop playing when one of you dies. Five years.

I admire their commitment. Though personally, I've always preferred games where everyone understands when they've ended. If you excuse me, I have another acquisition waiting to be catalogued. Photograph of an empty street. Nothing particularly remarkable about it. At least, I haven't noticed anything. The accompanying account asks a rather simple question.

Do you see it too? Have a look. Shall we? Do you see it too? A few days ago I found this photo when I was browsing memes. It was a picture of an empty street with a caption that read. Do you see it too? I was expecting some cheap jump scare so I didn't bother really looking.

I scrolled down to the comment section to find it surprisingly vacant. Typically a post that had this much traffic would have had more involvement. Among the brief and sparse comments, I saw one saying there's nothing actually in the picture. It was from the original poster. Someone had responded to him saying, Yes, there is. You just haven't seen it yet. It was the most upvoted comment,

with no responses. I thought it was kind of a funny prank, so I sent the picture to my roommate, Dylan. He's a pretty neurotic dude, so I figured it'd be hilarious to watch him meticulously scan the picture over and over in an attempt to find something out of place. Only now,

Now I'm realizing how much of a terrible mistake I made it. It started off being just as funny as I'd imagine. Dylan sat there, eyes glued to the screen and silence for about five minutes before I even said anything. Yeah, maybe you just need glasses, dude. Do I me tell you what you're looking for? No, I just need to look a little harder. I shrugged and went to grab myself a beer from the fridge. While I was in the kitchen, I got a bit distracted when I saw the pickle jar.

In there. I decided to make a sandwich. In total, I was probably out of the room for like 15 minutes. I'd completely forgotten about the picture by this point. When I went to go check on Dylan, however, I noticed his door was closed. I knocked. What? He rudely responded.

Yo, dude, put some pants on, okay? I'm coming in. When I entered, it was as if he hadn't moved a muscle. His eyes were peeled to the screen. It was almost confusing as to how he'd closed the door in the first place. Silently, I shuffled toward him, staring at his face. His eyes were beginning to redden. I looked pretty dry.

I started to grow concerned. Dude, it's just the fucking jokes. There's nothing there. Yes, there is. You just haven't seen it yet. It made me think of that one comment that stood out to me from the original post. Maybe it wasn't smart to play off as upset. excessive sight. I stood watching in silence. My shallow breaths were the only sound. Can I get some privacy?

He spat out as he took his gaze away from the computer for presumably the first time since he saw the image. He leered at me with wild eyes. For a second, he looked different. Not my roommate, not my friend. A broken shell of a man Lost to his fixation Yeah, all right, man, sorry Just don't lose any sleep over this, okay? No response I left the room and closed the door behind me in silence

Dylan was never the kind of guy who one would consider private He disliked closed doors Despite his occasional awkwardness He was a very social and outgoing dude Little did I know. It was a subtle hint as to how bad that things were going to get. The next morning, I was up a bit earlier than normal for work. I didn't see Dylan for the rest of the night, which wasn't unusual.

I decided I'd make us both breakfast since I had extra time before work. Dylan works from home so he didn't need to get up as early as I did. I'd hoped the symphonic aromas of coffee and bacon would have roused them. and summoned him from his room. No dice though. As I approached the door, plate in hand, fist poised to knock. I heard him.

Go away. I tried to ignore it. Maybe he wasn't talking to me. Yo, dude, I made breakfast. I'm not hungry. He firmly retorted. I hesitated for a moment as I reached for the doorknob. up. After taking a deep breath, I grasped it firmly and pushed the door open. He didn't so much as Twitch.

Dylan was still in his fucking chair. The face damn near pressed against the computer screen. In the early morning light that barely penetrated the undrawn curtains, he looked like some kind of grotesque fucking monster. Punched forward. Head. lurched at an awkward angle. There was even a slight trembling in his hand who was freaking me the fuck out. I think you need a breakthrough. But my words fell on deaf ears.

I stood and watched him for a few minutes. I could feel something welling up inside of me. My stomach was in knots. I felt queasy. What have I done? He then pushed his swivel chair back from his desk, swung to face me, and yelled. Can you get the fuck out?

Having never Ever seen him lash out like this I was more than happy to oblige My whole way to work I couldn't help but wonder what I could do Maybe it's gonna fix itself Or he'll burn himself out on it I don't know, should I call his mother

His sister? I kept hoping throughout my day at work That he magically be better by the time I'd get home Unfortunately Things only got worse When I arrived arrived home. I heard a hissing sound. I looked around to find the tap in the kitchen running. I turned it off, only to pick up on the tap running in the bathroom, too. As I turned the bathroom

tap off as well, Dylan's door swung open. He stood there, pale and manic. I need the noise so I can think. He screeched as he abrasively pushed past me to turn the bathroom tap on. I need the noise so I can think. His movements were weird and frail, almost skeletal. He looked like he'd aged four decades in a few hours. I stood on the spot, astonished. He aggressively shambled to the kitchen to turn the tap back on.

You're paying the utilities this month. Are you going to be wasting water like this, man? He said nothing. he just hobbled purposefully back to his room and slammed the door. I didn't feel safe around him at all. So I went to stay with my girlfriend that night. I got the bright idea to try to reach out

to the person who posted the photo to begin with. I went back to that site and shuffled through my history. This shouldn't be too far back. I haven't been on since I saw it. Finally, I found it. Or what it once was. Instead of the picture, I was met with the typical content deleted message.

When I looked for the original poster's username, I was predictably met with. Delete it. So they taken down the content and deleted their accounts. After thinking about how to proceed, I sent a message to the admin explaining why I was trying to contact the original poster. And to see if I could get the email address they registered with, he still hasn't responded. In an attempt to distract myself, I went to the site's front page to peruse some memes. What I saw was the first for me, and possibly for the site. There was no new content. In fact, there hadn't been any new content since yesterday.

Early the next morning at like 5.30, I woke to my phone buzzing from a text spam. I wondered who the hell be bothering me this early, so I sat upright, rubbed the sleep from my eyes, and checked my phone. Much to my girlfriend's dismay. Almost a dozen texts. All from Dylan. I found it. I know what it is. It was hidden well, but it's really there.

You need to see it. It was right in front of my face all along. Where are you? You're not in your room. Check the picture. Image. Tath to open. Don't look at the picture.

There's nothing there. Don't look at the picture. The one message contradicting the rest, a skew from the narrative. I saw the picture before, but maybe I didn't really look. I stumbled out of the bedroom through the darkness, closed the door behind me, and tried to call Dylan.

But he didn't answer. I tried a few more times. Still, no answer. I poked my head back into the bedroom. Babe, I'm going to head out. I got to check on Dylan. She mumbled for me not to go. I told her I'd come right back.

My last words were met with a grumpy sigh. I put my boots on and stepped out into the cold winter air. I arrived home to find the place dark. Not unusual, though. It's just after six and the sun won't really be up for enough. another hour or so. It was still creepy. But the taps weren't on, which I took as a good sign.

Dylan? No answer. I made my way to his closed door, turning on the lights as I went. I took a deep breath before knocking firmly on the wood. No answer. Just then, I received a text. Before checking my phone, I opened the door to Dylan's room.

The room was dim, lit by the mellow glow of the computer screen. I looked as if the image was still up. Dylan was nowhere to be seen. I looked at my phone. The text, I was from Dylan. Yes, there is. You just haven't seen it yet. My heart sank.

the previous text reassurance that Dylan might be getting back to his old self was now gone. And so was he, from the look of it. That brings me to where I am now, sitting on Dylan's bed. I can't help but feel that there's some kind of allure to his desktop screen. My chance a quick glance, something is awry. I swear, I swear I saw Dillard. Dylan in that picture.

Just for a second. Is he in there somehow? Does he need my help? I sit in his swivel chair. Still warm. Almost inviting. I lock my eyes on the screen. Something was definitely there.

Just for a moment. Maybe it hid behind a tree. It could be Dylan. If I look a bit harder. I'm sure. find it. I just, I just haven't seen it yet. Still it! Stilling!

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, best customer. The Antiquarium of Sinister Happenings, Lot One for One. Do You See It Too? Consigned by Tawaway. Shand and Jeffrey Allen Sneed. My husband and I have been playing a game of tag for five years,

but the rules have turned him into something terrifying. Consigned by Dominic Eagle, starring Jared Griffiths and Chloe Maylee Bundt, featuring Stephen Knowles as the antique dealer. Engineering production and sound design by Trevor Shand. 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.