The Antiquarium of Sinister Happenings - Lot 142 : My Last House Blessing

Episode Date: August 17, 2026

Lot 142 : My Last House Blessing   Consigned by Jess Pullins Starring Jarret Griffis Jessica McEvoy Trevor Shand 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. 🥗 Factor: https://www.factormeals.com Use Code: Sinister50off 📱 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   My Last House Blessing 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.

T equals O. Welcome back, friend. Faith is a curious thing. For some, it comes naturally. Others spend their entire lives searching for it. Every so often, someone finds it only after they've run out of explanations. Today's acquisition is what remains of a rosary. A handful of inexpensive beads, a small metal cross, and a length of broken chain.

Not terribly impressive, I admit. But then, faith has never been measured by appearances. The account accompanying it is titled, My Last House Blessing. 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 Jason Such, Riannon, Alex Malahide,

Teresia Novak, and Molly. We are ever appreciative of your devotion to the order. Go to the obsidian covenant.com to receive the sacrament. Now, oh yes. Welcome to the antiquarium of sinister happenings and odd goings on. I've been blessing houses for three years. Three years of distressed parents. kids and superstitious elderly.

From bumps in the night to shapes in the woods, I've answered calls far and wide to clear the terrified of their fear of the supernatural. I started small in my hometown and slowly worked my way to taking jobs out of state. I did it for free at first, but after the donation started rolling in and my name got around,

I was able to earn a decent living from saving the innocent from otherworldly three. My growth in popularity led to my persona, the young and prestigious Father Kane. I maintained a dedicated online presence, building groups and pages on social media to stay engaged with the community, answering every question, responding to every text. Each successful blessing brought more follows and more shares. Before I knew it, Father Kane was a household name, and I was booked daily. was booked daily for months to come. My hair was gelled right, my pencil-thin-beard, immaculate,

professional. I dressed clean and drove even cleaner, rolling up to houses in my waxed Cadill DeVille and knocking on doors in black lambskin gloves. Every time an old man or frightened woman would call, I would deliver. Every ghost banished and aura lifted, soothing the minds around me. Each time they asked me how I performed such miracles, and each time with over-exaggerated theatrics and heavy mysticism, I kept them from learning my hidden secret. I'm a fraud. That's right, I'm a total fake. It started as a prank just to see if I could do it, really.

But after I actually got away with it, I realized I could help people by the power of placebo alone. Built upon my own arrogant skepticism, I cloaked myself as a warrior of light. And boy was I welcomed with open arms. With just a bit of innovation, I put on a front that sold anyone at the end of their rope. Some well-versed scripture sprinkling with buzzwords. A cheap rosary off Amazon, scuffed with sandpaper for authenticity. A vial of holy water, courtesy of the tap. the tap. I planned each blessing accordingly, using the information gathered beforehand. I went in

and put on a good show, leaving the family feeling rejuvenated by their newly cleansed house. I'd had nothing but success over the years, and my social media was filled with nothing but praise and delightful reviews. Over a hundred successful cleanses, with nothing but thanks to follow. That was until yesterday. Yesterday I blessed a house, and I will never do it again. Yesterday started like any other routine job. After some messaging back and forth with the client on Facebook, I knew the gist of what was going on.

The client's name was Lacey Stevens, and she was concerned about some strange occurrences going on in her house. The same stuff I had heard a hundred times before. Unexplained noises, a chilly draught in the house, doors opening and closing on their own. The more significant detail was an apparent leak in the basement, some kind of ooze seeping from the foundation. My guess was septic.

I decided before I went out that the issue would be solved in the basement, the discovered origin from which the problem stemmed. In and out, no big deal. I pulled my car into the driveway, taking in their gorgeous property as I parked in front. It was an old Victorian-style house, a few acres of forest serving as a backtrump. A field neighbored the property on either side, and less than a block away was construction for what looked like a new subdivision. I stepped out of the car and walked up to drive, smoothing my peacoat with my shiny black gloves.

In my right pocket was the rosary, and in the left was a bundle of sage with a vial of holy water. I went over my lines in my head, a smug grin already starting to form. Lovely evening, Miss Stevens. Bless day, Miss Stevens. How are we faring today, Miss Stevens? I stood at the front door, re-teased my hair, and raised my hand to knock. Before my knuckles could wrap, the door shot open. Good afternoon, Miss...

Oh, Jesus. You look more ridiculous than I thought. I'm going to be honest. Come on in. A man stood in the door, tall and broad. His face twisted in a scowl. Wife beat her, basketball shorts. On his head was a large gaming headset,

a thin cord trailing down from it to a controller gripped in his hand. I'm sorry? The man eyed me up and down and scowled again. But wait, wait, wait, I don't know what kind of shit you're trying to sell to my wife, but do me a favor. Make this quick. Let her down easy and get the fuck. He was cut off by a much shorter woman who shoved past him. Father Kane, thank you for coming out today. Lacey Stevens beamed under the man's shadow.

She was very pretty with long brown hair. Her curvy body accented by a spaghetti string top and leggings. Pleasure's mine. I shook her hand with both of mine, much like a priest would in the church. I flashed a smile at her and then at the husband, who proceeded to groan. Come in, come in! Don't mind my husband. He's in the middle of a game.

She motioned inside and the husband shambled away. His slides dragging on the floor. He sat on the couch, giving me another warning look before unmuting his headset. On the wall opposing the couch was a large flat screen displaying a call-of-duty cue. Sorry, guys, I'm back. Lacey actually invited that Chris Angel guy. Would you like some tea? She asked, heading to the kitchen.

That sounds wonderful. I watched her go. I looked around the living room at the furnishings and wall decorations. It gave the old house a much more modern look, your standard live, laugh, love, giving a taste. of Instagram home happiness. I looked at the pictures on the walls, taking in additional information in my head. Young couple, bubbly wife, stubborn husband.

No kids, no pets. Should be easy, as long as the husband doesn't heckle too much. It wasn't my first time dealing with a skeptic, and it wouldn't be the last. We exchanged looks for a moment, him taking the time to remind me he didn't approve while his character sprinted. it through smoke. Luckily, Lacey returned quickly. I put the kettle on. So, how do we start?

Tell me about what's happening here, and we'll go from there. I put my hands together. It started a couple months ago. Nothing really crazy, just weird. I've had a couple doors close on their own while he's at work. Sometimes in the middle of the night, the house creaks, and I can hear scratching in the walls. It didn't happen often at first. But lately, it's been every night. My husband thinks I'm overreacting. Not that he would hear it anyway, the way he snores. Her eyes traveled, like she was searching for something invisible. I see. Sometimes darkness works in mysterious ways, Mrs. Stevens. The devil always looks to bend the ear of those willing to listen. I pulled the rosary from my pocket.

Behind us, the husband scoffed. Lacey gave an annoyed look past me and motioned toward the kitchen. Most of the activity is in the kitchen and the basement. The entrance to the basement is next to the pantry. Let's have a look, shall we? I want to reach the epicenter. It'll be there where we'll cast our blessing, if that's what you want. I let the beads unravel until the cross dangled in the air.

She went to turn, and I put up a hand. hand to stop her. What? Is something wrong? Her eyes widened with worry. Ah, yes. There is definitely a presence in your house. I can feel it now, and it beckons from the basement.

The devil's dark touch reaches out, and I believe... All right, all right, cut the theatrics. The husband cut in, his headset and controller left on the couch. Just let her show you the deal. damn basement we can get this over with. He brushed past me and stood next to his wife protectively. She gave an apologetic look. Of course. Let us see the basement. I smiled. Bumps in the night were a common occurrence. Every chilling noise mistaken for a haunting could easily be debunked by rational thought and a little bit of research. Creeks in the night were always an old house

settling on the earth it was built upon. Scratching in the walls was most likely squirrels, flying squirrels considering the sheer amount of wooded land in this town. Doors that closed on their own were usually chalked up to gravity and pressure changes in the rooms themselves. In conclusion, old country houses doing old country house things. Not that I would tell them that. What sort of noises have you been hearing, Mrs. Stevens? I followed them in slow, steady steps. I felt it helped in the act. Lucy turned to acknowledge me

while her husband rolled his eyes and waited with impatience. The scratching has only happened a couple times. There's been a few knocks, too. Sometimes I think I hear whispers, too. She rubbed her arm as if suddenly chilled. Varmets. Old plumbing.

Perhaps I've forgotten television. The most unnerving one is the clicking, though. I can't explain it. It almost sounds like gunfire. She looked at her husband. Lacey, listen, I told you, nobody's firing off machine guns in the neighborhood. I don't think the HOA allows assault rifles. Machine guns. I entered the kitchen and actually felt a chill waft over me. I could see the culprit immediately. A pair of single pane windows by the sink. I kept my smile to myself and followed the husband, the wife close behind.

The husband opened the door next to the pantry to reveal the dark entrance to the basement. With a sigh, he reached into the dark and flicked the light switch. The stairway filled with soft yellow light. Constantine, here's the basement. It's down here. Watch a step, copperfield. Of course This is where the energy is manifesting

Would we like to say a prayer before we head down? Lacey considered How about no I don't want to deal with this all day Let's just get it done Brian, don't be a dick It's quite all right The Lord is with me now

Every step of the way I looked down the old wooden steps Yeah I think I see him behind us Don't hit your head dude That wouldn't be much of a blessing, would it? Brian led. We went down the stairs, each step creaking as we descended.

The basement was unfinished, the crude cement walls damp and dimly lit. Lacey passed us and walked to the old washer and dryer, her bare feet slapping the concrete floor. There were two green rugs on the floor, one in front of the machines and another in the far corner. This is where I hear it. Every time I do laundry. He thinks I'm crazy. She put her arms out in the empty space. I hear what exactly?

The clicking. I'm going to guess. That's Jackhammer. Because they're putting in that new neighborhood you saw on your drive-in. Mystery solved. It's only when I'm down here. Alone. She hugged herself.

I hadn't heard of any clicking in the past. An old clock, sure, but a sound as fast as a jackhammer. That was a new one for me. I walked to the closest wall, running a gloved hand over the bricks. You said there was a leak. May I see it? Lacey walked over to the second rug and peeled it up. It separated from the ground with a wet, sucking sound,

and I moved closer to inspect it. A septic leak would be anywhere from clear to brown, not to mention the smell. This leak was black, like the color of tar. Underneath the rug was a wooden padlocked door, and the black ooze had been seeping from beneath it. I had a guy check out the septic, but we should be good now. That was two days ago.

It's leaking again. Then I'll call him again. I looked at the trap door and the rusted lock that looked like it hadn't been touched in a decade. I could feel a breeze coming from it, Like a damp breath pushing out. There was something about the door. It didn't feel right. I looked at it, feeling my ears get hot.

The longer I stood, the more I thought, I heard something, slowly rising beneath it. I clutched the rosary nervously. The noise getting louder. Oof, the kettle. Lacey made her way upstairs. I chuckled. Uh, always an explanation.

We watched her go, and when she was out of sight, Brian narrowed his eyes at me. We finished here? Come on, man. Don't drag this out. What's with the door? It's a crawl space, never seen one before? Why is it locked? I crouched down to get a closer look at it, trying to appear more concerned than necessary. I don't know, man.

Realtors said it floods. The block was there and we bought it. We just left it there, covered it with the fucking rug. It's pretty gross. Excellent. The realtor already explained it. So the only one concerned here was the wife. The husband didn't really want me there.

I could give my blessing, feigned some sense of clarity, and beyond my way. Evil enjoys dark, damp seclusion, Mr. Stevens. It gives it an adequate place to hide. Fester. It burrows into the property and grows. The longer it's there, the more mischievous, more unrelenting it gets. I played it up, gently grabbing the lock.

The surface of the rusted metal deteriorated on my gloves. I rubbed my fingers together, and it smeared into a disgusting paste. Do you believe in God, Mr. Stevens? I waited for an answer, but none came. No attitude, no jab, no sigh. Above me, the door slammed hard and I jumped. I looked for Mr. Stevens, but he was gone. Standing alone in the basement, the lights went out.

I sighed. I felt a chill on the back of my neck and chuckled to myself. So this is how it was going to be. I felt through the dark, heading to the stairs. I cleared my throat and spoke aloud. I understand my presence. here aggravates you, Mr. Stevens. But pranking me isn't the way to solve this matter.

My footsteps echoed on the old steps. I reached for the basement door and opened it, expecting them to be waiting, possibly laughing. Maybe they were playing me. But there was no laughter, no pointed fingers. There was nobody at all. Just an empty, cold. Even the appliances were gone. Hello?

I watched my words come out as fog. The house was bare and unbelievably gray. I walked into the kitchen, my footsteps kicking up dust. My first thought was to just leave. The irrational fear of the unknown gripping my spine like ice. I headed for the front door and shoved it open. My car was gone. The driveway was gone.

Nothing but open fields. No construction. Nothing. Hmm. Forgive me. It seems a visitor is asked whether I might bless an item before they take it home. I'm afraid they've mistaken me for something considerably more qualified. One moment.

Thank you for waiting. They've reconsidered the purchase. Apparently the item made the decision rather easy. No matter. Shall we? Nothing but open fields. No construction. Nothing.

The sky above was the color of ash, overcast as far as I could see. Mr. Stevens? Mr. Stevens? Hello? My voice barely reached. The sound wouldn't carry. It was being suppressed by something else.

It was an odd noise. And my mind conjured the only thing that made sense of it. Clicking. There was movement in the monochrome landscape, about as far away as my car had been. Long, twig legs attached to white, elegant feathers. A pair of storks in the grass. Their legs robotic beneath them.

with seemingly fluid bodies. They looked at me, eyes beady and wide as if they were alarmed. Their bodies contorted, long necks bending backwards in unison, like they were dancing. Together they pointed their beaks to the sky, a loud chattering erupted from their bills. It sounded like gunfire over the valley. I slammed the door to block out the noise and hide from their beady eyes.

No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no. I stammered, feeling helpless and out of control. The rosary in my hand was steaming, the beads radiating warmth. I looked around the living room, the flat screen, the couch, the video games, all gone, bare walls, fogged windows. There was a loud crash, and I squeezed my eyes shut. The rosary held a close. whatever it was it came from the basement

hello anybody there I cried weekly over a hundred houses never anything unordinary this this didn't make any sense it just wasn't possible

I stood there in denial for a time I knew what I had to do or rather the only thing I could do my feet moved on their own when they were ready. Slow, creaking steps, one by one. Back to the kitchen. The air getting colder as I moved. I shivered. The chill stiffening my piquet. No hot burner,

no piping kettle. My attention felt drawn to the basement doorway, to the dark passage that seemed to push wind from it, like it was breathing. I went in holding the beads close, pushing forward down the steps. I waited for something like a hand to grab me. But the sensation was different. I felt eyes on me. But there was no one in sight. At the landing, I turned hesitantly, knowing what I would find, but afraid to see it.

No washer and dryer. No rugs. Only the cellar door thrown wide open. The padlock and latch littered the floor in pieces. The dark hole beckoned, its mysterious black luring me in. I didn't want to go. It was something that just happened on its own. I could hear sounds coming from it,

like someone was plucking a tight guitar string, metallic and wiry. I stood before the hole and looked in. There was nothing. Only a void. Black so thick it looked like you could grasp it. The noises came from the hole. The metallic ting with a whisper on the cold breeze.

Whatever it said, it didn't make sense. My father, who art in heaven, hallowed be there. A loud pop interrupted my mumbling, and I clutched my stomach in pain. It felt like someone had punched me. I felt the sensation of trickling, water and I assumed I had pissed myself. To my dismay, I had nod. The leak was coming from my coat. I reached in to feel my gloves soaking and pulled it out to find a handful of glass. The vial of holy water had burst. My mind raced. With a shaky hand, I tried to get all the glass

out, wet shards hitting the concrete light pebbles. I kept trying to mumble to say, something in comfort, but the words felt scrambled in my head. The now-wet bundle of sage tumbled out with the glass, and I watched it fall. As soon as it hit the floor, it shriveled, igniting an imberse and a puff of smoke. God help me. The smoke stung my eyes. I stepped in front of the hole, peering in like it was an open casket. I felt the wind.

and there it was again. The metallic twine. I didn't have a choice. I had to go in. Blessed is the man who remains steadfast under trial. For when he has... I stammered. The irony was not lost on me.

I was a joke. I deserved this. Holding the rosary, I closed my eyes and jumped in, falling. endless black. I hugged myself. The wind flapping my cheeks as I yelled, plummeting into nothing. There was nothing but gusting wind.

My stomach twisting as the blind momentum continued. I thought of prayers. Something for comfort. But it didn't matter. Even if I could find the words, I didn't deserve to use them. Eventually my shoes felt a surface, softly at that bad. I landed gracefully at my destination, and once I had the courage, I opened my eyes. I was in what looked like a cavern, but a man-made one.

Ten-foot ceilings carved out of the stone like a larger, cruder basement. Torches lined the walls, their fire burning walls. white. I wanted to call out, but my breath was ripped from my lungs. Whatever I was meant to see, I had found it, and it was right in front of me. I watched in horror, unable to speak, unable to breathe. The sounds of metallic plucking were clear as day. Hanging from the ceiling on a long braid of barbed wire was a woman, blindfolded. and gagged, she hung like an art piece, a complicated shibari tie, forcing her pose upside down. Her naked skin was scuffed with a slick black rub, an oily substance that reflected the torchlight.

She swayed slightly, the barbs tinking off other strands. It looked terrifying and painful, the way the wire bound her. Arms tied tight behind her back. Each leg positioned individually with the grace of a ballerina, like she was twirling in the air. Through the horror of the bondage was a beauty. Her figure displayed like a twisted sculpture. The rosary was hot in my hands, steaming against the lambskin glove. My fingers wouldn't let it go, like it was the only thing I had left.

I could hear the sound again. The maddening, clicking of the storks, bouncing off the walls from some unknown location. I took a step toward the woman to try to help her, but froze. A shape emerged from the shadows of the cavern. A broad figure garbed in what looked like layers and layers of leather. I could hear the fabric of its clothing as it moved, whatever resided beneath being restrained. I guessed it to be a muscular man from the build, but its face was shielded by a porcelain mask.

Arced slits for eyes, a long shoe-billed beak. It looked like a plague doctor, but tainted. Behind the eyes of the mask, two globes glared, bloodshot and depraved. I could hear it breathing now. Heavy and labored. The dominator came to the woman's side, its hulking presence casting a shadow over the helpless pose. A leather hand moved across her body, sliding over this slick rub, caressing her breast.

The woman writhed in her restraints, her wimpers and discernible from pleasure or fear. The hand rested on her stomach, fingers tapping the skin like this was a carnival show. With a heavy stab, its boot pressed into the floor. An indent in the stonework caused a groaning shift. The floor split apart, opening a pit beneath them. They floated in the center, a small platform serving as a stage. It was then that the noises grew louder, reverberating so intensely that they shook the walls and rattled my teeth. Dozens.

No. Hundreds. The chorus of clicking blasted from the pit. Below the stage, an army of wild-eyed storks clacked their beaks. They jumped excitedly, wings smacking each other as they reached for the bound woman. They didn't notice me there. Every beady eye was locked hungrily above. The masked man reached behind himself slowly, and the birds clicked in anticipation. theatrically he withdrew his hand, a long sickle shining in the white torchlight.

The commotion grew as he placed the cold steel against her abdomen, and she twitched beneath its touch. After a pad of admiration, he pulled the blade fast. Her lean stomach was separated. A geyser of black and red rained into the pit, and the dominator let her go. Her sculpted body spun. Her legs curled like a storm. Below, the birds went wild, clapping wet beaks at the splashing blood. They shoved and fought for it.

Stark white feathers stained a vibrant red in the light. It covered everything until all I could see was a writhing mass of beaks and claws. Their pupils dilated, and the clicking became erratic. unsynchronized. As she ran dry, the woman gave her final convulsion before going limp. In my hand, the rosary exploded. The sound was deafening, beads bouncing off the cavern walls like a shotgun blast. The squawking and clicking stopped. All fell silent. Ahead of me, the hulking dominator looked my way, a long finger unraveling from its fist as it pointed. Those bloodshot eyes looked angry, offended even.

Like a sonic boom, the birds cried together, bursting from the pit like an erupting volcano. Red feathers, sharp beaks, eyes dotted like pinpricks. They were on me instantly, pecking and slashing with their extremities. They squawked in my ears before pecking at them. Their talons tore my clothes, ripped my coat. I felt the beaks puncture my scalp and knock against my skull. A volley of spear-tipped stabs picking me apart. My flesh peeled away.

Their solid beaks rattled against my bones. Get off me. Get off! Get off! Get! What the fuck is your problem, man? It was just a fuse. I thrashed wildly and opened my eyes. Lacey and Brian were looking at me, bewildered.

We were back in the same. the kitchen. I huffed for a breath, sweat trickling down my back and beating on my forehead. At my feet was a shattered teacup, china glass crunching between my shoes. What, what happened? I took off my gloves and wiped my face. I unbuttoned my peacoat. I was burning up, the beaks tearing my flesh, the holy water, the sage, the rosary. I patted my pockets. They were empty. What do you mean what happened?

The breaker blew. I went to fix it. You said you would burn some sage and sprinkle some water or whatever, said you'd be right up, then you come up here, mumbling and shit, and she handed you some tea. You squeezed the cup until it broke. Reached out for her all crazy. Now look at this mess, man.

What is wrong with you, dude? My mind raced. I looked at Lacey, who had put her hands up and backed away, moving behind Brian. I thought of it all. It replayed in my head on Fast Forward. The barbed wire, the girl, the storks. I looked at Lacey's face.

The hair. Her skin. It was her. The bound woman. I blinked and rubbed my eyes. My face was flushed and I felt a hot trickle from my nose. I touched it to see the red drip of a nosebleed. You need to get out of this house.

It is not safe. I pleaded, and they flinched when I stepped forward. You guys got to go. I don't know what it is. I can't... No, it's you who needs to go. Get the fuck out of here. Come on.

Let's go. Now! He grabbed me hard by the arm. No, you don't understand. Your wife, she's not safe. You have to get her out of here. Yeah, not safe from you, no doubt. I begged, as he shoved me through the...

living room. He opened the door and tossed me out, jabbing a finger in my face. Don't come back here, understand? Don't message my wife. Don't show your face here again. I'll call the cops. I swear to God, fucking psycho. He slammed the door in my face. I walked to my car. My head foggy. My nerves shot. My hands were shaking. And when I got into my car, I sat there for a moment. I looked at the house, with all of its color returned. I looked toward the front window. Lacey was there, briefly mouthing the words.

I'm sorry. Then her husband appeared. A phone in hand. They started shouting at each other. I started my car, tires spinning gravel, as I turned around. I drove home. I'm not really sure what to think. Not sure what to do.

I drove in silence. I couldn't get it out of my head. I pulled into my driveway. The tears started to fall when the adrenaline wore off, and I bawled against my steering wheel. It was wrong. Everything was wrong. My whole world came crashing down.

No more blessings, no more cleanses. I took it all down. I'm done. This charade is over. I shut down the website, cancelled all meet and greets and future appointments. I ghosted everyone like the fucking fraud I am. And now I'm done.

I see their eyes when I sleep. In the back of my mind, I see the hanging pose. The geyser from the gaping wound. The clacking beaks. Days have passed now. The phone calls are getting less frequent than the messages have died down.

I made a post on social media announcing my resignation. My fans deserve better, but in the end, I'll only hurt them more. I'm moving soon, far enough away to escape this stain that is my own existence. I check in on the site from time to time, seeing the love from those I've helped in the past.

I hope I really did help them somehow. Maybe... Maybe it wasn't all a waste. I'm sorry, everyone. Really? Lacey sent me an email. It's two in the morning. I've read it a dozen times.

And I don't know what to do. Every time I read her name, I'm reminded of the clicking, the beaks echoing in my mind. Nothing makes it go away. I can only turn down the volume. But it never leaves. Why? Why won't it stop? Father Kane, it took me a while to track you down.

I'll understand if you don't rest. respond, but I don't know who else to talk to. The door is open. My husband doesn't see it. It's always closed for him. But I can. It opens at night. It calls to me. I know you warned me, but I don't know how long I can resist. I just heard it open. I can hear it. The clicking. It's getting louder. It's getting louder. I T-C-Y-T-Y-T-X-J-Y-M-J-I-T-W. 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 night now. Antiquarium of sinister happenings. Lot 142, my last house blessing. Consigned by Jesse Pullens, starring Jared Griffiths, Jessica McAvoy, and Trevor Shand. My Last House Blessing appears in the collection lying awake by Jesse Pullens. Published by Vellox Books. Visit Vellox Books.com, 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.