The Antiquarium of Sinister Happenings - Lot 151 : Don’t Keep It Too Long

Episode Date: September 28, 2026

Lot 151 : Don’t Keep It Too LongConsigned by Helen Theodora WaiteStarring Addison PeacockTrevor Shand**Many thanks for patronizing our curious little establishment. Should you find yourself in need of provisions from Factor, Mint Mobile, Quince, or our own Antiquarium shop, we humbly ask that you enter through the links below.** Purchasing through these links helps keep the lamps lit, the shelves stocked, and the stranger things in the back room properly contained. Even simply clicking the links lends a little support to the Antiquarium, so every visit is greatly appreciated. 🥗 Factor: https://www.factormeals.comUse Code: Sinister50off📱 Mint Mobile: https://mintmobile.com/SINISTER🧥 Quince: https://www.quince.com/happenings💚 Antiquarium Shop: https://theantiquarium.myshopify.comWe are, as always, most grateful for your continued patronage. https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/15tv3qp/dont_keep_it_too_long/?solution=3123084f9d4a1d063123084f9d4a1d06&js_challenge=1&jsc_token=2824be10929bdc604753c70a67a1c33144e5b8ce18b1d1e97a0ea10d29fc8ce5&jsc_orig_r=  Featuring Stephen Knowles as The Antique Dealer Theme music by The Newton Brothers Produced by Kevin Seaman Additional music byCO.AG ([e-mail]) Clement Panchout Vivek Abhishek SUBSCRIBE to them on YOUTUBE: / vivekhsihba  LIKE them on FACEBOOK:  https://rb.gy/nhgn0iFollow 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.

Equals W. Hello, dear friend. Welcome back. It's remarkable how easily objects pass from one person to another. We buy them, sell them, give them away, lose them. Sometimes we simply leave them behind. And eventually, someone else picks them up. A small polished stone, smooth, nearly cylindrical, and unusually cold to the touch.

There are markings beneath its surface, though I confess I haven't been able to identify them. Perhaps you'll have better luck. The account accompanying it is entitled, Don't Keep It Too Long. An interesting bit of advice. 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 NML, Tasha, Kendra.

Hill, Domi Lee Sanidis. We are ever appreciative of your devotion to the order. Go to the obsidiancovenant dot com to receive the sacrament. Now, oh yes. Welcome

to the antiquarium of sinister happenings and odd goings on. I try. Not to hate myself for what I've done. I keep telling myself that I'm not the first, and surely won't be the last. There was simply no other choice. I was walking home after doing a bit of shopping, a bag of groceries in each hand. I'm fortunate enough to live in a fairly walkable city, so I try to avoid driving as often as I can.

Besides, the part of town I lived in was quite pleasant, and I enjoy getting a bit of fresh air and some exercise. As I pondered what I was going to make myself for dinner that evening, absent-mindedly looking at various storefronts and signs that grabbed my attention, I suddenly collided with someone, my bags immediately falling to the ground. Oh, God, I'm so sorry. He knelt down and began helping me pick up my groceries. Fortunately, nothing I bought that day was especially breakable. Otherwise, I would have been much more irritated.

He was a college student, perhaps. He definitely had the rather ragged appearance. of an overworked academic, dark bags under his eyes, unshaven stubble, and an ill-fitting tweed coat with patches on the elbows. He seemed to be trembling, as if he were afraid of something. At the time, I just assumed he was anxious after our little collision. He kept apologizing, too, mumbling... I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Over and over again as he picked up the various foodstuffs that have been scattered across the pavement. It's all right. I should have looked where I was going, I insisted, examining a box of crackers to make sure it wasn't crushed too badly before placing it back into the bag.

The man handed me the other bag of groceries, and I thanked him. As we both stood up, he looked me dead in the eyes and said, Listen, no, I am sorry. Don't keep it. Before I could ask him what he meant by this, he took off running into the crowd, and I was left standing on the sidewalk, puzzled. I arrived home about 15 minutes after my encounter with the man on the sidewalk,

and began putting away my groceries in the pantry. About halfway through the process, however, I found something odd at the bottom of one of the bags, the one the man had handed to me. I pulled the object out of the bag, staring at it, puzzled. It appeared to be nothing more than a smooth, flat stone. It was shiny and polished, and it was around the size and shape of a half-dollar coin.

It was unusually cool to the touch. As I held the stone up to the light, I noticed some faint, barely discernible symbols on its surface, but they didn't appear to be carved or painted on. Instead, it seemed as if they were a part of the structure of the rock itself, like the cross-section of a fossil. I'm not much of an expert on languages, and I never did manage to identify any of the symbols on it.

But I suppose they looked vaguely like the letters of ancient Greek, perhaps. Though even that is a loose comparison at best. I'll be honest, I had no idea what to think at the time. I assumed it must have been some sort of viral marketing campaign or social media trend of some sort. I set the stone down on the counter and finished packing up the groceries, forgetting about it. I made myself a simple dinner of some vegetable fried rice

and watched a movie before getting ready for bed. I brushed my teeth, made my bed, and turned off all the lights in the house, double-checking that the doors and the windows were all shut and locked as I did so. This is very important. It must be understood that I always make sure that my doors and windows are securely locked before I go to bed. I've always been a bit paranoid, and even though I live in a fairly crime-free neighborhood, I still worry about burglars.

When I was satisfied that my home was suitably impervious to intruders, I began to change out of my day clothes into some pajamas. As I was removing my pants, I felt something strange bulging in my left pocket. I reached in and pulled out the stone. smooth and cool against my hand, glinting slightly in the light of my bedside lamp. That's strange. I could have sworn I left this on the counter. I must have picked it up without thinking about it. I set it down on the bedside table, feeling a little unnerved.

Everyone occasionally forgets where they put something, only to find they were carrying it with them all along. But this was different. I distinctly remembered setting it down on the kitchen, counter. Regardless, I managed to drift off to sleep with the aid of a melatonin tablet and a little bit of white noise. I've always been a light sleeper, so I usually have to have some faint sound or another to listen to when I go to bed in order to avoid waking up at every creek and groan of my house settling. I woke up at around 12 to the sound of footsteps coming from inside my house.

I live alone, and my house doesn't share any walls with anyone else, so it couldn't have been me a neighbor getting up for a midnight snack. I don't keep any pets either. I shot up in bed, listening intensely, trying to gauge where the sound was coming from. I turned off the white noise to make sure I could hear properly. All was silent for a few painful moments, and I worried I may have simply imagined it. But then I heard it again, the slap of bare feet against wood. I grabbed the flashlight I kept in the drawer of the bedside table and began to creep through the house. The flashlight was the sort that was designed for use in self-defense, with a strobe setting and sharp protusions at the front.

It wasn't much, but I felt a little safer having it in my hands. I followed my ears whenever I heard the footsteps recur, eventually making my way to the living room. I'll admit it, I come from a somewhat wealthy family. and as a result live in a fairly nice house. The living room is large and open with a polished hardwood floor, high ceiling, and sliding glass doors that reveal my backyard. The moonlight shone in from outside,

illuminating the room dimly, but there was nobody there. And yet, as I stood there, rarely shining the flashlight around the room, I heard, once again, the slapping of bare feet on wood, coming closer to me. I began to panic, spinning around and flailing the flashlight about wildly,

trying to get a glimpse of whoever was coming towards me. There was nobody that I could see. The footsteps came closer and closer, louder, until I felt like they were almost right next to me when I suddenly noticed something else. The footsteps were coming from above me. Trembling with fear, I shakily looked upwards toward the,

wood-paneled ceiling, guiding the beam of light to follow my gaze. That's when my flashlight abruptly went out. I shrieked with terror and rushed to the light switch, flicking it on quickly. The chandelier-styled light fixture turned on, illuminating the room in an instant. There was nothing there. I spent the rest of the night, wandering through the house, turning on every light I could find, searching every nook and cranny for any sign of an intruder. Predictably, I didn't find anything out of the ordinary.

By the time the sun rose, I was exhausted and wished very much I could just go back to sleep. I was still tired when I began my walk to work, yawning frequently as I pushed through the crowd on my way to the office. The day was a little bit foggy, but not so much that I couldn't see, though it did seem strange for the season. I could make out my immediate surroundings just fine, but some distant objects were a little harder to discern. As I sluggishly put one foot in front of the other, fantasizing vaguely about my office's free coffee, I noticed something odd out of the corner of my eye.

It looked like some sort of banner, hanging from a street lamp in the distance. I couldn't see it too well with the unusual fog, but something about it seemed wrong. As I got closer, I started to question whether it was a banner at all. There was certainly something hanging from the street lamp, but it wasn't flapping in the breeze, and it seemed much too bulky to be fabric. Even though I couldn't make out what it was at this distance, something about it caused me to feel deeply uneasy. A chill ran up my spine, as though I were being watched.

I felt like I was just about to make out the strange shape hanging down, from the street lamp, when suddenly a large bus blocked my line of sight, disgorging its passengers onto the sidewalk like a stream of rats fleeing a sinking ship. By the time I successfully made my way through the crowd of similarly exhausted commuters, whatever object had been hanging there was gone. I rubbed my eyes, beginning to worry that I was imagining things. I slipped my hands into my pockets to keep them warm, and felt a smooth, cool object brush against my left hand.

I pulled out the stone from my pocket and stared at it, standing still in the middle of the sidewalk. I didn't remember taking it off my bedside table that morning. I once again felt that prickling, uncomfortable feeling of being watched, the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end. I shoved the stone back in my pocket and continued on my way back to the office, trying to focus on the promise of free, fresh coffee and ignore my morning paranoia. Well, I've always... believe that if something doesn't belong to you, the decent thing is to return it. Unfortunately, provenance can occasionally be rather difficult to establish. Excuse me, I have a bit of paperwork to attend to.

One moment. I know that this lot is now in your possession. Always best to keep these things properly documented. Now then, shall be. Howie. Work was largely uneventful, and the fog had cleared up by the time I made my way home in the late afternoon. I felt immensely tired, despite the massive quantity of coffee I had consumed, and thought I might retire to bed early that evening. Nevertheless, I had some chores to do, so went about my business, vacuuming, organizing, and otherwise cleaning up the place.

I wasn't going to let a lack of sleep get in the way of maintaining a well-ordered home. By the time I was finished with my chores and had eaten some leftovers for dinner, it was a little after 8 o'clock, and I felt like I was now justified in getting ready for bed. As with the night previous, I double-checked to make sure every door and window in the house was locked and secure. I still felt a little paranoid after hearing the footsteps the night before, so I also did another quick sweep of the entire house to make absolutely sure nobody was there with me. that I was entirely alone. I feel a little embarrassed to admit this,

but I even carried around a claw hammer with me while I checked, just in case I needed to defend myself. However, as with last night, there was nothing unusual to be found, and I let myself relax, just a little bit. I was getting ready to shower before bed, looking over my face in the mirror, when the paranoia abruptly returned in full force.

It was very sudden as though a switch had been flipped. One second I was observing my skin for blemishes, and the next I was absolutely dead certain that I was being watched. I felt like I had suddenly been dunked into a tub of ice water, and I began shaking intensely. It took me a moment to realize what had set me off, the stimulus that had triggered my fear before my brain had even consciously processed it. Looking into the mirror,

I saw that just above the edge of the closed shower curtain, touching the ceiling, were a pair of bare feet. The legs obscured by the curtain itself. It looked as if someone was standing upside down on the ceiling. The skin of the feet was a mottled gray color, like that of something that had been dead and floating in stagnant water for days. The stench of rot, previously unnoticed. began to flood my nose. Panicking, I grabbed the heaviest object within sight, a glass bottle of hand soap, and braced myself to pull back the curtain. My plan was to hit the intruder with the bottle as hard as I could before running outside and having a neighbor called the police.

I was naked, but I'd much rather get in trouble for some public indecency than be murdered by some hand-standing stranger in my own home. I took several deep breaths, counting down from ten in my head before rushing towards the shower, pulling back the curtain, and yelling as I swung the bottle down towards where I assumed the intruder's head would be. The bottle smashed on the back of the shower, spraying into a hundred shards of glass. There was nobody there. I looked around the bathroom frantically, but there was no sign of anyone else in the room. I collapsed, down to the floor, and began to cry. I wasn't able to get sleep that night. The next day at work was incredibly stressful. After what I had seen, combined with two nights in a row of no sleep, I was a nervous wreck.

I jumped whenever I received a notification from my email and nearly screamed when my supervisor came up behind me and asked me how my work was coming along. I was riddled with intense paranoia, constantly looking behind me and refusing even to go to the bathroom out of an intense fear of being left alone. Unfortunately, due to my intense anxiety, I wasn't exactly an efficient worker. I won't go into the boring details of my job, but there were a couple of tasks that I absolutely had to finish before I went home. And by the time the shift was over, I had still not completed them. My co-workers all shuffled off home while I was left alone, sitting at my desk. It took me about an hour after I was supposed to have gone home to finish up the bare minimum of work I needed to get done. It shouldn't have taken me that long to finish my work, but the whole time I felt like I was being watched,

that even though I was the only person in the office, I wasn't actually alone. I rubbed the stone in one hand to try and calm myself as I reviewed the work. I had just finished, making sure it was of at least somewhat acceptable quality. I didn't remember bringing the stone with me to work, but I had found it, sitting on my desk, regardless. Satisfied I would be, at the very least, not getting fired for the work I had done. I submitted it to my manager's email and turned off my computer. getting up to leave. The office I work at is one of those fancy open floor plan type setups

with a lot of windows and bright colors to try and cheer up the employees. It was renovated once the executives decided it was time for the workers to come back into the office again as the pandemic waned, perhaps in some desperate attempt to make people voluntarily give up the comforts of working from home. Regardless, the most important thing to know about the place where I work is that it has very tall ceilings, maybe 30 feet or so. As I was walking out of the office, I felt something wet drip onto my face. I touched my hand to the dampness, drawing back a finger stained red.

Blood. I looked up at the ceiling to find bloody footprints, 30 feet in the air. As if someone were walking on the ceiling. They were leading the direction I had just come from. I retraced my steps, following the bloody footprints to see where they led. I was in a daze. The stress from the past couple of days combined with my intense tiredness, resulting in a kind of numbness.

Just minutes before, I had been jumpy, nervous, ready to flee at the slightest sound. Now I was following the very source of my terror. The footprints terminated in the main office space, directly above my desk. There was no sign of whatever had created them. I had no idea how long it had been standing up there, looking down at me while I worked. I pulled my phone out from my purse and tried to take a picture of the bloody footprints on the ceiling. But when I peered at the screen, there was nothing there. I looked up from my phone, and sure enough, the footprints were gone.

I felt like I was going crazy. I practically ran home from work, desperate to get back to my house before it was dark. I didn't want to be alone on the streets when the sun went down. The last rays of sunlight were beginning to dissipate as I slammed shut my front door and began to cry. After I had sufficiently calmed down and the tears were no longer blocking my vision, I once again went through the ritual of checking to make sure all the doors and windows in the house were secure, though at this point I was beginning to feel as though it was a waste of time. I simply took a triple dose of melatonin and secured the bedroom as best as I could,

desperate to get at least one good night of sleep. I believed that I could find a solution, figure out some way forward, if only I could get a little bit of rest. On the bedside table, I set down the flashlight, the largest kitchen knife I owned, and my wallet and car keys, just in case I had to leave in a hurry.

Feeling more tired than I ever had before, I tucked myself into bed, fully clothed, and quickly began to drift off to sleep, despite my fear. After two sleepless nights in a row, I didn't have the willpower to stay awake any longer. As my eyelids began to close, the last thing I saw was the view from my bedroom window, peering out across the street. My neighbor's light was on, and in their window I saw the silhouette of something hanging from their ceiling, staring back at me. I was too tired to force my eyes open any longer, and I fell in a little bit of the window. abruptly into a deep sleep.

Whenever I take more than my usual dose of melatonin, I have bad dreams. And that night was no exception. In my nightmare, I found myself falling upwards into the night sky. Gravity seemingly reversed. I looked down at the rapidly vanishing lights of the city I lived in, desperately grasping at the air for anything to stop my rapid ascent. I screamed at the top of my lungs for help. Crying out that the air was too thin and I couldn't breathe.

I awoke with a jolt, clutching the stone intensely at my left hand. I distinctly remembered leaving it in my purse. The first rays of mourning shone down upon my face, and I looked across the street, blinking away at the daylight. The silhouette in my neighbor's window was gone. I called out sick from work and walked down to the nearby park, still clutching the stone in my left hand. The park was a regular destination of mine,

and I didn't even need to think about the route I took to get there. It had a variety of paths and trails, which I had all lovingly explored one time or another, but I had a different destination in mind that particular morning. There was a small lake near the center, upon which one could fish and rent small paddle boats. It gripped the stone even tighter as I marched purposefully toward my goal. It was another foggy morning, and the lake was shrouded in a thick mist.

I couldn't see the opposite shore from the beach, I stood, gazing out over the still water. Transferring the stone into my right hand, I took a deep breath, calming myself, before skipping it across the water as hard as I could. The near-perfect smoothness and circular shape of the stone made it ideal for skipping, and it hopped across the water once, twice, three times, before finally sinking with a faint. I turned to leave, satisfied that the task I had set out to do was complete, before I heard a sound. I heard a sound from the lake behind me. It was the distinctive sound

of a stone, skipping across water. I looked back at the lake to find the stone flying towards me, landing at my feet with a slight clatter as it hit the pebbles

that made of the beach. I bent down and picked the stone back up again, slipping it into my pocket. I felt numb. My only hope was finding the man

who had slipped me the stone in the first place. If he couldn't stop what was happening to me, he could at least explain what was going on. I hated him for what he had done. I hated him for cursing me to be followed by this inexplicable thing, for handing me the stone that seemed impossible to get rid of. As I walked down the streets of the city, I wondered what it was that was following me exactly. Was it a ghost, a demon, or something else? I'd never gotten a good look at the thing, just its modelled gray feet and the vague human outline.

line of someone standing upside down on the ceiling, staring at me. It was almost stupid, comical even, but regardless of how utterly bizarre it was, just the thought of seeing that thing filled me with an intense, palpable dread. As I looked around the crowds of pedestrians, desperately trying to seek out the man who had brought this all upon me in the first place, I kept thinking that I saw it everywhere I looked. Was that it? Hanging from the awning of that office building's window? Or there, walking on the underside of the overpass. Was it coming closer to me? Perhaps I saw it through the glass display of a clothing store,

glaring at me as it stood on the ceiling above a faceless display mannequin. Yet whenever I tried to get a closer look to confirm what I thought I saw, it was gone. I was so distracted by my paranoid terror that I didn't even see the old woman when I bumped into her, sending her sprawling across the sidewalk. She looked to be homeless, carrying plastic bags, with cans and bottles to be turned in for money at the local recycling plant. She swore at me, telling me to watch where I was going, and I apologized profusely as I began helping her off the ground.

On instinct, I started to help gather up her fallen cans and bottles, putting them back into the plastic bags that had been dropped. As I did so, a thought suddenly occurred to me. I thought that I regret. I pulled the stone out of my pocket and slipped it into the bag with the cans before handing it back to the woman. She accepted it with a mumbled thank you. And I locked eyes with her for a moment,

gazing at her wrinkled face with an expression of deep remorse upon my own. I'm sorry. Don't keep it too long. With that, I ran back into the crowd and headed home. 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. The Antiquarium of Sinister Happenings, Lot 151, don't keep it too long. Consigned by Helen Theodora Waite, starring Addison Peacock and Trevor Shand, featuring Stephen Knowles as the antique dealer. Production and sound design by Kevin Seaman, theme music by the Newton Brothers. Additional music by Coag, Vivek Abyshech, Clement Panchout, Nicholas Redding, and Conan Freeman. The Antiquarium of Sinister Happenings is created and curated by Trevor and Lauren Shand.

Follow us on Instagram and Twitter at Antiquarium Pod. Call the Antiquarium at 646-481-7197.