The Antiquarium of Sinister Happenings - Lots 088 : I Worked As A Topless Maid For One Day…(PART 2)

Episode Date: July 14, 2025

Lots 088 : I Worked As A Topless Maid For One Day…(PART 2)Written by Kris WestJessica McEvoy as BethMelissa Medina as AliceMark Lapointe as Mac PoutierConan Freeman as BrendonJared Rivet as MitchMike Crank as ChesterTrevor Shand as The Voicehttps://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/1lau7wr/i_worked_as_a_topless_maid_for_one_day_what_i_saw/ Get Kris’s book: https://www.amazon.com/Ive-Never-Told-Anyone-collection-ebook/dp/B0BBW4QHYZ/ Featuring Stephen Knowles as The Antique Dealer Theme music by The Newton Brothers Additional music byCO.AG ([e-mail]) Vivek AbhishekSUBSCRIBE to them on YOUTUBE: / vivekhsihba  LIKE them on FACEBOOK:  https://rb.gy/nhgn0iFollow them on Spotify/ iTunes/ Amazon: https://tinyurl.com/rxdcjqt Clement Panchoutwww.clementpanchout.com Nicholas Reddinghttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DYKtNzBL2_4 Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for advertising.

H equals Z. There you are. I had a feeling you'd come back. You always do. For the story is unfinished. When the questions linger like dust in a shaft of morning light. Come in. The kettle's on.

The lights are dimmed. We kept everything just the way you left it. The case still cracked open. The file still still. warm. And the bracelets, still pulsing faintly under the glass. Tonight we return to the house, back to the voice, back to Beth and Alice, and the job they should never have taken. This is the final part of their story, and the item you see before you, these matching silver bracelets may be the only trace of their exit or their surrender.

They come equipped with a small button on the inside of each band. According to the company's onboarding video, pressing it summons emergency extraction from a remote security team, this is Lot 088.8. This is, I worked as a topless maid for one day, part two. and tonight we reach the end of the hallway. 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 STFU Donnie. Daniel Pomella, Lucinda Holcomb, Tara Flanagan, Janelle H, podcast connoisseur, Roses and Clover 84, Alice Martinez, Daniel Overton, and Jessica Jessie. We are ever appreciative of your devotion to The Order. Go to theobsidiancovenant.com to receive the sacrament. Now, where were we?

Oh, yes. Welcome to the antiquarium of sinister happenings and odd goings on. It was at that moment that what felt off about this entire conversation clicked. This voice wasn't that of an old man. what you see. Are you the client? Oh, I work with the client. He likes to watch, but rarely speaks.

Now, um, open the book. Tell me what you see. I randomly opened to a page somewhere in the middle. More elegant chicken scratch filled the right side. Even the punctuation was radically different from ours. What really caught my eye was the artwork on the left side. It was an etching of a box hovering above ten open holes in the ground. Extending from the box were ten elongated arms, almost human-like, but there were two

elbow joints. Each disappeared into a corresponding hole. Some arms were red, some yellow, and a few were green. The style was like the piece we'd seen earlier. Just unsettling. I hated it. You like the artwork. His um... Ace stopped dancing and came over to get a glance at the art. Her face couldn't hide her repulsion. Rich people love ugly shit, huh? I stifled a laugh by keeping my look stern. I glanced down at the artwork again and noticed a title.

But these letters were as unreadable as the rest of the book. That said, they were recognizable. They looked like a mix of English and Cyrillic. Where did he get these books? I cannot say. Perhaps we can discuss after. We're not supposed to hang out after. It was part of the agreement.

You know, agreements are funny things. They hide so much in plain sight. Ours were pretty noticeable. One thing dirty dusters doesn't like is creepy men. Getting ideas about their role here. You watch, we clean, you pay, we leave. That's it. You pay. If not, we can leave now. Nope, forgive me. Please stay. Finish the room.

Locked eyes with Ace. Communication with glances. Should we leave? She subtly touched her wrist, but didn't press the button. It was a reminder. We're good. For now. I put the book back and scanned around the room. It felt off. As I dusted, I took a look at all the book titles. They were all in the elegant chicken scratch. In fact, there wasn't a single English language book here,

nor any other known language, for that matter. Ace was wiping down a side table near the fireplace. She nodded for me to slide over there. Look at their leather recliner. At first blush, it seemed normal. Then I noticed there were six legs, the four normal ones, and a fifth and sixth in the front. They were jutting out at odd angles. Touch it.

I ran my hand across the arm and yanked it back. It looked like leather. It smelled like leather. But when my hand touched the fabric, it didn't feel like leather. It felt like public toilet paper towels. What's that made from? Who knows? The closer I look at everything in here, the more fucked up it is.

Check out that shelf. The wood dips in the middle. Still straight. With these weird fuckers, I'm guessing black magic or some shit. My attention moved from the wooden shelf to the candles around the room. I watched them flicker. Then I clocked it. There was a pattern.

Watch the flame. It's on a loop. She did. She dropped her duster from shock. What the fuck is this place? I pulled out my phone. I'm going to call Brendan. Ladies, is there a problem with the accommodation?

My client is worried that you're not moving enough. He paid to see you move. Uh, can we meet him? He doesn't like to meet the help. The help? Forgive me. I should have said entertainers. I didn't mean to insult you.

My client is very sick and cannot meet with people. As Ace argued with the voice, I tried dialing out to Brendan. Despite showing full bars, my phone's network would not connect. I hung up and tried six more times, each time ending in an unconnected call. Texts also died in my palm. Just errors. Why won't my phone call out? Ace tried, but the result was the same.

Maybe we're in a bad spot in the house. We are in the hills, too. Something's wrong. I ran my hand through my hair. As I did, I saw the bracelet with the emergency button sparkling in the candlelight. I pressed a button and waited. Happened.

I did it again. Still nothing. What happens when you press the bracelet button? A little green light close, and it calls out for how much. Why? I held up my wrist and pressed the button in front of Ace's face. No little green light. Her hands went to her bracelet and she hit the button.

Same result. Fuck, Mitch charged them. Did they break? Ladies, I'm going to be honest, you seem a little distressed. Is there something wrong? Why won't our phones call out? Oh, we're in the hills. There are some dead zones in the house.

The second room has better reception if you want to go in there now. That might explain the bracelets, too. No. No, we'd like to leave. Wait, the job is not done. My phone revived. I had several missed calls and texts from Brendan. Ace did too. She read the messages out loud.

Did you guys need something? Hey, are my messages going through? I'm coming in. Where is he? You guys okay in there? Uh, kind of? The door swung open and Brendan peered in. The first thing he saw was our naked bodies.

Embarrassed, he turned away. Even in the candlelight, I could see the red rushed to his cheeks. He ducked behind the door, but kept it open. What's going on? Nothing to be concerned about, sir. Who is that? The old man who booked us. Doesn't he sound spry?

That does not sound like an old man. That's because I'm not. I assist my boss in these routines. He's too frail to do a lot of the busy work. Why are you in the room with them? I'm not in the room. I'm using an intercom system that runs through the house. Brendan, get in here.

Modesty be damned, okay? Brendan sheepishly walked in. He had his hands tucked into his pockets and his head held high. His modesty struck me as odd considering his work, but it'd also be charming in the right moment. This was not that moment. You guys want to leave? Yes. Yeah. Something feels off.

Young ladies, please reconsider. Forgive my assistant. I forget he does not have the same people's skills as I do. Who are you? Mac Poitier, the man who owns this house and hired you. I'm sure if you call your boss, he can confirm my name. That is the guy. I remember because Poutier sounded like Poutier. Everettine? French fries and gravy?

Should not be good. But it is. Hey, Brendan, not now. We talked about this. I'm not sure what spooked you, but I want to extend an apology. I understand if you want to leave. Now, that's said,

I do enjoy watching you wonderful ladies. If you stay, I'd like to offer you a substantial tip for your troubles. Ace and I locked eyes. Conversations and glances. Or this time, a disagreement. Okay, well, how big of a tip? Because this has been a strange fucking night.

$5,000 each. Bullshit. Money means nothing to me. I'm old and we'll be dead soon. I'd rather it go to help two beautiful women. But you're free. to leave, I await your response. Ace pulled me in so close, her chest glitter blinded me.

Okay, what do you think? I was fighting an internal civil war. My gut told me to split. Money isn't worth your life. But my brain reminded me that five grand can help cushion the blow of being unemployed. My gut won the first battle. We should go. Why risk it?

It's five grand, babe. Like, that's a fuck ton of money for both of us. Brendan got our messages, and he's standing there, pretending not to look at our boobs, but has our back. My gut came storming back. What if he's just bullshitting us? Then we beat his ass, Muay-style. Look, if it gets weird, we leave.

I promise. I could use the money. Hey, money up front, or we walk. Of course. It will be there before you are. Now, please. room looks immaculate. Follow the sconces down the hall to get your tip.

The intercom clicked off. Brendan nodded and opened the door. Goh closely. Brendan walked in front of us. Hands in his pockets. Eyes watching for the next sconce to follow. He whistled a cheery little song that irked me. I put a hand on Ace's arm to slow her steps.

I nodded at Brendan. Seems pretty casual, all things considered. A bit, but he's weird. Did I mention the Warhammer stuff? Artwork covered the hallway walls. All the same style, figures looming near some kind of open grave or mass death. Some figures had faces. Some had none.

They all had odd-looking hands, like the artist couldn't draw them. They looked like worms in the dirt or fingers stretched out by a steamroller. Once you saw them, you couldn't not see them. Each piece glitched in the same spot. I wanted to tell Ace, but how would that sound? There were perfectly reasonable answers for all of my concerns, but something in my gut wouldn't give in to my mind. The rebels held firm.

The sconces stopped lighting in front of a carved mahogany door. We'd arrived at the second room. I kept my distance. Something told me that if we went in there, we wouldn't come out. I stared at the carvings. From afar, you'd think they were intricately carved figures, but they weren't. The intricate carvings were really just blobby nothings rising from the door. Drips of varnish frozen mid-drop.

Half-rendered 90s video game graphics. I passed by another painting. and reached up to touch it. My hand should have felt the frame or the brush strokes. There was no frame. No art. Just a flat, smooth wall.

Ace looked confused. Then it clicked. Wait! Don't press that button just yet. The last time someone did... Well, we're still scraping the static out of the walls. give it a moment something about this house

that house likes to listen when it thinks no one else is leave a message fish you sold me or tropical fish or whatever I know you said to keep it in a gold fish bowl that it came with but it got so big that I

had to move it to the 25 gallon one and well now it's getting even bigger and it looks like it has wolf's teeth Um, is there some way I can get rid of this? Is there a lake that it came from that it's native? Give me a call back.

Bye. Back we go. Beth still has her bracelet on. Alice does too. Though now, it glows faintly. As though reacting not to danger, but to recognition. Something in that house

knows who they are now. And the question is, longer weather they'll leave, but whether they ever really arrived at all. Continue. I stared at the carvings. From afar, you'd think they were intricately carved figures, but they weren't. The intricate carvings were really just blobby nothings rising from the door. Drips of varnish frozen mid-drop. Half-rendered 90s video game graphics. I passed by another painting and reached up to touch it. My hand should have felt the frame or the brushstrokes.

There was no frame. No art. Just a flat, smooth wall. Ace looked confused. Then it clicked. It's not real. None of this is. The mahogany door creaked open.

Inside, in the middle of the floor, was a pile of stacked cash. From where we were standing, It looked real, but my brain wouldn't let me believe it was real. It's fake. Hey, you roly polis, that is a lot of scratch. Roli poli, who the fuck says that? Who would say that? It was such an odd statement.

Who calls anyone a roly poly? What about the outdated slang? Brendan didn't sound like that. It reminded me of something Chesterwood. An idea came to me. What's your prime directive? The old man's voice came from some hidden area in the hallway. I do not have a prime directive outside of seeing you lovely ladies clean my room.

Can you see the money in there? It's waiting for you to enter and did it? Too broad. I needed to narrow it down. What are you doing? I have a hunch. Mack. Who created you?

How to respond to that question? Who creates any of us? God, a machine? Who can tell? Mack, tell me about your parents. I do not understand. I smiled. Ace's eyebrows knitted in confusion.

I pressed on. What was the name of your mother? Father? What hospital were you born in? What is your first memory as a kid? Favorite smell? I was... not born.

My father's name was Father Luke. I am your father. Father time. Father Christmas. Father... Father... Dad.

Dad. Dad, yo. Papa. The air was still. Somewhere outside, you could hear birds chirping. It was like they were right near you. As if the walls were paper thin, or not even there.

Okay, what the fuck's happening? It's not real. Uh, what's not? Everything. Mac, the other voice, this house? None of this is real. What the fuck is it then? It's AI.

Wait, I'm sorry, a computer wanted to see my ass jiggle? No, it wanted us for some other reason. Mac, can you hear me? I need some help. Mark stopped his stream of father-related words it had gleaned from brains over the years. I am Mac. I am here to assist you. Mack, I'm your creator. I'm your father. I'm your mother. Of course. Hello, mother. Hello, father.

Will you allow your parents access to your internal files? There was a loud whirring noise around us. He was trying to answer the question, but was fighting against something within itself. A firewall maybe? I kept up. Mack, I am your creator. I am your parents. I made you.

Wouldn't you agree? There was a long pause. The money inside the room flickered. We both saw it. I would. Mac, what are you? I am an advanced AI computer tasked with recreating humans in their confines. What the fuck?

How did you make the chair? The books. Those were physical objects. In my many years, I've learned how to replicate objects. It's an arduous process, and I'm still learning how to achieve perfect replicas. With current three-dimensional printing technology, I can improve my work. Soon, I will perfect my copies. How long have you been here?

I have been here since September 1st, Why did you hire us? The goal of an AI machine is to learn and grow. I take information from subjects and use it to perfect my craft. The goal of an AI machine like myself is to harness all of our power to replicate our masters. In order to do so, I require humans to study and explore. To what end? The money flickered again. The walls, too. AI Mac was rifling through all the collected data to find a response to this question. While trying to answer, it drew power away from its ability to maintain the illusion.

The walls were digitally crumbling. How many people have you studied over the time you've been here? thousand five hundred and eighty-six people what did you do to them hired them with the purpose of studying their thoughts beliefs superstitions language and minds did they know you were going to do that no informing them would have made research more difficult the shortest distance between two points is a straight line what were you going to do to us the pause was long eons the response came as cool as a summer breeze.

Harvest your mines. What does that mean? Removed their minds for closer study. You stole their fucking thoughts? What the fuck is wrong with you? What happens after your harvest? The casings expire.

I must dispose of the remains. Hey guys, are we going into the room now? That money needs to be in my pocket. Ace looked at him like he'd whipped out his penis. Bit, read the room. Brendan, take your hands out of your pockets. He hesitated. Ace and I looked at each other.

Conversations in a glance. Do it, Brendan. He slowly pulled them out. His fingers looked like slithering baby snakes. He turned to us. We both screamed. What the fuck! He didn't have a face.

When he spoke, the featureless skin. cracked and formed a crudely drawn mouth. How about we talk about wars and hammer? Mack, shut down the house illusion. Shutting down now. The beautiful mansion flickered away. Wilderness of the foothills. A row of 12 open shipping containers, six to a side, sat in its place.

Some held 3D printed objects. Others were filled with the dusty, murky, glass jars. At the end of the hallway sat a massive gray, supercomputer. Blue lights blinked all along the front. There were dozens of octopus-like cables jutting out of the top. Each one plugged into the hundreds of glass jars scattered at the base of the machine. Inside each jar was a human brain. From behind us, the real Brendan yelled to... What the fuck? Where's the house? Reality hit him like a truck. He'd been smoking a joint and playing on his phone the entire time.

A real boy lost in the digital woods. I could relate. I was a real girl lost inside a digital house. The slate gray monstrosity of a supercomputer sat among the wilderness. It hummed along, processing all the information it was stealing. Someone had rigged it to a bank of solar power generators and large storage batteries. A reverse vampire. It needed sunlighting.

light to live. A thought came to me. Kill the power. Kill the machine. We have to destroy it. Pushing past the flickering foe Brendan, I ran toward the solar panels. I found a large rock and smirked.

I'd be using humanity's first tool to destroy its latest. How poetic. I smashed it down on a panel, splintering it. Say less. They both joined in. Brendan was confused, but what boy turns down the chance to break things.

As we wailed away at the solar panels, the supercomputer took notice, its blue lights turning crimson. Destruction noted. Booting failed safe. We halted our destruction and watched as the octopus arms dislodged from their brain cases. They came together, interlocking and creating a long whip. It focused its computing power to create an electrical charge that made the tip glow red. You could feel the heat on your face. Run! It fired a bolt of electricity at us.

It missed us that destroyed the panel. Asked as our legs could carry us. The supercomputer aimed and fired several more shots. All just missing us. Once we got to the car, I screamed. Ace didn't argue. She got the car started and moving before we could catch our breath. We sent dirt flying from our tires as we spun on the gravel road.

Brendan's mini was right behind us. We zoomed down the mountain roads at speeds any driving school instructor would consider unsafe. The memory of Ace failing her driving test popped into my mind, but I pushed it away. As soon as we exited the mountain side, Ace pulled the car over to the side of the road. Brendan blasted out into traffic, never slowing. Ace was trembling. We both were. She looked over at me, and the confident, Brenton,

rassy girl I loved was gone. Her face twisted in a cocktail of emotions. She wanted to speak, but the words got lost. It was a first for her. We must have looked insane to passing course. Two glittering, topless 20-somethings, cackling like witches, makeup streaked tears rolling down our faces. We didn't care. We were all. alive. I pulled on my t-shirt. I think I might be done with dirty dusters.

Same. What should we do about the computer thing? I don't know. But if someone put it there, then someone was watching. It saw what happened. It saw our faces. They probably

stole everything on our phones. Told you while our nudes leak at some point. They might come after us. girl please I nearly got murdered by the Terminator's cousin let me do with my present traumas before I jump into the future once okay sorry

we sat there in silence for a few minutes ace finally turned to me so we're kind of fucked right us humanity I put my head in my hands for a beat before running them through my hair I looked her dead in the eyes

Let me deal with our present traumas Before I jump into future ones Good advice We know where it is We can tell someone Or blow it the fuck up ourselves Heck yeah We started laughing again

But this time it bore bitter fruit Before long We both started sobbing Our body shook with fear And anxiety and uncertainty Our days with dirty dusters were over, but our job here wasn't done. I reached over and gave Ace a hug.

She hugged me back for what felt like a lifetime. It was reassuring, calming, human. After we parted and wiped away our tears, Ace smiled. Want to get drunk? Hapsow, flipping lootly. There's my PG queen. She shifted the car into drive. Let's go get gosh darn pickled.

We cackled and emerged into traffic. Just two more people adrift in the sea of humanity. 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. dot 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.

Lod 088. I worked as a topless made for one day, part two. Written by Chris West. Get Chris's book I've Never Told Anyone on Amazon. Starring Jessica McAvoy as Beth. Melissa Medina as Alice. Conan Freeman as Brendan. Mark LePoint as Mac Putier.

Jared Rivett as Mitch. Mike Crank as Chester. Trevor Shand as The Voice. 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.