The Antiquarium of Sinister Happenings - The Antiquarium Presents: Scare You To Sleep: Sensory Deprivation

Episode Date: May 11, 2026

Scare You To Sleep is a weekly horror anthology podcast hosted by Shelby Novak that combines spooky, often user-submitted stories with immersive sound design to create a relaxing yet terrifying, "sleepy" atmosphere. Designed for horror fans, it pairs soothing narration with creepy tales—ranging from paranormal to serial killers. After all, what is horror, but an escape from the real world? Why not relax to it?  A good rule of thumb for life, if you mention the paranormal and someone’s answer is, “do you wanna hear a story?” Always say yes.  Sensory Deprivation Written and Performed by Shelby Novak  Consultant - Rosemary Confer Intro music by Brandt Parks Ad Free version available on Patreon  You can send your stories to: [e-mail] https://linktr.ee/ScareYouToSleep Music: Long note One by Kevin MacLeod Free download: https://filmmusic.io/song/3992-long-note-one Licensed under CC BY 4.0: https://filmmusic.io/standard-license Deep 5Hz Theta Relaxation by Tim Kulig Free download: https://filmmusic.io/song/10152-deep-5hz-theta-relaxation Licensed under CC BY 4.0: https://filmmusic.io/standard-license Dreams Become Real by Kevin MacLeod Free download: https://filmmusic.io/song/3678-dreams-become-real Licensed under CC BY 4.0: https://filmmusic.io/standard-license Long Note Four by Kevin MacLeod Free download: https://filmmusic.io/song/3991-long-note-four Licensed under CC BY 4.0: https://filmmusic.io/standard-license Additional sound effects from Freesound.org Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for advertising.

Hi, it's Trevor from the acquisitions department here at the Antiquarium. From time to time, the Antiquarium permits limited observational access to certain objects in the collection. Usually to universities, occasionally to private sleep laboratories. The arrangement is fairly straightforward. An artifact is placed nearby while subjects sleep. Then the researchers document whatever follows. Shared dreams, unfamiliar voices, sleepwalking, sudden nosebleeds, repeating symbols drawn by people who've never met, you know, the usual findings.

A recent study brought us into contact with the Scare You to Sleep Institute, overseen by our good friend Shelby Novak, a specialist in immersive nocturnal exposure therapy through whispered horror narratives and carefully controlled atmosphere. An admirable field of study if we do say so ourselves. The Institute reported that multiple subjects described the same figure standing silently at the foot of their bed following exposure to tonight's recording. We have, of course, requested further documentation for the archive.

And as their research wisely suggests, if someone mentions the paranormal and then asks, do you want to hear a story? Always say yes. Now then, get comfortable, lower the lights. And if you wake in the middle of the night to find someone watching from the corner of the room, do try not to acknowledge them first. Subscribe to Scare You to Sleep on Apple, Spotify, and wherever you get your podcasts. Welcome to Scare You to Sleep.

I'm your host, Shelby Novak. and I'm here to read you a bedtime story. This is a story I wrote a few years ago for the creepy podcast. It's one of my favorites because I got to consult with my BFF, Rosemary, and utilize so many of the stories. She's told me over the years about her previous life working in property management. I also incorporated one of my favorite glitches in The Matrix, one of those type phenomenons. But you'll have to listen to see what it is. So whether it's for the first time or the first time in a while,

please enjoy sensory deprivation. You want to hear a story? This is a story within a story, actually. Let me set the scene. I had just gotten a job in property management at a big apartment complex my cousin's friend's uncle owned, called the regal. They were basically looking for anyone who cleaned up all right and wasn't too brain dead to enter basic things into a computer.

I think I got the job because I had a lot of customer service experience, aka I had been waiting tables and delivering pizzas and they knew I could handle being yelled at without losing my cool. They also hired me just in time for them to be turning their antiquated paper systems digital. So on my third day, they had me stay late to do a bunch of data entry of old boxes of files they had taken up space. My supervisor and the actual property manager, Bridget, stayed behind with me to help. She was a nice lady. I'd say about mid-50s, always wore matching sweater sets, frequently brought in baked goods,

paid out of pocket to give out gift cards to the office at Christmas, and, most important of all. was always kind and willing to help the tenants. If you work in property management long enough, you'll know that's not always the case. I've met more than a few with an unfortunate combination of having a screw loose and a power complex. It's like they get their rocks off at finding tenants for painting a wall

or threatening to evict if they're a day late on rent. The kind of people who hold on to a security deposit like it's coming from their own personal bank account and not the mega corporation who owns a dozen identical properties. Bridget was different. She pretended not to notice a new cat that popped up in a window. She always made sure repairs were done in a timely manner, and she hated posting eviction notices, even for the more erratic tenants. What you're listening to? She asked that evening. only her eyes visible over the large box of files on her desk. Oh, it's, well, I don't think it would be your kind of thing, I said sheepishly.

Try me, she replied, pushing her chair back from her desk to get a better look at me. It was mid-November, already dark outside, and she was wearing a golden-rod sweater set with a big turkey brooch pinned to one side. She was wearing navy slacks and sensible shoes. Her whole vibe was kindergarten teacher, so I was really hesitant to explain. I thought about line, but then I just word vomited. It's a podcast. Do you know what a podcast is?

It's a podcast about the paranormal and high strangeness and how sometimes they talk about aliens, but they also cover ghosts and cryptids and just weird phenomena in general. I don't believe in all of it. I'm not like a kook. It's just really fascinating. And like, we don't really know what everything is all about. It was just fun to think about, you know? I winced as she stared blankly at me.

I knew I should have lied and just told her I was listening to The Beatles or something, but then she said, Do you want to hear a story? A good rule of thumb for life. If you mention the paranormal and someone's answer is, do you want to hear a story? Always say yes. You'll either hear something that shit crazy,

or something that will make you think about life, the universe, and everything a little different from that day forward. Either way, it's a good time. Yeah, uh, yeah, yes, yes, ma'am, I said. And this was her story. About 20 years ago, I had a tenant named Lucy. Well, the regal had a tenant named Lucy, even though I've been here long enough to feel like I own the property. place, my bank account begs to differ. Lucy was an excellent tenant. Always paid her rent on time, never had any noise complaints, and always just the sweetest person. A little bit of a new age type.

Whenever she came into the office, she left a slight lingering scent of patchouly. She and I were around the same age, so when we saw each other, we would chat about dating and what books we were reading. I was usually reading whatever trashy romance was advertised in Cosmo, and she always had a book on astrology or meditation. Well, one day, my supervisor Debbie, who usually didn't find it necessary to drag herself out of her office most days, came slinking up to the front where I was dealing with a tenant, Mrs. Henderson, who was complaining about, well, God knows what, if the day ended in why, Mrs. Henderson was complaining. She was always in our office clutching her little crusty white dog and would yam her on for hours if you let her. Bridget,

We've got to go serve an indoor eviction notice to 208. I need a witness. You want to come with? Mrs. Henderson was so mad, started yelling about how she was speaking. I remember thinking her dog looked like it was begging someone to put it out of its misery. I told her I was sorry, but we had to step away, and as I promised, I'd have maintenance fix it. Whatever it was, she was on about. Probably the grass was half an inch too high.

We ushered her out the door, and Debbie locked it behind us. Debbie was an interesting character. I think she was one of those people who thought her life was supposed to turn out different, and she felt like a stranger in her own world. She was nice and meant well, but, well, she was a mess and dumb as a rock. She had that look about her, like you could tell she was a former beauty queen. But these days, it always looked like her makeup was left over from the day before, and she smelled like Virginia Slims and raspberry body spray.

Her ex-husband had gotten her the job because he was golfing buddies with the owner, and she had just been coasting since then. She wasn't the best at her job, but I think the owner felt sorry for her after her husband ran off with that Sunday school teacher, so there she sat and pickled in her office for decades. There was nowhere to rise to. She had tried a couple more husbands, I think, hoping they'd each be the one to make her into the stay-at-home trophy wife she'd always wanted to be. One ran out on her like the previous one, and the other was arrested for a Ponzi scheme. I remember thinking one thing in those days.

I didn't want to be Debbie. I couldn't be her. I had dreams. I wanted to be a real estate agent. I had even been taking classes at night. Look, this job may be perfect for some people, but my only role model I had was Debbie, and her liquid lunches and crying she thought we couldn't hear through her office door.

So I went it far away from this place. I can see you're a little shock to see me speaking so rudely. I'm not usually one to gossip, but if I'm going to tell you a story, I need to paint you a picture. And sometimes, pictures aren't so pretty. Time isn't kind to all of us. It sure wasn't to Debbie.

With Mrs. Henderson finally out of our way, we started our walk across the property. Somehow I'd miss that we'd given 208 the first notice and we were already on to the second. 208 was Lucy's apartment. And she had never been laid on rent, much less late enough that it was flat. lagged for eviction. And even if she had been, Debbie was pretty lax on people paying late here or there. She documented, of course, but she had to contact the owner to begin eviction, and she did anything she could not to speak to that man, including having me leave notices that looked like eviction notices, but weren't, and would hopefully just scare the tenants into getting their

money together. If you're not familiar with a second notice, then consider yourself having been blessed in life. I know you're new here, so I'll explain. A second notice is when we legally have to leave on the inside of the door. We don't enter past that, especially if it looks like people are still living there. We just pop our heads in and tape it to the inside so we can legally state that the tenants have been notified and they can't claim wind must have blown it off the outside of the door or someone took it or they never went outside and saw it. Have you seen Lucy around lately? Debbie, asked me. We were discouraged from fraternizing with tenants in any social way, and I thought Lucy and I had kept our little chats on the down low, as my nephew would say, but apparently Debbie wasn't as

aloof as she seemed. Oh, um, well, no, actually, I said, and I hadn't. As soon as Debbie asked, I really thought hard about it and realized I hadn't spoken to. much less seeing Lucy in weeks. I'm worried she must have skipped town on us. We were now climbing the stairs to the second floor. Oh, Lucy wouldn't do that. I've worked here at Longtime Bridge, and if a good, reliable tenant isn't paying rent all of a sudden

and not showing up around the grounds, either they skipped town or they bought the farm. You don't think. I was shocked. I couldn't believe it. Lucy was so young and vibrant and a vegetarian. She couldn't be dead. We were standing outside 208, and I started to feel light-headed, and it wasn't just the Texas heat. Debbie unlocked the door, but before she opened it, she paused and turned to me. Look, we're supposed to just chuck this notice inside and leave, but I think we should take a quick.

peek, just looksie into her bedroom and bathroom. I agreed, of course, and I wanted to burst through the door, but Debbie put her overly tanned arm up to stop me. Bridge, there might be a smell, and if it has been a while. She won't look, well, look, you don't seem like the type to have seen much death, and I'm just warning you. She won't look like the Lucy, you know. But that's just life, kid, right?

Debbie's attempt to assure me had made me even more lightheaded and I remember a slight nausea coming over me. Debbie, can we just go in? Lucy could be hurting there. I'll be fine. Debbie looked at me and moved her arm. I took a deep breath and opened the door.

All the lights were out and the only smell was of the. bananas that had rotted on the breakfast bar of her small kitchen. Debbie said she would look in the bedroom and bathroom and I needed to stay in the living room. I led her because she was my boss after all. I looked around Lucy's living room and something just didn't feel right. It looked like she was about to step back through the door at any moment. Half-burned incense sat in a Buddha-shaped holder. A few bills were scattered on the coffee table. but not overdue ones, just everyday bills.

Next to her phone in the kitchen was a small memo pad. It had a note that read, Call mechanic about that sound. Why would she leave herself a reminder if she was never coming back? Debbie came out of the bedroom and said she didn't find anything. Nothing in the bathroom either. I asked if she minded if I looked and she could watch me to make sure I wasn't trying to steal.

I told her I wanted to look at her closet. Nothing weird. I just wanted to see if it looked like she had taken any clothes. She said she thought that was okay, and we went in together and slid open the big mirrored closet door. It was full to the brim and could have actually used some more organization, but nothing was missing. There couldn't have been anything missing because nothing else could have fit in there.

Deb, I'm worried. about Lucy. What if she's hurt somewhere? What if she got into an accident? Debbie said, Why don't you go back to the office and call around to the local hospitals? I'm going to go have a smoke and check her parking spot to see if her cars here. And that's what we did. I went inside and called every hospital in the Tri-County area. I called police stations and I stayed way past office hours to call shelters. Debbie had reported that her car was gone. In those days, we didn't ask for all the information we do now. Proof of registration, license plate, nothing like that. We couldn't even tell the police to keep a lookout for her car.

Plus, it was a beige Ford Taurus. Do you know how many of those were around in those days? I swear every other car was a beige Ford Taurus, especially after that. I felt like I saw them everywhere. And every time I saw one. I checked to see if Lucy was driving. One time, I even saw one in the grocery store parking lot, and I waited next to it for its owner to come out. It wasn't her, of course, but I couldn't help myself, just in case. As the eviction day drew closer, I lost more and more hope that Lucy would come back. I could tell Debbie was feeling a similar way because she would say things like,

I really didn't think that girl was the type, or Lil Lucy skipped town. You never know who you can trust anymore. Then she'd close her office door and wouldn't come out unless absolutely necessary. Or until the clock hit five. Finally, the big day came. The sheriff's deputy showed up, but since now, No one was there. It just fell to us to clean it out.

We had maintenance help and haul things away. They were so rough on her belongings. I didn't stay long. I couldn't see a person's entire life being thrown into trash bags like that. I grabbed a few things of hers to keep. Debbie turned a blind eye. Just a few books, a denim jacket, and a necklace. I found lying on her bedside table.

It was a delicate gold chain with a small gold cross. I knew Lucy hadn't been particularly religious. In fact, I wasn't sure she believed in a Christian god at all with all of her New Age books and Buddha statues, so I knew it had to be something from her past, something she deemed precious enough to keep close to her. It wasn't tucked away in a drawer hoping to be forgotten. it was where she could see it every night.

I put it around my neck. I don't really know why. I guess, because I missed my friend. And if it brought her comfort, it could maybe bring me some, too. Oh, this whole story so far must feel like an old lady blathering on about a runaway. But this is the part where I think you and your podcast friends would be interested.

You see, a couple of weeks after we cleaned out Lucy's place and had the whole thing cleaned, repainted, and the carpets replaced, a new tenant moved in, Mack something. I was in the office at the front. It was about two in the afternoon. I can't even remember what I was doing. It's so funny. At the time when all this happened,

I thought I'd never forget a single detail. I do know I was looking down, because I heard the door open, and since it was the middle of the day and most of the residents were at work, I just knew it was probably Mrs. Henderson. I braced myself and remember plastering a smile on my face, getting ready to greet her latest tales of woe, but when I looked up, it was Lucy. I thought I was going to faint.

I couldn't breathe. Hey, Bridge, she said. You know, I hate to complain, but my keys don't work. Oh, and someone has parked in my spot, but that's not a biggie. It's not the first time. But the keys, I don't know if it's because it's hot or maintenance changed them for some reason. They worked this morning when I left, but... Bridge?

Are you okay? You look like you've seen a guy. ghost. All I could say was Lucy. She smiled brightly, but I could tell she was uncomfortable. Uh, yeah, what's going on? Is something wrong? Where have you been?

Tears started forming in my eyes. I remember trying to blink them away, but they rolled down my cheeks instead. Um, I had the day off, so I went for a jog, and then I had a certificate for this new sensory thingy my Reiki friend told me about. What do you mean? Lucy, where have you been? I didn't know what else to say. I felt crazy.

Lucy was starting to back away toward the door, but I couldn't let her out of my sight. I had to make sure I wasn't dreaming or seeing a ghost, so I yelled for Debbie. I must have shrieked like. a banshee because Debbie came bursting out of her office and Lucy looked terrified. Bridget what the hell? Debbie started until she saw her too. Lucy, where have you been? Why is everyone saying that? I haven't even been gone for the whole day. Did something happen to my apartment? Why don't my keys work? You guys are freaking me out, man. I wasn't even the one to tell her.

Debbie finally said, Lucy, you've been gone for three months. Your apartment. Someone else lives there now. Without a word. Lucy stormed out of the office. I followed her. Debbie stayed behind.

I don't know why. She was marching to her apartment. I had never seen her mad before, but she was furious. Lucy, wait, I called, but she ignored me. I didn't want to draw a crowd, so I had just nervously followed her all the way to Apartment 208. She tried her key again, silently fuming, when it didn't work. She lost it. She started pounding on the door out of frustration.

That's when Mike something opened and said, Can I help you? That part is a blur. It all happened so fast. Lucy pushed past him. He started asking me what the hell was going on? What kind of place was I running to just let crazy people bother the residents? Why hadn't I called the cops on her? He was going to call the cops himself. All the while, I couldn't take my eyes off Lucy, who had a horrified look on her face. Her eyes as big as saucers, she looked around seeing that... none of her things were there. She touched the breakfast bar where the rotten bananas had been, and opened the bathroom door to see it was absent of all of her lotions and potions. Mac something was still yelling, but through it I only heard Lucy. She turned to me and said,

Bridget, What's going on? We sat on a park bench, and I explained, my entire side of the story, everything I've told you up until now. And when I asked her for hers, she said, I already told you. I got up, I went for a jog, and then I remembered I had a gift certificate for a sensory deprivation tank. It's this thing.

They fill with warm salt water and you float in the dark, and it's supposed to take meditation to a whole other level. Well, I guess it kind of did. We talked for hours in circles. Was there anything out of the ordinary that morning? Is she sure she didn't take any drugs? Did someone slip her any drugs? Is she injured in any way?

Does she have any other memories? Nothing. She was the same Lucy who had left her house that morning several months ago. The only difference was, she said it was hard to get her car to start. But, like her notepad said, It had been making a funny noise already. So she figured it was just that.

I offered to let her stay at my place that night. I know. It was something I would have never done in any other circumstance, and you shouldn't either. But what could I do? Let her sleep in a park. After she went through whatever it was? The last thing I remember from the first night was, after, of course, I made up the couch for her with fresh.

linens. I was about to give her some privacy, but as I turned to go to my room, she looked at me. Her usual smiling and carefree face strained with horror and worry. She said one thing to me. She said, Bridget, where did I go? All I could say was, I don't know, but we'll try to find out. I know you have a lot of questions, but please save them until the end. It's been a long time since I've told this story, and I don't tell it often. So it's hard for me to stay in order if you interrupt.

But we can take a little coffee break. Would that be nice? So, Lucy stayed with me for a few days. While I was at work, she poured over books and searched the Internet and the library for possible explanations. We both begged Debbie to help her get her apartment back, or even a new one, but evictions don't care about mysterious disappearances, and neither did the owner of the property. It was a no-go, but I told her she was welcome to stay with me for the time being. She borrowed some of my clothes, though they weren't exactly her style, but they were fine

until we could get her to the store. At work, Debbie became an earworm of doubt. She was convinced Lucy had to be lying that she had to have gone somewhere. People don't just disappear. She was sort of a hippie after all, and they're known for being a little transient. Maybe she had tripped really hard on acid and couldn't remember anything. If I were you, it asked to look at the camera, she said, what cameras? At that place, she said she was going to. I guarantee you'll see her go out to her car and drive off. No way she just popped up in that place and walked out like nothing happened. So, I did just that. It took some convincing, of course, but I finally got the security guard at the building to let me see the tapes. I convinced him by, well, telling him the truth, but I sort of

spun it in the way that I thought Lucy was a crazy liar and I wanted the tape. for proof. Luckily, guard in a building of mostly medical suite seemed to be a pretty born job, so I think the guard was just champing at the bit for anything interesting to do. Lucy had been able to tell me what day she disappeared, because you had to make an appointment for the sensory deprivation tank, and she had written down the date for me in case it would help in any investigating I did while I was at work. While we watched those tapes, I admit, I started to feel like a fool. As the guard fast forwarded to the correct time of day,

we saw Lucy's car enter the parking lot. She parked a little far, which is actually because of me. I had picked up this little exercise tip in Cosmo about parking far at the grocery store or the mall or wherever, and that way you sneak in a little more calorie burning in your normal routine. Silly, I know, but I remembered sharing it with her and her power walk in the video. up to the door, warmed my heart a little. I was thought she was so cool, and I was so plain. Seeing that she actually took a little tip of mine, well, Cosmos, but still, felt nice for some reason.

Anyway, we watched her go in and the guard sped up about an hour. Neither of us was sure how long sensory deprivation experiences last, so we just guessed, but nothing. So we went in 15-minute increments, but still, nothing. We moved on to the next day, and there sat her car in the same spot, and Lucy never came out. We sped through the rest of the week just in case and re-watch the original day. Nothing. It was like she vanished into thin air. She went in and never came out.

I gave him the date of her most recent reappearance, and there she was. Same clothes, same demeanor, if not a little more relaxed, walking out to her car, which took a while to start. Then she drove away, as if nothing was amiss. I grilled the guard about back entrances and side doors. He insisted that any other entrance was. was alarmed and would go off if he didn't have a key code. Of course, he was also in shock at what I had just shown him. How did a girl just disappear? Was she living in this building for three months? How could he miss that? I left him with his musings and headed to the suite containing the time

travel machine that Lucy had apparently stepped into and asked around. I wish it was more interesting. But the woman at the front desk admitted that they leave their clients alone for 98% of their appointment. They shower themselves, they get in the tank themselves, and when they leave, they usually check out, but since you pay before, some people just sort of slip out. I asked if they found her clothes, or if anything was amiss, but three months later, no one could remember. Some of the staff had also been overturned, so they weren't even employees yet. I insisted they must have found a whole set of clothes or a whole woman squatting in their business suite. But they just looked at me like I was crazy.

Said that people leave their clothing behind all the time, so it wouldn't be strange to find, and they had no idea how a woman could have lived there. Oh, and you bet I hollered about what I'd seen on the tapes. They had had enough of me at that point and asked that I leave. First and only time I've ever been asked to leave, any establishment. When I arrived home, Lucy practically tackled me at the door. Time slips. I was in a time slip. She explained how she found stories of people losing hours, even though it only felt like minutes,

or even people realizing they were walking around in the wrong year, like these women in France, who found themselves at Versailles, with Marie Antoinette herself walking around as if she hadn't been beheaded hundreds of years before. Okay, but none of these. these people were gone for as long as you were. Hours is not months. Yeah, I don't know. I just want to know where I was. Where did I go?

Lucy, I have something to tell you, I said. And I proceeded to tell her about the tapes. I confessed that I was skeptical, and I apologized profusely through tears. I told her Debbie was convinced she was just a drugged out hippie who was taking advantage of me. I don't know why I told her all that. It made her so sad. If only I had known then. That night, we didn't speak much after that. I never realized how hurt she would be having known. I didn't believe her, if only for a few hours. But it makes sense now looking back.

She had gone through something so inexplicable, so bizarre, but at least she had one person who was with her, one person to take her in and believe her story when no one else would when she had lost everything she had. I'm sorry, let's just move on. The next night, when I got home, Lucy wanted to talk to me, and I, for once in my life, just listened. Look, I know this has been weird and you have been nothing but helpful. You deserve to know more about me.

I was thinking about it and of course you have doubts. We hardly know each other past pleasant small talk around the apartment complex. So here it is, just in a nutshell. My name is Lucille Marie Franklin. I was born and raised in Oregon. I moved to Texas about four years ago to get away from my ex-husband and my entire family. They are insanely religious and... Look, just imagine me in a prairie dress making butter on a farm.

That was who I was. Not this urban hippie you see before you. I came to Texas because I wanted whatever the opposite of where I grew up was. Just a whole new beginning. I don't really have close friends. I'm sort of afraid to get close to people. I have a lot of acquaintances I refer to as friends, but, well, no one exactly came looking for me while I was gone, did they?

And I haven't had anyone to call since I got back. I don't mind starting over with nothing. I've done it before. I can do it again. But I did not run away for three months. When I run away, I make it permanent. That's sort of a joke. You can laugh.

For some reason, her speech made me remember something. The necklace. I handed it to her, and she was moved to tears. Bridge This is the only thing I have left of the old days My mother gave it to me I miss her Every day

I tried to get her to come with me As much as I've left that whole life and religion behind It's the one thing I mourned When you told me that my things have been thrown away You have no idea how much it means to me Did you know to save it? It just seemed special, I said. Would you look at the time, I better wrap up this story for you, or we'll be here all night.

We spent a week together, a wonderful week, laughing and cooking, and I think for once, Lucy felt like she had found a friend. At least I hope so. She came up with the idea. the idea to go back to the tank. I didn't want her to. Why try a fate? I thought our time together would show her she should just move on, rebuild.

We made great roommates. I told her maybe her old job would even take her back if she told them she had a medical emergency the whole time, but the missing time still consumed her. It killed her. that she didn't know where she was. She started to worry she just didn't exist for a while. Really dark stuff if you put your mind to it.

I was terrified, but I convinced myself that lightning doesn't strike twice and I agreed to go with her. The staff found it odd that she wanted me in the room with her and luckily didn't recognize me as the crazy woman from the week before, but we made up something about medical assistance and they let me through. Lucy showered and I stood by waiting, anxious but still telling myself I would be walking out of here in an hour with my friend. She didn't actually need help, but she took my hand as she lowered herself into the tank. She was wearing nothing but the necklace her mother gave her. You know, it felt like a baptism in a way. Like she was going to be reborn out of that tank as the new Lucy, the one with a solid home and a life and loved ones.

But after the time was up, Lucy didn't come out. I opened up the tank myself and the only thing I found was her gold necklace. line at the bottom of the tank, as scared as I was of the unknown. I tried the tank myself several times over the years until that place closed. Every single time, it was just some warm, salty water and darkness. Lucy was nowhere to be found. I kept this job all these years, the one I never wanted. because I've been so afraid that she would come back and not know where to find me.

So, here I stay and will stay until they cart me off. Like I said, sometimes life feels like it was just supposed to turn out different. We worked in silence for the rest of the night. I left that job a year later and for all I know. Bridget is still there. If you find yourself renting an apartment at a place called the Regal, and you see her, say hi. You'll know her by her big brooches and her sweater sets, and the little gold cross she wears around her neck. Thanks for listening, and this is where I'd usually thank my author, but that's me.

So thank you to Rosemary for your consultation. skills a few years ago and for the inspiration of this story. You know, I've been asked before where I get my ideas for stories or, you know, basically where I garner inspiration from. And sometimes it's talking to your friends about their jobs or their past jobs in this case and some of the things that have happened during them. And yeah, and sometimes it's just living places. I currently live in an apartment building and I have my entire adult life. So, So, you know, apartments are strange. You all live on top of each other within, like, inches of each other through a wall, and you usually don't know your neighbors.

I know that's not the truth for every place and every, you know, everywhere in the world. But it does happen a lot. I can only speak, I guess, for L.A. That you just, a lot of times don't know your neighbors. And you don't get to know people. Sometimes I've had some weird run-ins in apartment buildings with neighbors or with apartment managers, and they just seem like they're rife for, uh, with, for imagination, for stories, for, you know, strange things happening in them. It's, a lot of people find it unsettling to have a setting that's like a house in the middle of nowhere. And I for sure that is unsettling. But, And I'm sure some of you have lived in apartments have felt this before. Like, I've thought, especially my old apartment, where it was, I was pretty sure it was haunted.

And I thought I would have these thoughts at night when I was by myself. Just like, okay, well, what do I do? This is before I even had like a cat. And my ex was never home. And so I was by myself a lot. And it'd be like, well, what happens if this? there's an apparition that just shows up in my room. Where do I go? Who do I tell? Do I knock on my neighbor's store? You know, it felt so isolating. It felt like you were in the middle of nowhere, but you're not.

So I guess it's still, it's not as scary because there are people around, but I would also witness things happening. And, you know, you hear about the bystander effect. And that would definitely happen. There were times I would call 911 about really, like something violent happening in my parking lot. I've lived in a, I've lived in many bad areas over the years. And no one, and assuming someone has to have called because I just saw this, but it's clearly been going on for a second. And no one's called. No one's said anything, you know, and it's, it's really interesting. It's sad in a lot of ways, but yeah, so there's that. And yeah, time slips, people disappearing.

It's absolutely, it's so fascinating, so fascinating. So, uh, let's see. I leave you with that tonight. Did I do any, oh, please follow the show on on Instagram. Yeah, follow it there. That's scary to sleep. It's mostly the social media I go to these days, but join the Facebook group. Everyone in the Facebook group is amazing. I should stop by the Facebook group more often and pop in, but I feel like you guys don't even need, I feel like it's, it's a whole ecosystem on its own. Like it's, it has nothing to do with me. anymore. Not nothing, but you know, I feel like you all have your own thing going on. And I don't want to ruin the vibe by showing up and being like, hey, guys, it's me. I do let you know when

there's a new episode, but, you know, just, I don't, I don't know. So go join the Facebook group. Follow me on Instagram. Again, that's where I posts mostly. You can follow the show at Scary to Sleep. You can follow me personally at Shelby B. Novak. I just posted us a, um, a video today of a PR package I got my first, like, movie PR package. I admit, I got so much, like, it was green with envy, because everyone in this industry I know has gotten, like, a cool horror movies sent out the coolest PR packages because they're always themed and they have neat things. Some of them, it's like, like, for the evil, when that show, Evil was out, they were sending out, like, whole cakes and you know I got jealous about people getting entire cakes and not me. And, like, they just

send cool stuff. So I actually got sent. a package from Send Help. And so there's a video I do an unboxing, unbagging of the whole thing. So go check that out. It's on Instagram. It's on my personal and on Scary to Sleep. And it's on the bloody disgusting podcast Instagram page as well. And what else? Um, oh, Patreon. Patreon.com slash scary to sleep. If you want to go the next, the final part of Ted the Kaver will be coming out next week. So if you'd like to go catch up on all those parts while you're waiting for the last part, go to Patreon. And you can get ad-free episodes there as well. Let's see, what else? What else? What else? Baking Corner? I didn't do any baking this week. I was very,

very busy with day job things. I guess that's what I can call them day job things. Yeah. And so I was very busy with stuff like that, but, you know, maybe this weekend. I'm going to see my parents. Maybe I'll convince my mom to bake something with me. I used to love baking with my mom, and I never get to you anymore. That or she can sit there and relax while I bake something for her. That's also cool. I'm trying to think of anything else that I'm missing, that I'm supposed to send you towards that's happening. And I can't think of it. Remember check out Antiquarium of Documented Atrocities. they also have the antiquarium of sinister happenings, which is also a fiction show, just like this one, except they have a bunch of voice actors and things. It's more traditional one. Mine's weird. And yeah, tell your friends about this show, by the way. I would love, you know, it's a roller coaster of a game. Sometimes the numbers go up. Sometimes the numbers go down. And that's okay, and I know what I've signed up for. But I haven't made a call lately to send out any promotion, like to promote the show. And so if you could just, you know, tell your friends about it, tweet about it.

Do people tweet still? I think they do. Instagram about it. Tell your professor. Tell your mom. Tell your uncle. Or anybody who would, you think, would like this show. I would really appreciate it.

Yeah, send them my way. Thank you so much. Oh, there is a new hot sauce episode of the Bloody Disgusting podcast if you'd like to see me eat so much hot sauce. Actually, that was another thing that kind of took me out a little bit on Monday, or Tuesday, the day after. I ate so much Carolina Reaper sauce, right in a row. So much Carolina Reaper sauce. And I thought I was going to die.

So, yeah, if you'd like to watch me eat very, very hot sauce, go check out the latest episode of the Bloody Disgusting Podcast, where we discuss the movie Starry Eyes, which is, uh, just, I think one of my favorite horror movies. And also eat a bunch of hot sauce. Check it out. So yeah, I think I'm done yammering on. So go get some sleep. Sweet dreams.