Lot 149 : I Work In A Store That Sells Haunted Objects

The Antiquarium of Sinister Happenings

The episode follows Anna, an employee at a shop specializing in haunted artifacts, as she discovers the dark secret behind her brother Marcu

Key takeaways

• The 'Talking Teresa' doll triggers a supernatural event that physically destroys the shop's inventory.
• Marcus uses a remote fishing shack in the bayou to murder victims and harvest their energy.

Main topics

• Haunted objects
• Serial murder

Notable quotes

I work in a store that sells haunted objects.

Conclusion

A chilling horror narrative exploring the intersection of true crime a

Transcript preview

Speaker 2 (0:04) L equals Speaker 4 (0:05) R. Come in out of the rain. It's a tempest out there tonight. I've always had a certain fondness for establishments such as this. Cramped shelves. Dusty curios. Objects with histories their owners would perhaps prefer remained. Forgotten. Though I suppose I'm somewhat biased. I've got something really special for you that just came in. A children's talking doll. Blonde hair. Blue eyes. Pink dress. And beneath that dress, a small pull string. Apparently, when pulled, the doll was designed to say any number of charming little phrases. I wonder if she's still under warranty. Her name is Talking Teresa, and the account accompanying her is entitled, I work in a store that sells haunted objects. Speaker 6 (1:11) Hmm. Speaker 4 (1:13) Sounds like a perfectly respectable business. 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 Speaker 5 (1:35) Covenant. Speaker 4 (1:36) Recent initiates include Julissa Ricks, Im Juju Galego, Cephas Kaiser, Osiris Donovan, and Kimberly Habeck. We are ever appreciative of your devotion to the Order. Go to theobsidiancovenant.com to receive the sacrament. Now, where were we? Oh, yes. Speaker 4 (2:10) Welcome to the antiquarium of sinister happenings and odd goings on. We Speaker 6 (2:52) work in a store that sells haunted objects. Speaker 6 (2:56) They weren't parlor tricks or a scam or just an outright lie. They were actually haunted, accursed, possessed, and we sold them in spades. I never wondered where my brother got them. Evil books and rings and mirrors that showed dead women. Dolls that moved on their own and Ouija boards that did that too. He'd always brought them, sourcing them from all over, and I'd always distributed them. First online, then in our brick-and-mortar shop in New Orleans. We had done well for ourselves. Better than well. Then he brought me the talking Teresa doll. The one that spoke not of being pampered and having her diapers changed, but of death and blood and the raw, pulsing horror of what lies beyond. I wish I had listened to Marcus. Wish I'd never pulled that doll's string and listened to her scream and scream. I'm serious, Anna. Marcus was saying as he regarded the blonde-haired, blue-eyed Teresa doll in her pink dress. Speaker 5 (4:13) I'm serious, Anna. This one is... Speaker 6 (4:16) He trailed off, looking at the spotlighted doll crumpled ominously on the work table, which hemmed one wall of our cramped stockroom. I looked up at my brother, who looked so much like me, with his face screwed up into a tired knot. I'd always resented him for taking all the good genes two years before I was born. He was nearing 40, handsome as ever, tall, strong, with a firm, sculpted face beneath a jet of black hair. Speaker 2 (4:47) I Speaker 6 (4:47) was slightly puffy, my face more moon-like than Greek sculpture, and whereas his was tamed and effortlessly cool, my hair, a frizzy, insane mess, did me no favors. Marcus blew a sigh, corkscrewing his fists into tired eyes. When they came away, I saw just how burned out he looked. His eyes were shot through with red. His cheeks were gaunt, hollow, and he badly needed a shave. He looked like shit, which was odd. My brother never looked like shit. Speaker 5 (5:28) Just don't toy with it. Put it up out front and leave it alone. Speaker 6 (5:34) Our stock had never scared me. Our messy store, more a busy psycho-antique shop than anything else, was chock-full of haunted things. Cramped shelves of dusty wares, all exploding with haunted history, filled our small, claustrophobic store. At every twist and turn, you were met with an old something that clipped a bolt of cold dread through your stomach. It made your skin crawl and your hair rise, and your legs dissolve to jelly. But that was usually the extent of the haunted thing's potency. Never did they levitate or burn you with a touch or shift when you were looking. It only ever happened behind your back. Things were always moving around, disappearing. But I was used to it by now. I didn't mind staying after dark, rearranging shelves, updating our web store. It just never bothered me. And it had never bothered Marcus. Until now. He looked stricken. His eyes, bleary and severe, regarded me coolly, waiting for me to say, Okay, sure, I'll leave it alone. Which I did. Visible relief took his coiled posture and eased it of tension. He nodded, smiled, pulled me into a hug. Speaker 5 (6:53) Thanks, Anna. You're not such a shitty sister after all. Speaker 5 (6:58) I Speaker 6 (6:59) laughed and playfully thumped his shoulder. He mock-winced, rubbing his arm as he headed out, leaving me alone with the haunted, talking Teresa. I didn't pull the string. Well, not at first. It was evening. Speaker 6 (7:26) Bloody sunlight streaked through the front-facing windows, painting our menagerie of the weird and awful and inky shadows. I tucked the talking Teresa onto a shelf that housed a dozen other dolls and toys before taking to my nightly duties of closing up shop. Speaker 6 (7:46) The clock tick-tocked as the last customers came and went, as darkness settled in over our corner of the world, as street traffic dwindled and died, and the cicada army took to their song. At seven sharp, I bolted to the front door, threw up the sorry we're closed sign, and issued a long sigh that indicated I was alone. Speaker 6 (8:10) But no, that wasn't right. I was never truly alone. The air was always charged, alive, shifting and swirling like slimy black water, thick with the awful feeling of eyes crawling up your back, of heinous things judging you with insane hatred. Speaker 6 (8:36) But like I said, I was used to it. Inoculated. Immune to the icy fear that hijacked the atmosphere like a parasite. But that night, something was