Episodes
The Well at the End of Old Hollow Road
In October 1987, eleven-year-old Luna and her cousin Beth dared each other to look into a bottomless well behind their grandmother's farm at the end of Old Hollow Road. Beth heard a whisper—her own name—from the dark. Decades later, a forgotten Polaroid draws Luna back to the abandoned property. She leans over the well and hears her own name, spoken softly. That night, a single wet footprint appears on her kitchen floor, leading from the open back door. It can't be scrubbed away. And sometimes…
The Root Cellar at the End of Juniper Road
Two autumns ago, Luna got lost on a backroad and stumbled upon an old farmhouse with a root cellar that felt deeper than any house should allow. The owner, a gaunt man named Silas, invited her inside and showed her the stone steps that descended far below the frost line. What she found at the bottom—and what he found later—has kept her from sleeping through an October night since. This is a story about holes that don't end, about things that grow in the dark, and about the kind of cold that…
The Greenhouse at the End of Fern Hollow Road
On the last night of October, I walked down Fern Hollow Road in Millbrook, Ohio, to the abandoned greenhouse that had stood empty since the old gardener died. The glass panes were cracked, the door hung by one hinge, and inside, the air smelled of damp earth and rotting flowers. But the plants weren't dead—they were thriving, arranged in patterns no one had tended. And among the pots and trays of soil, something was moving. Something that wore the gardener's face, spoke in his voice, and…
The Silo at the End of Dusty Lane
October 1995. Luna drives down a gravel road in Elkhorn, Illinois to the farm of Harlan Cross, a quiet man who vanished three days ago. The only thing left is his grain silo, standing alone in a dead field. Inside, the corn has begun to move on its own—slow spirals, rising and falling like breath. And at the bottom, half-swallowed, a leather boot that still twitches. Luna climbs the ladder, peers into the dark, and sees something that makes her forget to call for help. A story about the things…
The Corn Maze at the End of Harvest Road
October twilight on Harvest Road, just outside Haddonfield. The corn maze was supposed to be a simple autumn attraction—twelve-foot stalks, a few wrong turns, and a cup of hot cider at the end. But from the moment Luna stepped through the gap in the fence, the maze felt wrong. The paths shifted. The scarecrows had faces she recognized. And deep in the center, where no map reached, someone had left a circle of stones and a single word scratched into the dirt. A story about getting lost in a…
The Haunted House at the End of Spruce Street
In the small town of Millbrook, October means one thing: the haunted house at the dead end of Spruce Street. My friend Sarah went inside last year, during the Harvest Haunt. She came out hours later, shaken, with a story about rooms that rearranged themselves and a hallway that shouldn't have existed. But she didn't come out alone. This is what she told me before she disappeared. #HauntedHouse #SpruceStreet #Millbrook #October #Sarah #HarvestHaunt #Disappearance #Reflection #Trapped…
The Lantern at the End of Primrose Lane
October 1987. A boy named Caleb Walker takes a shortcut through the woods behind Primrose Lane every night after his paper route. He carries a tin lantern his grandfather gave him — a cheap thing with a candle inside. But one night the candle doesn't burn out. And the woods are darker than they should be. And someone — or something — is walking beside him, step for step, just out of the light. This is a story about what happens when you're followed home by something that knows your name. It's…
The Wind Chime at the End of Weaver Street
October 2021. A stretch of county road in western Maryland where the mailboxes are nailed to fence posts and the houses are farmhouses with dogs that don't bark. Luna spent three nights at a bed-and-breakfast near Weaver Street, a gravel lane that dead-ends at a creek. The wind chime was brass, shaped like a crescent moon, and it played a song that woke her at exactly 2:17 AM each night. Not a real song — a sequence of notes that she recognized but could not name. The first night she ignored…
The Door at the End of Cemetery Road
On the last Saturday of October 1998, a woman named Elara drove down Cemetery Road in the town of Millbrook, looking for the door her grandmother had told her about on her deathbed. A door that wasn't there. A door that appeared only after a certain kind of grief. Elara found it that night, at the edge of the old graveyard. She knocked. This episode is a quiet, aching story about loss, the door that opens for the ones who cannot let go, and the question of what waits on the other side—and what…
The Porch at the End of Tupelo Lane
October 2002. A dead-end gravel road in Cottondale, Alabama. Luna was nineteen, driving home late from a friend's house, when her headlights caught a figure sitting on a porch that shouldn't have been there. The house had been abandoned for thirty years, but that night a woman in a white dress was rocking slowly, watching the road. Luna stopped the car. She shouldn't have. What she found inside—the smell of woodsmoke, a single photograph, a door that opened onto a hallway that didn't…
The Fire Tower at the End of Old Coach Road
October 1987. A girl named Claire Wainwright takes a shortcut home through the woods behind Old Coach Road and finds a fire tower that hasn't been maintained in thirty years. The ladder is cold and wet. The door at the top hangs open. Inside, a fire-scorched logbook records every wildfire season since 1952—except for one page, freshly written in charcoal, dated next week. Claire doesn't tell anyone what she saw. But she starts sleeping with her bedroom light on. She stops walking past the…
The Hayloft at the End of Simpson Lane
In the last week of October 1998, a man named Carl Pendleton disappeared from his farm on Simpson Lane, just outside the town of Millbrook. His wife said he went out to the hayloft to fix a loose board and never came back. The sheriff found his flashlight on the floor, still on, and his footprints stopping mid-plank as if he had simply stepped off into nothing. I grew up hearing that story, and last October I finally went to see the hayloft for myself. The farm has been abandoned for years, the…
The Jack-O'-Lantern at the End of Shady Glen Drive
October 1977. A boy named Leo Carver vanishes from his front porch on Shady Glen Drive, leaving behind a pile of candy and a single jack-o'-lantern with a candle still burning. Thirty-four years later, his younger brother walks that same street on Halloween night and finds the pumpkin still sitting on the same stoop—unchanged, unrotted, its carved face exactly as he remembers it. The candle gutters but never goes out. The front door hangs open. And inside, something is breathing. A story about…
The Pumpkin Patch at the End of Jasper Hollow Road
Luna recalls an evening in late October 2019, when she stopped at a pumpkin patch on Jasper Hollow Road, just outside the town of Millbrook. The patch was run by an old woman named Ruth, who seemed to know things she shouldn't. As the sun set, Luna noticed that all the pumpkins had faces—not carved, but grown that way. And one pumpkin in particular… it had her mother's eyes. The story is about inheritance, the things we carry without knowing, and what grows when you bury something you should…
The Porch Swing at the End of Hollis Lane
October 1987. A girl named Ellie Porter goes missing from her front porch in the town of Ashburn, Ohio. She was last seen on the swing at 11:14 PM — her mother heard the chains creak once more at 11:17, then nothing. When I visited the house twenty years later, the swing was still there. The chains had rusted solid. The porch light flickered even in broad daylight. I spoke to the current owners, who told me about the scratching at the back door every October 17th. About the way the swing moves…
The Porch Light at the End of Hartwell Lane
October 2021. Luna's car breaks down on a back road in Millbrook, New York, and she knocks on the only lit porch on Hartwell Lane. The woman who answers, Eleanor, is ancient and kind. She offers tea and stories. But as the night deepens, Luna notices the porch light flickers in a pattern that isn't random. The jack-o'-lantern on the steps seems to shift its carved mouth between blinks. Eleanor talks about her husband, who left one October night twenty years ago to check the mail and never came…
The Jack-o'-Lantern at the End of Parsonage Road
October 1997. A jack-o'-lantern with a face that seemed to follow you. Luna was ten years old, walking home alone from a friend's house on Parsonage Road. The pumpkin sat on a porch that no one remembered being there before. She tells us about the one rule her grandmother gave her: never look a stranger's jack-o'-lantern in the eye. But she looked. She looked. And the pumpkin grinned wider. A story about childhood trespass, the wrong kind of light in a window, and the thing that sat on the…
The Bridge at the End of Merriwether Road
October 1997, just outside the town of Bishops Hollow. A one-lane iron bridge, a name carved into the rust, and a woman who crossed it every night for two weeks. Luna tells the story of her aunt Miriam, who swore the bridge was shorter on the way back. She measured it. She photographed it. And on the fifteenth night, she took Luna with her. What waits at the midpoint of a bridge that does not want you to leave. #FexingoHorror #HorrorPodcast #TwelveWaysToDieInOctober #BishopsHollow…
The Apple Orchard at the End of Bishop's Lane
October 1993, the last Saturday before Halloween. A woman named Cora Meecham drove out to Bishop's Lane to buy a bushel of heirloom apples from a farm stand that wasn't there the year before. The old man at the table didn't take money. He told her to pick an apple from the tree behind the barn—any apple—and bring it back to him before sundown. Cora chose a dark red one, almost black, and when she bit into it, the taste was smoke and something else. Something that felt like a memory of a door…
The Fence Post at the End of Denton Road
A woman named Sarah moves into a house at the end of Denton Road, a dead-end street where the asphalt crumbles into an overgrown field. The house is old, with a strange iron fence post in the backyard, set apart from the rest of the fence. Sarah starts hearing a sound at night—a rhythmic scrape, like metal on bone, coming from the direction of that post. She looks out the window and sees a figure standing by it, a figure that shouldn't be there, a figure that seems to be waiting. Luna tells the…
The Scarecrow at the End of Warren Road
October 1989. Warren Road, a gravel stretch just outside Denton, Ohio, where the cornfields go right up to the asphalt and the only light comes from farmhouse windows half a mile apart. Luna tells the story of Boyd Haskell, a retired farmer who started burning scarecrows in his front yard every October night for reasons nobody could explain. Not his scarecrows — ones he found in other people's fields, stolen under cover of dark. Neighbors said it was grief, that he'd lost his wife the previous…
The Last Hay Bale at the End of Miller Road
October 1998, just outside the town of Afton. A man named Caleb Vance spent every autumn stacking hay bales in his field, building a maze for the local kids. But one bale was different—it was wrapped in black twine, and it smelled like wet dog and burnt sugar. Caleb told me he found it at the edge of his property, near the drainage ditch where the old Miller place used to stand. He should have left it alone. But he dragged it into the pile, because that's what you do with a stray bale. What…
The Leaf Pile at the End of Maple Street
October 1998. A little girl in a ghost costume disappears from a front yard on Maple Street, a quiet cul-de-sac in Ridgewood, Ohio. She was last seen jumping into a leaf pile—a huge, perfect pile her father had raked that morning. But when he turned to grab the camera, she was gone. The leaves were still settling. No foot tracks leading away. No sound. He tore through the pile with his bare hands, and found only a single yellow leaf stuck to the bottom of his shoe. That was twenty-five years…
The Last Pumpkin at the End of Hickory Row
October 1998. A woman named Margo buys the last pumpkin from a roadside stand on Hickory Row, a dead-end road outside the town of Millbrook. The old man selling it gives her a warning she doesn't understand: 'Don't carve it until the moon sets.' Margo takes the pumpkin home anyway, and that night, she learns why some things are best left in the dark. The pumpkin's flesh is thin as paper, the seeds are black, and the face it makes when she lights the candle inside is not the face she carved.…
The Telephone at the End of Old Farm Road
October 2002. Old Farm Road runs two miles through the woods outside Dawson, Pennsylvania — a dead end with only three houses and a defunct payphone bolted to a utility pole. The phone hasn't worked since the mid-nineties. But in the autumn of 2002, it started ringing at 3:17 every morning. My friend Leo lived in the last house. He was the one who answered it. He told me what he heard on the other end — a woman's voice, calm and patient, repeating the same question. He kept answering because he…
The Moth at the End of Parsonage Road
October 1998, just outside the town of Marrow's Ford. A back road called Parsonage, a falling-down farmhouse, and a woman named Elara who kept the porch light on for the same moth every night. Luna met her at a gas station, heard the story, and cannot unsee the thing that came tapping at the glass after midnight. Not a ghost story. Not a creature feature. Just a quiet, patient thing that wanted in. And the sound it made when the bulb went dark. #Marrow'sFord #ParsonageRoad #Elara #Moth…
The Witch in the Hollow at the End of Shepherd's Lane
October 1978. A boy named Eli Walker disappears from his bedroom on the night of the full moon. His mother swears she heard him whispering to something outside his window. Forty years later, Luna drives to the hollow at the end of Shepherd's Lane in Millbrook, where a lone house still stands under a dead oak. The front door is unlocked. Inside, a rocking chair moves on its own. And in the attic, a child's drawing shows a woman with hollow eyes and a long black dress. This is the story of what…
The Crossroads at the End of Denton Road
Luna tells the story of a truck stop at the junction of Denton Road and Route 9, where she stopped for gas one October night in 2017. The old man behind the counter warned her about the crossroads: three roads, three choices, one wrong turn that keeps pulling people back. She didn't believe him until she saw the woman in the yellow coat standing at the edge of the pavement, waiting. A quiet, creeping tale about the roads we choose and the ones that choose us. #TwelveWaysToDieInOctober…
The Corn Maze at the End of Harvest Road
October 1997, the last night of the season at Miller's Farm outside Fall River, Illinois. Luna and her younger brother Sam snuck into the corn maze after closing — a tradition they'd kept for three years. But this year, something was different. The paths didn't match the map Sam had drawn from memory. The scarecrows had moved. And at the center, where there should have been a clearing with a picnic table and a lantern, there was only a dark house made of corn stalks, and a voice that knew their…
The Weather Vane at the End of Miller Road
October 1998, Miller Road, outside the town of Gifford. Luna’s uncle told her about the rooster-shaped weather vane that spun backwards before bad things happened. She didn’t believe him until she saw it herself one windy night. The vane pointed north during a south wind. The next morning, the Fowler house was empty. The family’s car still in the driveway, their coffee cups half-drunk. Luna went back alone at dusk. The wind picked up. The vane began to turn—slowly, then faster—and she realized…
The Moonlit Swing at the End of Sycamore Lane
October 2021. A woman named Claire moves to a quiet cul-de-sac in Summerville, looking for peace. Every night, she hears the creak of a swing from the abandoned playground behind her house. She tells herself it's the wind, the rust, the weight of memory. But there's a boy who never left—and he only swings when there's a full moon. Luna sits by the jack-o'-lantern and tells Claire's story: the first night she looked out the window, the silhouette that wasn't there when she blinked, and the night…
The Scarecrow on the Bench at the End of Orchard Grove
October 1992. A back road called Orchard Grove on the edge of Dunmore, Pennsylvania. A man named Arthur Phelps—known for building elaborate scarecrows every autumn—sits on a bus-stop bench after midnight, wearing his own clothes, holding a sign that reads 'I'm sorry.' Luna tells the story of how Arthur vanished the previous spring, how his wife reported him missing but nobody searched the fields, and how the scarecrow that appeared on the bench in October was built with human hair and human…
The Fence at the End of Beacon Street
Luna recalls a Halloween night in 1998 when a fence appeared overnight at the end of Beacon Street in the small town of Millbrook. It was a simple wooden picket fence, but it kept growing, twisting, and trapping those who touched it. Some say it was built by a man who lost his family in a fire years ago, and every October, he returns to finish what he started. Luna's neighbor, Mrs. Hargrove, was the first to notice it, and the last to walk away. This episode is about the weight of unfinished…
The Fence at the End of Beacon Street
October 23rd, 2:17 AM. A woman named Ellen pulls her car over on Beacon Street after hitting something she can't identify. The fence along that stretch of road — a rusted chain-link barrier separating the road from the woods — has a figure pressed against it. Not leaning. Not holding. Pressed, as if the chain links have grown through the fabric of a coat. Ellen gets out. She calls the figure's name without knowing why. The figure does not answer. The fence does not rattle. And something in the…
The Hayride at the End of Jenkins Road
October 1997. Jenkins Road, a gravel stretch outside the town of Harrow, Indiana. Every year the Farlow brothers ran a hayride through the back fields—a rattling trailer pulled by a tractor, past the same dried-up creek, the same dead tree, the same plywood ghost. But this year something was different. The tractor kept stalling. The driver's voice sounded wrong. And when the hayride finally stopped, no one could remember how long they'd been sitting in the dark. Luna retraces a night that…
The Hayloft at the End of Lovers Lane
In October of 2003, a girl named Cassie drove out to the old Whitmore barn on Lovers Lane with a boy who had a reputation for cruelty. She went because she wanted to feel chosen. She stayed because the hayloft was warm, and the bats in the cupola made a sound like wet paper tearing. When the boy left her there alone as a joke, she sat in the dark with a rusted pitchfork and tried to count the minutes until he came back. But the barn had other ideas about how long she would wait. The floorboards…
The Last Leaf on the Oak at the End of County Road 17
October 2023. Luna drives County Road 17 just past midnight, chasing the last of autumn color before the storm. She stops at an ancient oak where a single leaf refuses to fall — not because it clings, but because something else holds it there. A woman in a blue dress stands beneath the tree, her fingers tracing the bark. She tells Luna about the night in 1978 when the highway was built… and the tree was supposed to come down. The leaf, she says, is a promise. Luna leaves before dawn, but the…
The Church Bell at the End of Hollow Road
October 1987. Luna's grandmother sends her to fetch a pie from the old Gunderson place at the dead end of Hollow Road. The house has been empty for twenty years, but there's a light in the kitchen window and a bell in the church across the field that rings every night at eleven. Not a bell tower. A handbell. And someone is answering it. A quiet, atmospheric story about a debt that outlives the debtor, a porch swing that creaks without wind, and the last thing you ever agree to carry for someone…
The Jack-o'-Lantern on the Front Porch of Evergreen Lane
October 31st, 1998. The last house on Evergreen Lane in the town of Ashford, Vermont. I was nine years old, dressed as a ghost, and I remember the exact moment my bag stopped feeling heavy. The porch light was off, but the pumpkin was lit. Not carved, exactly — more like it had been hollowed from the inside out, the face pushed forward from within. The woman who opened the door didn't speak. She just tilted her head, and the pumpkin's grin widened — not the candle, the actual rind. I didn't…
The Last Bonfire at the End of Lost Creek Road
October 1998. Luna was seventeen, driving home through the hollows of Lost Creek Road when she saw a bonfire burning in a field where no bonfire had ever been. She pulled over. The people around the fire were familiar—neighbors, classmates, a girl she hadn't spoken to in years—but something about the way they stood, the way the flames threw no shadows, made her stop at the edge of the light. This is the story of what she saw there, and what followed her home. A story about the fire that doesn't…
The Porch Light at the End of Hemlock Road
In October of 2009, Luna's cousin rented a house on Hemlock Road in the small town of Blackwood, Ohio. The house had a porch light that never seemed to stay off, no matter how many times he unscrewed the bulb. He started seeing a figure standing under it every night, just past midnight. This is what he told her before he stopped answering his phone. A story about a light that wouldn't stop burning, and the thing that lived in its glow. #HemlockRoad #PorchLight #BlackwoodOhio #October2009…
The Scarecrow at the End of Farrow Road
October 1987. A backroad outside Hadlow, Illinois. I was nineteen and driving home from a party when I saw the scarecrow lashed to a fence post at the edge of Farrow Road. It wasn't there the day before. Its coat was my father's old barn coat — the one we buried him in. I stopped the truck and walked toward it. The wind was dead. The corn stood still. And the scarecrow's head was wrapped in burlap stitched with a face I recognized. It wasn't my father. It was someone else. Someone I saw at the…
The Haystack at the End of Driscoll Lane
In the autumn of 2009, a thirteen-year-old boy named Leo Holloway ventured into a neighbor's field behind Driscoll Lane to retrieve a lost glove. What he found there was not a haystack but something that had been built to resemble one—a structure of dried stalks and rope that breathed warmth into the October air. This episode follows Leo's slow unraveling as he returns to the field each night, watching the haystack grow taller, watching its shape shift, watching the thing inside begin to speak…
The Cider Press at the End of Finch Road
October 1998. A man named Ellis rents a farmhouse at the end of Finch Road in rural Pennsylvania, hoping for a quiet autumn. The property comes with an old cider press in the barn—a heavy iron machine with a crank that turns too easily. He starts pressing apples at night, drawn to the rhythm, the smell of crushed fruit. But the cider never comes out right. It tastes of copper and salt. And the press—it doesn't just squeeze apples. It squeezes something else. Luna tells the story of a machine…
The Bonfire at the End of Tanglewood Lane
October 1997. A girl named Emily sees a bonfire in the woods behind her house on Tanglewood Lane, three nights before Halloween. The fire is not set by neighbors or kids. Every night it burns in a different spot, and every night the flames are the same unnatural orange. Emily watches from her bedroom window. The figure tending the fire never moves. On the third night, she walks into the woods to see what is burning. The fire shows her things that have not happened yet. When she finally looks…
The Kettle at the End of Wisteria Lane
October 1989, the last house on a dead-end street in a small Ohio town. An antique brass kettle left on a porch stoop, whistling without heat. Luna's neighbor Elara claimed it was a gift from her grandmother, who died in that same house forty years before. But the kettle didn't whistle tea — it whistled names, dates, things that hadn't happened yet. Luna spent three nights on that porch, listening. By the third night, the kettle whistled her name. A slow-burn story about inheritance, warnings…
The Haystack at the End of Driscoll Lane
October 2009, Driscoll Lane, a dead-end gravel road outside the town of Havenwood. Luna's cousin, Maeve, was housesitting a farmhouse that had been empty for years—just feeding the owner's cat and checking the mail. But on the third night, she started seeing the haystack at the far edge of the back field, where someone had left a scarecrow that wasn't there before. Every night it was closer to the house. Not moved—just… there, a few feet nearer. By the fifth night it was at the porch steps…
The Leaf Pile at the End of Maple Drive
In October of 1987, on a quiet cul-de-sac in Maplewood, Ohio, a nine-year-old girl named Emily disappeared into a leaf pile. Not into the leaves themselves, but into something beneath them—a gap in the earth that only opened in autumn. Her older brother David spent thirty years trying to forget what he saw, until the leaves began to fall again last week. This is the story of the hole that waited, and the hands that reached up from it. Luna tells it with the weight of someone who grew up three…
The Halloween Display at the End of Chestnut Street
In the fall of 2018, a quiet suburban block in Maplewood, Ohio became the site of an escalating neighborly contest of Halloween decorations. Luna's friend Sarah, a mother of two, found herself drawn to the house at the end of Chestnut Street—a dark colonial with a single, perfect jack-o'-lantern on the porch. Night after night, the display grew more elaborate, more personal, until it reflected things Sarah had never told anyone. This is a story about the line between festive and obsessive, and…
The Silhouette in the Voting Booth on Old Mill Road
In the autumn of 2022, Luna spent a rainy October evening working as a poll worker in the gymnasium of Old Mill High School, a sleepy town in central Ohio. The night was slow until a woman in a wet coat came in just before closing, her face half-hidden by a black umbrella. She cast her ballot slowly, deliberately, and when she left, Luna noticed something wrong with the shadow she cast on the gym floor — a second shape, taller and older, stretching behind her like a stain. Then the machines…
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