Episodes
The Monitor on Oak Ridge Road
Summer 2012. Hester's Grove, Ohio. Maggie takes a babysitting job at her sister's house on Oak Ridge Road, caring for infant Caleb in a nursery with an old analog baby monitor. On the second night, the static shifts into a woman's voice—not her sister's—whispering 'I can see him' on a loop. Maggie unplugs the monitor, but the voice follows her from the wall itself. The house's history surfaces: a previous owner lost a child in that room, and the crib was never moved. When Maggie finally leaves…
The Music Box at the Hester's Grove Flea Market
In the summer of 2004, Luna's cousin Eleanor bought an antique music box at a flea market in Hester's Grove, Ohio. It played a lullaby, but when held near radio static, a child's voice sang in a forgotten language. As Eleanor dug into the box's past, she uncovered a lost settlement and a mourning song that never finished—and something followed her home. An intimate, ghostly story about unresolved grief and the frequencies that carry it. #StaticLullaby #FexingoHorror #HorrorPodcast #MusicBox…
The Melody at the End of Cypress Hollow Road
Late one November night, I was driving home through Pine Valley when the AM radio began to pull in a melody I'd never heard before—a soft, repetitive lullaby rising through the static. The signal grew stronger the closer I got to the dead-end of Cypress Hollow Road, leading me to an abandoned farmhouse with a light in an upstairs window. Inside, I found a child's room untouched for decades, and a music box that still played the same tune. But the voice that came through the radio…
The Music Box on Maple Hollow Road
Autumn 2008, Tannersville. I was housesitting for a friend when I found an old wooden radio in the attic. It played static, but under the static — a child's lullaby, repeating. I traced it to a music box in the basement, a box that had no mechanism, no key, no way to make sound. But it sang anyway. And when I opened it, the song stopped, and the static poured out like breath. This episode is about that house, that box, and the nights I spent trying to unhear a melody no one else remembered.…
The Barn on Twelve Oaks Road
In early October, I drove out to Twelve Oaks Road on a rumor about a radio in an abandoned barn that played by itself. I'd just met Eleanor Aldridge, who told me she lost her infant daughter years ago and that ever since, she hears a static version of the lullaby she used to sing—always from the barn. That night, I found the radio on a workbench, no cord, no batteries, yet humming with static. The static formed a melody I knew. A cradle rocked itself in the corner, and the barn door slammed…
The Motel on the Gravel Cutoff
A traveling writer stops at the Pine Rest Motel on Old Route 9 during a three-day rain. The room's vintage AM radio picks up a child's humming that doesn't come from any station. The clerk says the room next door has been locked since a boy vanished there twenty years ago. Luna pieces together the story of a mother's grief and a child's cry that never faded. Set one November night in Millbrook, this episode stays with you like static in a dead channel. #StaticLullaby #FexingoHorror…
The Empty Crib on Cedar Lane
Summer 1998, just past midnight on Cedar Lane, a dead-end road outside a town called Ferris, Ohio. Luna's friend Claire asked her to house-sit one night — just sit in the nursery, listen to the baby monitor, and wait. There was no baby. There hadn't been a baby in that house for years. But the monitor picked up a signal from somewhere, a room that wasn't in the house, a child breathing in the dark. Luna stayed anyway. She stayed because the static had a rhythm, and because Claire's voice on the…
The Dark Room on Meridian Street
September 1997. A small-town realtor shows a client a house on Meridian Street that has been on the market for over a year. The client, a quiet older woman named Mrs. Harlow, insists on seeing the basement. The realtor, a man named Dale, has never been down there himself. What they find is a room that should not exist—a finished bedroom, windowless, with a single cot and a child's drawing taped to the wall. The drawing shows a woman standing at a stove. The door at the top of the stairs has no…
The Distant Station on Lost Creek Road
In the summer of 1997, a man named Arthur Crane bought a fixer-upper farmhouse on Lost Creek Road, drawn by the price and the quiet. But the house came with a shortwave radio in the basement — a Hallicrafters SX-100, crusted with rust, that hummed even when unplugged. Arthur told me the story on a porch swing one night last October. He said the radio found something in the static — a frequency that never changed, a voice that called his name, a broadcast that started the moment he tuned in and…
The Cradle on the Gravel Road Through Harker's Wood
In the winter of 2009, Luna's car broke down on a gravel road cutting through Harker's Wood, a stretch of second-growth forest in northern Pennsylvania with no cell service and no houses for fifteen miles. She walked until she found a house set back from the road, with a light in the nursery window and a woman named Lorna who invited her in to wait for a tow truck. But the nursery was wrong — the crib was not a crib, and the lullaby coming from the old radio in the corner was playing a version…
The Radio on Front Street
In the summer of 1998, the AM radio in my father's repair shop started picking up a station that didn't exist. It broadcast from a town that had been dead for forty years—Oak Hollow, drowned when the reservoir was built. The voice on the signal was a woman's, calm and patient, reading the same weather report from the night of the flood. I was twelve, working the counter, and I thought it was a prank. But the signal didn't fade, and the voice knew things she shouldn't have known. This is the…
The Tape Deck on Foxtail Lane
A man named Arthur inherits his late grandmother's house on Foxtail Lane in the autumn of 1987. He finds a tape deck in the attic with a single cassette inside, labeled with his own name in her handwriting. He plays it. The voice on the tape is his grandmother's, but she died three years ago, and she speaks to him about something that hasn't happened yet—something that happens in the house every twenty years. The tape loops. The static builds. The basement door opens on its own. Now Arthur…
The Lullaby on Foxglove Lane
Luna recalls a long October night in 1997 on a dead-end road in Hadley, Ohio, where an old woman named Elara Webb played a single melody on a music box every night from her porch. Luna was hired to document the town's oral histories, but Mrs. Webb's story refused to stay in the past—the lullaby she hummed was the same one Luna's own mother used to sing, a song that had never been written down. When Luna asked about the tune, Mrs. Webb smiled and said, 'You already know it, dear. You just…
The Jackknifed Trailer on Lost Creek Road
In the late summer of 2007, a seventeen-year-old girl named Marlene hitched a ride with a trucker hauling frozen meat from Omaha to Pittsburgh. Somewhere east of the Missouri River, on a county road that isn't on any GPS, the rig jackknifed and the reefer unit went dark. The driver walked off toward the only light for miles. He didn't come back. Marlene stayed inside the trailer, waiting. That's where she learned what happens when the temperature rises and the cargo begins to shift. This is not…
The Videotape on Albright Lane
In the summer of 2007, a heat wave settled over the small town of Millbrook, New York. Luna's friend Nora inherited a house on Albright Lane from her grandmother, and the two of them spent June cleaning it out. In a back closet, they found a stack of unlabeled VHS tapes. One of them changed how they understood the house, the grandmother, and the low hum that came through the walls at night. This episode is about the tape, the hour of footage on it, and the thing that was standing in the garden…
The Doll on Willow Creek Road
In the summer of 2003, on a dead-end road outside a town called Bixby, Oklahoma, a woman named Cora found a porcelain doll in a storm drain. It wasn't there the day before. It wasn't like any doll she'd ever seen. It had no maker's mark, no clothes, and its face was smooth—no features, just a blank oval of painted skin. Luna tells the story of what happened after Cora brought it home: the slow unraveling of a family, the sound of small footsteps in the attic, and the thing that started looking…
The Cradle on Sandridge Road (Part 2)
Luna returns to Sandridge Road one year later, drawn back by a half-remembered broadcast from the dead channel. The static on the old AM radio has changed—someone is breathing on the other end now. In the abandoned house at the end of the road, a cradle still rocks by itself in an upstairs room. No one has lived there since the summer of '87. But the floorboards still creak at midnight, and the radio in the kitchen still hums with voices that stopped talking years ago. #SandridgeRoad #AMRadio…
The Window on Birch Run Road
In the winter of 2019, on a frozen stretch of Birch Run Road outside Marengo, Ohio, a woman named Cora watched her six-year-old son's bedroom window from the driveway every night. The light stayed on until dawn, and she never saw a shadow cross it — but she heard the floorboards creak when she stood beneath it. This is the story of what she found when she finally went inside, and what the static on her car radio told her at exactly 3:13 AM. A quiet, snowbound episode about the thing that waits…
The Cradle on Valley Pike
In the early autumn of 2019, on a dead-end stretch of Valley Pike outside Mount Pleasant, Ohio, a woman named Carrie found an antique wooden cradle on the side of the road. She brought it home for her infant daughter, Ellie. That night, the static on the baby monitor began to carry something else: a woman's voice, humming an old lullaby, and the rhythmic creak of rockers on a hardwood floor. By morning, the cradle was warm to the touch. Carrie called me, and I drove out to listen. What I heard…
The Nightlight on Elmwood Drive
In the late autumn of 1997, Luna's friend Claire bought a fixer-upper on Elmwood Drive in the small town of Millbrook. The house had a strange history — three families had moved out within a year, always citing nightmares. Claire dismissed it as small-town gossip. But on the third night after she moved in, her daughter's nightlight began to flicker in a pattern that wasn't electrical. A pattern that spelled out words. Luna was there when Claire called her at 2 a.m., asking her to come over and…
The Gate on Orion Road
In the summer of 1987, on a dead-end road outside Elkhorn, Nebraska, a man named Frank Keeley built a white picket gate in the middle of a cornfield. No fence on either side, no path leading to it. Just a gate. Luna’s uncle brought her there one August night when she was eleven, to show her something he swore he saw: a man in a blue coat step through the gate and vanish into the air. What Luna found on the other side of that gate—or what found her—changed how she hears the static on any radio…
The Staircase on Wisteria Lane
In the summer of 1998, Luna visited a house on Wisteria Lane in the small town of Grenville, Ohio, to babysit for the Miller family. The house had a peculiar staircase—a narrow, enclosed flight that led from the kitchen to the second floor, with a sharp turn at the landing. The Miller parents went out for the evening, leaving their two children—Leo, age seven, and Clara, age four—in Luna's care. The girls were asleep by nine, but Luna couldn't sleep. She kept hearing footsteps on the staircase…
The Signal on Woodbriar Lane
October 1987. Luna's aunt rents a farmhouse on a gravel road outside Elmdale, a town that barely appears on county maps. The house comes with a television in the basement — a wood-paneled Zenith with a dial that doesn't tune to any known channel. At night, after midnight, the snow on that channel shows a woman sitting in a chair, waiting. Luna watches her for three nights before the woman begins to move. This is not a ghost story about something that happened long ago. It is about a signal that…
The Dirt Road on Pike's Cutoff
In the summer of 2018, a backroad between two farm counties held a secret buried not in the soil but in the air itself. Luna recounts the night she and her cousin took the Cutoff on a dare and found something waiting there — a man standing beside a rusted mailbox, a song playing from no direction, and a gravel path that kept changing length. An intimate, slow-burn story about roads that forget where they lead and the things that remember being forgotten. #FexingoHorror #HorrorPodcast…
The Vacant Lot on Mulberry Street
September 1998, Mulberry Street, Pine Bluff, Illinois. Luna's neighbor Mrs. Holcomb, a widow known for her immaculate zinnias, began walking to the vacant lot at the end of the block every night at exactly 11:47. Not sleepwalking — she was dressed, carrying a handbag, sometimes an umbrella if it rained. Luna watched from her bedroom window for three weeks, then followed her one night. What Mrs. Holcomb did in that lot was not gardening. It was not mourning. It was something older than the…
The Porch Light on Hemlock Road
Luna recalls a stifling August night in 1997, when a flickering porch light on a dead-end road in Cambria, Ohio, refused to stay dark. A neighbor named Mrs. Kellerman kept her vigil beneath it, waiting for a son who never came home from the war. But the light wasn't just a bulb burning out—it was a summons. And what answered it from the treeline didn't have a face. A quiet, devastating story about grief, repetition, and the things we refuse to stop watching for. #PorchLight #HemlockRoad…
The Window on Brody Lane
Luna remembers a stifling August night in 2003 when she babysat at a house on Brody Lane, outside a town called Mercer. The parents left for a party; the children were already asleep. She sat in the dark living room, watching the window over the front porch — a picture window that faced a long gravel driveway and the woods beyond. At 11:47 PM, she saw a man walk out of the treeline and stand at the edge of the yard. He didn't move. He didn't leave. He just stood there, looking at the house, for…
The Tuning Fork on Hawthorne Lane
December 1998, just outside Dutton, Indiana. Luna's car dies on Hawthorne Lane, a dead-end road she had no reason to be on. A woman named Elise invites her inside to wait for a tow truck. Her house is clean, warm, and filled with the sound of a single radio tuned to nothing but static. Elise says she is waiting for her daughter to call on the radio. The longer Luna stays, the more the static sounds like something trying to form words. A story about the unbearable weight of waiting, the thin…
The Well on Brody Lane
In the autumn of 2003, Luna's cousin Margot rented a farmhouse on Brody Lane, a gravel road that dead-ends into the woods outside the town of Ashburn, Ohio. The house had a well in the backyard — a deep, old well with a rusted hand pump and a wooden lid that didn't quite fit. Margot called Luna one night, her voice thin, saying the well was making sounds that weren't echoes. Luna drove out to stay with her. This is what they found when they finally looked down into the dark water. It's a story…
The Static Between Stations on Holloway Ridge
In the autumn of 2019, Luna drives a secondary road on Holloway Ridge at half past two in the morning. Her car radio scans past a station that should not exist—a number that belongs to no licensed broadcaster in the state. The signal is a child's voice, counting. She listens for three miles, then pulls over. The voice is not recorded. It speaks to her directly, by name, in the dark. This is a story about a frequency left open on purpose. About a child who has been counting for longer than she…
The Telephone on Cherrywood Lane
October 1997. Cherrywood Lane. A dead-end street in the kind of town where everyone knows everyone, and nobody locks their doors. Luna was housesitting for the Whitlocks — a favour for a neighbour, three nights, just feeding the cat and watering the plants. The phone rang at 3:17 AM. Not the cell phone, not the computer line — the old rotary in the kitchen alcove, the one they kept for decoration. Luna picked it up. On the other end, a child's voice. A girl. She said her name was Annie. She…
The Satellite on Holloway Ridge
In October of 1998, a teenager named Caleb Markey climbed the fire tower on Holloway Ridge outside of Dutton, Ohio, to fix the town's only internet satellite dish. He never came down the same. That night, the dish began receiving a signal from a frequency that shouldn't exist—a loop of a child's nursery rhyme, slowed down, run backwards, and layered under itself until the words became something else. Luna was the volunteer dispatcher who took the call at 2:17 AM. This is what she heard on the…
The Radio on Sandridge Road
In the summer of 1994, outside the half-dead town of Mowbray, Kansas, a stretch of Sandridge Road held a secret buried in the AM band. Luna remembers the night her father tuned the car radio to a station that didn't exist—a voice calling out coordinates, a child counting backwards, and the static that swallowed a whole family. A story about frequencies that remember what we try to forget, and the places where the dead still broadcast. #SandridgeRoad #MowbrayKansas #AMRadio #Static…
The Radio on Sandridge Road
In a small town just off the county line, there is a stretch of road called Sandridge that dead-ends at a chain-link fence. Behind it, nothing but scrub and a collapsed silo. But on certain nights, when the air is wet and the AM band is full of static, the radio picks up a frequency that shouldn't exist. I found it one November evening, in a borrowed car with a cracked dashboard and a heater that only blew cold. The voice on that station knew my name. It knew things it should not have known.…
The Dead Channel on Sandridge Road
October 2019, just past midnight on a gravel road outside Bell's Mill, Indiana. Luna's car radio picks up a station that doesn't exist — a woman's voice singing a lullaby to a child who stopped breathing forty years ago. Every night, the same song, the same loop, the same last word. Luna drives the road three nights in a row, trying to understand if the signal is memory or something hungrier. She meets an old man on a porch who tells her about the house that used to stand there, and the baby…
The Porch Light on Spruce Street
In the summer of 1998, Luna's cousin rented a house on Spruce Street in the small town of Millbrook. The house had a porch light that flickered at exactly 3:11 AM every night. At first they thought it was just faulty wiring. But then they noticed the man in the window of the empty house across the street—standing still, watching, never blinking. The flickering stopped when the man wore a hat. Luna spent a week there, trying to understand the pattern, but the truth she found left her unable to…
The Barn on Trestle Road
October 1987. A woman named Marguerite lives alone in a falling-down farmhouse on Trestle Road, just outside the town of Innis, Iowa. Her husband left two years ago. Her daughter is grown and gone. She keeps the radio on all night because the silence is worse. But one night, the radio stops playing music. Instead, she hears a child's voice—not from the speaker, but from the barn. Every night, the same voice, the same phrase: 'Mama, I'm cold.' Marguerite tells herself it's a stray cat, a loose…
The Vitrine on Meridian Avenue
Luna revisits a late-autumn night in 1992 on Meridian Avenue in the small town of Elwood, where a curio shop window displayed a single doll behind glass—a porcelain girl with cracked blue eyes and a velvet dress the color of dried blood. The shop had been closed for years, but the doll's gaze followed her from the curb, and the name on the dusty brass plaque beneath it wasn't a manufacturer. It was a child's full name, with a date of death. Luna tells the story of what she did next: asking old…
The Toll Bridge on Meridian Road
In the summer of 1987, the old toll bridge on Meridian Road outside of Bainville became a shortcut for those who knew its secret. Luna's cousin Hannah used it every night to get home from her shift at the diner, until the night she didn't. The bridge keeper never took her coin, and the rusted gate swung shut behind her. This is the story of what she found on the other side, and why she still leaves a silver dollar on the windowsill every evening at dusk, even though she won't say who it's for.…
The Phonograph on Larkspur Lane
Summer 1997, Larkspur Lane, a dusty cul-de-sac on the edge of Whistler, Missouri. Luna recounts the summer she spent house-sitting for her aunt, a retired music teacher with a collection of wax cylinder phonographs. One machine, a 1903 Edison Standard, played alone at night. The recordings were not music. They were children's voices, faint and repeating, calling for a mother who never answered. The more she listened, the more the house remembered something it had tried to forget. A story about…
The Dress on the Whiting Line
Luna recalls a summer night in 1999 on Whiting Line, a back road outside Clarion, Ohio, where a woman in a white dress stood between the cornfields every night at the same time. No one knew her name. No one knew why she stood there. But Luna's mother knew enough to never stop the car. A story about what follows you home when you look too long at something that isn't supposed to see you back. #WhitingLine #ClarionOhio #TheWomanInWhite #CornfieldHorror #SummerNight #1999 #RoadsideEncounter…
The Tracks on Waverly Road
A cold November night in 1997. Luna's car dies on a rural road outside Ellsworth, Kansas, and she waits in a diner that shouldn't exist—the Silver Rail, open at 2 AM, one waitress, one other patron. The waitress knows her name. The tracks behind the diner have no trains on the schedule. But something rolls through at 3:17, and Luna is told she can leave only after she's seen it. A quiet, aching story about what we wait for, and what waits for us. #FexingoHorror #HorrorPodcast #StaticLullaby…
The Cold Water on Asher Road
On a frozen February night in 1987, Luna's car died on a back road outside of Granite Falls. She found shelter in a roadside diner called the Cold Water — a place where the coffee was always black, the jukebox played only one song, and the other customers never seemed to leave. A story about a waitress named Cora who had been pouring the same cup of coffee for forty years, and the thing that waited at the counter for her every night when the diner finally closed. Luna stayed until morning, and…
The Rocking Chair on Prosperity Road
Late October, 1987. A cold snap settles over the town of Millbrook, and Luna's aunt asks her to check on the old Holcomb place—a farmhouse that's sat empty since the family disappeared twenty years ago. The house is supposed to be locked up tight, but the front door swings open at a touch. Inside, a child's rocking chair moves on its own in the upstairs bedroom, the floorboards worn smooth in a perfect circle around it. The local story says the Holcomb girl never left—that she's still waiting…
The Carousel at the County Fairgrounds
Luna remembers a humid August night in 1997, when the carnival came to Selby County and she took her younger sister to ride the antique carousel one last time before it closed for the season. The horses were too lifelike, the music was off by half a beat, and the boy who collected tickets had eyes the color of rain. What she saw on the inside of that spinning circle has stayed with her for twenty-five years — a face she recognized, a voice she can still hear in the static between stations, and…
The Seamstress on Maple Street
In the spring of 1967, in the small town of Millbrook, New York, I met a woman named Mrs. Greer who lived alone on Maple Street. Her house had a front window where she kept a sewing dummy draped in a half-finished bridal gown. Everyone said she was the best seamstress in three counties, but no one had seen her leave her house in years. The night I brought her a moth-eaten coat to mend, I saw what she kept in the back room. The windows were sealed with black paper. The air smelled of…
The Closet Door at the Nightlight Motel
In the summer of '87, Luna spent three nights at the Nightlight Motel on Route 9, a low-slung roadside building with a flickering vacancy sign and a reputation for quiet disappearances. She was there to clear her head, but the room had other plans. The first night, the closet door drifted open at 2:17 AM. The second night, a child's voice said her name from inside. The third night, she finally opened it. What she found wasn't a monster, or a ghost, or a memory — it was something that had been…
The Cradle in the Attic of the Bishop House
In the fall of 1997, Luna’s aunt rented a century-old Victorian on Mulberry Street in the town of Ashford, New York. The house had a small attic room sealed with a hasp and padlock. Inside was a single object: a walnut cradle, carved by hand, with tiny teeth marks on the rim. Luna learned that the previous owners had lost an infant, but the cradle wasn't theirs. It had come with the house a hundred years before, passed down through generations of families who all left it untouched, afraid to…
The Swing Set on Harrison Avenue
August 1998, a dead-end street in Parma, Ohio. Luna was babysitting the Adler twins, a job she'd taken dozens of times. But that night, the backyard swing set was moving long after the girls were asleep. The chains creaked in a rhythm that matched nothing—no wind, no one pushing. When she looked out the kitchen window, she saw a woman in a pale blue dress sitting on the ground beneath the swings, knees drawn up, rocking. Not a mother, not a neighbor. Someone who whispered a name Luna had never…
The Wind Chime on Potters Lane
August 1987. A woman named Cora moves into a rented farmhouse on Potters Lane outside Elkhart, Indiana, hoping for a quiet summer to finish her thesis. But every night at 3:33 AM, the wind chime on the porch rings — even when the air is still. At first she thinks it's the neighbor's cat. Then she notices the chime has only one tube, and the sound it makes is not metal on metal. It's a voice. Her voice. Saying something she never said aloud. Luna tells the story of the week Cora spent trying to…
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