Episodes
The Isolation Ward on Willow Road
In the autumn of 2019, Luna worked a stretch of night shifts at Shady Grove Hospital's isolation ward on Willow Road. The ward was quiet—too quiet—until Mrs. Gable checked in. A woman with no family and a condition that made her see things that weren't there. Luna brought her meals, changed her sheets, and listened to her talk about the dark shape in the corner of the room. The one that wasn't a shadow. The one that moved when the power flickered. And then the monitor flatlined, and the call…
The Basement Pharmacy on Birchwood Lane
It was three in the morning in the basement of St. Jude's, and the pharmacy was supposed to be locked. Luna was filling a late-order for Room 212 when she heard the rattling — not from the door, but from inside the drug cabinet. The old pharmacist had left a note in the logbook about a patient who came every night at the same time, asking for a prescription that didn't exist. But when Luna checked the security footage, the camera showed something worse: the man at the counter, and the empty…
The Boiler Room on Spruce Street
A winter storm blankets Clarion, Iowa, and the hospital is silent except for a call from security about a noise in the basement boiler room. Luna descends to find no knocking pipes but a forgotten storage shelf holding a cracked leather journal. The pages belong to a man named Harlan, who claimed he was waiting for a door that would only open at 2:47 AM. As Luna reads his entries, the boiler cycles on—and the lights go out. She is not alone. She is not leaving. She is still there, writing this…
The Clockwork of Room 307 on Birch Road
A cold January night at Cypress Mills General Hospital. Luna is restocking supplies on the fifth floor when a rhythmic clicking draws her to room 307. Inside, an elderly man sits upright in bed, tapping his tongue against his teeth. He tells her she's coming down the hall in bare feet. Luna hears the footsteps herself, sees wet footprints appear on the linoleum, and a woman's voice calls his name. The old man rises, his eyes clear. He says she's been waiting forty years. When Luna flees and…
The Night Shift Log: The Maternity Ward on Cypress Lane
It's the dead of winter, just past 2 AM, and Luna is making rounds through the shuttered maternity ward on Cypress Lane. The hospital mothballed it years ago after the birth rate dropped, but the floor is still warm, the cribs still made up. She hears a baby crying from Room 204. The room is empty. Then from Room 208. Also empty. Then from the closed-off nursery, where someone has left a rocking chair swaying. She checks every corner, finds nothing alive. But when she gets back to the break…
The Chapel on Mulberry Road
The hospital chapel sees almost no use. Just one woman, Mrs. Alderman, who arrives every night at two in the morning, rain or snow, to sit in the third pew and pray for a daughter who died here a decade ago. Luna's seen her for months but never spoke to her — until tonight. The woman's presence is quiet, ordinary. The cold spot behind the altar is not. And when the chapel door swings shut on its own, and a voice whispers a single word, Luna realizes that grief can leave a door open. A story…
The Morgue Door on Sycamore Lane
It's the summer of 2012, just past midnight, and I'm covering a double shift at Northwood Memorial on Sycamore Lane. The air conditioning has been out for three days, and the whole hospital feels like a fever dream—hot, still, humming with something just beneath the surface. There's a door at the end of the basement corridor that no one talks about, the one with the rusted handle and the sign that reads 'Authorized Personnel Only' in letters that look like they were painted over and over again.…
The Night Shift Log The Morgue Stairwell on Mulberry Road
It's the summer of 2003 in the small town of Mulberry, Indiana — one of those towns where the hospital's back stairwell smells like bleach and something else, something the janitor pretends isn't there. Luna's working the night shift when an old man named Harold is brought in after a fall at the grain elevator. He's dead before he hits the floor, the paramedics say. But his chart shows he coded twice on the way in. The second time, in the stairwell. And that's where the electric hum started.…
The Morgue Coat on Elm Street
Luna recounts a winter night at St. Agatha's Hospital on Elm Street in the tiny town of Northwood, New Hampshire. A blizzard had shut down the roads, and Luna was alone on the overnight shift when a man walked into the morgue—looking for a coat. He was dead, she was sure of it. She had seen his file earlier that evening, a hit-and-run on Route 9. But there he stood, shivering in a soaked flannel, asking for something warm. She gave him a morgue coat from storage. He put it on, nodded, and…
The Morgue Shoe on Pine Street
Winter, 2019. A small county hospital in Pine Bluff, Arkansas. Luna is covering the night shift when a middle-aged man walks into the ER lobby holding a single worn loafer. He says it belongs to his wife, who died in the building forty years ago. He wants to leave the shoe with her body. The problem is, nobody can find her remains. The morgue records show she was released to a funeral home that never existed. Luna walks with him to the basement anyway, where a door at the end of the morgue…
The Morgue Light on Sycamore Lane
Luna recalls a quiet night on Sycamore Lane, winter of 2019, when the emergency generator failed and the morgue's backup light started blinking in a pattern that wasn't electrical. She met a woman in the hallway who smelled of formaldehyde and asked for a blanket. No one had checked the morgue log that night. The light is still blinking, somewhere in the dark of that hospital's basement, and Luna still hears her footsteps when the power dips. #TheNightShiftLog #FexingoHorror #HorrorPodcast…
The Night Shift Log The Morgue Drawer on Bellflower Road
It was three in the morning on a sticky August night in Bellflower Road, and the hospital's basement morgue had one empty drawer. Luna was supposed to be checking inventory—just a count of the tagged bodies, a clipboard, a quiet hour before sunrise. But the drawer that should have been empty wasn't. There was a man inside it. Not dead—not entirely. He opened his eyes and asked her a question in a voice that sounded like it had been underwater for years. She doesn't know how he got there, or why…
The Morgue File on Hemlock Road
In the small town of Hemlock Road, the county hospital morgue keeps a file drawer no one ever opens. Luna tells the story of a night she worked the shift alone and found a folder marked for a patient who checked in the same day—but the body was already waiting for her in the freezer. The details on the tag: a woman in her forties, blue dress, no ID. The file: a name she recognized from a missing-persons poster she'd seen taped to a streetlamp three years ago. No decay, no smell, no paperwork…
The Night Shift Log The Morgue Call Light on Mulberry Road
Luna recalls a night in the winter of 2017, working the graveyard shift at St. Jude's on Mulberry Road. The morgue call light flickered in the hallway for three hours before she dared to answer it. No body should be able to press that button. But the call light kept blinking, and the logbook said the drawer was empty. She checks the log again, and the same signature she saw last week appears, dated three years before she started. #FexingoHorror #HorrorPodcast #NightShiftLog #MulberryRoad…
The Night Shift Log The Morgue Basin on Mulberry Road
It's a quiet Tuesday in November, just past three in the morning, and Luna is the only orderly on duty at Mulberry Road Memorial. A call light blinks from the morgue — a room that should be empty. When she goes to check, she finds nothing amiss except the basin in the corner: the tap dripping, the drain slow, and something dark clinging to the porcelain. But the water is warm. And there's a smell she can't place — iron and old roses. The night takes her deeper into the basement than she'd ever…
The Night Shift Log The Morgue Elevator on Bellflower Road
It's the last week of November on Bellflower Road, and the hospital's basement morgue elevator has been acting up for months. Luna gets a call from the night security guard, a man named Carl, who says the elevator keeps stopping on its own at the morgue floor with no one inside. She doesn't believe him until she watches the security feed: the doors open, the light flickers, and for a split second, the floor is wet. Not with water. The next night, she takes the elevator down herself, just to…
The Cafeteria Vending Machine on Limekiln Road
Three a.m. in the basement cafeteria of a rural hospital in West Virginia, 1998. The only sound is the hum of the vending machine. A night-shift janitor named Theo tells me about the change he finds in the coin return every Thursday morning—always exactly three dollars and seventeen cents, always in pre-1965 silver quarters. He says he saw a woman in a pink bathrobe use the machine once, but she didn't have a face. Now I'm down here alone, waiting for my shift to end, and I hear the coins drop.…
The Night Shift Log The Morgue Window on Bellflower Road
Luna recalls a night in late October, working the graveyard shift at a small hospital on Bellflower Road in a town called Stillwater. She was alone on the floor when a call light started blinking from the closed morgue. The orderly before her had left a logbook with an entry about a window that shouldn't exist. Luna checked the morgue and found a window looking into a dark room where a woman in a blue hospital gown stood. She waved. Luna ran. The next night, the logbook had a new entry in her…
The Night Shift Log The Waiting Room on Sedgewick Street
In the winter of 2019, Luna worked a string of double shifts at St. Jude's Hospital on Sedgewick Street. The waiting room on the third floor had been closed for years—sealed off after a norovirus outbreak, or so the story went. But one night, the automatic doors slid open on their own, and Luna found herself inside a room that hadn't been touched in a decade. A single chair in the corner. A coat draped over the back. And a woman who spoke without moving her lips. This episode is a hushed…
The Night Shift Log The Linen Closet on Hemlock Road
Luna recounts a series of quiet disturbances at St. Jude's Hospital on Hemlock Road during the graveyard shift in late November 2003. The call light for room 217 keeps blinking even though the room has been empty for years. The linen closet door at the end of the hall opens on its own, and inside the folded sheets are warm, as if someone just walked out of them. Luna talks to the night custodian, an old woman named Mrs. Calvino, who tells her that the room belonged to a little girl who died of…
The Night Shift Log The Waiting Room on Sedgewick Street
It's February 2023, two in the morning, and the waiting room at Sedgewick County Hospital has been empty for hours. Luna is on her fourth cup of coffee when a woman walks in carrying a doll. Not a baby. A china doll with painted hair and a crack across its face. The woman sits in the corner and does not look up. She just holds the doll's hand. And then she starts to talk. The story she tells is one Luna will never forget — about a road, a headlight, a promise, and the thing that followed her…
The Night Shift Log: The Closed Ward on Grand Avenue
Luna recalls a winter night in 2017 when she was assigned to cover the fourth floor of St. Jude's Hospital on Grand Avenue in Millbrook, Indiana. The entire wing had been closed for years, but the call light kept blinking. A man in a brown cardigan sat in room 407, watching a television that wasn't there. The orderly who went in before her never came out. This is not a story about ghosts. It is a story about what hospitals keep in their empty rooms—and what happens when you forget to lock the…
The Night Shift Log: The Morgue Call Button on Bellflower Road
Luna recalls a night in the dead of winter at Bellflower Memorial Hospital, where the call button in the morgue kept lighting up. Not for a patient—for her. It started as a flicker in the corner of her eye, a red glow from the basement directory. She ignored it. But it kept blinking, on and off, with a rhythm that didn't match the power fluctuations. The one time she pressed it back, the button stayed lit, and from the speaker above the door came a voice she knew: her mother's, saying her name.…
The Night Shift Log: The Morgue Light on Bellflower Road
It's August 1987, just past midnight, and the red call-light in room 312 won't stop blinking. I'm working the night shift at St. Jude's on Bellflower Road, a small-town hospital that's been quiet for hours. The light belongs to a woman who died three days ago, but maintenance says the bulb is new. I walk down the corridor, past the tipped wheelchair and the flickering fluorescents, to check on it myself. What I find in that room isn't a ghost or a monster — it's something smaller, something…
The Hospital Morgue Door on Bellflower Road
Luna takes the night shift at Saint Dymphna's Hospital in Millhaven, Illinois, a place where the morgue elevator keeps stopping on the third floor even though nobody called it. The security guard Frankie tells her about the door that won't stay shut—the heavy steel door to the cold storage room, the one that swings open on its own at 3:17 AM every single night. Luna decides to watch the door herself, to see if it's just a faulty latch or something else. What she sees in the corridor that night…
The Night Shift Log: The Morgue Key on Ashcroft Street
It's the summer of 2008 in the tiny town of Ashcroft, Illinois. Luna is working the graveyard shift at the county hospital when an orderly named Delia hands her a tarnished brass key and a cryptic instruction: 'If the door on the third floor starts clicking at 2:17 a.m., unlock it. Don't ask why.' Luna thinks it's a prank, but when the clock on the wall ticks toward that exact minute, she finds herself walking the empty corridors, key in hand, to a door she's never noticed before. What she…
The Morgue Stretcher on Ashcroft Street
St. Jude's Hospital, Ashcroft Street, three-fifteen in the morning. Luna is filling out shift logs at the nurses' station when the basement morgue elevator opens on its own — a stretcher inside, empty, with a single word written on the sheet. She follows trail of wet footprints to a storage closet, finds the old man who insisted on being wheeled to the incinerator before he died. A story about a promise made to a dead man, and the thing that rode the elevator with him. Slow-burn, intimate, no…
The Morgue Window on Ashcroft Street
It's October 1998, and Luna is working the night shift at St. Jude's Hospital in Ashcroft, Illinois. The morgue has a small window that looks out onto a narrow alley—she's never paid it much attention until tonight. A woman in a pale blue dress appears at that window, face pressed to the glass, and something about the way she taps—twice, pause, three times—makes Luna feel like she knows her. What follows is a slow unraveling of a memory she thought she'd buried: a girl from her hometown who…
The Morgue Cupboard on Mulberry Road
Luna recalls a night in late October of 2021 on Mulberry Road, where a storage cupboard in the morgue held something that was never meant to be opened. A new orderly named Sam found a door that shouldn't have been there, tucked behind rows of metal shelving. Inside was a single jar, and inside that jar, a fragment of something that still moved. The hospital had no record of that cupboard. No key. No explanation. By the time Luna arrived, Sam was sitting against the wall, staring at nothing…
The Morgue TV on Mulberry Road
It's the summer of 2009, three in the morning, and Luna is alone in the basement morgue of Mulberry Road General Hospital when the old television mounted in the corner turns on by itself. No remote, no cable box, just static and white noise. But then the static clears, and on the screen she sees a patient she prepped hours ago—except he's sitting up, mouthing words she can't hear. She tries to ignore it, to focus on her paperwork, but the TV keeps pulling her back, and the man on the screen…
The Morgue Key on Mulberry Road
Luna recounts a night in early November, working the graveyard shift at St. Jude's Hospital on Mulberry Road. A call light from the morgue, a key that didn't fit any lock, and a woman in a blue dress who knew her name. The episode circles around a single encounter with a patient who shouldn't have been there, and a door that stayed open just a crack. #FexingoHorror #HorrorPodcast #StJudesHospital #MulberryRoad #MorgueKey #NightShift #NovemberNight #Elevator #BlueDress #CallLight #Orderly…
The Morgue Orderly on Mulberry Road
On a dead shift at St. Agatha's Hospital in Ponderosa, Oregon, orderly Luna encounters a blinking call light in room 312—a room that hasn't been occupied in years. But the woman inside is real enough: papery skin, a hospital gown from a different era, and a single request spoken in a voice like rust. What she asks for is impossible. What Luna brings her is worse. A quiet, lingering ghost story about kindness, obligation, and the things that wait in the spaces between shifts. #FexingoHorror…
The Morgue Chair on Mulberry Road
July 2023, 3:47 AM. I was filling out discharge paperwork at the nurses station on Mulberry Road when the call light in Room 312 started blinking. Room 312 had been empty for six weeks. The chair next to the bed was where Mrs. Kellerman used to sit with her husband before the cancer took him. She passed three weeks later. But the chair kept rocking. I checked the room — empty. The next night, the same light. The rocking chair. And then I saw her reflection in the window. Not a ghost — something…
The Morgue Thermometer on Mulberry Road
It's August in Yarrow, Texas. The asphalt shimmers, the air conditioning wheezes, and the dead aren't staying cold. Luna leans against the breakroom counter, listening to the ice machine groan. A new orderly—Jenny from the night shift—mentions the body in cooler three. The one that won't stop bleeding. The one that was brought in three days ago, still leaking a thin, clear fluid from the nostril. Luna goes to check. The thermometer reads sixty-eight degrees. The body should be thirty-eight. She…
The Morgue Fan on Mulberry Road
It's August 2022 on Mulberry Road, and the air conditioning in the county morgue has been out for three days. Luna fills in for a sick coworker and finds herself alone with two bodies and a single oscillating fan that sounds like a heartbeat. The heat makes everything slow, sticky, and strange — the smell, the silence, the way the light catches a sheet when the fan turns. But the worst part isn't the dead. It's that one of the body bags is zipped from the inside, and the fan keeps stopping at…
The Morgue Door on Mulberry Road
It was a Tuesday in late October, just before midnight, and the hospital on Mulberry Road had a maintenance door that should have been locked. Luna found it ajar on her third round, the security guard's clipboard missing from the hook. The corridor beyond smelled of damp plaster and something else — something that reminded her of the morgue fridge when it was empty. She followed the sound of dripping water to a room that wasn't on any floor plan, where a single red call-light blinked from…
The Morgue Door on Hemlock Road (Part 2)
Luna returns to the morgue on Hemlock Road, where a door that should not exist keeps opening onto a corridor that isn't there. She traces a pattern in the frost on the inside of the viewing window and watches a figure approach from the dark. A story about the things that wait on the other side of a threshold you cannot lock. #TheNightShiftLog #FexingoHorror #HorrorPodcast #Morgue #Door #HemlockRoad #SmallTown #Winter #3AM #Frost #Corridor #Threshold #Luna #Orderly #Darkness #Memory #Grief…
The Morgue Key on Ponderosa Road
It's the summer of 2002 in the small town of Millbrook, and the heat is unbearable. Luna works night shifts at the county hospital, where the air conditioning is always broken in the oldest wing. One night, she finds a set of keys left behind in the morgue—keys that don't belong to any lock she knows. The janitor tells her about a sub-basement sealed off decades ago, and the keys fit its door. What she finds down there isn't a body. It isn't even a room. It's a corridor that doesn't exist on…
The Morgue Lock on Hemlock Road
Luna recounts a night in early October 2019, working the graveyard shift at a small hospital in Hemlock Road, Ohio. A new orderly, Danny, is tasked with cleaning the morgue after a long-dead body is finally claimed. But the lock on the morgue door keeps clicking open by itself. Danny thinks it's a faulty latch. Luna knows better. As the night wears on, the lock's behavior changes—and so does the smell coming from behind the door. A quiet, unsettling episode about the things that wait to be…
The Morgue Door on Birchwood Lane
During a quiet winter night in Mercy Falls, Luna covers a double shift and encounters a woman whose grief has taken a strange, persistent form. The woman's husband died in the hospital three months ago, but she insists he's still there—not as a ghost, but as a presence trapped between floors. Luna follows her to the basement morgue, where a door that should be locked stands wide open, and the call-light above it blinks red. What she finds inside makes her question the line between memory and…
The Morgue Elevator on Maplewood Road
It's one in the morning on a Tuesday in early March, and the hospital on Maplewood Road is quiet. Luna is working the night shift alone when the service elevator begins to arrive at her floor, doors opening to an empty car—every time she calls it. But the call button isn't pressed from any other floor. The elevator is coming from the morgue level, where the only person with access has been dead for six hours. Luna gets in anyway. This is a story about the weight of being alone in a building…
The Morgue Phone on Sycamore Lane
Luna takes a night shift at a small-town hospital in Meridian, Ohio, during a late November cold snap. The morgue phone rings at 3:17 a.m. The caller ID shows a disconnected number. The person on the other end knows her name. She tries to trace the call, but the hospital switchboard is down. The phone keeps ringing, each time with a different voice—a patient she lost, a nurse who quit, a child who died three years ago. The final call is from a man who says he is standing at the end of the…
The Morgue Logbook on Cypress Lane
A hospital orderly's night shift unravels when she discovers a logbook in the basement morgue that records not just the dead—but the living. Each entry is dated months from now. Each name is someone she knows. And tonight, her own name appears, typed neatly in the next empty line. Set in the small town of Crosshaven, Indiana, in the dead of winter, this is a story about the weight of foreknowledge and the unbearable quiet of a corridor that should be empty. #FexingoHorror #HorrorPodcast…
The Morgue Monitor on Ridgeway Road
In the back corridor of a small-town hospital in Ridgeway, Vermont, the staff have long stopped questioning the flickering monitor in the morgue alcove. It shows no camera feed, has no input jack, yet every night between 2 and 3 AM it displays a live view of the inside of a locked, empty drawer. When orderly Luna is left alone with the monitor during a blizzard, she watches the image change — slowly, impossibly — and begins to understand that emptiness is not what it looks like from the…
The NICU Monitor on Parker Road
November 2017, Saint Agatha's Women's Hospital on Parker Road in rural Ohio. Luna pulls a double shift in the Level II NICU, covering for a nurse who called in sick. The babies are quiet—too quiet—except for one isolate in the corner whose monitor keeps flatlining and restarting. No staff goes near it. The attending says it's been there longer than she has. Luna checks the logbook and finds the baby has no name, no mother, no birth time. Just a code. And a note written in red ink: Do not…
The Morgue Clock on Wisteria Lane
It was the summer of 2009, at the county morgue on Wisteria Lane in a town that had one traffic light and a sign welcoming you to nowhere. I was filling in for the night clerk—just a temp gig, six shifts, no one warned me about the waiting room. There was a clock on the wall, a round white thing with a second hand that never moved right. And there was a woman who came in every night, same time, same plastic raincoat, asking for the name on the door. She never said whose. I started checking the…
The Morgue Logbook on Elderberry Lane
A night-shift orderly at a small-town hospital signs into the morgue logbook and finds a name she knows—her own. The entry is dated three days from now, with a cause of death she can't explain. As she investigates, she discovers the logbook has been recording deaths before they happen, and the last page is already filled with tomorrow's names—including colleagues, strangers, and one final entry that changes everything. Set in the dead of winter at Riverbend General, this is a story about time…
The Morgue Light on Dogwood Lane
January 2018. A night-shift orderly at a rural hospital in Linwood, Iowa, finds a child's body in the morgue with a glowing light coming from its chest. The light pulses, warm, like a heartbeat. No one else sees it. The morgue attendant—a woman named Delia who has worked the basement for twenty years—tells her the light has appeared before, always in the bodies of the very young or very old. It means the person is not finished. What it wants, Delia never says. Luna watches the light fade by…
The Morgue Call on Valley View Road
Winter 2012. Valley View Road, outside a small town in upstate New York. I worked the night shift at a rural hospital that had seen better days. The ER was quiet, the morgue was full, and the phone on the clerk's desk kept ringing with calls from a number that shouldn't have existed. This is what I heard when I finally picked up. #FexingoHorror #HorrorPodcast #NightShiftLog #Morgue #PhoneCall #ValleyViewRoad #UpstateNewYork #Hospital #Winter #GhostStory #Unsettling #Luna #Creepy #Podcast…
The Blood Draw on Whitney Road
December 2019, three AM, the urgent care on Whitney Road in Hadley, Ohio. Luna is working the overnight shift when a woman walks in with a single request: a blood draw, nothing else. No insurance card, no ID, no explanation. Her skin is cold and her veins are flat. The blood in the tube is wrong — too dark, too thick, and it never clots. Luna goes looking for answers in the logbook from the previous night and finds a name that should not be there. A story about what we owe the dead, and what…
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