Episodes
The Man Who Heard the Hymn at Grey Gull Point
October, just past midnight. A retired fisherman named Elias lives alone in a cottage at Grey Gull Point, Maine. For weeks, he's been hearing a hymn sung by a single voice from the water—a woman's soprano, clear and cold, rising above the surf. He tells me he's never seen her, only the faint glow of a lantern moving among the rocks below the tide line. One night, he rows out to find the source. What he hears up close changes the way he looks at the sea. This is a story about longing…
The Man Who Hauled the Anchor at Cold Harbor
Luna tells the story of Elias, a fisherman from the quiet coastal town of Cold Harbor, Maine, who discovered a massive anchor in the shallows one autumn night—unattached to any ship. What started as a curiosity became an obsession as he returned night after night to haul the chain, never reaching its end. His daughter Agnes recounts how the anchor pulled him under, and how the chain still sounds from the deep on still nights. A slow-burn maritime horror about what lies beneath the known waters.…
The Man Who Counted the Links at Mistake Island
Winter, 1987. I spent a week on Mistake Island — a scrap of rock off the Maine coast — helping a retired lighthouse keeper named August inventory the old fog bell station. The bell had been decommissioned and shipped to a museum years before, but August swore he still heard it at night, ringing from the water. I thought it was grief or solitude. Then he showed me the chain — a rusted length he'd been hauling up from the cove, link by link, counting each one. The chain was still attached to…
The Woman Who Heard the Bell at Hardscrabble Point
Late November, a night so thick with fog you could taste the salt. Luna sits in the keeper’s cottage at Hardscrabble Point, Maine, with a woman named Elara. Her husband’s trawler went down three weeks ago. Now, every night, she hears a bell ringing from the cellar — a small handbell, not the fog bell on the reef. She says it’s him, trying to come home. Luna listens as the sound rises through the floorboards, and what Elara does next will stay with her forever. No ghosts, no gore — just a woman…
The Woman Who Weighed the Net at Dunn's Harbor
On a cold November night in 1997, Luna hears a story from an old fisherman in Dunn's Harbor, Maine. Martha Coyle, a solitary fisherwoman, hauled her net one last time before winter. But the net came up heavy—not with fish, but with something that bent the lines and left a wet weight in the boat. She never told anyone what she found, but the net still hangs in her yard, dripping even on dry days. A quiet, sinking tale of what the sea gives back. #ColdWake #FexingoHorror #HorrorPodcast…
The Woman Who Saw the Face at Haddock Cove
September fog rolls thick over the Gulf of Maine, and Luna is alone on the deck of the trawler when she hears a voice—her own name, spoken from the water. Leaning over the rail, she sees a woman's face floating just below the surface: pale, eyes open, lips moving in words that never reach the air. No body follows. No rescue is needed. But later, on her arm, a wet handprint that stays cold for days. This is the story of a drowned woman whose promise to return found its way through the fog. Set…
The Woman Who Saw the Rope at Grayhook Bank
Luna recalls a night in late October, 2019, on the deck of the Cynthia Marie, thirty miles off Grayhook Bank. The trawler's net snagged something heavy — not a rock, not a wreck, not a whale. The captain, a woman named Ellen Orris, insisted on hauling it up instead of cutting it free. What came over the gunwale was not catch. It was a length of wet rope, tied in a loop, and tied again, and again, in knots that seemed to have no ends. Luna watched Ellen's hands as she tried to untie them. She…
The Woman Who Saw the Wake at Stillwater Bend
Luna sits on the deck of the North Atlantic trawler *Persephone* at two in the morning, a half-mile off the coast of a town called Stillwater Bend. She tells the story of a woman she met there six years ago—a woman named Della who lived in a house at the end of a gravel road that dead-ends at a marsh. Della had a husband who went out on a skiff and never came back. And then she started seeing a wake on the marsh at night. Not a boat. Not a fish. A wake with no source, moving against the wind…
The Man Who Saw the Sonar at Grayhook Bank
Off Grayhook Bank, November 2009, the trawler Mary Ellen picked up a sonar return that looked like a church spire rising from the mud. The skipper, a man named Harlan Corbitt, spent three hours circling that patch of water while the rest of the crew watched the screen and felt something press against the hull from below. Luna tells the story of what Harlan saw when he finally dropped a chain over the side — not a wreck, not a rock, but something that had been waiting for the right depth, the…
The Keeper of the Trawl Net at Little Rest
In the winter of 1998, on the frozen pier of Little Rest, Maine, Luna heard a story from a woman named Elara who kept a trawl net in her cellar. The net was old, its twine black with age, and it seemed to catch things that no longer lived. Elara didn't fish with it. She hung it from a beam and let the darkness pool in its mesh. Luna follows the story from Elara's kitchen to the net's final haul on a night when the tide didn't come back. A quiet, salt-stained episode about what the ocean leaves…
The Man Who Saw the Window at Stillwater Bend
On a dead-calm night in October of 2019, Luna sat in a diner outside the town of Stillwater, Minnesota, waiting out a storm that never came. A man named Harlan walked in smelling of wet wool and diesel, and told her about a window he'd seen in a lake house that shouldn't have existed—a window that showed a living room from the wrong angle, with a woman inside who was doing everything backward. Harlan wasn't looking for belief. He just needed to say it out loud. What Luna saw when he pointed…
The Woman Who Saw the Hand at Shellback Inlet
It was late October in Port Rennie, a fishing town on the Maine coast that doesn't bother with tourists after Labor Day. Luna's neighbor, an old lobsterman named Caleb Tarr, started hauling traps that came up wrong — not empty, but filled with something that wasn't supposed to be there. A hand. Not a real one, but the shape of one, pressed into the silt at the bottom of each trap, like a fossil made of mud and brine. He kept hauling. The hands got clearer. The fourth one had a ring. Luna helps…
The Woman Who Saw the Rope at Fiddler's Reach
On a still September night in 1987, on the tidal flats of Fiddler's Reach, Maine, a woman named Hilda Oakes watched a rope rise from the mud. Not driftwood. Not a mooring line. A new, dry rope, coiled as if placed by a careful hand, leading out into the fog where no boat could go. This is the story of what she did next, and what the rope did not do. No violence. No screaming. Just a quiet, wrong thing that she carried home in her hands, and the way the house felt different after. The way the…
The Woman Who Tied the Knot at Salt Run Creek
September 1998, just north of Grayling, Michigan, on a narrow two-lane bridge over Salt Run Creek. Luna’s cousin Ellie was the one who found the knots—fisherman’s bends tied in orange nylon rope, looped around the bridge rail in broad daylight, one every ten feet for half a mile. Ellie was a fly-fishing guide, knew every knot by touch, and these were wrong. The loops were too small. The tails were cut too short. And they were wet, even though it hadn’t rained in three weeks. Luna tells the…
The Woman Who Saw the Rope at Parson's Nose
October 2023. A woman named Etta takes a seasonal job at a derelict lighthouse on a narrow spit of sand off the Virginia coast. The lantern hasn't been lit in forty years. Her only company is a silent keeper named Morrow who leaves notes under her door. She begins to see a rope at night — a single, frayed line stretching from the lighthouse tower into the surf, never taut, never slack. When she tries to follow it, the rope leads her to something that has been waiting in the shallows since the…
The Man Who Heard the Rope at Scarwater Cove
When Luna's trawler pulls into Scarwater Cove for repairs, an old fisherman named Kellner tells her about the rope he found tangled in his propeller last winter — a rope that was still warm, still wet, and still tied to something heavy that wanted to be hauled up. As Kellner speaks, the deck lights flicker, and the water beneath the boat begins to hum. A quiet, suffocating episode about the things you should never pull from the deep. #ScarwaterCove #Kellner #TheRope #NorthAtlantic #Trawler…
The Man Who Found the Rope at Driftwood Cove
September 2023, on a long beach south of Astoria, Oregon, where the waves pull back to reveal a rope that wasn't there the day before. A retired crabber named Ellis Copley spends six nights walking the same stretch, watching the rope rise and tighten around something he cannot see. Luna tells the story of what happened when he finally touched it, and why he doesn't go near the water anymore. This is a quiet, salt-stained horror about things caught below the surface, and the patience of the…
The Woman Who Saw the Wake at Black Sand Cove
Luna tells the story of a late October night in 1993 on the coast of Maine, where a retired fisherman named Ellis Carver saw a light moving across the water long after the last boat had come in. The light did not blink. It did not follow the channel. And when he rowed out to meet it, the wake it left behind did not behave like water. This is not a ghost story about a shipwreck — it is about something that learned to mimic a boat, and the man who could not stop watching it come closer. Set at…
The Woman Who Saw the Shore at Dunmore Beach
Luna recounts a night in late October 1997, when she walked the tide line at Dunmore Beach, Rhode Island, and met a woman who was not supposed to be there. The woman wore a blue dress soaked through, and she pointed at something in the sand that Luna could not see at first. By the time Luna understood what she was looking at, the woman was gone. This episode is about the shape of a human hand drawn in wet sand, the way the tide erases things slowly, and the feeling of being watched from the…
The Woman Who Saw the Wake at Kettle Hole
January stretches on past endurance in the town of Kettle Hole, a rutted road and a boarded-up diner at the edge of a frozen bog. The cold sits so deep the ground cracks. Luna's friend Ellie, a wildlife photographer, goes out one night to shoot the ice — and captures something in her long-exposure frames that shouldn't have been there. A wake on the bog, in the dead of winter, moving against the wind. Not an animal. Not a person. A shape that only appears in the camera's slow burn, and that…
The Woman Who Saw the Light at Moth Bridge
On a dead-still October night in 2002, Luna sits in a parked car on Moth Bridge, a rusted iron span over the Blackwater River in eastern Pennsylvania. She is waiting for the light — a phosphorescent glow that local fishermen say rises from the water at midnight, pulsing like a heartbeat. The light has been seen for generations, always by women whose names are forgotten by morning. Tonight, she watches it climb out of the river, dripping and cold, and she understands why the witnesses never…
The Man Who Saw the Match at Farrow Island
March 1987, Farrow Island, Maine — a six-mile stretch of rock and scrub pine at the mouth of Penobscot Bay. Luna was there for a week, cataloging wrecks for a maritime museum. She met an old man named Ezra who lived alone in a shingled house at the north end. Every night he lit a single match on his porch and held it until it burned his fingers. He could not explain why. He said it started after the winter of '73, when the tanker Marie Louise went down in a February gale and every man aboard…
The Woman Who Sat Up with the Corpse at Little Rest
In the winter of 1999, on a dead-end road called Little Rest, Luna's neighbor Vera stayed awake for three nights with her husband's body. No one asked her to. The coroner was snowed in, the plows wouldn't run until morning, and the house sat at the bottom of a hill where the phone lines had been down since Tuesday. Vera didn't cry. She just sat in the rocking chair beside the bed, watching the snow pile on the windowsill, and talked to him about the things she'd never said when he could hear…
The Woman Who Heard the Line at Spindle Cove
October 1982, a moonless night off Spindle Cove. Luna's great-aunt Marian worked the net-mending shed at the co-op, a quiet woman who never talked about what she heard through the spool of a dry rope. But one November evening, after a gale that took two men off the 'Margaret Rose,' Marian took a coil of line home and began listening. What she heard in the twist of the fibers—voices, names, a sound like a hull caving in—made her walk into the surf three days later. Luna tells the story her…
The Woman Who Counted the Ropes at Spindle Cove
Luna tells the story of a November night in 2017, when a woman named Iris arrived at Spindle Cove, Maine, to inventory a dead lobsterman's gear shed. The ropes were not ropes. They were something else, something that had been growing, waiting, and counting back. Luna was there, helping a friend of a friend, and she saw the tally marks on the shed wall — thousands of them, in a hand that was not the lobsterman's. The thing in the ropes had been keeping score. And when Luna turned to leave, she…
The Woman Who Saw the Light at Dead Man's Slough
December 2019. A dead-end road in Barrow County, Maine. Luna's car dies at the edge of Dead Man's Slough, a stretch of frozen marsh where the only light comes from a single gas station at the far end. She walks toward it through the snow, past a row of burned-out houses, past a truck with the engine still running and no one inside. The station attendant tells her about the woman who comes every night to see the light—a light that shows her the people she lost. But the light isn't hers. It's…
The Woman Who Saw the Wake at Ketch Cove
Luna recounts a night in the fall of 2012 when a man named Elias Harrow, a retired fisherman on the coast of Maine, started seeing a second wake trailing his boat—a wake that didn't match his engine's rhythm. At first he thought it was a log or a seal, but the water was flat calm and the sound was off. The wake kept pace, and then he heard a voice, thin and wet, calling his name from behind the boat. He never turned around. He sold the boat the next week. But the wake followed him home, showing…
The Woman Who Heard the Bell at Driftwood Beach
In the winter of 2019, on a stretch of Massachusetts coast known as Driftwood Beach, a retired marine biologist named Eleanor began hearing a bell at low tide. Not a buoy bell—something older, something that rang from beneath the sand. This is the story of what she found when she followed the sound, and what it cost her to listen. A quiet, chilling tale about grief, memory, and the things that refuse to stay buried. #DriftwoodBeach #Eleanor #ShipBell #DrownedTown #LowTide #Beachcombing…
The Man Who Tracked the Ripple at Dead Man's Slough
A retired hydrographer named Harlan Pierce spent forty years mapping underwater sound for the Coast Survey. When he moved to a quiet fishing village on the Oregon coast, he began noticing a strange pattern in the Doppler readings from an old channel marker at Dead Man's Slough — a ripple that pulsed at three in the morning, exactly once a week, with no source. He installed a hydrophone, and what he heard beneath the water was not the ocean. It was a voice, calling the same name over and over, a…
The Woman Who Took the Night Watch at Fathom Sound
Luna recalls meeting a woman named Ada who served as the lone night watch at Fathom Sound, a defunct Coast Guard station on the Maine coast. Every night for ten years, Ada would walk the breakwater under a quarter-moon, logging her rounds in a ledger that grew thick with weather and emptiness. When Luna spent a season on the island doing marine work, Ada confided that something had begun to answer her rounds — not from the mainland, but from the far side of the fog. By the time Luna left, Ada's…
The Man Who Counted the Ropes at Spindle Cove
On a night so still the stars seemed painted, an old fisherman on the Maine coast teaches Luna a quiet, terrible lesson about the ropes that tether a boat to the harbor—and the ones that tether a soul to this world. At Spindle Cove, the fog comes without wind, and the bell buoys ring without a swell. He showed her the slipknot that must never be tied, and why some men, when they go out, choose not to come back. A story about the weight of a single line, the sound of wet rope coiling on a silent…
The Man Who Saw the Light at Loftus Narrows
November 2023, a dead-calm night on the Maine coast. An old fisherman named Ezra tells Luna about a light he saw twice in Loftus Narrows—once as a boy, once last winter. The light doesn't come from a boat or a buoy. It moves against the current, and it remembers him. In a shed full of coiled rope and diesel, Ezra shows her a logbook with a single glowing entry. Luna listens as the tide goes slack. A story about being recognized by something that should not see you. #LoftusNarrows #Ezra #Maine…
The Man Who Saw the Trawl at Loftus Narrows
January 1997, a deckhand named Ezra on a single-lane bridge over Loftus Narrows, Maine. He sees a trawler he knows is wrecked pass beneath him — nets full, running lights dark, a figure at the wheel who does not turn. Luna pieces together what Ezra saw that night and what he found when he drove to the landing the next morning: a boat that was not there, a net that was, and a photograph of a man who had been dead for twelve years. Slow-building, ice-bound, and quiet. #ColdWake #FexingoHorror…
The Man Who Measured the Sound at Thistle Cove
May 2022, a Wednesday night just past eleven. Luna's skiff drifts into Thistle Cove under a half-moon, following a story she'd heard from an old deckhand named Ellery. He said the cove used to sing — not the slap of water on rock, but a low note, deep and steady, that came up through the hull of any boat that crossed it. The old fishermen called it the Thistle hum. They stopped talking about it after the granite quarry closed and the sound changed. Luna moored at the cove's north end, where a…
The Man Who Saw the Light at Ragged Point
On a fog-thick September night in 1987, Luna's uncle Elias saw a light where no light should be—out past Ragged Point, where the channel narrows and the current rips. He was fifteen, lying on the bluff with a girl named Margaret, when it rose from the water: green and steady, not a boat lamp, not a beacon. The next morning, the Coast Guard dragged the channel for a missing skiff. No bodies were found. But Elias never forgot the way the light seemed to look back. Thirty years later, he takes…
The Man Who Saw the Light at Ragged Point
Luna recounts a winter night three years ago, when she met a man on the pier at Ragged Point, Maine—a small fishing town that clings to the coast like a barnacle. He was old, with hands that had known rope and rain for sixty years. He told her about a light he'd seen offshore, years before, during a storm that took his brother's boat. Not a lighthouse. Not a ship. Something that blinked in patterns no beacon should. He said it came back every winter, and that it was closer now. Luna stayed with…
The Woman Who Kept the Light at Moth Bridge
On a January night in 2018, Luna helped an old woman on the coast of Maine who was trying to reach a bridge that no longer exists. The woman wore a dress from the 1940s and spoke of a lighthouse that was never built. Luna drove her to the shore where the bridge used to be, and what she saw there changed how she understands light and water and the things that wait between them. A quiet, slow-burn story about memory, ritual, and a debt that outlasts the living. #MothBridge #MaineCoast #Lighthouse…
The Woman Who Watched the Sounder at Gannet Rock
November 2023. A crack in a salt-crusted window on Gannet Rock, a half-mile off the coast of Witherby, Maine. A retired harbor master’s widow, Elara Hoyle, stays on the island through November to close the lighthouse for the season. She notices the bell buoy off the south ledge has begun ringing on calm days — no wind, no current. She radios the station. They say the buoy is fine. She rows out anyway. The chain is intact. The clapper is rusted still. The sound comes from underneath. Luna tells…
The Woman Who Heard the Bell in the Ice at Stony Cove
Winter, 1983. A woman alone on a frozen lake in northern Minnesota, ice-fishing through a hole in the dark. The auger jams at four feet. Something taps the line from below. Not a fish. Not a snag. A rhythm. A pattern. A code she almost understands. By the time she pulls the line up, the bell on her tip-up is ringing in the wrong key—and the ice beneath her sled has started to groan in the same pitch. A slow, intimate horror about the things that answer when we listen too long in the cold.…
The Woman Who Bought the House on Salt Wash Lane
February 2020, a few miles inland from the coast, on a road that doesn't appear on any county map. Luna tells the story of Margaret Hoyle, who inherited a house from a great-aunt she never met, sight unseen. The house was cheap, the town was quiet, and the realtor mentioned only one thing: the previous occupant had asked for a very specific kind of lock on the basement door. Margaret thought nothing of it. Then she found the photographs in the attic, all of them taken from the window of the…
The Man Who Heard the Trawl at Number Nine
A story about a man named Harlan Bouchard who fished the Grand Banks for thirty years without incident until the night of November 12, 1998, when his trawl net snagged on something that should not have been there. The net came up empty but the warp wire was scored with parallel grooves like fingernail marks. Three weeks later the same thing happened at the same coordinates on a different boat. Harlan started keeping a log of every vessel that reported a snag at the spot the fishermen call…
The Man Who Listened to the Spar Buoy at Loon Channel
On a mid-October evening in 2017, I met a man named Caleb Washburn on the deck of a rented skiff, half a mile off Ragged Island. He was fifty-seven, a retired hydrologist from Bangor who had been coming to the same patch of water every Tuesday for three years, listening. He said the buoy at Loon Channel — a steel spar, painted red, number 17 — had started to hum on a frequency that didn't match the tide or the wind. He recorded it. He showed me the spectrograms on his phone. The pattern was not…
The Man Who Measured the Wake at Halfmile Shoal
A retired marine surveyor takes a small motorboat out past Halfmile Shoal on a September night in 2019 to prove a fifty-year-old chart wrong. He brings a laser rangefinder, a notebook, and a thermos of cold coffee. What he finds is not a sandbar. The water doesn't move the way it should. The wake from his own boat curls back at him from three directions at once. Luna tells the story of Arthur Pense, who spent his whole life measuring things that were supposed to stay still — and what happened…
The Man Who Watched the Sounder at Grey Gull Inn
Late October, two years ago, Luna took a room at the Grey Gull Inn on the coast of Maine—a narrow Victorian boarding house built on a shelf of rock above the tide. The place was nearly empty. The only other guest was a man named Elias, who did not sleep. Each night he sat by the picture window in the parlor, watching a battered depth sounder he had salvaged from a wreck. He told Luna he was waiting for the machine to register something it had never shown before—a contour that did not match any…
The Woman Who Fed the Light at Peeper's Cove
August 1997. A woman named Elara rents a cottage on the Maine coast, two miles from the nearest town. Every night she walks to the cove with a lantern and a bucket of eels. The locals tell her the light is for the dead. She doesn't believe them — until she meets the figure waiting on the rocks. A story about hunger, loneliness, and the price of keeping something alive. Luna tells it from the deck of a trawler, the sea dark and endless below. #FexingoHorror #HorrorPodcast #ColdWake #MaineCoast…
The Woman Who Haunted the Buoy at Ragged Point
February 2023, at the far end of Ragged Point jetty where the Coast Guard buoy keeper works alone. Luna met a woman who came every night to sit by the channel marker — the one that had been ringing for weeks without wind. The woman told her about the boy she lost to the reef twelve years ago, and about the sound that started the night his body was found. Luna sat with her until the buoy stopped ringing at exactly 3:47 AM. Now she can't stop thinking about that silence — and what it means that…
The Woman Who Found the Record in the Attic
Hutto, Texas. 1979. A woman named Vera inherits her uncle's farmhouse and finds a sealed box in the attic containing a single reel-to-reel tape labeled 'DEER CREEK SETTLEMENT 1888.' She borrows a player from the local library — a man named Tinsley who warns her not to listen alone. She does. The recording begins with a fiddle and a woman singing. Then the music stops. What follows is a slow, unbroken account of a town that built itself around a promise made to something that came up from the…
The Woman Who Walked the Bluff at Three Fathom Bend
October 1992. A bend in the Tennessee River so sharp the channel markers don't align, and a night so still the fog hung in the branches like wet linen. Luna met a woman named Cora at the general store outside Three Fathom Bend, who told her about the bluff walk she took every night at three in the morning — the same hour her husband's dredge boat went down forty-three years ago. Cora didn't walk for exercise or sleep. She walked because something walked with her, something that had been waiting…
The Woman Who Found the Bell in the Ice
February 2023. The Bering Sea, just south of Saint George. Luna's crew hauls a long-lost bell from a net — bronze, barnacle-caked, engraved with a name that shouldn't exist. The ship it came from sank seventy years ago, but the bell still rings on still nights. Luna meets an old woman in Unalaska who knows the story: a bride married to the sea, a winter gale, a promise broken. Every time the bell tolls, someone on the water is called home. Luna leaves it on a dock, but the ringing follows her.…
The Man Who Carried the Light to Whitson Head
April 1997, four miles off Whitson Head on the Maine coast. I was on a friend's lobster boat when we found a rowboat adrift with a man who had no memory of how he got there. He wore a brass medallion with a lighthouse etched into it—one that had been decommissioned and locked for twenty years. What he said about the keeper's final night, and what he did with the lantern he carried, still makes me check the horizon before I turn out my own lights. #ColdWake #FexingoHorror #HorrorPodcast…
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