Episodes
The Night the Record Carried a Voice in Jal
Luna finds a thrift-store record with no label in Jal, New Mexico, late November 1998. Side A is a forgotten country song. Side B… is a woman's voice, barely there, asking for help from a basement. Each time the needle falls, the plea changes. The groove never ends. A slow-burn encounter with a voice that knows you're listening. #SideB #FexingoHorror #HorrorPodcast #Luna #JalNewMexico #ThriftStore #VinylRecord #MysteriousVoice #Loop #PleaFromTheDark #Basement #RecordPlayer #Haunted…
The Night the Neon Stayed On at the Diner in Groom
A letter from the Texas Panhandle leads Luna to a Route 66 diner where the neon sign never flickers. Inside, a waitress who has been there for decades serves coffee that never cools, a clock that never ticks, and a mysterious patron who has been eating the same slice of pie since 1955. Luna tries to leave but finds the door won't open—the sign stays on because someone has to be there. What happens when the neon finally burns out? This episode is a slow-burn meditation on time, obligation, and…
The Night the Crossing Bells Kept Ringing at the Tracks in Pyote
In the ghost town of Pyote, Texas, a long-haul trucker named Grace takes a wrong turn onto a forgotten county road just after midnight in August 2005. She finds herself stopped at a railroad crossing whose gates lower and bells ring without a train in sight. Each time she tries to leave, the cycle repeats at precisely 3:33 AM. When she finally steps between the rails, she discovers the tracks are singing a pattern—and the passenger door of her rig has swung open. Luna recounts a story from a…
The Night the Record Kept Playing at the Thrift Store in Tucumcari
Luna picks up a mysterious unmarked record from a thrift store in Tucumcari, New Mexico. The record—labeled 'Side B' in handwriting—contains the faint sound of a woman singing a lullaby, with a distinct knocking in the background. When she plays it at home, the track repeats, but each time the knocking becomes more insistent, and a whisper begins: 'Let me in.' A call to the thrift store reveals the record came from a house where a woman vanished decades ago, and her husband was found dead in a…
The Night the Drive-In Screen Never Went Dark Outside Ballinger
Luna recalls the summer of 2003 in Ballinger, Texas, when the old drive-in theater reopened for one final season. The owner, a man named Harlan, ran the projector alone under a sky full of static. People came from three counties, drawn by something in the air—a hum that wasn't from the speakers, a flicker that wasn't on the screen. Luna's cousin Maggie took her there on a Friday in August, and they watched a film that wasn't in any catalog. The reel never ended. The screen kept glowing after…
The Night the Phone Rang at the Motel in Dalhart
A cold November night in 1997. I was working the front desk at a motel in Dalhart, Texas, a place where the only sound after midnight is the wind. The phone rang at 3:17 AM. A woman's voice, thin and distant, asking for a room she'd stayed in ten years ago. I told her we were full—we weren't—but she insisted. She described the room perfectly: the peeling floral wallpaper, the cigarette burn on the nightstand, the crack in the bathroom mirror that looked like a lightning strike. I told her I'd…
The Night the Dam Held Still on the Brazos Outside Seymour
August 1997. A hundred-year drought has cracked the Texas earth and drained the Brazos River to a muddy trickle. Near the town of Seymour, the old Wichita Falls Dam — decommissioned since the fifties — stands dry for the first time in living memory. A retired lineman named Hollis Purdy drives out one Sunday night to see what the receding water has uncovered. He finds a door in the concrete. Not a maintenance hatch. A proper door, with hinges and a knob, set into the downstream face of the dam…
The Night the Billboard Stayed Lit on Highway 54
Somewhere between Liberal and Guymon, on a dead-straight stretch of Highway 54, there's a billboard that never goes dark. Not because the bulb is stuck. Not because the sign company forgot. Luna heard about it from a trucker named Del who drove that route every Friday at 3 a.m. for eleven years. He said the billboard used to advertise a motel that burned down in 1987. Now it just shows a woman's face. Same woman. Every night. No logo. No phone number. No address. Just her looking down at the…
The Night the Station Wagon Ran on Empty Outside of Lamesa
It was the hottest summer on record in the high plains of West Texas, and Luna's car died on a farm-to-market road three miles south of Lamesa. She walked to the only light for miles: a clapboard church with a single blue bulb burning over the door. Inside, a woman named Esther sat alone in the front pew, her hands folded around a cassette tape she said had been playing in her husband's truck the night he disappeared twenty years ago. She asked Luna to listen to it—just one minute, just the…
The Night the Wires Sang at the Transformer Station in Mobeetie
A lone lineman in the Texas Panhandle keeps hearing music in the power lines — faint melodies that shouldn't exist, played by something that knows his name. When he traces the sound to an abandoned transformer station, he finds a voice that has been waiting decades for someone to listen. Luna tells a story about isolation, transmission, and the frequency of longing. #FexingoHorror #HorrorPodcast #SoloNarration #TexasPanhandle #Mobeetie #PowerLines #TransformerStation #Transmission #Melody…
The Night the Radiator Hummed at the Motel in Vega
In the winter of 2019, on a frozen stretch of I-40 in the Texas Panhandle, Luna checked into the Vega Motor Court, a relic from the 1950s with a flickering vacancy sign and a radiator that hummed an old hymn. The motel's owner, a woman named Delia, warned her not to turn the dial past three. But at 2 a.m., the cold crept in, and Luna twisted the knob to four. The humming shifted into a voice—her own voice, from a decade earlier, asking a question she had never answered. This is a story about…
The Night the Cassette Kept Recording at the Motel in Lordsburg
A cold February night in Lordsburg, New Mexico. Luna checks into the Desert Sage Motel — room 8, last one at the end. The radiator knocks. The clock radio flickers 3:14 AM. And the old cassette player on the nightstand… it's still running. The tape inside is labeled 'SIDE B' in the same handwriting as the vinyl in her listening room. She presses play. What she hears is a woman's voice — tired, intimate, like she's reading from a notebook by candlelight. The woman is talking to someone named…
The Night the Tape Never Erased at the Church in Bogue
August 2023, Bogue, Kansas. Population 143. Luna drives through on a Thursday night and stops at the First Baptist Church, where a listening session for a local gospel choir's 1982 recording turns into something else. The tape was supposed to be blank. But what plays back is a woman's voice singing a hymn that hasn't been written yet, and a prayer that sounds like it's being recorded in real time from inside a locked room. The deacon who found the tape swears it wasn't in the box when they…
The Night the Piano Played On at the Church in Cottonwood
Episode 71 of Side B. Luna returns to the story of a church in Cottonwood, Kansas, where a piano played itself long after the organist had died. This is not the same church as before—this one is smaller, older, built from limestone in 1887. The piano is an upright Steinway, shipped by train in 1902. It plays the same four-bar phrase every night at 3:17 AM. Luna stayed for three nights, trying to understand what it wanted. She never found out. But on the third night, she played a chord back. And…
The Night the Jukebox Glowed at the Tavern in Winesburg
In the winter of 1997, Luna stopped at a roadside tavern in Winesburg, Ohio—a place called the Rusty Nail with a single jukebox that never took a quarter. The regulars said it played whatever it wanted, always the same song, always at the same time. She sat in a booth and watched the glass glow amber as the selector arm moved on its own. The man who fixed the thing told her it had been broken for twenty years, but still ran every night, waiting for someone who never came back. This episode is…
The Night the Ice Came Through at the Motel in Gothenburg
Nebraska, November. A solo stay at a motel that looks like a snowglobe at midnight — white vinyl siding, a parking lot frosted over, and a girl with wet hair knocking at room 14. She says she's cold. She says she's lost. But her footprints don't match the weather. A story about the kind of cold that doesn't leave a mark until it's too late. Luna pulls back the curtain on a night she still can't explain. #FexingoHorror #HorrorPodcast #SideB #GothenburgNebraska #Motel14 #TheGirlAtTheDoor…
The Night the Mailbox Stayed Open on County Road 17
November 1997. Luna's cousin Jenny buys a farmhouse at the end of County Road 17, near a town that barely has a gas pump. The mailbox is rusted open, and every evening at dusk something puts a letter in it—no postmark, no return address, just words in a hand Jenny starts to recognize. At first the letters are kind: 'The garden needs water,' 'The back door lock is loose.' Then they shift. 'Don't go to the root cellar after dark.' 'He's awake now.' Jenny shows Luna the last one—still crumpled in…
The Night the Piano Played On at the Church in Pawhuska
Luna recalls a winter evening in Pawhuska, Oklahoma, when she helped a friend clear out an abandoned church. In the basement, they found an old upright piano with a single yellowed key that played a faint B-flat whenever the wind blew. But as they worked, the piano began to play on its own—a slow, halting version of a hymn Luna's grandmother used to hum. They tried to leave, but the door had locked from the inside. The piano played until dawn, then fell silent. They never spoke of it again.…
The Night the Antenna Went Dark on Route 54
Luna pulls a cracked 45 from a thrift store bin in Marfa, Texas. The label says 'Side B: The Warden's Waltz' but the grooves hold a sound no one pressed. She drives into the empty desert of Route 54 to find the source of that sound — a gas station that shouldn't exist, a radio tower that never stopped broadcasting, and a man who has been waiting for someone to hear him for thirty years. This episode is a slow burn into the static between stations, where the dead still try to reach the living…
The Night the Organ Played Itself at the Church in Cottonwood
In the winter of 2019, I found myself in Cottonwood, Texas, a town so small it doesn't appear on most maps. I was there to catalog the contents of an abandoned Methodist church before it was demolished. The building had been locked up since 1973, sealed not by law but by something the locals wouldn't talk about. I expected dust, pews, maybe a forgotten hymnbook. What I didn't expect was the organ. It sat in the choir loft, its pipes draped in cobwebs, its keys yellowed and still. But when the…
The Night the Jukebox Played Her Song at the Truck Stop in Needles
October 1997. Three in the morning at the Lone Star Truck Stop outside Needles, California. Luna was two weeks into a drive from Tucson to Portland when she pulled off the highway to sleep in the cab of her pickup. But the jukebox in the all-night diner kept playing the same song — a Patsy Cline B-side she hadn't heard since her grandmother played it on a crackling 45. The waitress said nobody had fed it a quarter in hours. The machine just started on its own around midnight, and every time the…
The Night the Antenna Went Silent on Route 54
June 1997. Luna is driving through the Oklahoma Panhandle when her car radio dies just outside a tiny town called Forgan. She pulls into a gas station that shouldn't exist—a single pump under a flickering orange light, a cashier who looks like he hasn't moved in forty years. He tells her about the night in 1962 when the town's radio tower stopped broadcasting. Not a technical failure. Something else. Luna listens as the story unfolds: a voice that came through the static, a message meant for…
The Night the Pump Never Stopped at the Gas Station in Cactus
A slow-burn encounter at a dying gas station in the Texas panhandle, where a night shift clerk discovers a customer who has been pumping gas for hours, his car long empty, the hose not even in the tank. The closer she watches, the more she realizes the pump is not measuring fuel but something else entirely, and the man at the nozzle is not really there. Set in Cactus, Texas, in the dead of winter, this episode follows a woman named Ellie as she unravels the quiet horror of being the only one…
The Night the Fever Came to the Feed Store in Lusk
On a hot Friday night in August 1997, Luna's cousin Della called from the feed store in Lusk, Wyoming, saying something was wrong with the birds. The heat had driven them restless, but it was the quiet after sundown that worried her — a stillness on the gravel lot where nothing moved. Luna drove out to find Della standing in the open bay door with a pale face and a story about a truck that had pulled in at dusk, a man who didn't speak, and a delivery that left a single wooden crate stamped with…
The Night the Records Spoke at the Thrift Store in Marfa
Luna finds a crate of unlabeled reel-to-reel tapes at a thrift store in Marfa, Texas, on a hot July night in 2019. Each tape contains a single voice—different people, different eras—all saying the same thing: 'I'm still here.' She takes one home. It plays on a loop, even after she unplugs the machine. The voice on that tape is her own, recorded before she was born. A quiet meditation on time, inheritance, and the sounds that refuse to stay buried. No ghosts, no jump scares—just a slow, sinking…
The Last Delivery at the All-Night Diner in Lordsburg
A burnt-out short-order cook at a truck stop in Lordsburg, New Mexico, takes the graveyard shift during a record-breaking heatwave. At 3 AM, a dust-caked man in a soiled wedding suit walks in and orders a single slice of apple pie—and a side of ice. The pie is untouched. The ice melts. The man sits in the far booth every night, never speaking, never leaving until the cook finally looks away. Over eight weeks, the diner empties of other customers, the heat climbs past 110, and the cook starts to…
The Last Patron at the Library on Vine Street
Luna recalls a winter night in 1992 at the Carnegie Library in Elmdale, Kansas, where she worked the closing shift. A regular patron, Mrs. Helen Corrigan, stayed past midnight every Tuesday, always returning the same book — a 1909 field guide to the birds of the Great Plains — untouched. When Luna finally asked why, Helen told her about the bird that landed on her windowsill the night her husband died and never flew away. The library's archive held a newspaper clipping from 1948: a woman named…
The Man Who Tuned Pianos at the First Baptist Church in Paradox
October 1997. A traveling piano tuner arrives in Paradox, New York, a town that doesn't appear on any map. He is hired to tune the old upright at the First Baptist Church, but the piano doesn't need tuning — it needs someone to listen. The man stays for three days, sleeping in the sanctuary, and the townspeople begin to recall a musician who vanished from the same church in 1937. The episode is about the sound of a note that never decays, the loneliness of listening for a living, and the moment…
The Night the Light Stayed On at the Conoco in Tularosa
Luna recalls a night in September 1997 when she stopped for gas at a Conoco station on the edge of Tularosa, New Mexico. The attendant was a woman named Ellen who hadn't spoken in three years. Luna sat with her in the quiet booth as the neon hummed and the desert pressed in. Ellen pointed at a photograph pinned to the cash register — a man with no face. Luna doesn't know what happened after she left. But she knows that when she drove away, the light above the pump stayed on, even though the…
The Night the Air Went Wrong at the Texaco in Culpepper
Summer of 1987. A solo gas station attendant on the night shift at the Texaco on County Road 9 outside Culpepper, Ohio. A woman pulls in at 2 a.m. in a dust-caked sedan. She doesn't need gas. She doesn't need directions. She needs the attendant to hear her out—about the thing she found in her basement three nights ago, the thing that followed her up the stairs, out the door, and onto the highway. The attendant listens because the station is empty and the night is long. But by the time she…
The Night the Fence Grew at the Cemetery in Parshall
Luna recalls a September night in 2017, driving through Parshall, North Dakota, when a detour led her past an old cemetery where a chain-link fence was slowly being consumed by wild rose vines. She stopped to photograph it and met an old man named Harlan who told her about the fence's history—and the thing that started growing through it after the last burial in 1923. Luna went back the next morning and found the fence intact but the roses gone, and a single fresh grave inside with no marker.…
The Night the Gas Station Lights Flickered at the Conoco in Tularosa
Luna recounts a night in November 1998 when she pulled into a Conoco station on the edge of Tularosa, New Mexico, just after midnight. The air smelled of creosote and burnt sugar. The attendant—a man named Clyde who wore a name tag upside down—filled her tank without speaking. Then he pointed toward the restroom hallway and said: 'Don't go past the soda machine.' She went anyway. What she found behind the soda machine was a door that shouldn't have been there, with a sound coming from behind it…
The Night the Light Stayed On at the Wayfarer Motel in Rosarita
On the last night of August, driving south through the California desert, I stopped at the Wayfarer Motel in Rosarita—a faded pink U-shaped building with a neon sign missing half its letters. The clerk, a woman named Miriam, handed me a key to Room 8 but warned me not to turn off the bathroom light. She said the previous guest had checked out three weeks ago and never came back for his things. That night, I understood why the light had to stay on. This is a story about what waits in the dark…
The Night the Weeping Woman Came to the Hand-Wash Only Laundromat on Amity Street
It was the summer of '94 in a town called Mulvane, Kansas, and the only place open past midnight was the Hand-Wash Only Laundromat on Amity Street. I was there because my apartment's water had been shut off — again — and I needed to wash the sheets. That's where I met the weeping woman. She didn't look like much at first: a thin woman in a gray coat, bent over a machine that wasn't running, her shoulders shaking. I asked if she needed a quarter. She turned around. Her face was wet — not from…
The Night the Bell Rang at the One-Room School on Mink Creek Road
November 1987. A one-room schoolhouse on Mink Creek Road, outside a town called Prosper, Texas. Luna's great-aunt taught there in the 1940s—eight grades, one room, a cast-iron stove. The school closed in '51, but the bell still rings some nights. This is the story of how Luna went to find out why, and what she found in the dirt under the floorboards. A story about what children hear when no one is listening, about a teacher who stayed too long, and about the sound a handbell makes when it's…
The Night the Record Kept Playing at the Blue Spur Lounge
It was late October, 1997, when Luna stopped for gas at a place called Blue Spur, Texas — a town so small it didn't even have a stoplight, just a bar called the Blue Spur Lounge and a motel that rented by the hour. She met a man named Everett who said he used to be a guitarist, before his hand got crushed in a press at the grain mill. He showed her the jukebox — a Wurlitzer from 1954 that still had every original record inside. He told her the machine had been playing the same song every night…
The Night Shift at the All-Night Pharmacy in Moline
December 1987. A 24-hour pharmacy on the edge of Moline, Illinois, where the fluorescent lights hum and the aisles stretch empty past midnight. Luna's cousin took the graveyard shift for extra money, and for three weeks she learned the rhythms of the place—the crackle of the police scanner, the shuffle of insomniacs, the rattle of the drive-through window. But there was a customer who came every night at 2:47 AM, always the same request, always paid with exact change. The pharmacist said he'd…
The Last Call at the Twenty-Four-Hour Laundromat in Dorsey
It’s late October on Farm Road 1870 in Dorsey, Illinois, and the only place still lit is the Spin Cycle laundromat. A woman named Elaine shows up every Thursday at 2 a.m. to wash her dead husband’s shirts. The attendant, a kid named Marcus, has started saving her a machine. But one night, the shirts come back with something in the pockets. Not lint. Not a receipt. Something that shouldn’t have been there. Luna tells the story of the night the dryer door swung open on its own, and what Marcus…
The Last Check-In at the Starlite Trailer Court
In the summer of 1997, Luna spent a week at the Starlite Trailer Court outside of Nowhere, New Mexico, where the manager's son kept a collection of cassette tapes under his bed. Each tape held a different voice — but they all ended the same way. A story about the last sound you hear before the line goes dead. #StarliteTrailerCourt #NowhereNewMexico #cassettetapes #thelastcheckin #Luna #FexingoHorror #HorrorPodcast #anthology #oralhistory #ruralhorror #1997 #summervibes #telephone…
The Last Transfer at the Motel on County Line Road
Luna remembers a night in late October of 1997, when she worked the front desk at a run-down motel on County Line Road, somewhere between nowhere and the state line. A man in a gray coat checked in around two in the morning, paid cash for room 14, and asked if there was a phone in the room. There wasn't. Then he asked if she could transfer a call to his room once it came in. He gave a number—a long-distance number she wrote on a pink message slip. She never saw him leave, but she heard the…
The Waitress at the All-Night Grill in Graze, Montana
Luna recalls a winter shift at a truck-stop grill on the Hi-Line of Montana, where a regular named Doyle came in every night at 2:47 AM and ordered the same thing: black coffee, slice of apple pie, no ice water. But one night, something changed. The pie was still warm. The coffee still black. But the silence in the booth was wrong. This is the story of the night the grill stayed open for one last customer who never showed up. A slow-burn meditation on loneliness, small towns, and the spaces…
The Last Room at the Sunburst Motor Court in Adrian
July 1987, just west of Adrian, Texas, on the old alignment of Route 66. The Sunburst Motor Court has been closed for eleven years, but Luna's uncle used to manage it, and when she was clearing out his storage unit she found a key ring with a single brass key tagged ROOM 9. She drove out there on a Tuesday afternoon, the asphalt soft under her tires, the sign still reading VACANCY in letters that had lost their glow. She didn't plan to stay past sunset. But the key turned in the lock, and the…
The Last Tape at the K-Bar Recording Studio in Lometa
On a humid August night in 1987, Luna drives through Lometa, Texas, and stops at a boarded-up recording studio called K-Bar. A sign in the window says 'Free Tapes — Take One.' Inside, she finds a single reel-to-reel tape labeled 'Side B' sitting on a dusty mixing board. She plays it. The recording is a woman's voice — low, deliberate — telling a story about a man who came to the studio to record a message for his wife. But the message shifts, degrades, and soon the woman on the tape seems to be…
The Long Distance Call at the Payphone on 22
In the autumn of 1989, a stranded traveler on a lonely stretch of Vermont's Route 22 finds a payphone that still works—and a voice on the other end that knows his name, his route, and the exact mile marker where his engine died. The call keeps him on the line for hours, weaving a story that sounds like a confession, a warning, and a farewell all at once. When he finally hangs up and walks to the nearest gas station, the attendant has a message waiting for him. This episode is a quiet, creeping…
The Keyhole at the Echo Motel in Dust Falls
Luna pulls a battered vinyl from the shelf — the B-side of a forgotten country gospel LP — and tells the story of the Echo Motel in Dust Falls, Nevada, where in October 1987 a night clerk named Vern kept a logbook of the strange requests guests made through the keyhole of Room 9. Luna found the logbook in a thrift store in Tonopah, its last entry dated the day the motel owner vanished. She reads selections aloud: guests who asked for their own reflections, for the sound of a voice they'd…
The Last Hollow at the Apple Orchard on Canaan Road
August 1997, just outside the town of Canaan, Vermont. Luna tells the story of a man named Eli Sutter who spent sixty autumns running a cider press on his family's orchard — and the hollow he carved between two gnarled trees where he went to sit alone every evening after the work was done. When a developer bought the land after Eli's death, the bulldozer operator found something in that hollow that made him walk off the job and never come back. A quiet, harvest-dark episode about the weight of…
The Night the Jukebox Played at the Elms Motor Lodge
June 1987, just outside of Hargrove, Tennessee. A highway motel with a flickering vacancy sign and a jukebox that played songs no one had ever heard. I was passing through that night, around two in the morning, when I stopped at the Elms Motor Lodge because the rain was coming down hard and I needed a place to lie low. The clerk at the desk was a woman named Cora—tired, mid-fifties, a name tag worn smooth at the edges. She told me I could have any room except number seven, and when I asked why…
The Wait at the Greyhound Station in Winesburg
It's August 1998, past midnight at the Greyhound station in Winesburg, Ohio. Luna's bus is delayed four hours. She shares the empty waiting room with an old man who tells her about a woman who's been waiting for a bus every night for forty years. She never buys a ticket. She never boards. She just sits in the third row of plastic chairs and watches the door. The old man talks about her like she's harmless, like she's just part of the station's worn-in quiet. But when the night clerk sees Luna…
The Swing at the End of Hargrove Lane
In the summer of 1997, on a dead-end road outside a town called Meridian, a girl named Ella discovered a swing that didn't creak. It hung from a black walnut tree at the far edge of a field, and every evening she sat there until her mother called her in. But the swing didn't just sit still—it moved when there was no wind, and the imprint on the seat was always damp, even after a week of drought. When Ella's best friend touched the chains and her fingers came away cold, they stopped going there.…
The Last Bed at the El Rancho Motor Lodge
In the summer of 1987, a traveling salesman checked into Room 14 at the El Rancho Motor Lodge outside Bernalillo, New Mexico. The room was ice-cold. The sheets were changed every day. But no one had slept in that bed since 1962. A story about a motel that never stopped honoring a reservation, the woman who kept the register, and what happens when you break a promise made to someone who was never there to begin with. Luna unfolds this one slowly, from the sound of the cicadas to the smell of the…
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