Episodes
The Candle on Birch Lane
Christmas Eve, 2019. Luna is driving through Ashford, New Hampshire when she notices a single candle in the window of an abandoned house on Birch Lane. The house has been dark for years, but that night something moves inside. What she finds in the back room will change how she sees the holiday forever. A story about grief, light, and the things we leave behind. #YuleWraith #FexingoHorror #HorrorPodcast #ChristmasEve #BirchLane #AshfordNH #CandleInTheWindow #AbandonedHouse #RockingChair #Humming…
The Bell at Hemlock Hollow: Christmas Eve
On Christmas Eve 1999, Martha Leavitt, a recluse living at the end of Orchard Road in Hemlock Hollow, heard a bell ring in the dead of night. She found footprints in the fresh snow that led to her door and stopped. No return prints. No one there. The next morning, the yew wreath she'd left on her porch was gone, and in its place hung a single brass bell on a red ribbon. A quiet, unresolved encounter with something that came out of the woods and wanted to be acknowledged. A story about…
The Bell at Hemlock Hollow
On a frozen Christmas Eve, Luna visits an old woman named Eleanor who lives alone on Hemlock Hollow Road in Millbrook. Every year, a spectral figure appears at the edge of the woods — not threatening, but waiting. Eleanor leaves offerings: a wreath, a bell. But this year, something changes. The wraith holds a light, and Eleanor seems to understand what it wants. A story about grief, waiting, and the thin line between the living and the dead. No jump scares, just the slow weight of snow and…
The Snow at St. Perpetua's Gate — The Last Walk
In the deep winter of 2019, on a back road outside the village of Millbrook, Luna meets a man walking a dog that leaves no tracks. He wears a coat too thin for the cold and carries a lantern that casts no light. Every night he walks the same mile of road between the old Perpetua's Gate and the fallen stone bridge. Every night the dog refuses to cross the creek. The story he tells her about the night the bridge went out — and what he saw in the water — has nothing to do with the dog. But the dog…
The Wreath at St. Perpetua's Gate — Revisited
On Christmas Eve 1998, Luna stopped at a farmhouse outside Danville, Ohio to buy a wreath from an old woman named Hilda. The wreath was made of yew and holly, bound with red ribbon and small brass bells. Hilda said it would keep the house safe through the longest night. But the bells kept ringing even after Luna hung it on her door. Each ring pulled her to the window, where she saw a figure waiting at the edge of the woods. By midnight, the wreath had changed — the ribbon was frayed, the bells…
The Holly at St. Perpetua's Gate
It's Christmas Eve, 2007, on the outskirts of Northwood, Ohio. Luna's car skids off River Road into a drift, and she takes shelter at a farmhouse where an old woman named Mrs. Harlow speaks of the Holly Man—a thing that comes for those who hang holly without yew. The wreath on the gate is wrong. The footsteps in the snow don't stop at the porch. A quiet, watchful story about the bargain that keeps winter holy. #FexingoHorror #HorrorPodcast #ChristmasHorror #YuleWraith #HollyMan #NorthwoodOhio…
The Wreath at St Perpetua's Crossing
A cold December night on a backroad outside Millbrook. Luna visits the site of a fatal accident from her childhood — a school bus that slid off St Perpetua's Crossing in a blizzard twenty years ago. What she finds there has nothing to do with the crash. A figure stands at the roadside, still as a fence post, wearing a coat that doesn't fit the cold. When she stops the car, it speaks her name in a voice she almost recognizes. The story of a promise left unfulfilled and a road that takes more…
The Wreath at St. Elian's Church
On Christmas Eve 1999, Luna visits a small-town church in Pottsville, Ohio, to help an old caretaker set up a wreath. But something hungrier than winter waits in the sacristy. A story about a bell that rings in the dark, a ribbon that tightens, and the offering that keeps the cold at bay. Luna sits on a snowy porch, candles flickering, as she tells you about the year the snow came before the sun set, and the thing that answered when a door was unlocked that should have stayed shut. Not…
The Ribbon at St. Lucy's Gate
Christmas Eve, 1987. Luna's Aunt Clara lived alone at the end of a dirt lane outside Hemlock Hollow, a town so small it had no stoplight, only a single blinking yellow at the crossroads of St. Lucy's Road and the old county highway. The wreath she hung every year was made of yew and holly, bound with a red ribbon that came from somewhere her grandmother would never talk about. Luna tells the story of the year the ribbon began to move on its own—twisting, tightening, reaching for the door. Of…
The Light at St. Perpetua's Gate
On Christmas Eve, 1987, Luna visits her grandmother's old farmhouse off St. Perpetua's Drive, a winding gravel road that dead-ends at a rusted iron gate leading into the woods. Her grandmother died the previous spring, and Luna has come to pack up the house. But at dusk, a faint light flickers beyond the gate — a lantern, held by a figure in a long coat. The figure doesn't move, doesn't speak, just stands there at the tree line. Luna remembers her grandmother's stories about the gate: never…
The Yule Log at St. Ulric's Clearing
Christmas Eve, 2009, on a back road outside Dry Fork, West Virginia. Luna's cousin Lena swore the old Yule log tradition was just folklore, until her truck broke down near St. Ulric's Clearing and she saw the light moving through the pines. What she found there was a fire that didn't burn, a log that never blackened, and a woman in a blue dress who spoke without a mouth. This is what Lena told Luna the next morning, sitting at the kitchen table with tea that went cold between her hands. A story…
The Bell at St. Lucy's Porch Revisited
Years after the first time she saw the bell at St. Lucy's Porch, Luna drives the snowy back roads of Pike County on Christmas Eve. She's searching for the old woman who left it there — the one who whispered about a debt that comes due when the snow is deep enough. But when she finds the house, the porch is empty, the bell is gone, and the footprints in the snow lead only one way: into the dark behind the barn. A quiet, frozen story about promises, the weight of winter, and the things we leave…
The Bell at St. Lucy's Porch
It's Christmas Eve, 1997, on the outskirts of Harlow, Ohio. Luna's car dies on a back road, and she takes shelter on the porch of an abandoned house — St. Lucy's, the locals call it, though no church ever stood there. A single bell hangs on the door, tied with a red ribbon. She rings it, because that's what you do at a door, isn't it? What answers isn't a person. But it speaks in a voice that sounds like frost splitting wood, and it tells her a story about another girl, another Christmas Eve…
The Bell at St. Elian's Well — Revisited
Luna returns to St. Elian's Well one year after the bell rang at midnight on Christmas Eve. The town of Harrowfield has changed — the well is sealed, the church doors are locked, and no one speaks about what happened. But Luna found a woman sitting on the stone curb in the snow, barefoot, wearing a white dress that wasn't wet, holding a single brass bell. She told Luna that the well isn't sealed — it's waiting. And she rang the bell again. A quiet, cold episode about recurrence, patience, and…
The Bell at St. Ulric's Well — Revisited
Luna returns to St. Ulric's Well, the site of an old haunting, on Christmas Eve 2023. She finds a stranger already there—a young woman with a brass bell and a story about her missing brother. As the snow deepens, the bell rings at the wrong time, and Luna learns that some wells remember what you try to forget. A quiet, lingering horror about grief, repetition, and the things we leave at holy places. #StUlricsWell #ChristmasEve #Bell #Grief #MissingBrother #Snow #HauntedWell #Return #Repetition…
The Snow at St. Perpetua's Drive Part IV
On the fourth night of a record-breaking blizzard, Luna walks the snowed-in road to St. Perpetua's Drive, following a trail of blue lights that should not be there. What she finds at the end of the lane is a memory she never had — a woman in a grey dress, a bell that rings without sound, and a promise that was never meant to be kept. This is the final installment of the St. Perpetua's Drive arc, and it does not end. #StPerpetuaDrive #Blizzard #BlueLights #ChristmasHorror #RoadsideEncounter…
The Offering at St. Catherine's Cross
On a frozen December night in 1987, a woman named Elara waited at the crossroads of Cold Spring Road and the Old Post Road in Shandaken, New York, for something that had promised to meet her there every Yule for seven years. She had kept the bargain her grandmother made — a small bundle of rowan and salt left at the stone cross each Christmas Eve — but this year the offering was taken before she even set it down. The footprints in the snow led not toward the woods but back toward her own house…
The Bell at St. Hildegard's Bridge
Luna tells the story of a December night in 1987 when she was driven home from a Christmas party by a man named Elias Cole. The detour over St. Hildegard's Bridge was shorter, he said. But the bridge's ironwork was older than anyone remembered, and the sound it made when they crossed — a low, singing hum — stayed with her for weeks. Elias never spoke of it, but Luna saw how his hands shook on the wheel. Days later, she found a small iron bell in her coat pocket, one she'd never seen before. It…
The Snow at St. Perpetua's Drive Part III
Luna returns to St. Perpetua's Drive, a gravel road outside of Eden Falls, Vermont, on Christmas Eve 2023. Three weeks after the second snow, she finds the farmhouse's front door hanging open, the furnace cold, and a single set of footprints leading into the woods. In the attic, a child's rocking chair moves on its own, and a name called from the tree line pulls her toward the frozen river. No neat closure—just a bell that rings when no one touches it, and the feeling that something has been…
The Snow at St. Perpetua's Drive Part II
Luna returns to St. Perpetua's Drive, the long gravel road that cuts through the pine barrens south of Milford. It's Christmas Eve, 2017. She's driving home from a late shift at the diner, the snow falling so thick the world is reduced to the cone of her headlights. She picks up a hitchhiker—a girl in a thin coat, no gloves, no hat. The girl says she's been walking from the old church. She says she's been walking for a long time. She doesn't seem to feel the cold. And she asks Luna a question…
The Snow at St. Perpetua's Drive
Luna tells the story of a December night on St. Perpetua's Drive, a winding gravel road outside the small town of Mercy Falls, Vermont. She was driving home late from a holiday gathering when the snow began to fall thick and fast, and her car slid into a ditch near an old stone bridge. A figure appeared out of the blizzard—a woman in a red coat, barefoot, carrying a single candle in a glass jar. Luna offered her a ride. The woman spoke only once, in a voice like wind through dry reeds: 'I've…
The Snow at St. Perpetua's Drive
On Christmas Eve 2022, Luna's car skids off the unplowed gravel of St. Perpetua's Drive, outside the town of Coldwater, Nebraska. She walks a quarter mile through knee-deep snow toward a single lit window in a farmhouse. Inside, an old woman named Margaret is sitting at a kitchen table set for two—one plate empty, one plate full, both steaming. Margaret says she's been waiting for her daughter to come home for sixty-three years. She offers Luna a seat, a bowl of soup, and a story about the…
The Candle at St. Lucy's Well
December 23rd, 2022. A back road in northern Minnesota, past midnight, snow so thick you couldn't see the hood of the car. A single candle burning on a stone well beside a forgotten church — St. Lucy's, the one they say was deconsecrated in the '70s. The man I picked up on that road wore a black coat with no gloves, no hat, and he told me he'd been walking from the well. He asked me to take him to the crossroads at Ryder's Bend, and he spoke the whole way in a voice that never changed pitch. He…
The Bell at St. Elian's Gate — Revisited
It's Christmas Eve, 1998, on a rural highway outside Elko, Nevada. Luna is driving home from a failed job interview when her car dies on a stretch of road that shouldn't exist. She walks to the only light for miles — an old stone church that isn't on any map. Inside, a single figure waits in the pews, and the bell in the tower rings thirteen times. The story of what she found there, and what she left behind, unfolds like a memory she's tried to bury for twenty years. No gore. No monsters. Just…
The Bell at St. Dunstan's Ford
On Christmas Eve 1998, Luna's car skids off a back road near St. Dunstan's Ford, Vermont — a town that hasn't appeared on any map since 1953. She takes shelter in a small white church with a bell that rings without a rope, and meets an old woman named Agnes who is waiting for someone. The candlelight is warm. The snow keeps falling. And the bell rings three times every hour, counting something she cannot name. #StDunstansFord #Vermont #ChristmasEve #YuleWraith #Bell #Church #Agnes #1998…
The Bell at St. Eadburgh's Well
It's Christmas Eve, 1987, on a back road outside Dunbridge, Vermont. Luna's car skids off the icy shoulder into a ditch, and she walks to the only light she can see: a small white clapboard church with a stone well in the yard. Inside, the service is already over, but one woman remains—an old parishioner named Agnes, who insists Luna wait for the bell. Not the bell in the steeple, she says, but the one beneath the well. As the snow deepens and the hour grows late, Luna learns there is a reason…
The Key at St. Lucy's Baptist Church
December 1998, Birchwood, Ohio. Luna's grandmother asked her to drive the old parish key out to St. Lucy's Baptist Church, a building that hadn't held a service in forty years. The lock turned too easily. Inside, the pews were still dusted with rice from a wedding that never finished. A piano played three notes, then stopped. And on the altar, a guest book lay open to a page with a single name, written in wet ink, dated that morning: Luna's own name. A quiet, snowbound episode about keys that…
The Kettle at St. Ulric's Well
Christmas Eve, 1998. Luna's friend Margie, a postal worker in the tiny town of Millbank, takes the last route of the night—a single red envelope addressed to an abandoned farmhouse on Hemlock Road. The house has been empty for forty years, but there's a kettle boiling on the stove, a fresh set of footprints in the snow, and a woman in the window who wears Margie's own face. What she finds inside the farmhouse isn't a living person—it's a letter, a photograph, and a question about a debt she…
The Mitten at Frost Creek Bridge
It's Christmas Eve, 1997, and Luna is driving home along a back road in upstate New York when her headlights catch a small mitten lying on the snow-covered bridge over Frost Creek. She stops to pick it up—red wool, hand-knitted, with a pattern of white snowflakes. The mitten is warm, as if just taken off. She looks around. No one. The woods are silent. She decides to leave it on the bridge railing, hoping its owner will come back. But as she drives away, she can't stop thinking about the…
The Wreath at St. Cuthbert's Spring
On Christmas Eve, 2023, I found myself driving the back roads of Cutter's Mill, Maine, chasing a story about a spring that never froze. An old man named Elias lived alone in a cabin at the edge of the woods, and he told me about the wreath he hangs on his door every year—a wreath made of yew and holly, tied with a red ribbon. He said it keeps the wraith away. But when I asked him what wraith, he only smiled and pointed to the dark line of trees. That night, sitting on his porch with the snow…
The Wreath at Rowan's Gate
Luna recalls a December night four years ago on a lonely farm road outside Lost Creek, Vermont. Driving home from a late shift, she spotted a woman in a white coat standing under a gate strung with a single wreath of yew and frozen holly. The woman did not speak, only pointed down the snowed-over lane. The next morning, Luna learned the woman had died in that exact spot twenty years earlier — and every Yule since, she appears to anyone who looks too long at the wreath. A quiet, uneasy story…
The Offer at Broken Creek Bridge
Christmas Eve, 1987. Luna visits a small Vermont town and hears about a local tradition — leaving a single item on an old covered bridge as an offering to something that walks the frozen river. It started with a little girl's mitten. Then a man's watch. Then a wedding ring. Luna talks to the last person who tried to leave something, and what followed him home. A story about what we give up, and what we get back — but never what we wanted. #FexingoHorror #HorrorPodcast #YuleWraith #ChristmasEve…
The Offering at St. Cera's Well
On Christmas Eve, 1987, Luna's aunt sends her to fetch water from St. Cera's Well — a sulfur spring in the woods behind their Vermont farmhouse. The well has a tradition: leave a coin, speak a wish, and the water will carry it down. But Luna finds the well frozen solid, and a single white mitten on the ice. That night, a woman in a blue coat knocks at the door, asking for the mitten back. Luna's aunt tells her to say nothing. But the woman keeps coming back, each time a little closer to the…
The Yule Log at Merrill Hollow
December 1987. A snowed-in farmhouse on Starling Road, just outside of Kalkaska, Michigan. Luna's grandmother used to tell her about the Yule log — the one that must burn all night, from dusk until dawn, without being stoked or turned. If it goes out before sunrise, something comes down the chimney. As a child, Luna thought it was a fairy tale. But on the coldest Christmas Eve of her life, in a house she'd inherited but never really known, she lit the fire at four in the afternoon. And she…
The Bell at St. Ninian's Ford
Luna returns to a frozen stretch of road outside the town of Millbrook, New Hampshire, where a woman named Iris has been leaving the same message on the church answering machine every night since Christmas Eve. The message is always the same: a child's counting rhyme, backward, in a language that sounds almost like English but isn't. Luna goes to the church to meet her and finds a woman who hasn't slept in days, a bell rope frayed to a single thread, and a silence in the sanctuary that rings…
The Bell at St. Gwendolen's Crossing
December 1987. A stranded driver on a back road in northern Vermont. A farmhouse with a single lit window. An old woman who speaks of a bell that rings only when someone is about to die. Luna listens from the porch as the snow swallows the sound, and the woman asks her to stay until morning. A quiet, lingering story about the weight of waiting, the kindness of strangers, and the things we cannot outrun. #FexingoHorror #HorrorPodcast #YuleWraith #StGwendolensCrossing #Vermont #1987 #Farmhouse…
The Bell at St. Margaret's Ford
December 1998, just outside the village of Thornwood Hollow, New Hampshire. I was driving home from a late shift at the diner when the fog rolled in so thick I had to pull over. That's when I saw the old iron bell hanging from a branch over the frozen river. Everyone in town knew the story—the bride who drowned on her wedding night, the bell that tolls for those who've lost their way. But no one told me what happens if you answer it. That night, I learned why the old-timers never drive that…
The Bell at St. Jude's Gate
On Christmas Eve, 1987, Luna's cousin Rosalind takes a shortcut through the old cemetery gate at St. Jude's Church in Millbrook, New Hampshire. The gate's iron bell rings once as she passes — but no one is there to ring it. That night, her grandmother tells her the story of the Yule Wraith: a figure that follows travelers who hear the bell after dark, leaving a single red ribbon on their doorstep by morning. Rosalind finds the ribbon. And then the footsteps begin, circling the house in the…
The Wreath at Crescent Ridge Farm
December 1987, the last farmhouse on Hollow Road before the woods take over. Luna’s grandmother always said the wreath on the door had to be made fresh each year—yew and holly, bound with red thread—and that it must never be hung after dark. But this year the snow came early, the sun set before she finished, and the thing she saw standing at the edge of the cornfield didn't move until she touched the ribbon. A story about old traditions, the things they keep away, and what happens when you…
The Bell at St. Elian's Gate
Luna recalls a Christmas Eve drive down an unfamiliar county road in upstate New York, where a single wrought-iron gate stood open in the snow. Inside, an old stone church with a bell tower that shouldn't have been there. A man in a dark coat stood at the door, beckoning her inside for a service she couldn't find the next day. The bell rang at midnight — but the clapper never moved. A story about what we find when we are lost, and what finds us when we stay too long. #YuleWraith #FexingoHorror…
The Bell at St. Sylvan's Crossroads
On the night before Christmas Eve, Luna stops at a solitary farmhouse on St. Sylvan's Road to deliver a wreath for an old order. The woman who answers the door is not the one who placed it. She invites Luna inside to wait out the snow, and shows her a bell hanging in the kitchen window — one that rings by itself whenever someone is about to die in the valley. They talk through the evening about the bell's history, the names it has tolled for, and the silence that has settled over the past three…
The Candle at Hargrave Crossing
At the old Hargrave Crossing bridge in northern Vermont, on a December night in 1993, I saw a woman in a red coat standing at the center of the bridge, holding a single unlit candle. She wasn't there when I crossed. But when I looked back in the rearview mirror, she was standing exactly where I had been. I didn't stop. But the next morning, I learned that a girl named Emily Hargrave had died on that bridge twenty years ago, on the same night, carrying a candle she never got to light. They say…
The Mitten at Frost Creek Bridge
Christmas Eve, 1998. A lone mitten on the guardrail of Frost Creek Bridge. Luna stops to pick it up and finds herself caught in a loop of footsteps in the snow, a child's voice calling from the frozen creek below, and a warmth that doesn't belong to the living. This is a story about the things we leave behind and the things that wait for us to come back. A quiet, unhurried ghost story set in a small Wisconsin town, where the snow falls thick and the bridge groans under the weight of memory.…
The Hand at Yule Hollow
A short drive east of Millbrook, just past the old quarry turnoff, there's a stretch of road called Yule Hollow Lane. It doesn't appear on most maps, and the county stopped maintaining it sometime in the seventies. But every Christmas Eve, for the past eleven years, June Harwick has driven that lane at dusk. She brings a thermos of spiced tea and an old wool blanket, and she sits at the dead end where the hollow opens into a circle of bare oaks. She told me she doesn't know why she goes. She…
The Light at Candlewood Lane
Luna recalls a December night in the small town of Candlewood, Vermont, where a string of porch lights along a country lane began to go out one by one — not flickering, not burning out, but simply vanishing, leaving only darkness behind. She drove the lane at dusk, counting the dark houses, and met an old woman on a porch who told her about the 'bell ringer' — a figure who comes at Yule to claim the unwary. But the old woman's story shifted each time she told it, and the last porch light went…
The Bell at St. Cuthbert's Gate
Christmas Eve, 1987. A woman named Ida Corrigan lives alone in a farmhouse on Bell Hill Road in Burkittsville, Maryland. Every year she hangs a bell on the gate. Every year it rings once at midnight. This year, the bell keeps ringing. Luna tells the story of a neighbor who tried to help Ida, and what she found in the snow between the gate and the house. The bells are not supposed to ring more than once. There is an old story about St. Cuthbert's Gate and the something that waits for the one who…
The Snow at St. Dwynwen's Cross
Luna recalls the night she took shelter in a tiny rural chapel after her car slid off a back road near the town of Treddin, Maine. The chapel was dark, the door unlocked, and someone had left a single candle burning on the altar. She wasn't alone. The old iron bell in the tower had been ringing for a hundred years without a rope. She met Elara, a woman who had been waiting there for something she couldn't name—something that came every Christmas Eve at midnight. This is a quiet, snow-buried…
The Bell at St. Dunstan's Gate
On Christmas Eve, 1993, Luna's grandmother sent her to ring the old bell at St. Dunstan's gate at midnight—a tradition meant to keep the Yule Wraith at bay. But the bell hadn't been rung in decades, and something had been waiting for the sound. In a small Vermont town called Harlow's Rest, Luna learned that some traditions aren't just superstition. They're warnings. And when you break the silence, you don't always get to choose what answers. A slow-burn tale of inherited dread and a bell that…
The Bell at St. Eulalia's Well
On the night after Christmas, Luna drives a back road in northwestern Massachusetts and finds a stone well she's never noticed before, hung with a single iron bell. The well is dry, but the bell rings on its own in the still air. A local woman named Ada tells her the well was sealed in 1892, after a child followed the sound of bells into the woods and never came back. But that was only the first disappearance. By the end of the story, Luna is left wondering why the bell rang for her—and what…
The Bell at Snow Hollow Church
A December night in 1987, on a back road outside of Millbrook, New York. A man named Arthur stops his car after hitting something on the icy road. He finds a set of footprints leading into the woods. They are not human. They lead him to an old church that hasn't held services in fifty years. Inside, a bell is ringing at midnight. No one is pulling the rope. The sound is coming from the bell itself — a deep, slow note that makes the bones ache. And then it stops. And something breathes in the…
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