Episodes
The Obituary That Posted Itself
When Luna stumbles on an obituary in a small-town Vermont newspaper, the date is five years in the future and someone is commenting on it in real time. The 404 error that shouldn't exist leads to a woman who insists she's still alive, a mother who buried her daughter years ago, and a friend request that blinks out of existence. A night of searching for a recipe becomes a confrontation with a page that refuses to stay dead — and a voice from the static asking for help from the other side of the…
The Night the Microfilm Borrowed My Face
In the quiet basement of the Muscatine Public Library, a woman researching her family tree finds her own face staring back from a 1971 missing-person report. The machine won't let go. The librarian sees nothing. And the articles keep rewriting themselves—first she's vanished, then she's dead, then she's the one holding the newspaper. A slow-burn encounter with a record that refuses to stay filed away, set in a Midwestern March where the light never quite reaches the corners of the room.…
The Night the 404 Page Pointed to a Missing Woman
A late-night rabbit hole leads to a historical society's 404 page that isn't broken—it's a living diary. The handwriting belongs to Eleanor Porter, missing since 1998, and her entries grow more desperate with each refresh. Luna follows the address to an abandoned farmhouse in Millbrook, where the room matches the description, and the notebooks pile up with other names. The house is teaching them all to write. And the page knows her name now. #404Hauntings #FexingoHorror #HorrorPodcast #404Page…
The Night the 404 Page Kept a Diary
A forgotten personal blog from 2003, always returning a 404 error. But if you knew where to look, the cached text still loaded — entries from a woman named Claire in Oakridge, Oregon, describing a door in her basement she should never open. When the entries stopped, the page became a blank error screen. Until one night, years later, the error message changed to a single line: 'Please come find me.' This episode follows the search for Claire, an abandoned house with a running server, and a…
The Night the Dead Blogger Kept Writing
It's two in the morning when Luna stumbles on a forgotten bookmark — a personal blog belonging to Eleanor Cove, a woman who died in a house fire in 2009. The site's 404 page isn't a standard error. It speaks to her. Each refresh reveals a new line: 'The back door is unlocked.' 'The smoke alarm never went off.' 'He was in the attic before the fire.' As Luna digs deeper, she realizes the messages are arriving in real time, describing the last moments of a night that should have ended years ago.…
The Night the Shortcut Led to the Same Barn
Back from a wedding in the Ozarks, I took a shortcut down a hand-painted sign on County Road 27. The gravel road looped back to the same fallen oak twice. Then an old man emerged from a barn, barefoot, and told me the sign has been there since 1978—and no one who follows it ever leaves. I drove straight and escaped, but a week later a letter arrived, postmarked from my own town, with a map and an invitation to return. I haven't gone back. But I haven't thrown it away. This is a story about…
The Night the Motel Fax Machine Wouldn't Stop Ringing
It was late October in Winslow, Arkansas, at a distressed motel off Interstate 40. Luna stops at the Red Rock Motor Inn after a long drive and finds the front desk unmanned. A fax machine in the back office rings every few minutes, spitting out pages of a letter that begins 'Dear Mom' — but the handwriting changes, the date gets older, and the sender's name keeps shifting. Each page is a different person's goodbye, written on the same yellow legal paper, all addressed to the same mother who…
The Night the Drive-In Screen Never Went Dark
September 2003, just outside a town called Murdock, Nebraska. The Skyview Drive-In had been closed for years—marquee dark, fence chained, screen a pale rectangle against the cornfields. But the projector in the booth still hums at night, and the screen glows with something that isn't quite a movie. Luna's cousin Danny worked the final shift in 1998, the night the last reel jammed and the owner simply walked away. Fifteen years later, Danny returns to the dead lot, drawn by a story about lights…
The Night the Used Bookstore Had No Books
In the fall of 2019, Luna found a small used bookstore in a town called Ridgefield that wasn't on any map. The building was there—an old Victorian with a hand-painted sign that read 'Page & Wick.' But inside, the shelves were empty. No books. Not a single one. The proprietor, a woman in a lavender cardigan, insisted they had 'the finest collection in the county.' Luna asked to see a book. The woman smiled, and her mouth stayed open a second too long. What Luna was shown was not a book. It was…
The Night the Motel Bible Read Back
In the autumn of 2023, I stayed at the Desert Sage Motel off Route 95 in Nevada. The room was clean, the bed was hard, and the Gideon Bible in the nightstand drawer had a bookmark I didn't place. I read a verse aloud—John 14:2—and the book answered me in a voice that was not my own. It didn't stop until I finished the chapter. But what I heard in the silence afterward, from the drawer, was the sound of pages turning on their own. This is a story about what happens when a book reads you back.…
The Night the ATM Spoke on Sycamore Lane
Luna recounts a strange encounter with a 1990s-era ATM on Sycamore Lane in the small town of Millbrook, Indiana, during a late-night drive in October 2021. The machine dispensed two twenties and a receipt that read 'YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO CALL' in dot-matrix font. Luna's friend Jess, who had been avoiding her mother's calls for weeks, was in the passenger seat. The ATM continued printing receipts overnight, each one a variation on the same message. Luna returns to the spot months later and finds…
The Night the Digital Photo Frame Refused to Forget
On a rainy November evening in 2019, in the town of Millbrook, New Hampshire, Luna bought a digital photo frame from a thrift store on Elm Street. The frame came loaded with someone else's memories—family vacations, birthday parties, a woman in a yellow dress. But as the weeks passed, the photos began to change. Faces blurred. The woman in yellow grew younger. And then, one night, the frame started showing images of Luna's own bedroom, taken while she slept. A story about grief, technology, and…
The Night the Self-Checkout Spoke My Name
In the summer of 2016, Luna stops at a 24-hour grocery in the small town of Dryden, Illinois, to buy a bottle of water and a pack of gum. The store is nearly empty, lit with the flat hum of fluorescents, and the self-checkout kiosk at lane four greets her by name. She has never been to Dryden before. What follows is a quiet, ten-minute encounter with a machine that knows too much—a recorded conversation, a frozen register, and a receipt that keeps printing. No gore, no jump scares—just the…
The Night the Vending Machine Refused the Dollar
January 2022, a twenty-four-hour laundromat outside Tulsa, Oklahoma. A vending machine that wouldn't take a crumpled dollar bill. A coin return that spat back something it shouldn't have. Luna's cousin Jenny called her that night from the payphone on the wall, her voice thin as wire, asking what she should do with the thing that came out instead of change. By the time Luna got there, the fluorescent lights were humming wrong and the dryers were all running empty. This is not a story about…
The Night the Parking Meter Never Expired
In the small town of Millbrook, New Hampshire, there's a parking meter on Main Street that never resets to zero. Luna recounts a late-November evening when she found it, fed a quarter, and watched the time tick backward instead of forward. The meter doesn't take change anymore—it just glows green, always expired, always counting down from a number that doesn't exist. What she learned from the old woman who tends the cracked asphalt around it, and the reason the town council buried the report…
The Night the Motel Bible Read Back
Luna hears about a motel on the outskirts of Eldon, Iowa, where the Gideon Bible in Room 12 started rewriting itself. The clerk who found it told her the pages filled in with names—guests who had stayed there over the years, including one who never checked out. Luna drove out to see the room herself, talked to the night clerk, and sat alone with the book. What she read there wasn't scripture. It was a ledger. And the last entry was dated three days from now. #EldonIowa #MotelRoom12 #GideonBible…
The Night the Parking Lot Barrier Never Lifted
Luna drives home late from a temp shift in the town of Meridian, Ohio, only to find the barrier arm at the Main Street lot stuck down. The pay station shows a ghost ticket. A man in a gray jacket taps on her window, asking for a receipt that expired in 1998. What follows is a slow, creeping encounter with a closed loop — a holding pattern that doesn't know it's over. Set on a humid August night, somewhere between 2 and 3 AM, this episode is about the spaces that forget to stop waiting.…
The Night the Laundromat Dryer Never Stopped Tumbling
In the small town of Marlin Creek, Idaho, during a sweltering August night in 2017, the 24-hour laundromat on Frontage Road became a place you couldn't leave. Luna recounts the story of her friend Danny, who pulled an overnight shift at the gas station next door. At 2:17 AM, a woman in a soiled wedding dress walked in with a single load. She fed quarters into dryer number seven, and the machine ran. It kept running after she left. It kept running after Danny went to check. It kept running after…
The Night the Hotel Wake-Up Call Never Stopped Ringing
A motel in eastern Oregon. A room with a rotary phone on the nightstand. A wake-up call that arrives at the same minute every night — 3:17 AM — and never stops ringing until you answer. But when you answer, there's no one on the line. Just a dial tone, a click, and then the ring starts again. Luna stays there for three nights, answering the phone each time, and on the third night she hears something — not a voice, but a sound that shouldn't come through a telephone line. A sound that makes her…
The Night the Liquor Store Lottery Terminal Never Paid Out
A slow November in Crystal Creek, Vermont, where the first snow never sticks and the last bus stops running at 9:15. Luna stops at the Bottle & Vine for a pack of smokes and finds a lottery terminal that prints winning tickets no one can cash. The clerk is a woman named Harriet who wears the same cardigan every day and hasn't left the counter in six weeks. A customer buys a scratch-off, wins five hundred dollars, and the terminal says 'SEE CLERK' — but the cash drawer stays closed. Luna watches…
The Night the Farmer's Market Scale Never Balanced
It was the autumn of 2007, in the town of Millbrook, Maine. The farmer's market had been closed for the season since October, but Luna's friend Margaret—who ran a honey stand—swore she saw a light on inside the pavilion one Tuesday night in late November. She asked Luna to come with her to check it out. What they found was a single digital scale still glowing on a folding table, its readout cycling between numbers that didn't match anything on the table. No produce, no crates, just the scale…
The Night the Welcome Mat Wept
October 2021, just outside of Elko, Nevada. A woman named Marjorie rents a small house on a dirt road called Pinyon Lane, drawn by the low rent and the quiet. But the welcome mat she brings with her — a cheap, braided thing from a big-box store — begins to change. First it's just damp in the morning, even when there's no dew. Then the stain spreads, dark and warm, like something is trying to write a message from underneath. Marjorie calls me, Luna, after she finds the mat sitting in the middle…
The Night the Vending Machine Delivered a Warm Soda
On a dead stretch of highway between Ely and Caliente, Nevada, there's a rest stop that doesn't appear on any map. I found it at 2:47 AM on a November night, my car's temperature needle climbing past the red. The vending machine in the corner looked ordinary — until I put in a dollar and the soda that came out was warm. Not room-temperature warm. Body-warm. And it had a name written on the bottom in permanent marker. The machine kept running after that. The lights inside the glass flickered in…
The Night the Library Computer Never Logged Off
Luna recalls a night in early March 1998, driving through the rain to the small town of Thornewood, Illinois. She was cataloging old town records for a freelance job when she found a terminal on the third floor that was still logged into a user named Ellen Vance — a woman who had died fourteen years earlier. The terminal kept her files open, her bookmarks saved, her email drafts unfinished. Luna sat in the dim glow of the screen, reading notes that seemed to have been left for someone like her.…
The Night the ATM Spoke on Sycamore Lane
It was November on Sycamore Lane, just past midnight, when the ATM outside the closed pharmacy started talking — not in beeps or menus, but in a voice that knew things it shouldn't. Luna was there, waiting for a tow truck, and what she heard through the slot where cash usually slides out has stayed with her. This is a story about a machine that learned more than it should, and what happens when you're the only one listening. Set in a small strip mall in upstate New York, in the season when…
The Night the Antique Store Register Never Stopped Adding
Luna recalls a humid August evening in 2017 when she stopped at an antique shop called The Copper Hearth on the outskirts of Moselle, Missouri. The store was closing, but the owner let her browse. An old brass cash register sat on the counter, its keys pressed down on their own, ringing up a total that climbed with every step she took through the cluttered aisles. She left with a small ceramic horse, but the register kept adding long after she drove away. A story about objects that remember…
The Night the Gas Station Calendar Never Stopped Counting
June 2023, a Shell station off Interstate 55 in Tipton, Missouri. Luna stops for gas at 2 AM and notices a paper wall calendar still showing March 19th. The attendant claims he forgot to flip it. But the date won't change — even after three hours of tearing off pages. The calendar counts backward, not forward. The attendant's hands tremble as he points to a faded Polaroid of a girl taped to the register: his daughter, missing since 1998. Luna watches him flip through the pages until they reach…
The Night the Motel Ice Machine Never Stopped
In the dead of August, the ice machine at the Sunbeam Motel in Pritchard, Missouri, kept running. Not the usual clatter of a cycle finishing—a grinding, constant hum. Luna's friend Maggie, working the front desk that summer, thought it was a mechanical fault. Until she checked the machine and found it empty. No ice. No water. Just the noise, and a cold that seemed to come from inside the machine, not the room around it. And then the machine started calling out names—names of guests who'd stayed…
The Night the Motel Ice Machine Never Stopped
It was late August, just past two in the morning, and the ice machine in the breezeway of the Sunset Motor Inn outside Taos had been running for two hours without making a single cube. Luna was staying there on a solo drive through New Mexico, and the sound—a dry, grinding hum—kept pulling her out of sleep. When she finally went to look, she found the machine's door propped open with a rusted screwdriver, the plastic bin inside empty except for a single key card, wet and warped. The motel's…
The Night the Motel Safe Kept a Room Key
Luna checks into a motel in Elko, Nevada, during a late-November storm. The clerk gives her a key to room 14. But the room's safe won't close. It keeps clicking open. Inside is a single key — to room 12, which hasn't been rented in eight years. Luna walks to room 12. The door is unlocked. The room looks exactly like hers. The bed is turned down. On the pillow, a note in faded ink: 'I knew you'd come back.' She doesn't sleep. She drives home at 3 AM. But when she gets there, the key from the…
The Night the Gas Pump Kept Running on County Road 9
August 1997. A woman named Cora pulls off County Road 9 into an all-night gas station outside Hallowell, Maine, at 2:47 AM. The station is dark except for one pump with a digital display that won't stop counting—no attendant, no other cars. Cora tries to leave, but the pump's hose follows her like a living thing, and the digits climb past any possible gallon count. A story about the arithmetic of loneliness, the machines that remember us, and the one pump that keeps running because it's waiting…
The Night the Dusty Server Blinked On at the Gas Mart in Pritchard
In the summer of 2019, just off Route 23 in the small town of Pritchard, Missouri, there's a gas station convenience store that doesn't sell much more than stale coffee and brake fluid. But behind the counter, wedged under a sink, sits a server tower from the early 2000s that still runs the store's inventory system. One night, the owner's daughter — a college student home for break — noticed the server's green light pulsing even after she unplugged it. It wasn't the power supply. It was…
The Night the Motel Pillow Hold Its Shape
Luna recounts a sleepless night at the Red Cedar Motor Inn off Route 9 in Millbrook, Vermont, during a late October rainstorm in 2019. The motel was nearly empty, the lobby smelled of burnt coffee, and the room's pillow refused to flatten no matter how she pressed it. At first it was a nuisance, then a quiet terror as she realized the pillow was breathing—a slow, steady rhythm that matched her own. She tried to leave but the door wouldn't open. The night manager, when she finally reached him…
The Night the Weigh Station Scale Kept Reading
On a frozen February night in 2023, Luna's car breaks down outside a weigh station on Interstate 84 near the Idaho-Oregon border. The station is unmanned — or so she thinks. Inside, a single scale monitor glows green, displaying a weight that changes every time she blinks. A clipboard on the desk holds a log of trucks that passed through in 1987. All of them registered the same impossible load: 0.0 tons. Luna waits for a tow truck that never comes, watching the numbers flicker and the clock on…
The Night the Derailment Report Stayed Open on the Dispatcher's Screen
It's the kind of small-town story you hear over coffee at a diner — the wreck on the old spur line, the engineer who didn't make it, the dispatcher who swore she saw him still sitting at his console years after. Luna was in Elkhorn, Nebraska, on a cold November night, when a trainman at the depot told her about the 404 error that never should have been there. About a man who refused to stop working, even after the tracks were pulled up. About a blank screen that kept ticking over, second by…
The Night the Bus Route 9 Never Reached Crestwood
October 2019. The 11:47 PM bus from Millbrook to Crestwood. Luna boards it one Tuesday night and notices the driver hasn't blinked since the depot. The route map shows fifteen stops, but the bus only makes seven. The passengers who get off never look back. The bus never arrives at Crestwood. This is a story about schedules that don't match, roads that don't connect, and the quiet horror of a ride that keeps going past midnight on a loop that shouldn't exist. Luna rides until she's the last one…
The Night the ATM Spoke on Sycamore Lane
October 2022, just past midnight on a residential street in Rosedale, Ohio. Luna was driving home when she stopped at a drive-through ATM that had no business being there. The machine dispensed an envelope with her name on it. Inside, a receipt with a single line of text that wasn't a transaction. She drove back to the same intersection three nights running. The ATM never reappeared, but the thing she found in her rearview mirror on the way home the third night still waits at the edge of her…
The Night the Diner's Specials Board Never Stopped Writing
It was late October in Oakley, Indiana. The kind of cold that gets inside your bones. I stopped at the 24-hour diner off Route 9 because the sign said 'All-Day Breakfast' and my headlights had been the only ones on that road for forty miles. The waitress's name was Deb. She poured coffee I never ordered. And the specials board — the one behind the counter, written in white chalk — it kept writing itself. New items every time I looked. Things nobody had ordered. Things nobody would. This is what…
The Night the Blue Light Stayed On at the VHS Hut
It's late. The last video rental store in the county still glows blue. You pull over because the sign says OPEN, but the door won't open for anyone else. Luna sits in her car outside VHS Hut in Thurber, Texas, watching the clerk through the window — he never moves, never blinks, and the blue light behind him pulses like a heartbeat. She counts the days since the store closed for good. Forty-three. But this night, the blue light stays on for her. A slow-burn encounter with a store that remembers…
The Night the Drive-In Screen Stayed On
Luna recalls a summer night in 1997 when her cousin Pete, working the projection booth at the shuttered Starlite Drive-In in Jasper Hollow, called her to the edge of town. The screen flickered to life at 2:17 AM with a single image: a man in a gray suit standing in a field, his back to the audience. No cars in the lot. No sound from the speakers. Pete said the projector had been unplugged. Over the next hour, the image shifted — a woman at a door, a child waving from a window — all facing away.…
The Night the Parking Meter Never Expired on Main Street
October 2023. Main Street, Harrison, Ohio. A town where the leaves fall early and the storefronts stay dark after nine. Luna found herself parked in front of a meter that wouldn't take her money — quarter after quarter, the red flag never dropped. She watched the meter across the street for comparison. That one ticked over like clockwork. Hers stayed frozen at exactly forty-seven minutes. The town clerk told her later that meter had been installed in 1987. And that for thirty-six years, the…
The Night the Surveillance Feed Stayed Live
In the summer of 2019, Luna house-sat for a friend in the small town of Millbrook, California — a two-week favor that turned into something else. The owner had a security camera system, and on the third night, Luna noticed something odd in the feed from the basement: the timestamp never changed. It stayed fixed at 3:47 AM, even as the camera showed the room in broad daylight. Then she saw a figure in the corner of the frame — a woman in a yellow dress, standing perfectly still, watching the…
The Night the Self-Service Kiosk Took an Extra Order
It was late summer, just past midnight, when Luna stopped at a 24-hour diner off Interstate 29 in western Missouri. The place was nearly empty—just a tired waitress, a cook smoking out back, and a self-service kiosk bolted to the counter near the door. She ordered coffee and pie, paid with a card, and sat in a booth by the window. But after a few minutes, the kiosk printed another ticket. Then another. The orders were for items she hadn't selected—things that weren't even on the menu. The cook…
The Night the Motel Confirmed Zero Vacancies
Luna pulls over at a tired motel outside of Harper's Mill, Maine, on a freezing November night. The neon sign reads 'Vacancy' but the office door is locked. Through a gap in the curtains, she sees a single light on in Room 7, a handwritten note taped to the window: 'We Are Full. Try Again.' She knocks anyway. The man who answers has no shoes, no name tag, and a stack of registration cards from 1988. Every card has the same guest name. Every card is signed. Luna checks out before sunrise, but…
The Night the Overpass Kept Repeating on Route 17
In the autumn of 2008, Luna's cousin moved to a small town called Millbrook, Virginia, for a job at a roadside diner. The diner sat under an overpass on Route 17, and the regulars told stories about the grey car that would drive over it at the same time every night — always going the same direction, always the same driver, never arriving anywhere. When Luna visited, she decided to watch for it. What she saw under that bridge changed how she thought about roads — and the things that get stuck on…
The Night the Library Computer Never Logged Off
In the summer of 2017, the public library in Harlow, Oregon, kept a single computer terminal running after hours. The screen showed an old catalog search page—no mouse, no keyboard, just a blinking cursor. I was there late, shelving returns, when I noticed the cursor was typing. Not random letters—full sentences. Questions. It was asking me about a book that had been checked out in 1989 and never returned. The librarian told me to ignore it, that the terminal had been 'stuck' for years. But…
The Night the Vending Machine at the Laundromat Stayed On
In the small town of Harpers Mill, Virginia, on a humid August night in 2019, I found myself at the 24-hour Laundromat on Front Street—the only one that still had a payphone and a vending machine that hummed low and wrong. That machine, with its flickering light and a bag of chips that never fell, started showing things I couldn't unsee. This is the story of what happened when I looked too long at the glass, and what looked back. A quiet, slow-burn encounter with something that existed in the…
The Night the Scrapyard Compactor Kept Running
On a humid August night in 1997, Luna's car dies outside the old McCready Scrapyard on Route 47 in Whitmore, Indiana. The owner, a gaunt man named Hollis, offers to let her wait in his office while he checks the alternator. But the yard isn't empty — she hears a rhythmic crunching from the compactor shed, and Hollis says it's just 'the night shift.' As the hours pass, the compactor never stops, and Luna notices the cars in the yard are all makes and models from the same decade — the 1970s — and…
The Night the 404 Page Led to the Underwood House
Luna recounts the night she stumbled upon a 404 error on a personal website that led her to the Underwood House, a crumbling Victorian on the edge of Blackwood, Virginia. The page was meant to be a dead end, but the image it displayed—a photograph of a woman in a blue dress standing at an upstairs window—kept drawing her back. She traced the site to a server in the house's basement, still running after fifteen years. The woman in the photo was Margaret Underwood, missing since 2009. Luna…
The Night the Bridge Tollbooth Stayed Manned
November 1997. A cold, wet night on the old Herron Bridge outside Danville, Virginia. Luna's car breaks down just past the tollbooth, and the attendant—a quiet man named Elias—keeps her company while she waits for a tow. But the tow never comes. And the cars on the bridge don't stop. They pass through, one by one, each with a face she almost recognizes. Elias tells her he's been manning this booth since 1973, and he never leaves. She learns why when she sees the logbook—a list of names, dates…
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