Episodes
The Voice That Called at Bayou de la Croix
November on Bayou de la Croix, just past midnight. Luna poles through black water under a moonless sky when she hears her mother's voice calling from the cypress trees — but her mother has been dead for seven years. The voice follows her through the fog, shifting from mother to child to something older, pulling her toward a lantern that floats without a hand. She knows the local legend of the drowned bride who lures travelers to the deep water, but knowing doesn't stop the cold hand that grips…
The Mirror That Refused to Break
In the flooded backwaters of Bayou Miroir, an old cabin holds a mirror with a mind of its own. When Auguste Leclerc brings it home, his reflection begins to move on its own, then changes into something else. Now he can't look away. A story about what stares back at you when you're alone in the dark. Luna recounts this encounter with the quiet dread of someone who has seen the glass ripple and the face on the other side smile when no one else is watching. #BayouAfterDark #HorrorPodcast…
The Name That Wasn't There at Bayou Nom
Late October on Bayou Nom, and I found a grave with a name carved fresh into the stone. Eulalie Thibodeaux, 1923–1937. The next night, the name was gone. The woman on the porch told me the story: a girl who drowned, a family who wanted to forget. But a name isn't just letters—it's a thread. And some threads, once pulled, don't stay hidden. This is a story about memory, shame, and the things that wait just below the waterline. No jump scares. Just the slow creep of what we choose to forget.…
The Call That Came at Bayou Téléphone
October dusk on Bayou Téléphone, just north of Pont-de-Pierre. Luna finds a telephone nailed to a cypress knee — no wire, no dial tone, but it rings. An old man warns her it's the drowned calling. She answers anyway. What she hears is a woman asking for a ride home from a place that sank fifty years ago. Luna drives to the address. But when she gets there, the house is gone — and the phone in her car starts ringing again. A quiet, lingering encounter with the wires that never died.…
The Thread That Unraveled at Bayou Fil
Luna hears a story from an old woman weaving palmetto baskets on Bayou Fil. The woman, Mémère, speaks of a thread she spun that came alive—one that began to unravel everything it touched. At first small objects, then furniture, then her own clothes and hair. The thread pulled her apart strand by strand, not violently, but as if unmaking her. Luna returns to find Mémère gone, but the strand remains. It finds its way into Luna's pocket, her jar, her life. A slow, creeping horror about the things…
The Photograph That Changed at Bayou Vieux
Luna poles her pirogue into the deep channels of Bayou Vieux, where a woman named Marie waits with a photograph that refuses to stay still. Taken in 1952, the image of her grandmother's house shifts with each glance — shadows move, a rocking chair repositions, a face appears in an upstairs window. When Luna and Marie return to the house, they find a gallery of the same home at different moments in time, some burning, some collapsing, all watching. The photograph in Marie's hand empties itself…
The Light That Went Out at Bayon Saint-Jean
Luna recounts a summer night on Bayou Saint-Jean, where she met an old man named Pierre who kept a lantern burning at the water's edge. He claimed the light held something back — something that rose from the mud when the flame died. For years, he never let it go out. But one August night, the wind shifted, and Luna watched the lantern swing. She saw what came. A story about a promise kept too long, and the cost of holding the dark at bay. No neat resolution — just the memory of a flame, and the…
The Bell That Tolled at Bayou Saint-Vincent
December 1972. The coldest winter in forty years along Bayou Saint-Vincent. Luna's grandmother told her about the bell that used to hang in the chapel at the crossroads—a bell that only rang when someone was about to die. But the chapel burned down in 1947, and the bell was never found. Until a man named Elias Benoit, a dredger working the channel, pulled it up from the mud, tangled in cypress roots. He brought it home, thinking it was scrap iron. That night, the bell began to ring on its own.…
The Well That Remembered at Bayou Souvenir
Luna recalls a July night in 1987 when she met an old woman named Elodie who drew water from a well that had no bottom. By the time Luna left, she understood that some things are better left forgotten—but the well doesn't forget. A slow, humid horror about memory, repetition, and the weight of names spoken into dark water. #FexingoHorror #HorrorPodcast #BayouAfterDark #BayouSouvenir #TheWellThatRemembered #Elodie #July87 #Well #Memory #DarkWater #Cypress #Moss #Pirogue #Lantern #ForgottenNames…
The Tree That Followed at Bayou Derrière
When Luna's pirogue drifts into Bayou Derrière, she meets an old man named Emmett who sits in a tree that shouldn't exist. The tree has no roots, no leaves—just a trunk and a single branch that creaks in the wrong direction. Emmett claims the tree has been following him for forty years, ever since he buried something he shouldn't have. Luna ties her boat to the branch and listens as Emmett tells the story of a well, a promise, and a tree that moves one inch every night toward the house where…
The House That Waited at Bayou Attente
Luna meets an old woman named Cecile who lives alone in a house that wasn't there the day before, at the edge of a bayou that doesn't appear on any map. Cecile has been waiting for a visitor for seventy-one years, but she can't say who. She serves coffee that tastes of stagnant water. She shows Luna a photograph of a man who looks exactly like Luna's grandfather. The floorboards have no nails. The windows face inward. And late that night, a knock comes from inside the closet—a knock that Cecile…
The Bell That Hung at Bayou Noir
A woman goes missing in the Atchafalaya Basin in the fall of 1987. Her husband finds a rusted bell hanging from a cypress branch in a place no bell should be. He rings it. What answers comes back is not his wife. Luna tells the story of a single night on Bayou Noir, where the water remembers every sound it ever swallowed. A story about grief, patience, and what happens when you call something that was never lost. #BayouNoir #Atchafalaya #Bell #Louisiana #MissingWife #Grief #Cypress #Swamp #Mist…
The Path That Sank at Bayou Terre
In the autumn of 2007, a man named Caleb Bastien drove his truck down a road that should not have existed—a dirt track that appeared overnight in the marsh south of St. Elodie, Louisiana. He was looking for a shortcut to the highway, but the road had other intentions. Each mile it grew narrower, softer, more like a memory than a real path. By the time he understood what was happening, the road was already choosing where it wanted him to go. Luna tells the story of a road that remembers every…
The Hand That Held the Lantern at Bayou Chute
Luna poles her pirogue to the mouth of Bayou Chute, a narrow channel locals avoid even at noon. There she finds an old woman standing on a half-sunken porch, holding a kerosene lantern that won't stop burning. The woman claims she's been waiting sixty years for someone to row her across. But there's no boat under the porch. And when Luna looks closer, the lantern is not casting shadows. It's collecting them. A quiet, slow-burn episode about waiting, crossing, and the things we carry toward the…
The Bell That Refused to Ring at Bayou Cloche
September 1987. A dry spell had shrunk Bayou Cloche to a trickle, and the old iron bell that had hung silent in the cypress for as long as anyone could remember began to hum. Not ring—hum. A low, constant note that crawled up your spine like ants. I went to see it with a man named Emile, who had lived on that bayou his whole life and swore the bell had never made a sound before. What we found under that tree wasn't a bell at all, not anymore. It had grown roots—thin, pale tendrils that burrowed…
The Bell That Sang at Bayou Chanson
Luna recalls a single night on Bayou Chanson, late October 1997, when she met a woman named Delphine who was waiting for the bell beneath the water. Every night for forty years she had come to listen. Luna stayed too long and heard what the drowned ringers used to sing. A story about the sound that pulls you under. #FexingoHorror #HorrorPodcast #BayouAfterDark #BayouChanson #TheBellThatSang #Delphine #October1997 #DrownedRingers #BellSong #BeneathTheWater #FortyYears #Pirogue #LanternLight…
The Bell That Couldn't Be Found at Bayou Perdu
Deep in the Atchafalaya Basin, at a bend called Bayou Perdu, Luna meets an old trapper named Girard who has spent fifty years looking for a bell he lost in the water. Not a bell that fell from a boat — a bell that sank into the mud and kept ringing. Every night, in the stillest hour, he hears it. But when he tries to follow the sound, the source is never where it should be. Luna rows with him into the black, and the bell sounds closer than ever. They find something that should not be there…
The Bell That Rang at Bayou Silence
In the summer of 1998, deep in the Atchafalaya Basin, a man named Jean-Claude Boucher spent six months alone in a shack on stilts, listening for something that had no business making sound. He was a hydrophone operator for a university study on underwater acoustics—until one night in August, when the hydrophone picked up a bell tone from a part of the bayou where nothing lived, where the water was still as glass and the fish had learned to stay away. Luna heard the story from Jean-Claude…
The Girl Who Sang at Bayou Chanson
Luna recounts a night in the spring of 2019, when she met a girl named Elara at the edge of Bayou Chanson. Elara had a voice that seemed to come from somewhere else—a voice that could make the water ripple and the moss sway. She sang a song without words, and Luna watched as something answered from beneath the black surface. This episode is about the moment when music becomes a summons, and the price of hearing a melody that was never meant for human ears. #BayouChanson #Elara…
The Girl Who Counted Seconds at Bayou Pendule
Luna remembers a winter at Bayou Pendule, where a girl named Elodie sat on the dock counting seconds between the drips of moss. She said the bayou was a clock that was losing time. When Luna asked what happened when it stopped, Elodie didn't answer — she just pointed at the water, where the ripples had frozen mid-spread. This episode follows a night of counting, of listening, of watching the bayou slow down like a dying machine. No one else could hear the change. But by morning, the drips were…
The Bell That Dragged at Bayou Tirant
Luna recalls a December night on Bayou Tirant, a narrow channel off the Atchafalaya, where she found an antique brass bell tied to a cypress knee with rusted wire. The bell was heavy, etched with faded symbols, and when she rang it, something answered from deep in the water. Over the following weeks, the bell seemed to follow her—turning up on her porch, on her desk, in the pocket of her coat. No matter how far she took it, it always came back. And every time it returned, the sound it made was…
The Catch That Came Back at Bayou Gant
Summer 1987, a stretch of Highway 90 between Morgan City and Patterson. Luna drives past a bait shop that shouldn't be there — a blue wooden shack with a hand-painted sign reading 'Gant's Live Bait & Tackle.' Inside, a man in a canvas apron sits alone, cleaning catfish with a knife that never needs sharpening. He tells her about the thing he pulled out of the water three nights ago, the thing that looked like a fish but wasn't, the thing that spoke in a voice that wasn't a voice. She buys a bag…
The Bell That Sang at Bayou Abandon
Luna finds herself in the Louisiana town of St. Elmo, a place slowly being reclaimed by swamp, to visit an old cypress church whose bell has been ringing every night at 3:17 for the past three weeks. The priest, Father Renaud, insists no one is pulling the rope — and the clapper is locked in a cabinet in the sacristy. Luna waits with him through the first two rings, then they find the cabinet door open, the clapper gone. The next night, she watches from the pirogue as the bell sways without…
The Prayer That Stayed at Bayou Toussaint
December 1987, outside St. Toussaint Parish. A young woman named Elodie Mouton inherits her grandmother's shotgun house on the bayou — a place no one in the family has visited in thirty years. The house is clean. The pantry is stocked. The radio plays static on a station that went off the air in 1954. And every night at 3:33 AM, the rosary beads in the bedroom start moving on their own — not clicking, not rattling, but praying. Each bead slides forward a decade at a time, and every decade…
The Woman Who Measured the Dark at Bayou Sonde
A woman named Elodie Latour spends every night in a pirogue on Bayou Sonde with a plumb line and a brass sextant, measuring the depth of the water at the same coordinates. She's been doing it for thirty-two years. She tells Luna she's measuring the darkness — that the bayou grows deeper every night, but not in a way that water can account for. That something is swallowing the bottom, bit by bit. That she has to know exactly when the hollow reaches the surface. Luna goes with her one night in…
The Door That Opened at Bayou Serrure
In the summer of 1997, on a dirt road that dead-ends at Bayou Serrure, there was a door standing alone in a field. No house, no frame, no walls—just a weathered oak door with a brass knob, facing the water. My cousin Delphine dared me to open it. She said the old men at the bait shop told her that door wasn't built by anyone alive, and that if you turned the knob at midnight, you'd hear what was on the other side. I was seventeen and I didn't believe in much. But I went with her anyway, because…
The Voice That Sang Under Bayou Chêne Vert
Luna recalls a stifling August night in 2019 when she poled her pirogue into a side channel off Bayou Chêne Vert, following a sound like a woman singing underwater. The song was old—older than the cypress trees, older than the town of St. Claude—and it pulled her toward a submerged cabin no one had seen in fifty years. She found a door, a dress, and a mirror that showed her something she still can't forget. This episode is about the things we hear when we're alone on the water, and the things…
The Thing That Danced at Bayou Fête
June, 1992. The night of the Fête-Dieu on Bayou Fêtard. A girl from the next parish over came to the bonfire and danced with a man whose feet didn't touch the ground. No one remembered inviting him. No one remembered his face after. Luna pieces together what she heard from her cousin, who was there, who swore the accordion kept playing long after the musicians had stopped. A story about rhythm, and what answers when you move wrong. #FexingoHorror #HorrorPodcast #BayouFêtard #Louisiana…
The Photograph That Moved at Bayou Tasse
In the summer of 2019, I spent a week at my grandmother's house on Bayou Tasse, helping her sort through boxes in the attic. She'd lived there sixty years, and the dust smelled of camphor and old paper. I found a photograph in a cedar chest—a tintype of a woman in a high-collared dress, standing at the edge of the bayou. The water behind her was wrong. It looked like it had been painted over, like someone had tried to erase something. I didn't think much of it until I set it on the nightstand.…
The Bell That Measured at Bayou Mesure
In the summer of 1987, Luna's aunt Elodie sent her to a tiny crossroads store called Mesure's, sunk deep in the bayou near the ghost town of St. Anselm. The store was run by a woman named Bel who kept a bell on the counter that measured things — not time, not weight, but something else. The bell never rang for anyone else, but when Luna touched it, it tolled once, low and wrong. Over the next weeks, she learned that every customer who came to Mesure's had something measured, and that the bell's…
The Light That Stayed Under Bayou Rouge
December on Bayou Rouge, fifteen miles south of Breaux Bridge, the water runs the color of old rust. Luna's pirogue scrapes over something that shouldn't be there — a submerged house, tin roof intact, a kerosene lamp still burning behind a warped window. The door is not locked. Inside, a man named Eli sits at a kitchen table with a cup of cold coffee and a story about the night the water rose and the light refused to go out. Luna stays long enough to hear the whole thing, long enough that the…
The Bell That Forgot to Ring at Bayou Sel
On a still July night in 2019, Luna poled into a slough off Bayou Sel where the water tasted like salt and the air smelled of iron. There she met an old woman named Elara who had lived alone for forty years tending a brass bell that hung from a cypress knee. The bell had never rung, not once, until the night Luna arrived. And when it finally spoke, it did not make a sound—it made a shape in the air that Elara stepped into. Now Luna sits on her porch in Thibodaux, watching the salt creep up the…
The Bell That Whispered at Bayou Ombre
In the late summer of 2023, Luna followed a story to Bayou Ombre, a crooked sliver of black water just north of the Texas line. A woman named Elodie had called the parish sheriff to report a bell ringing under her house every night at 2:07 AM. The sheriff found no bell, no basement, no crawlspace — just a patch of damp earth where the sound seemed to come from. Elodie had been living alone since her husband went missing on the bayou six months before. She said the bell wasn't ringing anymore by…
The Bell That Wouldn't Rust at Bayou Fer
In the summer of 2019, I poled into a stretch of Bayou Fer where the water ran the color of tea and the air smelled like wet metal. An old timer named August Landry told me about the bell that hung from a cypress knee at the fork — a bell that never rusted, never tarnished, never stopped ringing when the wind died. He said his father warned him never to touch it. I asked why. He just pointed at the water and said, 'Because the ones who hung it are still listening.' What I found when I paddled…
The Voice That Called from Bayou Tremblant
A woman named Elise moves into a rented cabin on Bayou Tremblant in early October, hoping for peace after a divorce. At first, the night sounds are normal—frogs, crickets, the rustle of cypress needles. But on the third night, she hears a voice calling her name from the water. Not a whisper, not a shout—a clear, ordinary voice, like a friend standing at the dock. Elise knows she lives alone. The voice comes every night, always after midnight, always from the same patch of black water between…
The Hand That Knocked at Bayou Dormant
In the winter of 2007, a woman named Elise moved into a house on the edge of Bayou Dormant, Louisiana—a narrow, tea-colored channel no one visits after dark. She was running from something, but she wouldn't say what. The house had a locked door in the hallway that the realtor said led nowhere. Elise started hearing a knocking at that door, always three knocks, always at 3:07 AM. She never opened it. But the knocking got louder. Then the door warped. Then the hand began to push through. Luna…
The Bell That Didn't Ring at Bayou Mort
On a still October night in 1997, Luna rows into Bayou Mort to find a woman named Elodie waiting in a skiff. She has come every night for seventeen years, listening for a bell that never rings—the one her husband Claude was commissioned to cast before he disappeared into the swamp. Elodie believes the bell is still down there, waiting for the right night to chime. Together they drift into the black heart of the bayou, where the water holds its breath and the cypress roots remember everything.…
The Thing That Knocked at Bayou L'Étang
In the winter of 2007, a man named Jules Toussaint bought a house on the edge of Bayou L'Étang, a place so quiet the locals called it 'The Sigh.' Jules was a painter who needed silence—but what he found was something else. The knocking started on the third night: three slow raps on the back door, always at 2:47 AM, always from the side where the porch steps had rotted away. No footprints in the mud. No handprints on the glass. Just the sound, and the feeling that something was waiting for him…
The Hinge of Bayou Allure
Outside St. Martinville, past the last paved road, a hunter found a door in the cypress. Not a cabin door, not a root cellar hatch—a six-panel interior door with a brass knob, set into the bark of a live oak. He didn't open it, but he touched the hinge. Luna heard about it from his widow, who said he came home with frost on his collar in July, and that his handprint on the kitchen counter stayed cold for three days. This is what happens when you touch something that was never meant to swing…
The Crawlspace of Bayou Prière
Luna recalls a night in the summer of 2008 when she took shelter from a sudden storm in an abandoned house on the edge of Bayou Prière, Louisiana. The house had no boarded windows or locked doors—just an open porch and a dirt floor crawlspace underneath. A woman named Elodie told her never to crawl under there. But the rain was rising, and the thing that lives in the dark spaces beneath old houses had already smelled her. A quiet, terrifying story about what waits in the places we think are…
The Doll that Watched from the Porch of Bayou Tasse
In the summer of 2019, Luna's cousin bought a Victorian house on Bayou Tasse with a porch full of porcelain dolls. The realtor said they came with the property—part of the estate of a woman named Estelle Broussard, who had lived there alone for sixty years. The first night, Luna's cousin moved one doll to the attic. The next morning, it was back on the porch swing, facing the door. She tried again. Same result. Then she started hearing it—a soft ticking from inside the doll, like a watch buried…
The Bell That Sank at Bayou Jean-Louis
It was the spring of 2003 when Luna's uncle, a shrimper on Bayou Jean-Louis, pulled up something that should have stayed on the bottom. A bronze bell, green with age, still attached to a broken chain. He hung it from a cypress branch, and that night the ringing started. Not from the bell itself — but from the water. Each toll was a question. Each question was a name. Luna tells the story of a man who thought he could bargain with the bayou, and the three nights it took to answer him back. Set…
The Gutter Pipe of Bayou Ardent
On a January night in 1987, Luna's father took a shortcut through the Ardent Parish backroads and found a child standing in the middle of the road, clutching a length of rusted gutter pipe. The child didn't speak. Didn't blink. But when the pipe was lifted to its lips, the sound that came out was not a child's voice. Luna pieces together what her father saw that night, what he heard, and why he never took that road again. #BayouArdent #FexingoHorror #HorrorPodcast #Anthology #Louisiana #1987…
The Bell That Sang at Bayou Carencro
Luna recounts a night in early November, 2008, when she helped a friend named Delphine haul a rusted iron bell out of the mud at Bayou Carencro. The bell had been buried for generations, but on the night they pulled it free, it began to ring without being touched — and the air around it grew cold enough to see your breath. Delphine claimed it was the voice of her great-grandmother, a woman who drowned in 1919. But as they rowed back to shore, Luna noticed the bell had changed the sound of the…
The Thing That Counted at Bayou Chêne Vert
On a moonless November night, Luna poled her pirogue past a dead cypress she'd passed a hundred times—only this time, it had been painted with seven white marks. The marks were fresh. She counted them. By morning, there were eight. This is the story of the counting that happened at Bayou Chêne Vert, and the thing that came to finish the tally. A slow-burn encounter with a patient, ritualistic presence that seems to be keeping score—not of days, not of people, but of something far older than…
The Bell That Rang From the Clay at Bayou Noir
In February of 2021, Luna paddled into a part of Bayou Noir she'd never seen before — a stretch where the water was the color of old iron and the cypress trees grew in a perfect circle. An old man named Elam was waiting there, sitting in a skiff that didn't touch the surface. He told her about the bell that had been ringing from the clay bottom every night for three hundred years, and the bargain his family made to keep it silent. But the water was rising, and the clay was shifting. And…
The Bell That Rang Under Bayou Blanc
One still autumn night on Bayou Blanc, Luna hears a bell tolling from beneath the water—a sound no one else can hear. She follows it to a flooded church steeple, where a young woman in a white dress waits at the altar, forever ringing the bell for a congregation that never comes. But the bell is not for the dead. It is for the living who still remember a promise made before the water rose. A quiet, sorrowful tale of faith, memory, and the things we refuse to let sink. #BayouBlanc #FloodedChurch…
The Thing That Sang from the Cypress at Bayou Salé
On a salt-scoured stretch of bayou where even the moss tastes of brine, old man Guidry kept a single cypress tree standing long after the others were logged. He said the tree had a song in it, something that came out only at low tide when the mud cracked and the stars hung low and wrong. When I finally heard it—a wet, melodic hum that seemed to come from inside my own skull—I understood why he never cut it down. And why, after forty years of listening, he finally stopped going out at night.…
The Thing That Borrowed the Bell at Bayou Tortue
On a black November night in Pierre Part, Louisiana, a woman named Elise Benoit heard the bell at St. Martin's chapel ring three times — but no one was inside. The bell had not moved since 1912. Luna tells the story of a year she spent living near that chapel, the things she saw in the bell tower when the moon was down, and the bargain that the bayou struck with a woman who listened too closely. This is not a ghost story. It is a story about what happens when a thing that has been waiting for a…
The Bargain of Bayou Gauche
In the summer of 1995, on a nameless branch of Bayou Gauche, Luna met a man named Elias Thibodeaux who had been fishing the same spot for forty years without ever catching a thing. He said he made a deal with something that lived under the water—a deal that kept his family safe, but left him hungry. The night she joined him, the bobber went under for the first time. This is the story of what pulled, and what he paid. #BayouGauche #EliasThibodeaux #LouisianaSwamp #FishingDeal #UnderwaterBargain…
Showing the latest 50 episodes. The full archive of 86 is on Apple Podcasts, Spotify and every major podcast app — or via the RSS feed above.