Episodes
The Woman Who Answered the Phone at the Wheeler County Sheriff's Office
In the dead of a January snowstorm, a woman named Evelyn works the overnight dispatch at the Wheeler County Sheriff's Office in Oregon. When a call comes in from a man trapped on a road that hasn't existed for twenty years, she follows a trail of crackling static and impossible details into a cold that predates the building itself. This episode is a slow-burn encounter with a voice that shouldn't be there, a road that was erased long before anyone thought to remember it. #HorrorPodcast…
The Woman Who Watched the Wires at the Banner County Telephone Exchange
In the winter of 1998, a night operator at a rural Nebraska telephone exchange starts noticing the wires don't just carry voices—they listen. The hum that shouldn't be there. The call that came from a dead line. And the woman who stayed long after her shift ended, watching the switchboard blink in the dark. A quiet, creeping story about the spaces between connections. #BannerCounty #TelephoneExchange #Wires #Nebraska #1998 #NightOperator #Switchboard #Hum #DeadLine #Listening #Luna #InBetween…
The Woman Who Watched the Shadows at the Grant County Bus Station
In a small Nebraska town, a night-shift clerk at the Grant County Bus Station begins to notice shadows that move without a source. At first, she dismisses them as tricks of the fluorescent lights, but the shadows grow bolder—sliding past sleeping passengers, pressing against menu boards, and finally turning to face her. This is a quiet, slow-burn episode about the things that watch back from the edges of our vision. No gore, no jump scares—just the cold of a waiting room at 3 AM and the weight…
The Woman Who Watched the Windows at the Mitchell County Library
December in Mitchell County, Nebraska. A snowstorm locks the town in white silence. Eileen, the night librarian, watches the big glass windows facing Main Street. One night she sees a face pressed against the pane. It vanishes when she blinks. But it comes back, night after night, at the same time, in the same spot. She checks security footage — nothing. She takes a photo — empty. Only her own eyes confirm what's there. The face starts to shift, to change, as if trying to speak. Eileen digs…
The Woman Who Watched the Walls at the Fremont County Clinic
Luna returns to a story she was told by a nurse in Fremont County, Wyoming, in the winter of 2019. The nurse worked the night shift at a clinic that had been closed for years but still hummed with electricity. She described a waiting room where the walls seemed to breathe, where patients sat with their hands folded and their eyes fixed on a single point on the ceiling, and where the clock never matched the time on her phone. Luna pieces together what the nurse saw in the examination room…
The Woman Who Watched the Water at the Garfield County Reservoir
In the summer of 2017, a woman named Ellen drove out to the Garfield County Reservoir, a man-made lake that had been drained for dam repairs. She went to see the things left behind: a drowned town, a church steeple, a school bus. But what she found in the mud was not abandoned—it was waiting. This is the story of the shapes beneath the silt, the sound of something breathing through a foot of dry clay, and the three days she spent not sleeping in a motel room with the lights on. It's about what…
The Woman Who Watched the Soil at the Linn County Cemetery
Luna arrives at a small-town cemetery in Linn County, Iowa, on a humid August night in 2021 to document a series of disturbances reported by the groundskeeper. Fresh graves have been churned from beneath, not dug from above. The soil is loose, dark, and smells of wet iron. She meets a woman in a blue coat who kneels by a headstone at midnight, whispering to the ground. The woman tells Luna she is listening for the dead who were buried too soon. Luna stays until dawn, watching the woman press…
The Woman Who Watched the Signals at the Washoe County Rail Crossing
In the summer of 2002, Luna's cousin Danny took a job as a signal maintainer on a remote stretch of the Union Pacific line through Washoe County, Nevada. The crossing at Mile Marker 47 had no town nearby—just sagebrush, heat shimmer, and a flashing red light that kept malfunctioning. Danny started seeing a woman standing by the tracks at twilight, always the same distance, always watching the signals. He tried to report it, but the logbooks showed no one else had ever been dispatched there.…
The Woman Who Wept at the Wichita County Rest Stop
Somewhere on a dead stretch of US-56 in western Kansas, there's a rest stop that doesn't appear on any map. Luna pulled over just before dawn in October of 2017, her third cup of gas station coffee already cold in her hand. The woman at the picnic table was wearing a clean floral dress and no shoes. She was crying without making a sound, her tears falling onto a photograph she kept smoothing flat with her palm. The photo showed a house with a red door, identical to the one behind her in the…
The Woman Who Measured the Carpet at the St. Anne's County Rec Center
In the winter of 2017, my cousin Kelly took a temp job at the St. Anne's County Recreation Center. The building was too new — built three years before but already wearing thin. Her job was to measure the carpet in every room, room by room, with a metal tape that kept snagging on the fibers. The center had a smell she couldn't place: like wet concrete and burnt sugar. The hallways were laid out in a loop she could never quite map in her head. And the carpet — it was the same grey tweed…
The Woman Who Watched the Static at the Sheridan County Motel
Luna recounts a night in November 2019 at a motel outside Sheridan, Wyoming, where the television static didn't just buzz—it listened. A woman named Eleanor checked in alone, missed her connecting flight, and spent three days watching the snow pile up through a window she couldn't open. The static started talking on the second night. Not words, exactly. But patterns. Rhythms that matched her breathing. By the third morning, the room was warm and the snow had stopped, but the static followed her…
The Woman Who Watched the Rain at the Deschutes County Truck Stop
Luna returns to the featureless room, but tonight she's not watching — she's remembering. A stretch of highway in eastern Oregon, a truck stop called the Broken Rim, and a woman named Marlene who sat in the same booth every night. Marlene never ordered. She just watched the rain hit the asphalt and listened. Luna joined her one July night, and Marlene told her about the year the rain didn't stop — and the sound that came with it. Not thunder. Not wind. Something that moved through the wet dark…
The Woman Who Watched the Static at the Sheridan County Motel
In February 1987, a woman named Darla checked into the Pine Cone Motel outside Plentywood, Montana, intending to stay one night. She stayed eleven, watching the television in Room 8. The set had no antenna, no cable, no remote — just a single channel that was never supposed to exist. Luna recounts Darla's account of the static, the faces that formed in it, and the motel manager who said the room had been vacant for years. A story about attention, and what happens when something decides to give…
The Woman Who Watched the Shapes at the Custer County Rest Stop
October in western Kansas, just past midnight, and the Custer County rest stop is empty. Luna parked on the gravel shoulder because the lot was too dark to trust. She tells the story of the other car that pulled in an hour later — a rusted sedan with its headlights off — and the woman inside who did not get out. The woman who sat in the driver's seat, hands on the wheel, not moving, for forty-seven minutes. Luna watched from her own window, and what she saw in the rearview mirror of that car…
The Woman Who Watched the Moths at the Elk County Fairgrounds
Luna tells the story of a woman she met outside a shuttered fairground in rural Kansas, on a hot July night in 2017. The woman was sitting alone on a picnic table under a buzzing sodium light, watching moths collide with the bulb. She spoke about a year she spent working the ticket booth when she was nineteen, and about the thing that came through the midway every night after midnight — something that followed the lights. She wasn't afraid. She was waiting for it to come back. Luna stayed until…
The Woman Who Watched the Rain at the Deschutes County Truck Stop
Luna pulls over at a truck stop outside Bend, Oregon, during a freak October downpour. Inside, a woman in a yellow raincoat sits alone in a booth, staring at the parking lot through a smeared window. She hasn't ordered anything. She hasn't moved. The waitress says she's been there since dawn. Luna sits down across from her, and the woman tells her about the thing she's been watching for — the thing that follows the rain. A slow-burn encounter about weather, waiting, and the shape you see in a…
The Woman Who Watched the Sand at the Prowers County Motel
Luna pulls over at a faded motel on the Kansas-Colorado line, where the wind never stops and the sand scours the paint off cars. The clerk is a woman named Delia who hasn't left the lobby in seventeen years. She tells Luna about the room at the end of the row — Room 8 — where the sand doesn't blow, it builds. Where guests check in and never check out. Where the walls breathe. Delia's job isn't to rent rooms. It's to count. To count the sand. To count the hours. To listen to the grinding behind…
The Woman Who Watched the Mirrors at the Grand County Rest Stop
January 1992, just outside Moab, Utah—a woman pulled off Highway 191 at the Grand County rest stop and walked into the women's restroom. She never came out. But she's still in there, watching. Luna drives through at 3 a.m. years later, stops for coffee from a thermos, and notices a single bathroom stall locked from the inside. Through the gap beneath the door, she sees bare feet—toes pointed toward the mirror, not the door. The janitor tells her the lock was welded shut in '92 after a woman…
The Woman Who Watched the Ceiling at the Garfield County Clinic
A woman in a beige room with no doors and no windows. Fluorescent light, buzzing ceiling tiles, a paper cup of cold coffee. Someone left a file folder on the floor—the intake sheet for a patient who arrived the night before, but the clinic was closed. The details don't match. The date is next week. And when Luna looks up, one of the ceiling tiles is moving, sliding sideways on its own. A slow-burn encounter with a place that bends where it should be straight, set in a county clinic outside a…
The Woman Who Watched the Dust at the Hemlock County Rest Stop
Luna returns to a familiar stretch of highway in Hemlock County, where a woman has been sitting in a rest stop for three days, watching the dust settle on the picnic tables. She doesn't eat. She doesn't sleep. She just watches. Luna stops to ask if she's okay, and the woman tells her about the pattern—the way the dust moves when no one is looking, the way it spells out names in the gray light before dawn. Luna doesn't believe her at first. But when she stays the night, she sees it too. A quiet…
The Woman Who Counted the Corners at the Thayer County Gymnasium
In the winter of 2017, Luna finds herself at a high school gymnasium in tiny Thayer County, Nebraska, hired to inventory old athletic equipment. But the gym has a geometry that doesn't hold — corners that count differently each time she looks, a basketball court where the free-throw line keeps shifting. A janitor named Earl warns her about the 'extra corner' that appears when the lights flicker. Luna stays late one night to see for herself, bringing a measuring tape and a handheld chalk line.…
The Woman Who Watched the Door at the Elko County Motel
November 2019, just outside Elko, Nevada. A woman checks into the Sagebrush Motel, a place she's stopped at maybe a dozen times over the years. But tonight something is wrong. The door to room 14 won't stay closed. Not because of a broken latch—it keeps opening on its own, just a crack, every time she turns her back. She thinks it's the wind, then maybe a guest playing a joke, then maybe a memory she's been trying to outrun for thirty years. Because this motel used to be something else. And the…
The Woman Who Watched the Cracks at the Rooks County Courthouse
December 2023. Rooks County, Kansas. A courthouse built in 1887, closed for renovations, with a single night-shift security guard named Doreen. Luna took a temp job cataloguing old case files in the basement. For three nights, she was alone in a building that smelled of floor wax and old paper. On the fourth night, she noticed a crack in the wall that hadn't been there before. It ran from the baseboard to the ceiling, thin as a hairline fracture. But it moved. By morning, it had widened. By the…
The Woman Who Watched the Glow at the Imogene County School
Late autumn, 1987. Luna spends a week in the empty Imogene County School, a two-room building closed since the seventies, hired to inventory what's left. The desks are bolted down but the chalkboards have been erased every morning, clean as glass. A single light bulb in the hallway stays on past midnight, humming something that sounds almost like a hymn. The last teacher, a woman named June Caster, disappeared in 1974—her winter coat still hanging in the cloakroom. Luna finds a notebook in a…
The Woman Who Watched the Smoke at the Yamhill County Fairgrounds
Luna drives into Yamhill County on a frozen November night to photograph the ruins of the old fairgrounds for a preservation project. The main pavilion burned down in 1997—everyone says it was faulty wiring. But the locals avoid the site, and the man at the gas station warns her not to stay past dark. She ignores him. Inside the charred pavilion, she finds the floor oddly clean, the ash swept into geometric patterns. She sets up her tripod and waits for the moon. And then the smoke comes—not…
The Woman Who Scraped the Ice at the Hemlock County Rest Stop
It's February in Hemlock County, Ohio, and the rest stop on Route 23 has been closed since '97. But someone has been keeping the windows clear. Luna meets a woman who has been scraping ice off the glass every morning for twenty years—not because she's employed there, but because the building asks her to. The frost holds patterns that aren't frost. The thermostat ticks even when it's unplugged. And the woman's hands… they're not what you'd expect after two decades of work. A quiet, slow-burn…
The Woman Who Watched the Tracks at the Moultrie County Crossing
December 2023. A woman waits for the 3:17 AM freight train at a rural crossing in Moultrie County, Illinois, every night for a week. She's not waiting for a train. She's watching the space between the rails. She's counting the seconds between the crossing lights. She's trying to remember if the man who told her about this place—a man she met once at a rest stop—ever said what happens if you look too long. This is not a ghost story. It's something else. Something about the gaps. Something about…
The Woman Who Watched the Windows at the Remington County Rest Stop
December 1999. A janitor at a rest stop on Route 7 in Remington County notices that the windows in the women's restroom never show the outside — only a dim, yellowish reflection of the fluorescent lights inside. No matter the time of day, no matter the weather, the glass refuses to let the world through. When he finally looks closer, he sees a faint shape behind his own reflection. Not his shape. Not moving. Just standing there, watching him from the other side of the glass. He stops checking…
The Woman Who Watched the Light at the Sunflower Motel
It's December 1998, just after midnight, on a frozen stretch of US-54 outside Liberal, Kansas. The rooms are dark, the vacancy sign flickers on and off, and Luna has been sitting in her car for twenty minutes watching a man in the office stare at a lamp that won't stop changing color. What she learns from him over the next hour isn't a ghost story or a haunting—it's something quieter and worse: the feeling that the light knows exactly who you are, and it's waiting for you to look away first. No…
The Woman Who Watched the Fog at the Platte County Rest Stop
Luna recounts a cold November night at a rest stop on the Platte County line, where she met a woman who had been waiting for forty-seven years. The woman spoke about a fog that rolls in from the river, fog that carries voices and shapes, fog that has taken things from her she can never get back. Luna sat in her car with the dome light off and watched the woman watch the fog, until the woman turned and looked directly at Luna and smiled in a way that did not belong to her. By morning the rest…
The Woman Who Watched the Doors at the Pottawatomie County Building
Luna remembers a spring evening in 2017 when she found herself in the Pottawatomie County Administration Building after hours. A locked door that should have led to the parking lot opened onto another hallway. Then another. And another. A custodian named Ray told her about the room with no doors, the one that appears between the third and fourth floors only when the fluorescent lights start to hum in B-flat. This is a story about the geometry of getting lost, about the smell of damp carpet and…
The Woman Who Dredged the Well at the Wilkie County Fairgrounds
A lone woman arrives at a fairground in western Kansas, hired to clean out a well that's been sealed for thirty years. The mud at the bottom is not mud. The sound it makes is not water. And the thing she finds curled at the bottom—wrapped in a baptism gown, still breathing—should not be possible. A story about what grows in the dark, what waits in the ground, and what happens when you pull it into the light. Set at the Wilkie County Fairgrounds, July 1998, just after midnight. #HorrorPodcast…
The Woman Who Counted the Crows at the Washboard Creek Motel
Luna tells the story of a woman named Delia who worked the night shift at the Washboard Creek Motel, a six-room roadside place off Route 201 in northern Missouri. It was October, just after the fair left town. Every night at 1:47 AM, the crows arrived — not in flocks, but one at a time, each landing on the same telephone pole outside room six. Delia started counting them. Twenty-three birds, every night, never more, never fewer. Then one night there were twenty-four. And the motel's vacancy…
The Woman Who Watched the Lights at the Quivira National Grassland
Luna drives through Kansas in late October, heading east on a two-lane highway. Somewhere past the Quivira National Grassland turnoff, her headlights pick out a woman standing on the shoulder. Luna stops. The woman is named Eleanor. She says she's been watching the lights for three days now. She points to where the prairie meets the sky, and Luna looks. The lights she sees are not stars, not distant cars, not anything she can explain. Eleanor has been alone out there, with a thermos of cold…
The Woman Who Watched the Water at the North Platte Bridge
Luna pulls a faded map from an anonymous file folder in the beige room and remembers a stretch of Nebraska highway, a moonless October night, and a woman named Grace who stood on the North Platte River bridge every evening, watching the water. Luna met her at a rest stop off Interstate 80, near Ogallala, in the fall of 2019. Grace wasn't waiting for anyone — she was counting the seconds between ripples, keeping a tally in a spiral notebook. She said the river was the only thing that hadn't…
The Woman Who Watched the Snow at the Sutter Creek Motel
Sutter Creek, California, January 2022. Luna spends a week at the Snowy River Motel, a faded roadside place where the heater kicks on every seven minutes and the parking lot lights hum at a frequency that vibrates in the teeth. She notices the snow doesn't fall like anywhere else—it drifts sideways, then up, then settles in shapes that look like letters. The motel clerk, a woman named Margot who hasn't left the property in eleven years, tells her the snow brings messages from the other side.…
The Woman Who Watched the Static at the Wichita County Motel
It's June 2019, just past midnight, and Luna is sitting in a Wichita County motel room that smells like bleach and old cigarettes. The TV won't turn off. The man at the front desk tells her not to worry about it—everyone says the same thing. But when she pulls back the curtain on the window between her room and the one next door, she sees a woman in a blue dress staring at the same static, her hand pressed flat against the glass. Luna tries to forget it. She tries to sleep. But the static isn't…
The Woman Who Watched the Dust at the Piute County Line
In the high desert of central California, along a stretch of Highway 395 that GPS insists doesn't exist, there is a rest stop that appears and disappears. Luna heard about it from a truck driver named Margo, who stopped there one November night in 2019. The rest stop had clean restrooms, vending machines that worked, and a payphone that rang at exactly 3:17 AM. The voice on the other end was calm, polite, and asked a single question: 'How many mirrors have you seen today?' Margo counted five.…
The Woman Who Watched the Dirt at the Selman County Cemetery
In the late autumn of 2019, Luna spent three weeks in Selman County, Oklahoma, cataloging headstones for a rural cemetery survey. The work was quiet and solitary, until she noticed a particular grave where the dirt never settled. Every morning she arrived, the soil was mounded fresh and dark, as if someone had just filled it in. The marker bore no name, only a date—March 17, 1987. She asked the county clerk, the groundskeeper, the old man who lived across the fence. None of them would talk…
The Woman Who Swept the Sand at the Yucca Valley Rest Stop
Somewhere off Route 62 in the California desert, there is a rest stop that has been closed since 1989. The chain-link fence is still up, but the gate hangs open. The vending machines are empty and dark. The bathrooms are locked. But every night, a woman in a gray coat comes with a push broom and sweeps the sand off the concrete pad. Luna met her on a drive from Twentynine Palms to nowhere. She didn't know the woman's name. She didn't ask. But she watched her sweep for forty minutes, and when…
The Woman Who Tracked the Sludge at the Wexford County Water Tower
Luna recounts a call she received in the spring of 2007 from a woman named Delia Marsh, who lived alone in a rented house outside Wexford, Iowa. Delia had noticed a faint brown sludge seeping from her kitchen faucet, and when she called the county water department, they told her everything was fine. But the sludge grew thicker, and one night she followed it upstream to the old water tower at the edge of town. What she found inside wasn't a leak or a crack—it was a room that shouldn't have been…
The Woman Who Tended the Furnace at the Stark County Poor Farm
In the winter of 2009, a social worker named Eleanor drove twice a month to the abandoned Stark County Poor Farm outside Guthrie, Oklahoma—not to investigate, just to sit in her car and watch. She told me she felt called there, but she never said by what. The first time she saw the light in the basement window, she told herself it was a reflection. The second time, she got out of the car. This is what she found inside: a coal furnace that had not been lit since 1963, a row of iron beds still…
The Woman Who Took the Call at the Loma Vista Motel
Luna recalls a night in October 2017 when she worked the front desk at the Loma Vista Motel outside Gila Bend, Arizona. A woman in a dusty sedan checked in just before midnight, claiming she was on her way to Phoenix but had been driving for hours and kept seeing the same billboard for a gas station that burned down in 1989. Luna gave her room 14. Around 2:00 AM, the phone rang with no one on the line. The woman knocked on the office door and said the room's mirror was showing a different room…
The Woman Who Counted the Steps at the Weldon County Bridge
October 2019. A county maintenance bridge outside Weldon, Kansas. Sixteen steps across, metal grating that hums under your feet. Luna heard about a woman who crossed it every night for three weeks, counting each step aloud, until one night the count was wrong. She stood in the middle, counted again, and when the number still didn't match, she stopped counting altogether. This is what happens when a place decides you are not supposed to leave. A story about thresholds, misplaced numbers, and the…
The Woman Who Watched the Rain at the Selkirk County Rest Stop
Luna pulls over at a rest stop on a two-lane highway in central Iowa, halfway through a long drive in October rain. Inside the dim fluorescent building, she finds a woman sitting alone at a table, watching the rain through the glass. The woman does not blink. Luna sits across from her, and the woman begins to speak — not to Luna, but past her, as if dictating a letter to someone who is no longer there. She talks about the road, the construction work that closed the highway for two years, the…
The Woman Who Watched the Ivy at the Caruthers House
June 1987, Caruthers House, a historic bed-and-breakfast outside Pine Bluff, Arkansas. Luna spent a summer as the night clerk. The ivy on the east wall grew three inches a night. Guests complained of faces in the leaves. Luna watched it creep toward the second-story windows, then past them, then over the roof. She measured it with a tape measure every shift. By August it had covered the chimney. The owner said it had been there since the 1800s. Luna says it was not the same plant. She still…
The Woman Who Measured the Shadows at the Turner County Fairgrounds
September 1997, Turner County Fairgrounds, just past midnight on the final night of the fair. Luna's aunt cleaned up after the crowds had gone, sweeping the midway under the buzzing lights. She noticed the shadows didn't match the objects casting them — a tilt she couldn't unsee, a gap under a ticket booth where the darkness was deeper than it should be. She measured, night after night, the offness of things. One night the shadows measured back. A story about geometry, sleep deprivation, and…
The Woman Who Watched the Light at the Cayuga County Line
November 2023. A woman named Della Marsh pulls over at a closed gas station on the Cayuga County Line Road because her headlights are flickering. She's driving from Buffalo to her mother's house in Scranton — a trip she's made forty times. The station has a pay phone that still works. She tries to call a tow. A man answers on the first ring, but he doesn't sound like a mechanic. He sounds like he's been waiting for her. By the time Della understands what's happening, the station's lights have…
The Woman Who Watched the Ceiling at the Kittery Falls Rest Stop
A woman stops at a rest area on Route 9 in eastern Maine, just past the Kittery Falls exit, on a Tuesday night in November 2019. The fluorescent hum is wrong. The ceiling tiles are wrong. A maintenance worker tells her something she cannot forget. A story about the spaces between places, and the things that live in the light we do not see. #FexingoHorror #HorrorPodcast #KitteryFalls #Route9 #Maine #RestStop #FluorescentLight #CeilingTiles #LiminalSpace #TheSpaceBetween #NovemberNight…
The Woman Who Measured the Cracks at the Starkweather County Road
October 2018, a Tuesday night around two in the morning. Luna's cousin Della drives a county-maintenance truck along a stretch of blacktop in western Nebraska that's been patched and repatched so many times the asphalt looks like a quilt of scars. She stops every quarter mile to measure a new crack that wasn't on last week's log. The cracks are growing, spreading, forming shapes that resemble letters, then words, then sentences. By the time she radios dispatch, the road is speaking back. A…
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