Episodes
The Draft at the House on Hickory Branch Road
October, a cold evening on Hickory Branch Road. I was clearing out Carrie's house after the accident. In the basement, behind the furnace, I found her old laptop. The battery held a charge. The drafts folder was open—dozens of unsent emails, all to me, all written the night before she died. The last one wasn't there when I started reading. It typed itself as I watched. I need you to know I didn't crash, it said. I was pushed. Then the front door slammed. I was alone. There's no neat ending…
The Attachment at the Storage Unit on Painted Feather Road
It's late November, just past one in the morning, when an email lands in Luna's inbox from a sender who died three years ago. The attachment is a photograph of a storage unit—one that belonged to the dead boy, locked and paid up by his family ever since. But the photo is time-stamped from last week, and the unit door is ajar. Inside, she finds a single chair, a bare bulb, and a notebook filled with unsent emails—messages written from the accident scene, describing her every movement since. When…
The Auto-Reply on Marrow Creek Road
Halloween night, 2024. Luna sits alone at her desk when an email arrives from an address she hasn't seen in twenty-six years—Liam Corso, a childhood friend who vanished in 1998 without a trace. The subject line reads 'Re: your message from 1998'—but she never sent him anything. She opens it to find an automated out-of-office reply dated November 2nd, 2024, as if he'll be back tomorrow. The account should be dead, the ISP long defunct. When she calls the number in the signature, a voice that…
The Unread at the Water Tower on Cattail Road
Luna receives an email from an old friend she hasn't spoken to in years. Subject line: 'I need to tell you something.' She can't bring herself to open it. Instead, she revisits a summer night from high school—the night they snuck into the abandoned water tower on Cattail Road. Inside, they found evidence of someone living there. Then they heard footsteps on the ladder. And a whisper that called their names. They never talked about it afterward. Now, years later, that email is waiting. What does…
The Unread at the Bridge on Whisper Creek Road
Luna receives an email from a friend who died ten years ago in a car accident on Whisper Creek Road. The message is short and cryptic: 'Did you forget the spot under the bridge?' Driven by guilt and curiosity, she goes to the old bridge and finds a hidden box containing a key and a note claiming the drowning was a lie. Following the key to an abandoned farmhouse, she encounters something—or someone—she left behind. A story of broken promises, cold water, and the debts we owe the dead.…
The Draft at the Roadside Diner on Stillwater Road
Luna returns to Stillwater Road on a late autumn night, pulled by a draft notification from a diner that closed twenty years ago. Inside, the jukebox still plays, the coffee urn is warm, and the man in booth seven has been waiting for her reply since 2003. A story about undelivered messages, the weight of silence, and the slow corrosion of unfinished business. #FexingoHorror #HorrorPodcast #StillwaterRoad #RoadsideDiner #Draft #UnsentMessage #Autumn #ClosedDiner #Jukebox #BoothSeven #2003…
The Draft at the Broken Tollbooth on Stillwater Road
Luna remembers a humid August night in 2017 when her car died on a back road outside Foley, Mississippi, and she found shelter in an abandoned tollbooth. Inside, a cracked smartphone on the floor played a voicemail on loop—a woman's voice apologizing to someone named Carrie. The call had been left six years ago. The phone was still warm. Luna tells the story of waiting for the tow truck as the message played again and again, each time with a new word slightly different, until the apology…
The Unread Message at the Payphone on Old Route 9
A payphone rings on a deserted stretch of Old Route 9, miles from anything. Luna answers it, and the voice on the other end is one she hasn't heard in years—her old friend Cal, who went missing three winters ago. He sounds like he's standing right there in the cold, but the phone isn't connected to anything. He tells her about the house he's been staying in, a place he calls 'the way station,' where time doesn't move the same. He asks her to come find him, to bring him home. But when she drives…
The Draft at the Derelict School on Cattail Road
Luna remembers a summer night in 2009, when she was twenty-two and broke, sleeping in her car behind an abandoned school on Cattail Road outside of Elmore, Alabama. She had found a way to pick the lock on the side door and charge her phone in the old library, where the books were still on the shelves, untouched since the building closed in 1995. One night she found a manila envelope stuffed behind a row of encyclopedias, containing a single photograph and a letter written in careful cursive…
The Draft at the Closed Theater on Birch Street
A cold February night in Glenwood Falls. Luna's cousin Adrian, a stage manager, calls her after midnight from the abandoned Lyric Theater — a place that's been locked up for thirty years. He's there for a final walkthrough before demolition, but something else is still using the building. The seats are damp, the stage is warm, and every door he opens leads back to the same aisle. A slow-burn story about a theater that never quite stopped its final performance, and the audience that never left.…
The Unread at the Rest Stop on Lost Key Road
Luna drives through the Florida Panhandle in the dead of an August night, her phone pinging with an email from a name she hasn't heard in twelve years. She pulls into a rest stop off Lost Key Road—a concrete block with a single flickering light and a vending machine that hums in C minor. The email subject line reads 'I know what you did at the quarry.' The body is empty. But the attachment is a single audio file: 47 seconds of silence, then a voice she recognizes. Not from the quarry. From her…
The Draft at the Roadside Shrine on Hurricane Creek Road
Somewhere between the rusted guardrail and the live oaks dripping with Spanish moss, someone built a shrine. Luna found it on a wet October night while her car idled on the shoulder of Hurricane Creek Road. Inside a glass-fronted cabinet: a single leather shoe, a sealed mason jar filled with dark water, and a plastic binder with the word DRAFT taped to the cover. The first page began: 'I am writing this because I think you are still reading the last thing I sent you.' She read it by the orange…
The Draft at the Empty House on Sunfish Road
Luna revisits the night she house-sat for a family she barely knew on Sunfish Road, a gravel lane outside a town called Gilead. The house was too clean, too quiet, and the closet in the spare bedroom had a door that wouldn't stay shut. She found a stack of letters in the attic, all addressed to a woman who had died years before. The last letter was dated that morning. She never told anyone what she did next, but she still wakes up some nights with the smell of old paper and pine needles in her…
The Draft at the Roadside Cross on Hurricane Creek Road
Luna returns to the bend on Hurricane Creek Road where a white cross marks the spot a girl died thirty years ago. The cross is always fresh—weathered flowers replaced, new names scratched into the wood. When she stops one November night to leave a stone, she finds a note tucked behind the cross that reads 'You're next.' She tries to leave, but the road loops. The cross reappears. And something in the ditch begins to whisper the same names that are carved into the wood—including her own. A story…
The Inbox at the Blue Heron Motel on Skunk Hollow Road
Luna receives an email from a name she hasn't seen in seven years — a woman she met once at the Blue Heron Motel, on Skunk Hollow Road, during a storm that knocked out the power for three counties. The subject line is empty. The body contains only a timestamp from 3:47 AM that night. Luna shouldn't remember her. She barely spoke to her. But the email is real, and the attachment — a single audio file — is only eighteen seconds long. What she hears in those eighteen seconds makes her close the…
The Attic at the Blue Heron Motel on Hurricane Creek Road
It's late October, just after midnight, and Luna is sitting in Room 9 of the Blue Heron Motel on Hurricane Creek Road, trying to ignore the smell of mothballs and the sound of something moving in the attic above the ceiling tiles. She's here because her friend Marlene called her from this same room three nights ago, said she'd found something in the closet — a box of letters, all addressed to a woman named Evelyn, all postmarked from the same small town in West Virginia, all unsigned. Marlene…
The Delete Request from Stillwater Road
In the small town of Stillwater, on a warm October night in 2019, Luna receives an email from a woman named Margot who asks her to delete a story she wrote ten years ago. Luna doesn't know Margot, doesn't remember the story, doesn't even remember writing it. But Margot insists, and the details she provides are chillingly specific. As Luna digs through old files, she begins to piece together a memory she thought she'd buried, one that involves a lake, a cabin, and a promise she made to a girl…
The Draft at the Motel on Copper Creek Road
It's two in the morning at a motel off Copper Creek Road, in a town called Thornewood that shouldn't exist on any map. Luna was driving cross-country, dead tired, when the vacancy sign flickered through the rain. The clerk didn't speak. The room key had no number. Inside, the air smelled of bleach and something else — something sweet, like rotten fruit. She opened her laptop to check email, and found a draft in her outbox she had never written. The recipient field was blank. The subject line…
The Unread at the All-Night Laundromat on Skunk Hollow Road
Luna recalls a night in late October, 2019, at the 24-hour Suds & Dry on Skunk Hollow Road outside Jasper, Ohio. She was there to wash a sleeping bag after a camping trip cut short. The place was empty except for a woman in a grey coat who sat in the corner, staring at her phone. Luna noticed the woman's hands were trembling. When the woman's machine stopped, she didn't move. When Luna tried to help, the woman showed her the screen: a text message from her own number, sent three hours ago…
The Unread at the All-Night Laundromat on Skunk Hollow Road
Luna pulls into the last open laundromat on a frozen January night somewhere off Skunk Hollow Road, Pennsylvania. The fluorescent lights hum. The dryers spin. A woman sits alone, folding clothes that aren't hers, and she tells Luna about the email that arrives every Friday from her own inbox — a message she never sent, timestamped three minutes into the future. Luna listens, loads her own laundry, and watches the woman's hands shake as she explains the pattern, the growing number of drafts, and…
The Unread at the All-Night Pharmacy on Old Route 9
A woman's recurring prescription refill email triggers an identical automated reply every time — but the attachment is always a photograph she never took. Luna traces the thread from a late-night pharmacy pickup in Millbrook, Wisconsin, to a server room in a building that shouldn't exist. The photos grow older, the dates creep backward, and the last image is of a child she recognizes from her own yearbook. A story about inbox silence, the weight of unsent things, and the version of yourself…
The Draft at the All-Night Pharmacy on Old Mill Road
It's 2:47 AM in early November when Luna stops at the 24-hour pharmacy on Old Mill Road, a fluorescent-lit liminal space on the edge of town. The only other customer is a woman in a beige coat, standing perfectly still in front of the cough syrup. Luna notices her reflection in the security mirror — but the woman casts no shadow. The pharmacist won't meet her eyes. The receipt she's handed has an extra line: a name that shouldn't be there. A slow, quiet horror about the things we buy at 3 AM…
The Unread Reply from Satsuma Ridge
It's late autumn in the small town of Satsuma, Tennessee, where the ridges hold fog like a secret. Luna gets an email from a childhood friend she hasn't spoken to in years — a reply to a message she never sent. The email is short, apologetic, and says things only someone who knew her then could know. But the timestamp is from three days before the friend's car went off the road on the ridge. Luna drives out to the bend that night, not sure what she's looking for, or what might be looking back.…
The Draft at the Truck Stop on Old Route 9
Luna recalls a late-night stop at a truck stop diner on Old Route 9, where a waitress named Darlene handed her a stained receipt with a handwritten message. The message was from a man who had been sitting in booth seven for three nights, writing the same sentence over and over in a notebook. Luna never saw his face, but she still has the receipt. A quiet, lingering story about messages that should never have been delivered. #OldRoute9 #TruckStopDiner #Darlene #BoothSeven #HandwrittenMessage…
The Unread Attachment at the Starlight Motel on Hurricane Creek Road
It's late October in a year I'd rather not specify. I was staying at the Starlight Motel on Hurricane Creek Road, a place that looks like every other roadside motel until you notice the bulletin board in the lobby. That night, an email arrived from a woman named Eleanor. She said she'd checked into the same room three years ago and never checked out. The attachment was a single JPEG — a photograph of the motel's parking lot at dusk. I didn't recognize the car in the frame. But I recognized the…
The Draft at the All-Night Laundromat on Old Route 9 — Episode 60
Lost Key Road, November. Two in the morning. The Wash & Fold on Route 9 is empty except for a machine that cycles through a load of clothes no one comes to claim. Luna works the overnight shift. She watches the dryer spin. She reads the note someone left taped to the detergent dispenser. She waits for the owner to walk through the door. They never do. But the machine keeps turning. A story about a quarter, a shirt, a promise, and the kind of waiting that hollows you out. No jump scares. Just…
The Draft at the All-Night Diner on Lost Key Road
It's late October in the town of Lost Key, and Luna is sitting alone at a booth in the all-night diner on the old road. She's nursing cold coffee when a waitress she's never seen before slides into the seat across from her, holding a single sheet of paper. The waitress says the note was left on a napkin by a customer who came in at 3:00 AM, alone, and wrote only two lines before walking out into the rain without paying. Luna reads the note. It's addressed to her. The handwriting is a child's…
The Draft at the Dead Letter Office on Maple Street
It's late November in the small town of Stillwater. Luna's cousin, a postal clerk at the old Maple Street post office, keeps finding undeliverable letters addressed to a woman who died in 1987. The letters are written in the same hand—a daughter who never stopped writing, even after her mother was gone. But the return address on the latest envelope doesn't exist, and the postmark is from a town that burned down twenty years ago. When Luna visits the dead letter office, she finds a stack of…
The Draft at the Moth and the Lantern on Copper Creek
It’s late October, just past midnight, and the Moth and the Lantern diner on Copper Creek Road is mostly empty. I’m nursing cold coffee in a back booth, trying to finish a letter I’ll never send, when the door opens and a woman walks in—drenched, shivering, wearing a dress that might have been white once. She sits at the counter, orders nothing, and starts talking to me without turning around. She tells me about the house at the end of Juniper Lane, about the closet door that would not stay…
The Unsent Reply from Blackwood Lane
It was the summer of 2021, just past midnight on Blackwood Lane in the town of Morrow, Kentucky. A single email sat in Luna's drafts folder, never sent. She had written it after a week of strange occurrences at the house she was renting on that dead-end road. What began with a flickering porch light and an old photograph taped to the refrigerator escalated into something that made her pack her bags at 3 AM. This is the story of what she found in the crawlspace, what she heard on the baby…
The Draft at the All-Night Laundromat on Old Route 9
Luna remembers a night in late October, somewhere outside a town called Bitterwood, when she stopped at a laundromat to wait out a rainstorm. The place was nearly empty — just a woman in a grey coat folding clothes at the far end, and a single fluorescent light buzzing overhead. Luna sat down with her laptop, opened her email, and found a draft she didn't write. The subject line was her own name. The message was a list of every place she had ever lived, every phone number she had ever changed…
The Reply at the Blue Heron Diner on Lost Key Road
It's late October, just after midnight, and Luna is the only customer at the Blue Heron Diner on Lost Key Road. She orders coffee and watches the waitress, a woman named Margie, who seems to be waiting for something else—someone who never comes. A man in a gray coat sits in the corner booth, face hidden behind a menu, and when Luna glances at the table next to her, there's a letter tucked in the napkin dispenser. Addressed to no one. The writing is small, cramped, and it says: 'I know what you…
The Draft at the Truck Stop on Hurricane Creek Road
Luna pulls over at a truck stop off Hurricane Creek Road outside a town called Gilead, Tennessee, on a wet November night. She's there to stretch her legs and check her email on the pay-per-use terminal in the corner. But the machine is already logged into someone else's account, and there's a draft message sitting open that she wasn't meant to see. It's addressed to a woman named Evelyn, and it reads like a confession, a warning, or maybe both. The sender is a man who says he'll meet her at…
The Draft at the Blue Heron Motel on Abandoned Lake Road
It was the summer of 2019, just past midnight on a Tuesday in July, when Luna checked into the Blue Heron Motel on Abandoned Lake Road in Foley, Alabama. The motel was nearly empty, the clerk barely looked up, and the room smelled of bleach and rotten flowers. But what Luna found in the nightstand drawer—a handwritten note folded into a map of the dried-up lake—pulled her into a story that belonged to someone else. A woman named Elise had stayed in that room three weeks earlier, and she had…
The Voicemail from the Motel on Lost Key Road
Luna recalls a voicemail left on her phone at 2:47 AM from a motel room on Lost Key Road, outside the town of Stillwater Creek. The caller was a woman she barely knew from a writing workshop—quiet, precise, haunted by something she'd seen in the woods behind the motel. The message is eleven minutes long, fragmented, and ends with a sound Luna still cannot name. Set in late autumn, the year the paper mill shut down. A story about what it means to receive a confession you were never meant to…
The Forward from Old Mill Road
On a humid July night in 2019, Luna’s email client pinged with a forwarded message from a childhood friend she hadn’t spoken to in fifteen years — a friend who, by all accounts, had vanished from the town of Beech Fork the summer after graduation. The forward was empty save for a subject line: 'I shouldn't have sent this.' But attached was a single audio file, sixty-three seconds long, recorded at the old gristmill on the fork of the creek — a place they swore they’d never go back to. What she…
The Draft at the Old Mill on Beech Fork
October 2022. A cold night in Shady Grove, West Virginia. Luna drives out to the abandoned Beech Fork Mill after receiving a draft email from her cousin Margot—who has been missing since June. The mill's machinery has been dead for decades, but something inside is still running. A logbook on the foreman's desk records a single entry, dated two days ago, in Margot's handwriting: 'It knows how to write back.' Luna finds the terminal where Margot must have sat—a computer humming in the dark…
The Unread Message at the Pines Motel on Old Route 9
In the summer of 2019, I spent a week at the Pines Motel on Old Route 9, just outside of Ellsworth, Maine. The motel was a relic—a sagging two-story building with a flickering neon vacancy sign and a gravel lot that caught the heat of July like a skillet. I was there to clean out my uncle's room after he died, but the front desk clerk gave me the wrong key. The room I opened was not his. It was occupied by someone who had been gone a long time, but whose presence was still pressed into the…
The Unsent Reply from White Oak Road
Luna recalls a night in early October 2021 when she pulled over at a rest stop on White Oak Road in Baxter, Kentucky, to check an email she'd been avoiding for three days. The sender was a former professor who had died eight months earlier. The message was short, typed in his voice, and asked her to come to his old office at the university library. She didn't go. But the email kept appearing—at the top of her inbox, marked unread, every time she opened the app. No matter how many times she…
The Draft at the Moth and the Lantern on Copper Creek
October 1997. A struggling writer named Eli takes a seasonal job at a roadside tavern called The Moth and the Lantern, just outside Lost Key, Tennessee. He works the late shift, cleaning up after the last customers. One night he finds a leather journal wedged behind a booth cushion. The entries inside are not his, but they know things about him—things he has never told anyone. As the journal fills with new writing each night, Eli starts to wonder if the book is remembering his life or writing…
The Sent Folder at Lost Key Marina
It was late October on the Gulf Coast, and Luna had driven three hours to meet a contact at the Lost Key Marina — a man who claimed his outboard engine had dredged something from the channel. Not a log. Not a buoy. A sealed plastic tub, barnacle-crusted, with a laptop inside. The screen still held a charge, and the Drafts folder held one unsent email, timestamped the night of the Labor Day storm. The recipient field was blank. The subject line read: 'If you find this, do not open.' Luna read it…
The Unread Thread from Copper Creek Road
Luna opens an email chain she's been avoiding for seven years — a thread from the summer of 2016, when she stayed at a borrowed cabin on Copper Creek Road in the town of Alder Flats, Oregon. The messages began as a neighbour's friendly invitation to a potluck, then shifted tone. The sender's name was Naomi Voss, and her last email — unread, marked urgent — simply read: 'Don't come to the creek tonight.' Luna closes the client, but the subject line keeps glowing in the dark of her office. A…
The Sign-In Sheet at the Pines Motel
Luna recounts a favor she did for a friend in the winter of 2019—picking up a logbook from the closed Pines Motel outside Garnett, Kansas. The motel had been shut down for years after a string of disappearances, but the owner's son wanted the records for a private investigation. She found the sign-in sheet still in the office, the last entry dated three weeks after the place officially closed. The names were familiar. The handwriting was her own. #FexingoHorror #HorrorPodcast #PinesMotel…
The Unread Message at Lost Creek Cemetery
Luna visits the small town of Lost Creek, West Virginia, in the fall of 2019 to help her friend Nora clean out her late grandmother's house. While sorting through boxes in the attic, Luna finds an old laptop that still has power. The inbox holds a single draft email, dated the day the grandmother died, addressed to a stranger. The subject line is blank. The body contains only a timestamp and coordinates. Luna and Nora drive to the coordinates that night — a remote corner of the town's oldest…
The Draft in the Drafts at Lost Key Creek
Luna revisits an old case from her days as a junior reporter in the small town of Stillwater Creek, Oklahoma. In the summer of 2019, a woman named Cora Hendricks vanished from her home on Lost Key Creek Road. Police ruled it a walkaway, but Luna found something in Cora's email drafts—a folder of unsent messages addressed to her future self. Each draft was a timestamped confession, a record of small failures and quiet dread. The last draft, saved at 2:17 AM on the night she disappeared…
The Contact Form at Route 9 Rest Stop
It was July of 2019, just past midnight, when Luna pulled off Route 9 at a rest stop outside of Ellsworth, Maine. She wasn't lost. She just needed to check her email. But the contact form on the cracked tablet screen kept sending the same message to an address she didn't recognize: 'I know you can see me.' The sender field was blank. The timestamp was always three minutes in the future. And when she finally turned off the tablet and sat in the dark, she heard something tapping on the passenger…
The Unanswered Email from Stillwater Creek
It's late November on Stillwater Creek Road in eastern Kentucky, where the leaves have finally fallen and the sky goes dark before five. Luna's college roommate, Maya, forwarded her an email chain that started three weeks ago—a series of messages from a sender named Abigail Croft to an address that hasn't been active since 2009. The emails are polite at first, then insistent, then desperate. There is no Abigail Croft in any record Maya can find, but the replies keep coming, each one referencing…
The Last Contact at Lost Key Creek
October 2022. Luna receives a late-night email from an old friend she hasn't spoken to in years — a woman named Anya who moved to a small Florida panhandle town called Lost Key Creek. Anya's message is cryptic: she's been finding things in her rental house that don't belong to her. Keys that open nothing. A locked closet with a single light switch inside. A journal written in a language that looks like English but isn't. Luna reads the email, then the journal pages that follow. The story that…
The Draft at the Waverly Motel
Luna checks into the Waverly Motel off Route 9, a rundown place with flickering neon and a front desk clerk who doesn't meet her eyes. In her room, she finds a stack of handwritten letters in the nightstand drawer, all addressed to a woman named Margot and all beginning the same way. The last letter is dated three weeks from now. The clerk refuses to explain. By midnight, the payphone in the parking lot rings every hour on the hour. Luna answers on the fourth ring and hears a voice she knows…
The Draft Sent at Three AM on Sulphur Springs Road
It's late October on Sulphur Springs Road, a gravel stretch outside a town called Mercy that barely registers on any map. Luna's car broke down there two autumns ago, and a man in a waxed jacket stopped to help — but what he offered wasn't a jump start. He lived in a house with no mailbox, no number, no name. He told her about a woman he'd been emailing for years, a woman he'd never met, a woman whose replies arrived at exactly three in the morning. Luna sat in his kitchen as the clock ticked…
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