Episodes
The Hum That Sang Her Name on Ashwood Lane
Autumn on Ashwood Lane in Mapleton. A woman named Marlene notices a low hum pulsing from her walls at night—not from any appliance. She starts to track it, finds it changes pitch when her emotions shift. Her neighbor hears it too, but differently. They discover the hum is a kind of language, a mirror to what you feel inside. But the more you listen, the more it wants you to answer. One by one, people begin to hum along—and then they stop speaking altogether. Luna tells the story of Marlene, who…
The Hum at Night on Hemlock Lane
Late autumn on a dead-end street in Ravenswood, the hum begins at two in the morning. A woman in a blue dress stands under the flickering streetlight, mouth closed, but the sound comes from everywhere. Moths gather—too large, too deliberate. When they land, they have faces. When she speaks, she says your grandmother's name. And the house number she points to—1414—was the address of a home that burned down before you were born. A story about inheritance, repetition, and the things we hum without…
The Hum at Night on Wainwright Road
In late autumn of 2019, a friend of mine named Ellen started hearing a low hum on Wainwright Road, just past the old granary in Deacon Falls. At first she thought it was a furnace or a transformer, but it never stopped. It drew her out of bed night after night, down a gravel path to a concrete slab half-sunk in the weeds. She found a set of steps leading underground to a room with a single chair and a cassette player. The voice on the tape said she was late. Now the hum lives in her chest. This…
The Hum at Night on Pender's Bridge
November 2019. Bellflower, Illinois. A woman drives to Pender's Bridge after midnight because of a sound—a low, steady hum no one else seems to hear. There she finds Elias Copley, an old man who has been sleeping on the bridge for weeks, tracking its pitch like a pulse. He says the hum is the bridge singing its own collapse, and when the note changes, the steel will give. She listens. She believes him. She helps him block the road. But the truck comes anyway. And the hum does not stop when the…
The Hum at the Grain Elevator on Miller's Fork
Late summer on Miller's Fork Road, just past midnight, a low hum from the abandoned grain elevator pulls Luna from her car. She climbs the rusted fence and finds the source: a sealed concrete silo base, warm to the touch, with a metal hatch over a shaft that swallows sound. The hum isn't machinery—it's something alive, and it follows her home. A story about the weight of a sound that doesn't stop. #TheHumAtNight #GrainElevator #MillerForkRoad #Abandoned #SoundHorror #LateNightDrive #RuralOhio…
The Open Windows on Birch Lane
It was the winter of 2009, and I lived alone on Birch Lane in Eldridge, a small town where everyone kept their windows shut tight against the cold. All except the house directly across the street. Every night, between two and four in the morning, a man sat in his living room with the windows wide open, no matter the temperature. He never moved, never seemed to blink. And he hummed the same slow, broken tune until the night the humming stopped. That’s when I understood why the windows had to…
The Man Who Drew the Sumac on Old Forge Road
Summer 2021. A dry stretch of pavement outside Millbrook, New York, where the sumac grows thick along the telephone poles. A retired botanist named Everett starts drawing the same plant every evening — first from memory, then from something he insists is standing just beyond the ditch. He shows Luna the sketchbook. The later drawings are not plants. They are not anything he can name. The last one is dated the day he stopped answering his phone. Luna drives out to his house at dusk and finds the…
The Dust in the Church on Route 9
On a humid September night in 2013, Luna found herself parked outside the abandoned Holy Redeemer Church on Route 9, a place locals avoided after dark. A friend had dared her to spend an hour inside. What she heard—a slow, rhythmic scraping from the bell tower, a voice that seemed to come from the plaster dust on the pews—made her question whether a building can hold a memory so stubborn it refuses to rot. By the time she left, she understood why the town kept the doors chained. This episode is…
The Light on the Water Tower on Pritchard Road
October 2023. Pritchard Road runs along the edge of a dried-up reservoir outside Elliston, Ohio. For three weeks, a light has been appearing on the old water tower every night around 2:30 a.m. — a single steady white glow from the catwalk, where nobody has been allowed since the tower was decommissioned in 2008. Luna's neighbor Charlie, a retired lineman, starts watching it through his spotting scope. He says it never blinks. Never flickers. It just sits there, like something is waiting. One…
The Boy Who Watched the Silo on Buckeye Road
In the summer of 2003, on a two-lane road outside Muncie, Indiana, a ten-year-old boy named Caleb spent every night at his bedroom window watching a grain silo that shouldn't have been there. His mother thought he was afraid of the dark. His father thought he was lying. By August, Caleb stopped speaking during the day and only pointed at the silo after midnight. What Luna found in the county records — and what she saw when she drove to Buckeye Road herself — is a story about a structure that…
The Hum at Night on Oak Street
Luna recalls a sweltering August night in the town of Meridian when the power failed on Oak Street and a low, pulsing hum rose from the transformer at the end of the block. She and her neighbor Margie stood on the sidewalk at 2 AM, listening as the hum grew teeth—a sound that seemed to have a shape, a weight, a hunger. The next morning, the street was empty. Houses stood open, coffee cups still warm on counters. The hum had moved on, but Luna still listens for it at the window, knowing one…
The Radio on Hawthorne Street
In the late autumn of 2021, the old Fisher house on Hawthorne Street in Bakersfield, Ohio, sat empty for years after the family vanished. But the radio in the living room never stopped playing. Luna's neighbor, a retired electrician named Harold, was the first to notice the faint music drifting through the walls at 2:47 AM every night. He tried everything — cutting the power, removing the antenna, even smashing the dial. But the radio always found a way back on, and the voice that came through…
The Red Light on the Collins Tower
In the autumn of 2019, a faulty signal light on a defunct radio tower in the woods behind Collins, Missouri, began blinking red at 2:17 AM every night. Luna's cousin, who lived nearest to the tower, started hearing a low hum in time with the flash—a sound that seemed to pull at something behind his teeth. When he climbed the tower to disable the light, he found the bulb was cold, and the wiring led nowhere. This is the story of three nights, a boy named Micah, and the thing that answered the…
The Road That Swallowed Sound on Fox Creek Lane
It was the summer of 2003, a Tuesday just after midnight on Fox Creek Lane, a gravel road that curled behind the old mill outside of Dunmore, Pennsylvania. I was driving home from a shift at the all-night diner when the engine died, the headlights went out, and the road started eating every sound I made. I got out of the car and walked—fifteen minutes by my watch, though the road kept telling me it was longer. The houses along Fox Creek were all dark, all empty, all painted the same shade of…
The Stairs at the End of Maple Street
In the autumn of 2021, on a dead-end stretch of Maple Street in the town of Crestwood, a woman named Anne discovers a set of concrete stairs in her backyard that lead down to a door she never noticed before. Every night at 3:17 AM, the door opens from below, and someone—or something—begins to climb. Anne's journals, which Luna reads after Anne vanishes, describe the smell of wet stone, the sound of slow footsteps, and a whisper that repeats her name. But it's the last entry that makes Luna…
The Window at the End of Marigold Lane
It began with a single cold pane on the second floor of the abandoned Harlow house on Marigold Lane, in the late autumn of 2019. Luna had been walking home past midnight when she noticed the window was open, just a crack, letting out no light but a sound like distant breathing. Over the following weeks, she kept returning—first out of curiosity, then compulsion. The window never closed, never warmed, and the breathing grew clearer. Inside, she found no furniture, no floor, only a drop into…
The Pattern in the Static on Crestview Road
In the summer of 2019, on a dead-end road outside the small town of Millbrook, a woman named Ellen starts hearing a low hum at night. At first she blames the power lines. But when she begins recording it, the sound reveals a repeating pattern — a rhythm that sounds like a voice trying to speak through static. Luna shares Ellen's journal entries over nine nights, each recording clearer than the last, until the hum finally forms words. What it says is not meant for her. And it knows she's…
The Man Who Measured the Sound on Juniper Hill
In late October of 2022, a retired acoustics engineer named Arthur Pendelton began camping on Juniper Hill Road in Barstow, Vermont. He told neighbors he was measuring sound levels for a noise complaint, but his equipment was wrong for that. He stayed for seventeen days. Luna visited his camp on the eleventh night. He showed her the recordings. He showed her the waveforms that looked like language. He told her about the house at the end of the cul-de-sac, the one with the black window film…
The Phone at the End of Deep Run Road
In the summer of 2008, on a gravel road in central Pennsylvania, a payphone rang every night at 2:17 AM. No one used it—the line was disconnected in 1995. But for three weeks, someone answered. And the voice on the other end knew things it shouldn't. This is the story of that phone, the woman who picked up, and what it said about the night her daughter disappeared. #DeepRunRoad #Payphone #Disappearance #Pennsylvania #2008 #2:17AM #DisconnectedLine #Voices #Mothers #CarrieBly #Holloway #Missouri…
The Thing in the Attic on Helmsley Road
In the autumn of 2019, I was house-sitting for a retired couple on Helmsley Road in Grandville, a small town where every house has a story and every story has a locked door. The owners told me to never open the attic. That was the first rule. The second rule was to ignore any sounds from above. But on the third night, something started scratching at the attic hatch — not animal, not wind. I climbed up to check, and what I found changed the way I understand sound itself. This is an episode about…
The Light in the Window at the End of Meridian Lane
Luna recalls the summer of 2017, when a childhood friend named Cassie returned to their small Illinois town changed — hollowed out by something she found in a house at the end of a dead-end road. Cassie would only say she had seen a light in an upstairs window, a light that shouldn't have been possible, and that now the light could see her too. Over the weeks that followed, Luna watched Cassie unravel, her skin growing pale, her sleep disappearing, until the night Cassie finally told her what…
The Switchbox at the End of Kress Road
Late June 2022, a hot still night on Kress Road outside Gladstone. A woman named Irene Benoit calls Luna about a sound in her back field—not an animal, not machinery, but a rhythmic click coming from a rusted switchbox that no one in town remembers being live. Luna drives out, stands in the dark with her, and listens to a pulse that shouldn't exist on a dead line. This episode is about the moment you realize something has been running without anyone's knowing, and the question that follows: who…
The Cracked Bell on Saint Agatha's Road
In the winter of 2019, on the back road past the old Catholic cemetery in East Canaan, there was a bell that never stopped ringing. Not a church bell — a handbell, small and silver, left on a fencepost where the asphalt gives way to gravel. Luna heard it one frozen night when her car wouldn't start. She tells you about the man who came out of the house across the field, and what he said about the bell's owner. About the dog that wouldn't cross the road. About the date scratched into the bell's…
The Hum at Night on Maple Street
It starts as a sound you almost don't hear—a low vibration in the dark, like a refrigerator running too deep. On Maple Street, in the town of Ashford, it's been there for as long as anyone remembers. But no one talks about it. Not the hum itself, not what happens when you listen too long. I met a woman named Eliza who lived at 1427 Maple Street for thirty years. She told me about the night she finally followed the sound to its source—a bare patch of dirt in her own backyard, where the grass…
The Light in the Window of the Old Decker Place
It was the fall of 2002, just after midnight on a Tuesday. I was parked at the end of a gravel lane outside of Willoughby, Ohio, watching a house that had been empty for seventeen years. The Decker place — three stories of peeling white clapboard and a wraparound porch that sagged in the middle like a tired spine. Someone had told me they'd seen a light moving from room to room on the second floor, always at the same hour. I went to check for myself. What I found wasn't a squatter or a prank.…
The Attic on Gifford Street
July 2022, two a.m. on Gifford Street in Millbrook, New York. Luna finds herself at the edge of a neighbor's driveway, watching their attic window pulse with a low orange glow — no fire, no bulb, just heat rising through old glass. The hum that's been threading through town for weeks seems to be coming from that room. She knows the family's teenage son has been spending his nights up there, but when she finally speaks to him, he tells her he's not the one making the sound. What follows is a…
The Hum at Night on Maple Street
It was late October, well past midnight, and I was standing at the window on Maple Street, listening to a sound I'd never heard before. A low hum, constant, like a refrigerator in an empty house. At first I thought it was the streetlight, the one that flickered every few seconds, casting the same patch of pavement in a sick yellow pulse. But the hum came from the end of the block, from the house that had been empty for three years. The one with the boarded windows and the FOR SALE sign that…
The Door in the Woods on Cold Spring Road
A story about a door that shouldn't have been there. It was late October in Grafton, a small town where the leaves had already fallen, and the air smelled of woodsmoke and wet earth. A man named Billy Farnsworth found it while hiking a drainage ditch off Cold Spring Road — a free-standing door, painted a pale blue, set into nothing, with a brass knob and a working lock. He didn't open it. He walked away. But the door stayed with him, and he told me about it over coffee at the diner on Grant…
The House at the End of Wilson Street
A story from the winter of 2018, on a dead-end street in a town called Jasper. The house at the end of Wilson Street was abandoned for ten years before the Hollis family moved in — they got it for almost nothing. The town said it was because the foundation was cracked, but the real reason was something else. This is about the sound that started in their walls the second week of February. It wasn't a drip or a creak — it was a hum, low and constant, like a refrigerator but deeper. The father…
The Hum at Night on Maple Street
A quiet summer night in Millbrook, New York. Luna is at her window, unable to sleep, when she notices a low hum from the end of Maple Street. It's not a car, not a generator — it's something else. Over the next few weeks, she follows the sound to a house that wasn't there before, with a porch light that flickers in a pattern she can almost read. Inside, she finds a room filled with clocks, all set to the same wrong time, and a woman who speaks in a language Luna has never heard. The hum is…
The Tapping at the House on Foster Hill Road
In the autumn of 2018, Luna found herself on Foster Hill Road, a gravel lane that winds through the woods outside Millbrook, New York. She was there to document a series of strange reports from residents about a low, rhythmic tapping that seemed to come from inside the walls of an old farmhouse. The tapping had a pattern—three knocks, a pause, then three more—repeating all night, every night, for weeks. Luna spent a long weekend in the house, recording audio and trying to find a natural…
The Skin of a Door on Orchard Avenue
July 2020, Orchard Avenue in the town of Barlow, where a hundred and twelve-year-old oak door in a foreclosed Victorian house began to weep. Not water—something thicker, darker, that the realtor called a pipe leak until she touched it. Luna heard the story from a contractor who stripped the door's paint in layers: each coat a different decade, each decade a different family, each family silent about what lived behind the wood. By the time they reached the bare grain, the door had stopped…
The Well at the End of Kestrel Lane
In the summer of 2019, a woman in the town of Meridan, New York began hearing a sound from the abandoned well on a dead-end road behind her house. Not water. Not wind. A humming that seemed to have a shape. She tried to ignore it. She tried to fill the well. But the sound changed her—changed how she saw the dark, how she felt about the ground beneath her feet. By the time she told me about it, she was already sleeping with the lights on. This is what she heard, and what she found when she…
The Bridge at the End of Honeywell Lane
In the autumn of 2017, a woman named Elara moved to the outskirts of a small town called Sparrow’s Rest, drawn by the promise of silence. The house she rented backed onto a narrow lane called Honeywell, which dead-ended at an old stone bridge over a creek that never seemed to flow. At first, the hum was a curiosity — a low, constant vibration felt through the floorboards at night, like a refrigerator running deep underground. Then she noticed the animals: the birds stopped singing after dusk…
The Door at the End of the Hall on Beech Street
Luna recalls a night in late October 2022 when she spent a weekend at a friend's abandoned grandmother's house on Beech Street in the small town of Millbrook. The house had a door at the end of the upstairs hall that no one talked about—the grandmother had sealed it with a heavy bolt and a layer of wallpaper. Over three nights, Luna heard scratching from behind that door, the sound of something dragging itself across old carpet. She tells the story of the last night, when she finally unbolted…
The Tapping at the Service Station on Route 22
In the autumn of 2017, Luna worked the late shift at a twenty-four-hour gas station on a lonely stretch of New York State Route 22. The station sat at the bottom of a hill where fog pooled like standing water, and after midnight the customers were few. But one Wednesday night in October, a man in a green sedan pulled up to pump three and never came inside to pay. When Luna finally went out to check, the car was empty, engine running, driver's door open—and she heard a sound from the back seat…
The Gate at the End of Old Powder Mill Road
In the late autumn of 2019, Luna drove Old Powder Mill Road for the first time — a gravel track that threads the ridgeline above a forgotten river valley. At the far end, past the last farmhouse, she found a gate. Not a cattle gate or a chain-link fence — a wrought-iron arch, black and ornate, with a bell hanging from its center. The road beyond it was paved, smooth, and perfectly dark. She got out to look. The bell rang once, without her touching it. And then a voice came from the dark side of…
The Field at the Edge of Parson's Mill Road
It was the summer of 2007, and I was driving home past midnight on Parson's Mill Road in central Ohio when I saw the light in the field. Not a car, not a house—just a single point of pale blue glow, steady as a star but too low, too close to the earth. I pulled over because I thought someone might be hurt. What I found was not a person but a pattern—a circle of stones I had never noticed before, arranged in a spiral that hummed under my palm. The next night I brought a friend, and the stones…
The Sump at the Bottom of Heiser's Pond
In the summer of 2019, Luna's neighbor Ben Heiser started draining his pond in the middle of a drought. He said something was pulling the water down from underneath. By the third night, the hole at the bottom was wide enough to see a metal grate. By the fifth night, Ben stopped talking and just stood at the edge with a flashlight, staring. Luna walked down there with him once—and she still doesn't know what was breathing on the other side of that grate. A story about dry mud, a borrowed shovel…
The Window in the Basement of the Old Pharmacy on Grant Street
Luna's father used to tell her about the window in the basement of the old pharmacy on Grant Street. A window that shouldn't exist, bricked up on the outside but still visible from the inside. When Luna finally gets access to the building, she finds it—and the thing that waits behind it. A quiet, slow-burn story about a sealed opening, a sound like breathing, and the smell of damp earth. Set in the winter of 2018, just after midnight, in the small town of Meridian, Ohio. #TheHumAtNight…
The Dirt Road at the End of Mavis Lane The Fence with the Bell
In the autumn of 2021, a man named Arthur Kline moved into the old farmhouse at the end of Mavis Lane. He was a quiet man, a retired electrician, who wanted nothing but silence and solitude. But the fence at the back of his property hummed at dusk—a low, rhythmic thrum that vibrated through the wooden posts and into the soil. At first he thought it was a faulty transformer. Then he found the bell wired into the mesh, rusted and ancient, with a clapper that never moved but rang anyway when the…
The Locked Room Above the Elks Lodge on Sycamore Street
October 2021. A woman named Cora rents the upstairs apartment above the old Elks Lodge on Sycamore Street in Bellwood, Ohio. The building is quiet, the rent is cheap, and the landlords are hands-off. But the door at the end of the second-floor hallway—the one with the deadbolt on the outside—stays locked. The landlords say it's just storage. Cora says she hears something behind it every night, always at 2:47 AM. She tells me about the scraping sound, like furniture being dragged across a wooden…
The Light at the End of Crestwood Lane
October 2021. A stretch of county road outside Danville, Ohio, where a single porch light has been flickering every night since a family vanished seventeen years ago. Luna drives out after midnight to see for herself—and discovers the light isn't just blinking. It's spelling something. She stays long enough to watch it repeat, and long enough to realize the gaps between flashes are growing shorter. By the time she leaves, the dark between pulses is almost gone. #FexingoHorror #HorrorPodcast…
The Dirt Road at the End of Mavis Lane: The Mailbox at the Turn
Luna remembers a night in late October when she followed a dirt road she’d always ignored, at the far end of Mavis Lane, where a single mailbox stood alone under a dead oak. She was looking for something else—a shortcut, maybe—but what she found was a woman standing by the mailbox, her hand resting on the rusted flag, who spoke in a voice like dry leaves and said she’d been waiting. Luna didn’t know for what, and the woman didn’t say. But the road kept going after the mailbox, and Luna saw…
The Fence at the Back of the Carter Property
Luna recalls a night in late October 2019 when she drove out to the abandoned Carter farm on Hollow Road, just outside of Millbrook. The property had been empty for years after the Carters disappeared without a trace. Local kids whispered about strange lights in the field behind the house, and a fence that wasn't on any survey map. Luna went to see for herself, bringing only a flashlight and a recorder. What she found was a fence that felt older than the town itself, a wire that hummed with…
The Driveway at the End of Church Street
A quiet night, a dead-end road, and a woman who couldn't stop watching the gravel. In late autumn, Luna drove past the same house every evening—a pale blue Cape Cod at the corner of Church Street and nowhere. The driveway was always empty, but one night, a child stood at the edge of it, staring at the road. Not waving. Not moving. Just standing. When Luna looked back, the child was gone, and the driveway had a new layer of fresh gravel—in November, in the rain. She asked around. No one on…
The Dirt Road at the End of Mavis Lane
Luna returns to the edge of Mavis Lane, where a dirt road she walked a hundred times as a child suddenly isn't the same. It's late autumn, 2019, and she's back in her hometown after years away. The road used to lead to a dead end at a wire fence and a field. Now it stretches into darkness, farther than it should, with a single mailbox at a bend that wasn't there before. The name on the box is hers. The letters inside aren't from anyone she knows. She follows the road to the end — to a house…
The Stop at the Last Diner on Route 17
Late autumn in the small town of Ashford, New York. Route 17 cuts through the hills, past empty fields and boarded-up gas stations. At the edge of town, the Oakwood Diner stays open all night, its neon sign buzzing in the rain. The waitress has worked the graveyard shift for thirty years. She knows every regular, every ghost on the road. But one night in November, a man walks in who doesn't belong. He orders black coffee, leaves a wet footprint on the linoleum, and speaks of a hum that follows…
The Pond at the End of Gravel Pit Road
It was the summer the drought came to St. Eliza, and the pond on Gravel Pit Road shrank to a muddy cup. Luna's neighbor, old Mr. Voss, said the water level was low enough to see something at the bottom — something that didn't belong there. A car, he claimed, intact, with its headlights still shining upward. But when Luna walked out to see for herself, the car was gone, and the pond had a story she couldn't shake. This episode of The Hum at Night is a slow-burn encounter with a flooded past, a…
The Dirt Road at the End of Mavis Lane
Luna tells the story of a night in early autumn, 2019, when she took a wrong turn onto a dirt road outside the town of Harland, Ohio. The road smelled of wet clay and wild onions. She followed it to a dead end where an old woman stood in a white dress, pointing at a hole in the ground. What came out of that hole was not an animal. It did not have eyes. It did not stop whispering her name long after she drove away. #FexingoHorror #HorrorPodcast #TheHumAtNight #MavisLane #HarlandOhio #DirtRoad…
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