Episodes
The Last Voicemail from the Starlight Drive-In
On a freezing December night in Harlow Creek, Montana, Luna receives a voicemail from a man named Emmett. He's trapped in the projection booth of the long-abandoned Starlight Drive-In, and the old film reels are spinning on their own. His messages grow stranger—a crowd laughing, a figure in the doorway, a whisper that sounds like his own voice. Luna drives out to the empty field where the drive-in still stands, finds the phone booth ringing, and picks up. What she hears on the other end will…
The Last Voicemail from the Gas Station on Bonner Road
Luna plays a voicemail left by her friend Sarah, who called from a remote gas station on Bonner Road in the Montana winter of 2018. The station wasn't supposed to be there, the attendant didn't speak, and by morning Sarah had vanished. A story about the places that exist only at night, and the things that answer when no one else will. #TheLastVoicemail #FexingoHorror #HorrorPodcast #episode85 #GasStation #BonnerRoad #Montana #Sarah #WinterHorror #MissingPerson #AtmosphericHorror #Voicemail…
The Last Voicemail from the Roundabout Diner
Luna finds a voicemail from Clara, an old friend she hasn't spoken to in years. It's late, past midnight, and Clara's voice is thin, frayed. She's at the Roundabout Diner in Bitter Creek, Oregon — a place Luna doesn't remember ever existing. Clara talks about the waitress with no reflection, the other customers all staring at a crack in the wall, and the clock ticking backwards. Then the call cuts. Luna drives two hours to Bitter Creek. The diner is there, but it's boarded up, windows painted…
The Last Voicemail from the Greenhouse
A woman named Cora house-sits a reclusive botanist's greenhouse on Pine Street for the summer. The first voicemail she leaves her sister is casual—something off about the way the orchids seem to turn toward her. By the third voicemail, she's whispering. By the sixth, she's trapped inside the glass walls as the plants grow faster than should be possible. The final message doesn't sound like her at all. Luna digs through the archived voicemails of the summer of 2018, piecing together what…
The Last Voicemail from the Basement on Elm Street
Luna finds a broken flip phone at a thrift store in Sioux City. Inside, a single voicemail from a woman named Margot, who says she's been locked in a basement. She can hear a train. Luna calls back—disconnected. She drives to Wymore, Nebraska, to the address tied to the phone. The house is empty, but the basement holds a phone playing her own voice. Then a new voicemail arrives: 'You found me.' The message never deletes. Luna can't stop listening. A quiet, creeping story about a voice that…
The Last Voicemail from the Payphone at the Shell Station on Route 12
Luna listens to a voicemail left by her old friend Cassie, recorded from a payphone at a Shell station in Gilead, Missouri, on a cold January night. Cassie's voice is thin, panicked—she saw something in the woods behind her house, a figure in a white dress that didn't move until it turned its head. The call cuts off. By morning, Cassie is gone. Her car is found near an abandoned church on Route 12, a church whose bell hasn't rung in seventy years. When Luna compares the voicemail on her phone…
The Last Voicemail from the Phone Booth at the Desert View Gas Station
Luna recalls a late-night call from her brother, who stopped at a gas station phone booth in the Mojave Desert. He described a woman in a white dress standing motionless at the edge of the highway, and a sound like radio static coming from the booth itself. When Luna listened to the voicemail later, she heard something else buried beneath his voice—a whisper that didn't belong. This episode is a slow-burn meditation on loneliness, distance, and the thin line between concern and terror, set…
The Last Voicemail from the Payphone at the Blue Heron Motel
Episode 79. Luna returns to a story she's never told anyone—the voicemail her cousin Jenny left her from the payphone outside the Blue Heron Motel in Sparks, Nevada, in late October of 2017. Jenny had been driving cross-country alone, checking in from cheap motels, sounding fine. Then came the last message: three minutes of static, a woman's voice that wasn't Jenny's, and the sound of something being dragged across gravel. Luna never played it for the police. She never told Jenny's mother. She…
The Last Voicemail from the All-Night Laundry in Eureka
Luna tells the story of a sleepless night in Eureka, Nevada, where a broken washing machine at an all-night laundromat leads her to a cryptic voicemail left on a payphone. The message is from a woman named Sarah, who speaks of a house with a room that doesn't exist, a door that only opens from the inside, and a man who smiles too wide. Luna calls back, but the phone rings to an empty room. She goes to the address Sarah gave—a boarded-up Victorian on Cedar Street—and finds the front door…
The Last Voicemail from the Payphone at the Waffle House in Yuma
Luna was driving through Yuma, Arizona, in the summer of 2019, when she stopped at a Waffle House off Interstate 8. The payphone outside the door rang as she walked past, and she answered it. A woman's voice asked her to listen. For eleven minutes, Luna held the receiver to her ear while the woman described something she had seen in the desert. Something that was still out there. The call ended. Luna never learned her name. This episode is about the weight of that unknowing, about the kind of…
The Last Voicemail from the Motel 6 in Tucumcari
Luna is in the passenger seat of a borrowed pickup, somewhere between Santa Fe and nowhere, when her phone buzzes with a voicemail from a number she doesn't recognize. The message is from a woman named Delia, recorded at a Motel 6 just off the interstate in Tucumcari, New Mexico. Delia's voice is calm at first — apologetic, even — but as the recording goes on, the story she tells unravels into something else. She says she's been driving for three days. She says someone is following her, but not…
The Last Voicemail from the Payphone at the Sunoco on Old Morrison Road
It's late October, just before dawn, and Luna is parked outside a closed Sunoco station on a forgotten stretch of Old Morrison Road in rural Missouri. The payphone rings. She answers. A woman on the other end—breathless, desperate—says she's been walking for hours, that something is following her, that she just wants to go home. But when Luna asks where she is, the woman doesn't know. She only knows the phone number she dialed: Luna's childhood number, disconnected for years. The call doesn't…
The Last Voicemail from the Empty House on Gifford Road
October 2019, just outside a town called Mercy, Arkansas. Lena Holt, a woman I barely knew from high school, started leaving me voicemails from a house that had been empty for thirty years. She wasn't lost. She wasn't confused. She was trying to get out, and the voicemails kept coming even after the phone company said the line was dead. I still have all nine of them. I've never gone back to Mercy. I don't think I could. #TheLastVoicemail #FexingoHorror #HorrorPodcast #MercyArkansas #GiffordRoad…
The Last Voicemail from the Redwood Point Fire Lookout
It's August 1998, and Luna's cousin Jenna takes a summer job at the Redwood Point Fire Lookout in the Klamath National Forest, a hundred miles from the nearest town. The tower is a rusted metal box on stilts, with a radio that crackles with static and a phone line that only works one way—outgoing. Jenna calls Luna every night, her voice shrinking as the days pass. First she talks about the quiet, the way the trees go on forever. Then she mentions the lights she sees flickering in the valley…
The Last Voicemail from the All-Night Laundromat in Polson
Luna recalls a stop at a twenty-four-hour laundromat in Polson, Montana, one October night in 2017. She met a woman named Ellen who was washing the same load of clothes for the third time. Ellen told her about the motel room with the fogged mirror and the phrase that appeared each night after midnight. By morning, Ellen was gone, but the laundromat's security footage showed something Luna still can't explain. A story about repetition, water, and the things that write themselves in steam.…
The Last Voicemail from the Motel 6 in Gallup
It's the summer of 2007, and I'm parked outside a Motel 6 in Gallup, New Mexico, at two in the morning. My phone rings — it's a number I don't recognize, but the area code is local. I answer, and it's a woman named Darla. She says she's in the room next to mine, and she needs me to listen to something she recorded on her flip phone. She plays it for me over the line. It's a voicemail her daughter left three months ago — on the night she disappeared from a gas station on Route 66. Darla has been…
The Last Voicemail from the Colony Motel in Waco
October 2019. A woman named Marlene checks into the Colony Motel on the edge of Waco, Texas, to escape a bad marriage. But the room's rotary phone keeps ringing with a call that shouldn't exist—her own voicemail from three days ago, playing back a conversation she never had. As the messages grow more urgent, Luna pieces together what happens when a phone line becomes a fault line between timelines. This is not a ghost story. It's a story about a woman who answered a call meant for someone else…
The Last Voicemail from the Dead Letter Office in Tucson
June 2007. 2:47 AM. Luna's phone rings with a number she hasn't seen in nine years—her mother's old landline. The voicemail that follows is thirty seconds of static, a woman's voice saying 'I'm sorry,' and the sound of rain falling inside a room that should be dry. Luna drives from Phoenix to Tucson to find the house still standing, but the mailbox is full of letters addressed to her, postmarked the day after her mother died. The dead letter office, a postal museum archivist tells her…
The Last Voicemail from the Burger King on Highway 49
It's July 2008, just past midnight, and Luna's phone buzzes with a voicemail from a number she hasn't seen in six years. The message is just thirty seconds of static and a woman's voice saying her name — but it's a name Luna buried in a different state, a different life. The call trace leads to a Burger King off Highway 49 in a town called Marlow, a place she's never been. She drives seven hours through the night, not sure if she's chasing a ghost or a confession. What she finds in the…
The Night She Called from the Payphone at the Dusty Boot Motor Lodge
Luna remembers a call she received one summer night in 2007, when she was working the front desk at the Dusty Boot Motor Lodge outside Wingo, Kentucky. A woman's voice on the line, thin and wrong, asking for a room. Luna gave her number seven. And then she watched from the office window as the woman walked past all the lit rooms and stopped at the one where the light had been dead for three years. This episode is about the moment before you understand, about the shape of a silhouette that…
The Night She Called from the Payphone at the Whispering Pines Motel
In the summer of 2008, a woman named Cora checked into the Whispering Pines Motel outside Clanton, Alabama. She called her sister from the lobby payphone every night at the same time. By the third night, the calls started changing — her voice, her words, the things she claimed were in the room with her. Luna pieces together the voicemails left on an answering machine, the ones the sister never answered, and the final message that played at 3:17 AM on a Thursday. A story about motel rooms, thin…
The Night She Called from the Phone Booth at the Junction Motel
Luna receives a voicemail from her sister at 2:17 AM, left from the phone booth outside the Junction Motel on Highway 55, just north of a dried-up town called Mercy, Mississippi. Her sister's voice is steady at first—she's found a job, a room, a new start—but then she mentions the man at the front desk, the way he smiled when she asked for the key. The call cuts out before she can finish her sentence, but the silence on the recording doesn't sound like a hang-up. It sounds like someone…
The Night She Called from the Payphone at the Sandhills Truck Stop
December 2009. A truck stop outside Ogallala, Nebraska, where the Sandhills stretch flat and empty under a moonless sky. Luna stops for coffee and a payphone rings at 3 a.m. She answers. The voice on the other end is a woman she used to know—Sarah, who disappeared from a rest area in Wyoming seven years ago. Sarah sounds exactly the same. No static, no distance. She says she's been calling from a phone at a rest area on I-80, but the line keeps cutting. She asks Luna to come find her. Luna…
The Night She Called from the Phone Booth at the Crossroads Market
October 2009. I was driving back from a dead-end job interview in Tuscaloosa when my phone rang. It was Shelby — a girl I hadn't spoken to since high school. She said she was at the phone booth behind the Crossroads Market on County Road 4, that her car had died, and could I come get her. I said sure, but something in her voice made my stomach drop. That market has been closed for eleven years. There is no phone booth there. I went anyway. What I found behind that building has stayed with me…
The Night She Called from the Laundromat on Vine Street
February 2017. A payphone rings at 3:14 AM inside the Suds & Duds laundromat on Vine Street, just off the interstate outside Elko, Nevada. The woman who picks up has never told anyone what she heard that night—not her husband, not the police, not the therapist she saw for three sessions before she stopped going. I was the one she told, because she needed someone who would believe that the voice on the other end was hers, but younger, and that it knew exactly where she was standing. This is a…
The Night She Called from the Phone Booth at the Sunoco on Old Morrison Road
It's late autumn in rural Ohio. Luna's cousin Maryanne disappeared from a gas station on Old Morrison Road outside of Millersburg. No one found her car. No one saw her leave. But two nights later, a payphone rang in a booth nobody used anymore. Luna picked up. What she heard wasn't a voice she recognized, but it was speaking in Maryanne's words. This is a story about a call that came from somewhere between the living and the missing, about the things we repeat when we're trying to hold onto…
The Night She Called from the Payphone at the Shady Grove Cemetery
It's October 2022, just past midnight, when Luna's phone rings with a number she doesn't recognize. On the other end, a woman's voice — thin, frayed, like she's been crying for hours. She says she's standing at the payphone at the entrance of Shady Grove Cemetery, outside of Millbrook, Alabama. She says she needs to tell someone what she saw at her grandmother's grave tonight. The story she tells is about a man in a gray suit who visits the cemetery every night at the same time, visits a…
The Night She Called from the Motel 6 in Deming
I got a voicemail from my sister at 3:17 AM on a Tuesday in late October. She had pulled over at a Motel 6 outside Deming, New Mexico, on her way to somewhere she wouldn't tell me. Her voice was wrong—too calm, too measured—like she was reading from a script someone else had written. She said the clerk at the front desk had been staring at her for ten minutes without blinking. She said the ice machine was humming a song she recognized from our childhood. She said she'd call back when she…
The Night She Called from the Payphone at the Crescent City Bus Stop
In the small coastal town of Crescent City, Oregon, Luna receives a call from an old high school friend, Maggie, who she hasn't spoken to in years. Maggie sounds frantic, whispering from a payphone at the Greyhound stop. She claims she's been seeing a man standing in her backyard every night for a week, always at the same time—3:33 AM. He never moves, never blinks. When Luna asks why she's calling now, Maggie says he's holding something: a photograph of Luna from their senior year. Luna drives…
The Night She Called from the Payphone at the Lake Charles Motel
July 2003, just outside of Lafayette, Louisiana. Luna’s friend Ellie calls collect from a payphone at the Lake Charles Motel, a place that looks like it was abandoned during the Carter administration. Ellie is on a road trip to visit her mother, but she got lost, took a wrong turn, and ended up on a stretch of highway that wasn't on any map. She's been driving for hours, and the motel was the only light she'd seen for miles. The man at the front desk gave her a key to room 12, but he didn't say…
The Night She Called from the Payphone at the Quarry Road Trailer
It's October 2007, just past midnight, and Luna stops at a payphone outside a derelict trailer on Quarry Road in West Virginia. The phone is ringing when she arrives. She answers it, and a woman's voice says, 'You have to come inside. The girl who was here before you—she's still here.' The trailer belongs to a man named Ellis, who collects old answering machines. He plays them for visitors, one tape at a time: a crying child, a woman whispering numbers, a man saying 'I found you.' Luna stays…
The Night She Called from the Abandoned Motel on Route 9
A late-night call from a payphone outside the Sleepy Hollow Motor Lodge on Route 9, just past the town line of Ashford, New Hampshire. The woman on the other end—hoarse, out of breath—claims she just walked out of Room 14 and that something followed her. She says the motel has been closed for twelve years. She says she didn't know that when she checked in. The dispatcher pulls the file: no one has stayed in that room since 2009. The woman's voice goes quiet, then she says, 'But the key worked.'…
The Night She Called from the Payphone at the Pine Grove Trailer Park
December 2023. A woman named Maggie calls Luna from a payphone outside the Pine Grove Trailer Park in Carbon Hill, Ohio. She says she's been walking for hours, that her boyfriend's truck broke down on the county road, that she needs a ride. But as Maggie talks, Luna hears something else on the line — a wet, rhythmic sound, like something heavy being dragged across gravel. Maggie's voice gets smaller. She keeps asking Luna to stay on the phone. She keeps saying she's cold. Luna listens to the…
The Night She Called from the Payphone at the Gravel Pit Outside Carbon Hill
It was the end of a long, dry summer in Carbon Hill, Ohio, population twelve hundred and dropping. Luna was seventeen, chain-smoking on the front porch of her aunt's double-wide, when the payphone at the crossroads started ringing. Not the polite electronic warble of a modern phone, but the old mechanical bell-jangle of the rotary model bolted to the cinderblock wall outside the closed gas station. She answered it because no one else would. On the other end was a girl Luna had never met, but…
The Night She Called from the Payphone at the Fostoria I-75 Overpass
Luna remembers a call she received one November night in 2009, from a payphone bolted to the railing of the I-75 overpass that spans the town of Fostoria, Ohio. The caller was a woman named Cora who had been walking the shoulder for hours, her car abandoned at a rest stop three miles back. She said she needed to tell someone what she had seen in the ditch — not a deer, not a dog. The line was staticky and her voice kept dropping to a whisper. Luna listened for thirty-seven minutes, the longest…
The Night She Called from the Freight Elevator at the Willow Creek Mill
Late October 1998. A payphone in the freight elevator of a shuttered textile mill in Willow Creek. My friend Dani said she was trapped inside after a dare gone wrong. But when she called, the elevator wasn't moving. The cables were rusted through. And the voice I heard through the static — it wasn't her anymore. A story about thresholds, echoes, and the things that answer when you call from the wrong place. #FexingoHorror #HorrorPodcast #TheLastVoicemail #PayphoneHorror #WillowCreek…
The Night She Called from the Payphone at the Starlite Diner
It's 2:17 AM on a Tuesday in late October, and the Starlite Diner on Route 9 is empty except for me and the night cook. The payphone by the restrooms starts ringing. I answer it because I'm stupid, because I'm bored, because some part of me hoped it was a wrong number. It's my mother's voice on the other end — except my mother has been dead for eleven years. She tells me she's sorry. She tells me she's waiting at the house on Ash Street. She tells me to come get her before the man in the blue…
The Night She Called from the Payphone at the Carter's Mill Rest Stop
It's late August, 2008. Luna is driving through the Arkansas Ozarks when her phone rings. It's her sister, Claire—except that Claire has been missing for six weeks. The call is coming from a payphone at the Carter's Mill rest stop, a place they'd stopped at as kids. Luna answers, and what she hears on the other end is not Claire's voice. It's something that knows about the time they buried the bird in the backyard. Something that knows about the blue ribbon. Something that knows the smell of…
The Night She Called from the Payphone at the Beaumont Gas Station
October 2017. A payphone rings at the abandoned Beaumont Gas Station on Route 41, just outside Mapleton, Illinois. Luna is driving home late, pulls over on instinct. On the other end, a woman named Cora — out of breath, whispering, hiding in a closet. She says her husband is in the living room, and he is not her husband anymore. Luna stays on the line for forty-seven minutes. She listens to the floorboards creak, the breathing on the other end grow ragged, the sound of a door opening. Cora says…
The Night She Called from the Phone Booth on Old Mill Road
It was the last week of October, 2009, and I was driving home through the kind of cold that settles in your bones before winter even starts. Old Mill Road runs along the edge of Harlow, past the ruins of a textile mill that shut down in '82. There's a phone booth there, one of those old metal ones with the glass shattered out. I don't know why I stopped. Maybe because the receiver was off the hook, swinging in the wind, and I could hear someone crying on the other end. Not static. Not a…
The Night She Called from the Phone Booth at the Washateria on Pecan Street
It's August 2003 in Abilene, Texas, and a woman named Carla calls Luna from a phone booth outside the Washateria on Pecan Street. Carla has been driving for three days straight, trying to outrun something she found in her own backyard—a bone-deep wrongness she can't name. She talks about the feeling of being watched from the mesquite trees, the way the static on the line seems to breathe, and the one thing she saw in her rearview mirror that made her keep going. Luna listens from her dark…
The Night She Called from the Payphone at the Greyhound Station in Winslow
October 2019. A Tuesday. A payphone at the Greyhound station in Winslow, Arizona — a town where the trains don't stop anymore. My cousin Jess called me from that phone just after midnight. She was running from something. She said the man at the ticket counter had a smile that didn't reach his eyes and a voice that came from somewhere deeper than his chest. She said the buses were cancelled for the night. She said she was the only one waiting in the lobby. I heard the payphone rattle in her…
The Night She Called from the Payphone at the End of Peace Street
October 2003, just past midnight in the small town of Ember Grove. Luna’s cousin Becca calls from the payphone at the dead end of Peace Street, where the road crumbles into woods. She says she’s been walking for hours, that she left her car at the diner, that something followed her home the night before. Luna listens to the fear in Becca’s voice, the way it tightens when she describes the figure standing at the foot of her bed — tall, thin, with no face. The call drops twice. The third time…
The Night She Called from the Last Phone Booth on Dixon Road
It's August 2003, just past midnight, and the air is thick with the smell of wild onion and dry dust. Luna is driving home from a double shift at the all-night diner when she spots a figure in the cone of a single streetlight on Dixon Road — a phone booth nobody has used in years, and a woman inside it, crying. Luna pulls over. What starts as a simple offer of help turns into a slow, sinking realization that some calls are not meant to be answered. The woman's voice is familiar in a way that…
The Night She Called from the Payphone at the Waffle Hut on Route 22
March 1999. A damp night on a highway in central Ohio. Luna stops at a Waffle Hut off Route 22, the kind where the sign buzzes and the coffee tastes like metal. A woman in the booth by the window is talking on the payphone in the back hall—has been for hours, the waitress says. Same call. Same low voice. Luna walks past to use the restroom and catches a fragment of what the woman is saying. It's not a conversation. It's a recitation. Names. Dates. A list of things she will not remember by…
The Night She Called from the Payphone at the Truck Stop on Route 17
It's 2:47 AM at the Big Sky Truck Stop off Route 17 in eastern Wyoming, mid-December. A woman named Cora calls from the payphone outside the all-night diner. She tells Luna about the hitchhiker she picked up on the interstate — a man in a grey coat who didn't speak, who left a wet footprint on her floor mat from a puddle that wasn't there. As Cora talks, the line crackles with static that sounds almost like breathing. And then the payphone rings again — but Cora is still on the line. This…
The Night She Called from the All-Night Pharmacy on Ridgewood Avenue
It's the summer of 2007 in the dying mill town of Ridgewood, Ohio. The CVS on Ridgewood Avenue stays open all night, a fluorescent island in the dark. Luna's friend Jenna works the 10-to-6 shift—and starts getting calls from a payphone at the back of the parking lot. At first it's just heavy breathing. Then a hoarse voice reciting Jenna's home address. Then a whispered apology: 'I'm sorry I took your coat.' Over three nights, the calls grow more intimate, more knowing, until Jenna realizes the…
The Night She Called from the Trailhead at Lost Lake
It was late October, just before dawn, and Luna was parked at the trailhead of Lost Lake, a place she'd hiked a hundred times. But that morning, something was different. A woman stood at the edge of the parking lot, barefoot, wearing a thin dress, holding a phone that kept ringing. The woman wouldn't speak—she just pointed at the trail, her eyes wide and wet. Luna followed her into the woods, deeper than she'd ever gone, until they reached a clearing that wasn't on any map. There, the ringing…
The Night She Called from the Phone Booth at the Edge of Town
Luna tells the story of a call she received one winter night from a payphone at the Dead Man's Curve rest stop outside of Ely, Nevada. The caller was a woman named Maia, stranded after her car broke down, but the call wasn't about the car. As Luna listened, Maia described the other cars pulling over, the headlights that didn't stop, and the quiet knocking on the phone booth glass. The call ended with static and a click. Luna never found out what happened to her. This is a story about the things…
The Night She Called from the All-Night Laundromat on Mulberry Street
A call comes in from a laundromat in a small Wyoming town just after midnight. A woman Luna knows only as a stranger on the other end of the line tells a story about a man who follows her through the aisles, folding laundry that isn't his. She says he's been there for hours, folding the same red sweater over and over. But the lights keep flickering, and the dryers are all running empty. Luna listens from her dark bedroom as the woman's voice grows quieter, describing how his fingers never touch…
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