Episodes
The Wrong House – The Bathtub at 19 Beechwood Lane
Luna arrives at a house on Beechwood Lane that mirrors her own in unsettling ways: the same key, the same layout, but the furniture is wrong and the family photos show her face beside strangers. A dripping faucet leads to a bathtub that fills itself, and a reflection in the window smiles back. In the dark, she hears a baby cry—and the water keeps rising. An intimate, slow-burn horror about the spaces that claim us. #WrongHouse #BeechwoodLane #Bathtub #FexingoHorror #HorrorPodcast #Luna…
The Mirror at 27 Sycamore Lane
Luna arrives at a suburban house in Morrow, Ohio, on a cool October night, key in hand. The living room feels familiar—her furniture, her photographs—but the faces beside her own belong to strangers. A mirror over the fireplace shows her reflection, but it ages before her eyes. Upstairs, a baby monitor crackles with a voice that knows her name. A story about parallel lives and the one door you should never unlock. Told in Luna's intimate, hushed register. #FexingoHorror #HorrorPodcast…
The Fireplace at 37 Pinecrest Road
It was the week before Christmas when I agreed to housesit for a colleague. The house on Pinecrest Road was old and drafty, but he'd asked me to keep the fireplace going—said the pipes would freeze otherwise. The mantel was lined with photographs: a woman with my face, standing next to people I'd never met. The fire burned green that night. And when I opened the small iron door in the chimney, I found letters addressed to me from a sister I never knew I had. This is the story of what I read by…
The Wrong House — The Telephone at 31 Poplar Avenue
Late October, a little before midnight. I pulled into the driveway at 31 Poplar Avenue, exhausted from a drive that should have taken twenty minutes but stretched into an hour. The key turned in the lock—my key, I was sure of it—and the door swung open to a living room that almost looked like mine. Same sofa, same lamp, same books on the shelf. But the books were rearranged. A photograph on the mantel showed my face next to a stranger's. Then the phone rang. And when I answered, it was my own…
The Wrong House: The Letters in the Desk at 44 Juniper Court
Luna returns to 44 Juniper Court — the house that should have been hers — and finds a roll-top desk in a corner of the living room. Inside, a bundle of letters tied with kitchen twine, each envelope addressed to her in a handwriting she almost recognises. Postmarks from 1987, 1991, 2003. The stamps her grandmother used to collect. The letters are dated the same week she moved into each of her past apartments — except she never lived in those places. Luna reads one. Then another. And then she…
The Wrong House: The Key in the Lock at 44 Juniper Court
When Luna picks up a spare key from a rental agency for what she thinks is her new apartment, she ends up unlocking a life she never lived. At 44 Juniper Court, the furniture fits her habits, the coffee mug holds her favorite blend, and the calendar is marked in her handwriting — for days that haven't happened yet. But the woman in the photograph on the mantelpiece is someone else, and she's wearing Luna's clothes. A quiet, creeping story about thresholds and the lives we almost step into.…
The Wrong House — The Chain Lock at 28 Chestnut Street
It was the autumn of 2021 when I found myself helping a friend move into a fixer-upper on Chestnut Street in the small town of Harwood, New York. The house was narrow and tall, with a chain lock on the inside of the front door that no one could explain. Every morning, she would unlock it to leave for work. Every evening, she'd come home to find it fastened again. At first she blamed the landlord, then the wind, then her own forgetfulness. But the chain wasn't broken. And the marks on the frame…
The Wrong House – The Porch Light at 42 Juniper Court
Luna has never been to 42 Juniper Court before. At least, she doesn't remember going there. But the key in her hand fits the lock perfectly, and the porch light flickers on as if it's been waiting for her. Inside, the furniture is hers but rearranged slightly — a chair she's never owned facing a window that shouldn't be there. And on the counter, a phone charger plugged into the wall, still warm, as if someone stepped out moments ago. The house feels lived-in, but not by her. Not by anyone she…
The Den at 14 Ridgeway Avenue
Luna returns to Ridgeway Avenue, the house where something in the basement never truly left. This time, it's the den: a room that shouldn't exist, hidden behind a false wall in the hallway. The previous owners left a card table, a folding chair, and a photograph of a woman standing in the same empty room. Her name was Eleanor. The date on the back of the photo is 1982, but the woman in the picture is wearing Luna's necklace. A slow-burn encounter with a house that remembers more than it should…
The Driveway at 42 Juniper Court
In the autumn of 2023, Luna's friend Claire bought a house at 42 Juniper Court — only to discover that her driveway led somewhere else entirely. The asphalt curved behind the garage and kept going, winding through a stand of old oaks until it dead-ended at a house that wasn't on any map. A single light burned in the upstairs window. A woman stood on the porch, waving. Claire never told anyone what she saw inside — but she told Luna. This is the story of a driveway that didn't stop where it…
The Kitchen Clock at 44 Juniper Court
A late-night drive to the wrong address. A woman I barely know. A smell I can still taste. It started with a text from my sister — a photo of a house I'd never seen, a key I'd never held. She said it was our grandmother's place. But our grandmother never lived on Juniper Court. Still, I drove down that long gravel road at half past two in the morning, because the message said she needed me to check on something. And when I walked into that kitchen, the clock on the wall showed a different hour…
The Fence at 73 Magnolia Lane
In the summer of 2021, I house-sat for an aunt in a town called Ridgewood. The fence between her yard and the neighbor's was old chain-link, nothing special. But the neighbor kept coming out to talk to me about it. Every afternoon, same time, same story: the fence was wrong, it had been moved, the posts didn't match the property line. I didn't care until I saw the photograph. A rental listing from 1998 showed the fence two feet closer to my aunt's house, with a dogwood tree I'd never seen. The…
The Piano at 9 Elderberry Lane
In the autumn of 2019, Luna found herself standing in the living room of a house she had never seen, listening to a piano that played on its own. The keys moved in a pattern she recognized — a lullaby her mother used to hum. But her mother had been dead for seven years. The owner of the house claimed the piano had been silent for decades. As Luna traced the melody back to its source — a locked room upstairs — she realized the song wasn't meant for her. It was an invitation. This is a story…
The Garage at 72 Willow Lane
In the autumn of 2022, Luna's car broke down on a country road outside the small town of Ridgeway. A man in a flannel shirt offered to let her use his garage to fix it. His name was Arthur, and he lived at 72 Willow Lane. The garage was a separate building at the end of a gravel drive. Inside, the tools were arranged with obsessive precision. Arthur was kind, patient, a little too helpful. As the afternoon wore on, Luna noticed things: the calendar in the garage was from three years ago. The…
The Closet at 17 Maple Drive
November in Millbrook, New York. A key that doesn't fit any lock in the house. A closet door that opens onto a hallway that shouldn't exist. Luna finds herself in a home where the floor plan keeps shifting—rooms appearing and disappearing overnight. But the worst part isn't the impossible architecture. It's the woman in the photograph on the nightstand. The woman who looks exactly like Luna, except for the date stamped on the back: November 15, 1987—thirty-six years before Luna was born. A…
The Back Bedroom at 14 Ridgeway Avenue
Luna visits the old Ridgeway house one last time before it's demolished. The back bedroom has been locked for thirty years, and the realtor says nobody alive remembers why. Standing in the empty hallway, Luna hears a voice from behind the door — her own voice, from a conversation she never had. She forces the lock and finds a room exactly like her childhood bedroom, but with a calendar on the wall marked for next week. The voice keeps talking, calmly, about something terrible that hasn't…
The Thermostat at 72 Willow Lane
It was November in Ridgeway, Pennsylvania, and the thermostat at 72 Willow Lane kept resetting to sixty-two degrees. Luna's friend Claire had just moved in and asked her to house-sit for a week. The furnace cycled on and off with a rhythm that didn't match the weather. The previous owners had left a note taped to the basement door, reading: 'Don't touch the thermostat after nine PM.' Luna thought it was a joke until the radiators began to tick in unison at exactly nine o'clock. Each night, the…
The Wrong House — The Baby Monitor at 28 Chestnut Street
Luna arrives at 28 Chestnut Street in the small town of Ridgemont, New Hampshire, on a cold October night in 2023. She has a key to a house she's never seen, expecting to meet a client for a routine cleaning job. But the house is wrong — furniture slightly shifted, family photos showing her face beside strangers, and a baby monitor left on in the nursery. The static carries whispers that know her name. As she tries to leave, the front door won't open. The monitor's green light pulses, and she…
The Porch Swing at 9 Elderberry Lane
Luna is house-sitting for a friend in the small town of Ashwick, Vermont, in late October. The house is old but charming, with a wide front porch and a wooden swing that creaks in the wind. The first night, she hears a child's laugh from the swing—though no one is there. The neighbor tells her that a little girl named Emily died on that swing ten years ago, a fall that broke her neck. Luna tries to ignore it, but each night the laughter grows closer, more insistent. Then, on the third night…
The Locked Nursery at 42 Juniper Court
A real estate agent shows me a charming fixer-upper on Juniper Court in the sleepy town of Ashford, Vermont. It's late autumn 2023, and the house has been on the market for eighteen months. Inside, everything seems normal—until I find a nursery door locked from the outside with a sliding bolt. The agent claims there is no nursery. No children lived here. But the wallpaper inside is fresh, and the crib is warm. I am standing in a room that should not exist, with a key that does not fit any lock…
The Attic at 58 Hemlock Road
It’s October of 2021, and Luna is clearing out her late aunt’s house at 58 Hemlock Road — a narrow Victorian with a locked attic she was told never to open. Inside, she finds a child’s bedroom frozen in time: a bunk bed, a row of stuffed animals, and a diary that belongs to a girl named Sara who disappeared in 1987. But the entries don’t stop after Sara vanished. They keep going, written in a hand that grows younger each page, until the final entry is in crayon — and dated three days from now.…
The Basement Door at 14 Ridgeway Avenue
A house that forgets its own shape. That night on Ridgeway Avenue, when Luna walked through a door that should have led to a basement and found instead a long hallway lined with photographs of people she almost knew. The air was wrong — too dry, too still — and at the far end, a woman in a green dress whispered something through the wall. This is a story about rooms that don't stay where you left them, about the way a house can learn your face better than you do, and about the particular dread…
The Guest Bedroom at 42 Juniper Court
Luna arrives at a rented house on Juniper Court in the small town of Ashford, Vermont, in late October. The key fits, the furniture matches the listing photos, but something is off — the guest bedroom door is locked from the inside. Through the keyhole, she sees a lamp glowing, a bed neatly made, and a figure sitting motionless in the corner. Over three days, the figure never moves, never blinks, and the landlord insists the room has been empty for years. When the door finally opens, the room…
The Locked Bathroom at 73 Magnolia Lane
In the autumn of 2021, Luna house-sat for a colleague at 73 Magnolia Lane in the small town of Millbrook, Vermont. The house was tidy, unremarkable—except for a bathroom door that was always locked from the inside. The owner insisted it was a maintenance issue, but the sound of running water at 3:17 AM, every night, told a different story. Luna began to document the occurrences, leading her to a crawlspace discovery that reframed everything. This is a story about the spaces we ignore, the…
The Dog at the Door at 64 Birch Lane
It was the last house on the cul-de-sac. The realtor said it was a steal. But the first night in her new home, Luna heard scratching at the back door — gentle, patient, like something asking to be let in. The dog was black, with pale eyes that reflected the porch light like coins. It came every night. It knew her name. And when she finally opened the door, she understood the warning in its gaze. A quiet, devastating episode about the things we let in, and the things that have been waiting all…
The Bathroom Mirror at 43 Magnolia Lane
On a late October night in 2022, Luna finds herself standing in the bathroom of a house she was sure she'd never been inside. The mirror shows her reflection—but also a woman in a floral dress standing behind her, pointing. When Luna turns, no one is there. The photograph in the hallway shows the same woman, arm around a man, both smiling. Luna's face is superimposed on the woman's. The episode is a slow, quiet meditation on displacement and the feeling of being watched by a life you might have…
The Basement Stairs at 3 Juniper Court
On a humid October night in Millbrook, New Hampshire, I stood in the driveway of a house I'd never seen before, holding a set of keys that didn't belong to me. The realtor had sent me to 3 Juniper Court by mistake — a mix-up in the paperwork, she said. But when I stepped inside, the living room was warm. A kettle was still steaming on the stove. And someone had just left a message on the machine, addressed to me by name. What I found in the basement wasn't a body or a secret room. It was a door…
The Front Steps at 17 Maple Drive
Luna arrives at 17 Maple Drive in the old part of Bellington, a town she'd never heard of until the real estate agent's email landed in her inbox. The house is perfect — cheap, clean, warm — but the front steps feel wrong, worn smooth in a pattern that doesn't match her key. Inside, the photographs show her face but not her life: a wedding to a man with no name, children she's never held, a birthday cake with forty candles she never blew out. The calendar on the kitchen wall is marked with…
The Porch Light at 9 Juniper Court
It was late October in the town of Millbrook, the kind of cold that seeps through your coat before you reach the car. I'd been house-sitting for a friend who was visiting family in Ohio — a small Craftsman at the end of a dead-end street called Juniper Court. The first night, I noticed the porch light flickering in a pattern that felt deliberate. Not a short or a loose bulb — a rhythm. Three long blinks, a pause, then two short ones. I told myself it was the wind, but the air was still. The…
The Front Door at 19 Elderberry Lane
It's late October in the town of Ashburn, Vermont. Luna stops at a house that looks exactly like hers — same porch light, same welcome mat, same crack in the step. But when she uses her key, the door opens to a living room that is almost hers. The couch is the same fabric but reversed. The clock is the same model but ticking backwards. And the woman sitting in the armchair wears Luna's face — just older, greyer, with a smile that doesn't reach her eyes. 'You're early,' she says. Luna has never…
The Letters in the Wall at 58 Hemlock Road
A woman in Marlow, Ohio, finds a neat stack of unopened envelopes behind the lath and plaster of her own bedroom closet—letters written to her name, at her address, but postmarked from a time before she moved in. The handwriting is hers. The kitchen clock ticks. The letters are still warm. Luna sits on the edge of the bed and tries not to look at the return address: her parents' old house, the one that burned down when she was nine. A slow, intimate story about the things we leave behind and…
The Calendar in the Den at 72 Willow Lane
When Luna house-sits for a friend of a friend at 72 Willow Lane in Hartsford, Connecticut, she finds a wall calendar with every day crossed off in red ink — each X larger and more jagged than the last. The final entry, dated for tonight, simply reads 'last one.' The silence in the house feels heavier than the November cold outside. Luna tries to leave, but her car won't start. As the clock nears midnight, she hears footsteps in the attic — slow, deliberate, and moving toward the pull-down…
The Key in the Mailbox at 44 Birch Lane
I was house-sitting for a friend of a friend in a town called Stone Hollow, a name that sounds made up until you see it on a road sign. The house was a gray Cape Cod at 44 Birch Lane, and the instructions were simple: pick up the key from under the ceramic frog by the back door, water the plants, grab the mail. But when I pulled into the driveway that October evening, the mailbox was open and a key sat inside, tarnished and cold, tied to a tag that read 'Front Door — Do Not Leave Unlocked.' The…
The Key Under the Doormat at 58 Chestnut Street
I stood on the porch of 58 Chestnut Street at 11:47 PM on a Tuesday in late October, a key I didn't remember making in my hand, the doormat flipped back by the wind. The porch light was off, but a television flickered blue through the living room window — the shape of a woman on the couch, her head turned toward the driveway. I knew the house was supposed to be empty, but the woman was me — same hair, same posture, same sweater I'd lost at a laundromat last spring. When I unlocked the door, the…
The Key in the Lock at 28 Chestnut Street
It's late October in the small town of Millbrook, New York, and the air smells of wet leaves and woodsmoke. Luna finds herself standing in the driveway of 28 Chestnut Street, a house she's never seen before, holding a key that fits the front door. Inside, the furniture is familiar — her grandmother's china cabinet, her own childhood quilt thrown over a chair — but the family photos on the wall show her face beside strangers. The clock in the hall chimes eleven, but the hands say three. And then…
The Mail Slot at 23 Cedar Lane
I found myself standing outside a house I'd never seen before, holding a letter addressed to someone with my name. It was a cold November night in Millbrook, the kind of wet cold that seeps into your bones. The house looked like any other on the block—vinyl siding, a single porch light, a rusted mail slot on the front door. But the letter inside was dated 1987, and it mentioned a child I had never had. This is the story of what I found when I slid that letter back through the slot, and the hand…
The Key in the Drawer at 7 Spruce Lane
In the autumn of 2021, I housesat for a couple I barely knew at 7 Spruce Lane, a narrow house on a dead-end street in Millbrook. The key was in the kitchen drawer, just where they said it would be. But the furniture was all wrong — the couch faced the wrong wall, the photographs on the mantel showed my face alongside strangers. By the second night, I found a locked door in the upstairs hallway that wasn't on the floor plan. The key didn't open it. Nothing did. And from behind that door, every…
The TV in the Den at 15 Spruce Lane
It was a Tuesday night in late October, just past midnight, when Luna found herself standing in the den of a house she had never seen before, holding a remote that did not belong to her. The television was on, showing a static-filled channel that resolved into a single image: a woman sitting in the exact same chair Luna was about to sit in. The woman's mouth moved, but the sound came from behind Luna — not from the TV. A slow-burn encounter with a house that watches back, set on a dead-end…
The Kitchen Clock at 14 Ridgeway Avenue
In the fall of 2019, I house-sat for a woman I barely knew at 14 Ridgeway Avenue in Ridgemont, Ohio. The house was ordinary — beige carpet, a kitchen with a clock that ticked too loudly, a guest room with a bed that felt like it had been slept in the night before. But the clock didn't just tell time. It counted something else. And the woman who lived there — Mrs. Kellerman — she called every night at exactly 9:47 to check in. Her voice was soft. Too soft. And she always asked the same question…
The Garden Shed at 12 Hemlock Lane
It's October 2023, just past midnight on a dead-end street in Mount Dora, Florida. Luna is house-sitting for a friend of a friend — a woman named Ellen she's never met. The house is ordinary: beige walls, laminate countertops, a porch with a rusted wind chime. But the garden shed at the back of the property keeps drawing her eye. It's padlocked. Ellen said nothing about it in the instructions — not a word. The first night, Luna hears a scraping sound from inside, like someone running a…
The Kitchen at 8 Pinnacle Road
It was autumn in Stillwater, a small town in upstate New York, when I found myself standing in a stranger's kitchen at 3 a.m., holding a key that didn't belong to me. The house at 8 Pinnacle Road was supposed to be empty — a rental listed by a woman named Claire, who I'd never met. But when I walked in, the kettle was warm, the radio played static between stations, and the photographs on the wall showed a family I almost recognized. Someone had been there moments before. Someone had left the…
The Bedroom Closet at 39 Elm Street
When Luna visits an old friend in the drowsy town of Stillwater, Minnesota, she finds a house that seems to remember her better than she remembers it. The bedroom closet at 39 Elm Street has a sliding door that catches on nothing, a faint smell of cedar and something sweeter, and a child's nightgown hanging at the back that is her size. Her friend's daughter insists a woman comes out of it at night—a woman who looks just like Luna. Late autumn, the year the leaves fell early. A story about…
The Photograph in the Attic at 61 Sycamore Drive
It was late autumn in Millbrook, a small town where the leaves turned brown and fell in a single week. I was housesitting for a woman I barely knew, a friend of a friend who had left town suddenly. The house at 61 Sycamore Drive was ordinary—two stories, a porch, a garden that needed weeding—but the attic held something that was not. A photograph, tucked into the rafters, showed a family I almost recognized. That night, I learned what it means to be remembered by the wrong people.…
The Key in the Lock at 9 Mulberry Lane
Luna arrives at a wedding in the small town of Oakhaven, Indiana, in the autumn of 2017. The bride is a childhood friend she hasn't seen in years. Everything seems normal until Luna steps into the bridal suite and finds a key on the vanity — an old brass key, tarnished and warm to the touch. The bride refuses to explain it. The groom looks sick. And no one will talk about what happened at the last wedding in this town, five years ago. A story about what we carry into a marriage, what we lock…
The Coat Closet at 60 Beacon Street
It's December in the small town of Stony Creek, New Hampshire, and Luna is housesitting for a friend-of-a-friend at 60 Beacon Street. The house is old, drafty, and smells of cinnamon and dust. On the second night, she opens the coat closet under the stairs to grab a blanket and finds a child's winter coat hanging there—a pink puffer jacket with a rabbit-fur hood. She doesn't remember seeing it before. She asks the homeowner about it the next day. He says he doesn't have children. The coat…
The Key in the Garage at 33 Birch Street
Luna recounts the night she found herself standing in someone else's garage, holding a key that unlocked a door that shouldn't exist. It was late autumn in the small town of Millbrook, the kind of cold that seeps through your coat and settles in your bones. The garage was attached to a house that looked exactly like hers—same blue shutters, same cracked walkway—but the key in her hand was wrong. It opened a door in the back wall that led to a narrow room with no windows, no light switch, and a…
The Attic Door at 83 Poplar Lane
It was June of 2017, just after midnight, when my sister called to say she'd found something in the attic of her new house on Poplar Lane. She said it was a door — a small one, child-sized, set into the wall where no door should be. I drove over expecting a crawl space or a forgotten storage nook. What I found was a frame with a porcelain knob that turned freely, and a draft from the other side that smelled like wet earth and old flowers. She told me she'd heard knocking from behind it every…
The Daughter in the Mirror at 17 Chestnut Lane
Milo, a friend of a friend, housesits for a weekend at a quiet split-level on Chestnut Lane in Grantham, New Hampshire. The job is simple — feed the cat, water the plants — until he notices the girl in the bathroom mirror. Not a reflection. Not a ghost. He never touches her, never speaks to her. She just watches from the glass, every night, with the same sad expression. Milo stays three days. By the last morning, the mirror shows a version of himself he doesn't recognize. A hushed, atmospheric…
The Phone in the Den at 31 Walnut Ridge
October of 2008. A wrong-turn onto a dead-end road in Millbrook, Indiana. A house that should have been empty. A landline that rang the moment I stepped inside — with my own childhood voice on the other end, asking if I was coming home for dinner. I spent that night learning that some phone calls are not meant to be answered, and that the dead do not always stay on their side of the line. This is the story of what I heard through a receiver I could not let go of. #TheWrongHouse #FexingoHorror…
The Key Under the Mat at 44 Poplar Street
Luna arrives at 44 Poplar Street in Millbrook, Vermont, on a cold October evening in 2018, house-sitting for a friend of a friend. The key is under the mat, just as promised. Inside, the house is clean and unremarkable, but there's a photograph on the fridge: a woman who looks exactly like Luna, wearing a dress she doesn't own, standing with a man she doesn't know. The date on the photo is five years from now. Luna tries to leave, but the front door won't open from the inside. She waits out the…
Showing the latest 50 episodes. The full archive of 85 is on Apple Podcasts, Spotify and every major podcast app — or via the RSS feed above.