Episodes
The Photograph at the End of Hollow Creek Road
It's October 1998, and Luna is clearing out her grandmother's attic in Hollow Creek, Kentucky, when she finds a shoebox of old photographs. One stands out: a picnic scene from the summer of 1973, the day her great-aunt Martha vanished without a trace. In the photo, a figure is blurred, almost smeared, but when Luna looks again, the blur seems to have shifted. She spends the night comparing other photos from that day, each one showing the same strange distortion near Martha. As the hours pass…
The Pocket Watch at the End of Beechwood Road
In the attic of a century-old farmhouse on Beechwood Road in Pine Grove, Luna finds a tarnished pocket watch inside a cedar box. When she winds it, the watch doesn't tick—it pulls her into a flickering vision of a woman standing at a window, watching the same stretch of road, waiting. Over the course of a single autumn evening, Luna pieces together the woman's story: a promise made in 1922, a soldier who never returned, and a watch that cannot stop counting the minutes of a single day. But the…
The Locket at the End of Beaver Creek Road
Luna finds a tarnished silver locket in a dusty attic box, its clasp giving way to a sepia photograph of a woman and child. The engraving reads 'My darling, always' with a date from 1897. Digging into town records, she uncovers the story of Evelyn Hart, a widow whose son Thomas drowned in Beaver Creek—and who vanished soon after. Returning to the attic, she notices a cradle she missed before, hidden under a tarp. It rocks on its own. A child's whisper says 'Mama.' The locket warms in her hand…
The Candle at the End of Mossy Creek Road
Luna finds an unburnable candle in an attic at the end of a country lane. The neighbor at the diner tells her about Margaret, who lit it for a husband who never came home from a blizzard. The flame burned for a month without melting. A stranger showed up at the door, frostbitten, drawn by the light. When Luna strikes a match in the dusty attic tonight, she sees something moving beyond the window pane. Set in summer in Mossy Creek, Tennessee, this is a story about what we keep burning for the…
The Pit at the End of Cypress Branch Road
July 1998. A twelve-year-old girl named Teal walks the overgrown path to the old well behind her grandmother's house on Cypress Branch Road, just outside of Gilead, Tennessee. The well has been sealed for decades, but the board covering it is rotted through. What she finds inside, and what she begins to hear at night, is not a ghost story. It is a memory. A long one. And it does not belong to her grandmother. This is a story about inheritance, not of property, but of attention. Of something…
The Ceiling at the End of Poplar Street
Luna remembers the summer of 2007 and the house at the end of Poplar Street in Manchester, Tennessee. Her friend Sara's grandmother had a low ceiling in the back bedroom—a ceiling that seemed to sag lower each time Luna visited. Sara dismissed it as old house settling, but Luna noticed the handprints pressing into the plaster from the other side. One night, they heard knocking from above, and Sara's grandmother whispered that the ceiling had been that way since she was a girl. Luna never went…
The Vial at the End of Sweetwater Road
Luna remembers a late-summer evening in 1997, when a woman named Eliza called her from a payphone on Sweetwater Road, just outside of Tupelo. Eliza had found a small glass vial in her grandmother's attic—sealed with wax, containing a dark amber liquid and a twist of hair. She wanted Luna to come see it. What Luna found there, in that dusty attic with the window open to the cicada hum, was not a keepsake but a lock on something that should never have been opened. A story about inheritance, and…
The Mirror at the End of Stillhouse Road
August 1997. Stillhouse Road, a dead-end gravel lane that snakes through the cedars outside a town called Helena Springs. I was eighteen, home for the summer before college. The Callahans' farmhouse had been empty for thirty years, but people still talked about the night Alice Callahan disappeared. I went inside. I found a full-length mirror in the upstairs hallway, propped against floral wallpaper. The glass didn't show my reflection. It showed the hallway behind me, but wrong — the wallpaper…
The Map at the End of Blackwater Road
In the attic of a house on Blackwater Road, Luna finds a hand-drawn map hidden inside a hollowed book. The map leads to a place that doesn't exist on any modern chart—a pond called Stillwater, and a path that keeps changing. When she follows it one October evening, she learns why the locals never talk about what lies beyond the treeline. This episode is a slow-burn descent into a landscape that remembers things people have forgotten. No monsters, no gore—just a road that loops back on itself, a…
The Typewriter at the End of Miner Street
In the summer of 2003, Luna's cousin June cleaned out a foreclosed house on Miner Street in a coal town called Blackwood, West Virginia. She found a manual typewriter in the attic, still loaded with a half-finished letter. The letter was dated 1973 and addressed to a woman who had been missing since the day the letter began. June read it. Then she finished it. And the typewriter kept printing on its own — correcting her errors, adding details she didn't know, and refusing to stop until the…
The Railroad Lantern at the End of Lonesome Hollow Road
In October of 1987, a woman named Miriam bought a rusted railroad lantern at an estate sale in the town of Raven's Ford, Kentucky. She hung it in the attic of her farmhouse, thinking it was just a decoration. But the lantern still had oil. And something inside it still burned. Luna tells the story of what happened when Miriam lit the wick—and what started coming down the hollow road at exactly 3:33 every morning. A quiet, slow-burn horror about inherited grief, forgotten promises, and the light…
The Handprint at the End of Dogwood Lane
It's late October in the small town of Cedar Falls, Tennessee, and Luna's friend Marie has just moved into an old farmhouse on Dogwood Lane. The house has a screened-in porch that no one uses, a root cellar that smells of damp earth, and an attic door that refuses to stay latched. Marie laughs it off at first—old houses settle, wood expands, nothing to worry about. But then the handprints start appearing. Not dusty smudges from a previous occupant, but wet prints, as if pressed from the inside…
The Door at the End of Cold Spring Road
In the summer of 1994, Luna's grandmother bought a farmhouse at the end of Cold Spring Road in Millbrook, New York. The property came with a locked room in the basement that no realtor could explain. Luna was twelve, and she spent that July pressing her ear to the door, listening to the sound of someone breathing on the other side. This is the story of what she heard, what she saw when her uncle finally forced the lock, and the thing that followed her home. It is a story about the difference…
The Chimney at the End of Sycamore Lane
Luna’s friend Nora inherits her grandmother’s farmhouse on Sycamore Lane in the fall of 2020 and asks Luna to help clear the attic. There they find a dollhouse—a perfect replica of the farmhouse, down to the crack in the porch step. Inside the dollhouse is a single tiny room, walled off, with a clay figure seated in a rocking chair. That night, Luna hears Nora scream from the attic. The next morning, Nora is sitting in the rocking chair in the walled-off room of the dollhouse. The clay figure…
The Loom at the End of Ashford Road
In the summer of 1997, Luna's aunt Maddy moved into an old farmhouse on Ashford Road, just outside the Tennessee town of Cross Creek. The house had a loom in the basement — a massive, dark thing that nobody could explain. Maddy was a weaver, so she cleaned it, oiled it, and began to work. But the loom wove patterns she never set, and the cloth that came off the beam showed things that hadn't happened yet. By the time Luna visited in August, Maddy had stopped sleeping, and the rug on the kitchen…
The Dress at the End of Balsam Lane
In the summer of 1984, Luna's aunt Clara called her to the farmhouse on Balsam Lane, just outside Pigeon Roost, Tennessee. Clara had found something in the attic—a wedding dress sealed in a cedar chest, never worn, with a tag that read 'Property of Eulalie Vance.' But Eulalie had died in a fire in 1923, the night before her wedding. Luna expected a ghost story. She got something quieter and more terrible: a dress that remembered its owner so fiercely it had learned to breathe. This is a story…
The Watch at the End of Jericho Road
August 1997, just outside Jericho, Tennessee. Luna's grandmother's attic yields a broken pocket watch that keeps the wrong time—eleven minutes and seven seconds behind the living world. The watch belonged to a man named Everett Croft, who disappeared from his own farm in 1923. As Luna pieces together the last day of his life from a single yellowed letter and a photograph, she realizes the watch isn't stopped; it's waiting. It counts down to something that hasn't happened yet. By the time she…
The Dried Flowers at the End of Mulberry Lane
In the summer of 2019, Luna's friend Sarah inherited her grandmother's house on Mulberry Lane. The attic was full of old trunks and boxes, but one thing stood out: a pressed-flower arrangement in a shadow box, dated 1928. Sarah's grandmother had never spoken of it. When Luna lifted the box, she noticed the flowers weren't pressed at all—they were still pliable, still fragrant, as if cut yesterday. Over the next week, Sarah began to dream of a garden that didn't exist, and the flowers in the box…
The Postcard at the End of Tupelo Trace
In the summer of 2009, Luna helps an elderly neighbor clear out her late brother's attic in the small town of Opelika, Alabama. There, tucked inside a hollowed-out book, she finds a postcard postmarked 1973 — addressed to a woman who never lived at that address, signed only with a single initial. What begins as a curiosity turns into an obsession as Luna traces the name on the postcard, only to discover that the woman it was sent to vanished the same year — and that every person who tried to…
The Key in the Attic at the End of Mill Pond Road
In the winter of 1998, Luna's aunt Vera inherited an old house on Mill Pond Road in upstate New York, a place no one had lived in for thirty years. Among the cobwebbed boxes in the attic, Luna found a single brass key on a rusted ring, tucked inside a folded handkerchief. The key was ornately carved, with numbers stamped into the bow: 7-12-1965. When she asked her aunt about it, Vera's face went pale. She said it was the key to the old boathouse on the pond, the one that had been locked since…
The Garden Gate at the End of Whippoorwill Road
In the summer of 1998, a woman named Elara bought an old farmhouse on Whippoorwill Road, drawn by the overgrown garden and the rusted iron gate that swung open each night on its own. She thought it was a latch, the wind, a raccoon — but the pattern was too precise. Every night at exactly 2:17 a.m., the gate creaked open and waited. When she finally followed it into the woods behind the house, she found a clearing where the grass never grew, the ground humming with an almost-sound she felt in…
The Comb at the End of Springhouse Road
Luna recalls a June night in 1997 on Springhouse Road, a gravel lane outside a town called Mercy, Kentucky. She was eighteen, housesitting for the Whitlock family while they flew to a funeral in Ohio. The attic was supposed to be off-limits—Mrs. Whitlock was firm about that. But Luna heard something shift above her bedroom ceiling at 2:14 AM, a sound like a drawer sliding open. She found a fire-scorched vanity table against the eaves, and in its top drawer, a tortoiseshell comb with hair still…
The Music Box at the End of Holloway Road
In the attic of a crumbling farmhouse on Holloway Road, Luna finds a child's music box, its brass mechanism still wound tight. Inside, a tiny paper figure dances to a melody no one has heard in sixty years. But the box does not play alone — it waits, and it remembers. A story about inheritance, unresolved grief, and the things we choose to keep silent. #FexingoHorror #HorrorPodcast #ThingsInTheAttic #HollowayRoad #MusicBox #Attic #SmallTownHorror #Atmospheric #SlowBurn #Grief #Inheritance…
The Chain in the Attic at the End of Pigeon Roost Road
Luna finds an old iron chain in her grandmother's attic, its links etched with dates spanning more than a century. A notebook hidden beneath the floorboards reveals that the chain was used to bind something in the basement of the old Pigeon Roost schoolhouse — a room that was sealed off in 1923 after seven children went missing in a single winter. As Luna traces the story through town records and a living witness, she learns that the chain was never meant to hold anything inside. It was meant…
The Photograph at the End of Prospect Street
October 1998, Prospect Street, Colton, Nebraska. Luna's great-aunt Elara leaves her a wooden crate in the attic of a house that has stood empty for forty years. Inside, a single photograph: a young woman in a white dress, standing in a field of Queen Anne's lace, a man beside her with his face scratched out. Luna learns the woman was her great-aunt's sister, who vanished the night before her wedding in 1958. But the photograph changes—the scratch mark is gone, the man's face is clear, and Luna…
The Child's Chair at the End of Holloway Road
Luna finds a small rocking chair in the attic of a house on Holloway Road, outside the town of Meridian, Tennessee. The chair is child-sized, hand-carved, and warm to the touch despite the November chill. It belonged to a boy named Samuel who died in 1893. But when Luna sits in it, she doesn't feel the past — she feels something waiting. Something that has been rocking in that chair every night for over a hundred years, and doesn't intend to stop. A story about grief, repetition, and the…
The Wax Cylinder at the End of Jericho Road
A forgotten wax cylinder found in a cardboard box in an attic in the summer of 1986. On it, a woman's voice humming a lullaby that Luna's grandmother used to sing. But the cylinder was recorded in 1901, and the woman on it calls Luna by name. Set on Jericho Road, just outside of Harlow, Ohio, one humid August night when the air was thick with the smell of cut grass and something else. What begins as curiosity becomes a thread pulled taut across eighty-five years, a voice that knew her before…
The Dollhouse at the End of Kettle Creek Road
Luna returns to a house she visited years ago, where an old woman named Esther kept a dollhouse in the attic. The dollhouse was a perfect replica of the house itself, down to the smallest detail. But when Luna looks closer, she realizes the dollhouse has changed since her last visit—and so has the tiny family inside. A story about the weight of memory and the things we leave behind. #FexingoHorror #HorrorPodcast #ThingsInTheAttic #Dollhouse #KettleCreekRoad #EthelMorrison #Maine #Dust…
The Crank Telephone at the End of Juniper Trace
October 1998, just outside Brownsville, Tennessee. Luna's great-aunt Edna passes and leaves behind a house no one in the family has visited in thirty years. Inside, among the dust and dead moths, Luna finds a wooden crank telephone mounted to the wall in the back bedroom. The line isn't connected to anything — but when she turns the crank, it rings. Someone answers on the other end. A story about inheriting a house, a locked room, and a telephone line that was never supposed to be picked up.…
The Taxidermy Fox at the End of Mulberry Lane
In the attic of a foreclosed farmhouse on Mulberry Lane, Luna finds a taxidermy fox in a bell jar. The fox's glass eyes seem to follow her, and a scrap of paper inside the jar reads 'He saw what you did.' The previous owner, an elderly taxidermist named Ezra Thorne, disappeared six months ago. As Luna examines the fox, she notices the fur on its back is matted with something dark. The farmhouse's history whispers of a child lost in the woods thirty years ago—a child Ezra was the last to see…
The Mannequin at the End of Lost Creek Road
Out past the burnt-over hills, past the last gas station that still sells maps on yellowing paper, there is a stretch of Lost Creek Road that doesn't appear on any of them. I drove it one October evening, chasing a story about a mannequin in a window—a dress form, really, that someone had left behind when the house went to foreclosure. The house itself was unremarkable: split-level, vinyl siding, a carport with a collapsed roof. But the mannequin stood in the upstairs bedroom, facing the road…
The Sea Chest at the End of Driftwood Lane
Luna recalls a moonless August night on the Oregon coast, when a friend's inheritance—a locked sea chest from a shipwrecked ancestor—pulled her into a quiet obsession. Through splintered wood and salt-stained pages, she found a logbook that didn't stop counting. The entries went on past the wreck, past the date of death, each one closer to the present. By the time she closed the lid, something had shifted in the room—not the temperature, but the weight of the air. A story about inheritance, the…
The Tin Box at the End of Lonesome Hollow Road
One winter night in 1987, Luna's father stopped at a gas station off Lonesome Hollow Road in Elk County and came home with a dented tin box he found in the men's room. Inside was a stack of letters, all addressed to a woman named Elara, all postmarked from a town that doesn't exist. Luna reads one letter aloud, and the words seem to cling to the air longer than they should. The story she tells is about a different girl, a different year, and a stretch of road that only appears when the…
The Dollhouse at the End of Kettle Creek Road
Luna remembers the summer of 2009, when her cousin Melanie disappeared for three days and came back talking about a dollhouse in the attic of the old Granger place on Kettle Creek Road. The dollhouse was a perfect replica of the Granger house itself, minus one detail. When Luna finally saw it, she understood why Melanie never went back inside. A story about architectural obsession, missing rooms, and the weight of being watched from inside your own walls. #TheDollhouseAtTheEndOfKettleCreekRoad…
The Hand-Mirror at the End of Sycamore Lane
A woman named Elise inherits a modest farmhouse on Sycamore Lane, deep in the hills of eastern Kentucky, and finds in the attic a hand-mirror wrapped in yellowed linen. The mirror shows not her reflection, but a woman in a calico dress, standing behind her, closer each time she looks. Elise begins to see her in the corners of rooms, in the gap between curtain and wall, in the half-light before dawn. The woman's face is a soft blur, but her mouth is always moving—forming words Elise cannot hear…
The Lamp in the Dormer at the End of Pigeon Roost Road
Luna climbs into the attic of her late grandmother’s farmhouse on Pigeon Roost Road, Tennessee, three weeks after the funeral. Among boxes of quilts and china she finds a brass oil lamp, still warm, that she swears she turned off the night before. Each morning it’s lit again, its flame burning steady and wrong—no oil, no wick, just light. The story of the lamp leads her to a photograph of her grandmother as a girl, standing beside a man in a stovepipe hat whose face has been scratched out. A…
The Compass at the End of Kettle Creek Road
It was the summer of 2017, and I was staying with my aunt in a small town called Millbrook, New York, for reasons I still don't fully understand. I needed to get away, she needed company, and the house had a certain quiet that felt safe. But there was a trail behind her property that led to Kettle Creek Road, and about half a mile in, I found an overgrown path that wasn't on any map. At the end of that path was a small iron gate, rusted shut, and beyond it a clearing with a single stone bench.…
The Porcelain Doll at the End of Weaver Road
One night in late October, Luna finds a weathered cardboard box in the attic of a house she's cleaning out on Weaver Road, a dead-end lane outside of Harlow, Oregon. Inside is a porcelain doll with cracked blue eyes and a note tucked into its dress: 'Take care of her. She misses the light.' The doll belonged to a girl named Miriam who vanished from that same house in 1972, and whose mother kept her bedroom exactly as it was for fifty years. As Luna examines the doll, she notices the fingers are…
The Music Stand at the End of Schoolhouse Lane
In the autumn of 1997, Luna's high school music teacher gave her a walnut music stand with a peculiar engraving on the base — a set of initials and a date from 1923. For years, she kept it in her attic, never thinking much of it. But when she finally decided to research the name, she found a girl named Eleanor Voss who had vanished from the same small Oregon town in 1924. No one had ever found out what happened to her. Luna's search leads her to the old Voss house, a boarded-up Victorian on…
The Tin Bird at the End of Palmer Creek Road
It was late October 2019, just past midnight, when I pulled off Palmer Creek Road onto a gravel turnout I'd never noticed before. The house at the end of that lane had been empty for decades, but the attic light was on. I climbed in through a broken dormer window and found a child's room preserved under dust: a narrow bed, a nightstand, a small tin bird with a key in its back. The clock on the nightstand read 12:07. The bird, when wound, sang a lullaby I vaguely remembered from my own…
The Dressmaker's Scissors at the End of Mabel Street
October 2023. Luna finds a pair of antique dressmaker's scissors in an attic on Mabel Street, a dead-end road in the small town of Gifford, Oregon. The blades are still sharp, the handles wrapped in faded red thread. They belonged to a woman named Vera who vanished from her home in 1957, leaving half-finished dresses on the mannequins and a single rocking chair still moving by the window. Luna learns that Vera's neighbors reported hearing scissors snipping through fabric at night for years…
The Bell Jar at the End of Tillamook Road
A quiet road in coastal Oregon, winter rain, a jar on a shelf. Luna's cousin Sarah found it in the attic of her late grandmother's farmhouse—a bell jar, sealed with wax, holding something that should not have been preserved. The glass was cold. The thing inside was dry, folded, waiting. Sarah calls Luna two weeks after the funeral, her voice gone thin, asking what she should do with it. Luna drives out to Tillamook Road. What she finds in that jar is not a keepsake. It is a promise that someone…
The Correspondence at the End of Cooper Street
It was the summer of 2007, and I housesat for the old Hargrove place at the end of Cooper Street. The house had stood empty since Mrs. Hargrove died the previous winter, and her nephew needed someone to check on it—turn on lights, water the ferns, keep the pipes from freezing. I didn't mind the quiet; I was barely twenty and grateful for anywhere to sleep that wasn't my parents' couch. The attic door was in the hallway ceiling, a square of darker paint in the plaster, and I told myself I…
The Dried Bouquet at the Old Mill on Crooked Creek
In the attic of an abandoned gristmill on Crooked Creek, Oregon, Luna finds a dried bouquet wrapped in waxed paper and tied with a black ribbon. The flowers are not from this valley — they don't grow here, not anymore, not since the summer of 1921. Inside the paper is a single name, written in pencil on a scrap of ledger paper: Rosalind. That night, Luna dreams of a woman in a white dress walking downstream, her hands full of flowers that never wilt. But the dream isn't done with her. She wakes…
The Wedding Gown at the Top of the Stairs at the Marlowe House
In the summer of 1997, Luna's aunt Carol asks her to help clear out the attic of the old Marlowe House on Sycamore Lane in Millbrook, New York — a Victorian that's been in the family for three generations, untouched since Great-Aunt Eleanor died in 1981. Eleanor never married, but in the attic they find a wedding gown preserved in a cedar trunk, never worn, with a note pinned to the bodice that reads: 'For the one who comes after, when she is ready.' Luna brings the gown home. Then she starts…
The Locked Footlocker on Stillwater Road
In the attic of a rented farmhouse off Stillwater Road, Luna finds a locked footlocker tucked behind a water heater. The previous tenant, a quiet woman named Margot, left it behind. Inside: a high school yearbook, a prom photo, and a stack of letters tied with blue ribbon. The letters are from a boy named Caleb — who, according to Margot's sister, died the night before prom, seventeen years ago. Luna reads the letters in order, watching Margot's handwriting shift from giddy to frantic. The last…
The Nest at the Top of the Stairs at the Whitcomb House
In the winter of 2019, Luna was hired to clear out the attic of the abandoned Whitcomb House on Old Mill Road in Elkhart, Indiana. A widow had died without heirs, and the house was to be sold. In the attic, beneath a tarp, Luna found a strange structure made of twigs, human hair, and something that looked like dried membrane. The nest was still warm. Over three days, she watched it grow, and she heard sounds at night that could not have come from a living thing. This episode is about what…
The Christmas Ornament at Lost Lake Cabins
Christmas Eve, 2019. Luna is alone at Lost Lake Cabins, a cluster of rustic rentals frozen into a January-that-never-came. A single ornament left on a bare branch inside Cabin 7 — a glass sphere with a snow scene inside, and a woman's face pressed against the glass from the inside. Not painted. Not reflected. A face that blinks. A face that knows her name. This is the story of what Luna found when she unscrewed the tiny hook at the top of the ornament, and the lake that began to freeze from the…
The Wind-Up Bird on Cooper Street
October 1987. In the attic of a rented house on Cooper Street in Millbrook, Oregon, Luna finds a child's music box that plays a single warped note. The box belonged to a boy named Eli who vanished from the same house forty years earlier. As she winds the key, she begins to hear the bird outside — a bird that doesn't exist, singing a song that doesn't stop. A story about the sound that echoes when a room remembers something it should have forgotten. No jump scares. Just atmosphere, dread, and a…
The Typewriter at the End of Mink Hollow Road
Luna recalls a late autumn night in 2017 when a friend asked her to help clear out a house at the end of Mink Hollow Road—a narrow gravel lane that dead-ends against state forest. The owner had vanished months earlier, leaving every room untouched. In the attic study, beneath a dormer window that looked out onto nothing but dark trees, Luna found a typewriter still warm, its platen threaded with a half-typed page. The keys moved on their own as she watched, spelling out a name she did not…
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