Episodes
The Phone at Old Depot Station
November 1999. A payphone in an abandoned train station on Old Depot Road, Ashland, Indiana. My friend Sam, a photographer chasing ghosts in decay, answered its nightly call. A woman's voice said, 'Tell him I'm on the 10:15.' He went back. The voice changed: 'You're the one.' Then he vanished. I found his camera—one exposure left. I found the phone off the hook. And I heard a whisper that still haunts me. No ads, just the story. If that matters, support at buy me a coffee dot com slash fexingo.…
The Phone in the Coroner's Office on Mill Creek Road
A snowbound night, 3 AM, and the switchboard lights up with a line that shouldn't exist—the coroner's office internal line, ringing with the voice of a man who died an hour ago. Luna picks up, and the dead man doesn't know he's gone. He's looking for his wife, a nurse at the hospital. Luna recognizes his name: Mr. Alderman, her high school biology teacher. She has to tell him the truth, and in doing so, she crosses a boundary that can't be uncrossed. A story about the last connection, the…
The Phone at the End of the Pier on Frozen Lake Road
February on Lake Algonquin, Wisconsin. A woman named Lila takes a wrong turn on her way home from a night shift and finds a payphone standing alone at the end of a pier — surrounded by ice, miles from anywhere. The phone rings as she approaches, and the voice on the other end sounds exactly like her own, speaking words she hasn't yet said. What follows is a slow, breathless unraveling of memory, warning, and a thin crack spreading across the lake. No one else is there. The phone keeps ringing.…
The Payphone at the Gravel Pit, Coffeyville
In late October 1998, on a gravel road outside Coffeyville, Tennessee, I found a rusted payphone at the edge of an abandoned pit. It rang as I approached—a mechanical bell piercing the quiet. The voice on the other end belonged to a woman named Margaret, who said she was at the bottom of a nearby well. She'd been there since 1972. This is a story about listening, about lines that cross through time without permission, and about the weight of a number you memorize but never dial. A slow-burn…
The Phone at the Drive-In on Painted Post Road
A payphone rings at an abandoned drive-in on the outskirts of town. Luna connects a woman named Margot, who hears her dead husband's voice warning her away from the lake. But the calls don't stop, and the voices multiply. A slow-burn ghost story about buried truths and the ones who stayed behind. Candlelight horror from Whisper Lines. #FexingoHorror #HorrorPodcast #WhisperLines #DriveInHorror #Payphone #Grief #GhostCall #SmallTown #PaintedPostRoad #LakeWarning #DrownedChild #LostHusband…
The Phone at the Roller Rink on Dogwood Lane
Tonight, a call comes in from a line that shouldn't exist — a phone in a long-abandoned roller rink on Dogwood Lane. When Luna answers, there's only static and the distant sound of wheels on polished wood. She visits the place and finds a pair of child's roller skates by the payphone, the laces still tied. The story of a girl named Emily, who vanished from the rink in 1987, surfaces. But the phone keeps ringing, and each time, the voice on the other end is a little clearer. A slow-burn ghost…
The Phone at the Derailment on Frost Creek Road
January thaw, black ice, and a derailed train that never made the news. Luna was called to a stretch of Frost Creek Road where a freight train jumped the tracks at three in the morning—or rather, where the phone at the crossing kept ringing long after the crossing guard was torn away. The dispatcher on the other end asked for the engineer by name, asked if he was still in the cab, asked if he could see the light in the window. But there was no cab left. No engineer. Just a ringing phone, a…
The Phone at the Filling Station on Rock Creek Road
November 1987. A lonely filling station outside Twin Forks, Arkansas, where the gas pumps are still manual and the phone booth by the side wall has a broken light. Luna's uncle Ray worked the night shift there for seventeen years. He said the phone rang three times every night at 2:07 AM, always the same number of rings, always the same voice on the other end — a woman asking for someone named Delia. He never answered it after the first time, but he told Luna the story one Christmas Eve, drunk…
The Phone at the Meat Locker on Flat Creek Road
January 1998. A meat locker on Flat Creek Road, Kentucky, where a woman named Della worked the overnight shift after the previous night man quit without notice. Luna's cousin Frankie took a temp job there and lasted three nights. The locker kept a specific temperature, the door had a handle that only turned from the outside, and the phone on the wall rang every night at 2:17 AM with no one on the line. Frankie told Luna about the smell of fresh blood that never washed out of the concrete, about…
The Cord of Light on Old Wire Road
Luna takes a call from a young woman stranded in a fog-choked gully at the dead end of Old Wire Road. The woman's car won't start, her phone is dying, and there's a truck idling somewhere behind her with its lights off. Luna stays on the line, listening to the truck's engine rev, the woman's breath fogging the window, and a voice that may not be coming from the truck. Set in a late October fog so thick it holds sound, this episode is about the weight of being a voice at the end of a line when…
The Phone at the Floodwall on Black River Road
Summer 2007. A levee patrol shift on the Mississippi near Hickman, Kentucky. The river was high that year, pushing against the floodwall like it wanted through. Luna's uncle worked nights walking the wall with a flashlight and a radio, checking for sand boils and seepage. He started hearing the phone ringing from the other side of the concrete. Not a cell phone, not a radio—an old rotary bell, wet and muffled. He never told anyone what he heard when he finally answered it. This is his story, as…
The Phone at the Car Wash on Low Gap Road
Summer 1998, Low Gap Road, eastern Kentucky. Luna's cousin Ruby took a job at the Spray & Shine car wash, the last one before the county line. Ruby was the kind of girl who noticed things — the way a car pulled in too fast, the way a customer stared too long. But the phone was the thing. An old rotary mounted on the wall by the vacuum room, no dial tone, nobody to call. Customers kept asking to use it. They said a woman always answered. Luna visits Ruby one August night and watches the phone…
The Phone at the Wedding Barn on Long Branch Road
In the summer of 2008, a wedding photographer named Cora Mackey rented a barn on Long Branch Road, outside a town called Prosper, South Carolina. The barn had been a wedding venue for decades—white string lights, a hand-built arbor, a phone on the wall near the kitchen that nobody ever used. Cora stayed late after the last reception, packing gear in the quiet, and that phone rang. She thought it was a wrong number, but the voice on the other end knew her name. Knew the groom's name. Knew the…
The Phone at the Christmas Tree Lot on County Line Road
December 1998, Willowbrook, Tennessee. Luna's uncle ran the last lot on County Line Road, selling trees from a floodlit gravel patch. The rotary phone on his desk rang every night after midnight, always the same woman's voice asking for a man named Eli. Luna was twelve, helping him tag pines. On the solstice, she answered it. The voice told her something she has never been able to forget, and the lot has been dark ever since. A story about winter, longing, and the calls that come through when…
The Phone at the Salt Cellar on Cain Ridge Road
December 1987. A freak ice storm traps Luna's car on a backroad in Pike County, Kentucky. The only shelter is an all-night diner called The Salt Cellar, where the waitress knows every customer's order by heart. But the payphone in the corner rings every seventeen minutes, and nobody answers it. Tonight, the regulars are waiting for something — and they've been waiting a long time. Luna learns the story of Harlan Jude, a trucker who vanished from this very booth five years ago, and why the phone…
The Phone at the Moonshine Still on Turkey Creek Road
August 1987. Luna's great-uncle Claude ran a still back in the hollows of Turkey Creek, Kentucky, and swore by one rule: never answer the phone that rings inside the shack after midnight. The phone wasn't connected to anything—he'd ripped the wires out himself after the first time it rang on its own. But every few years, a stranger would find the still, and the phone would ring, and whoever picked it up would be gone by morning. Luna tells the story of the summer she almost answered it herself…
The Phone at the Apiary on Honey Creek Road
August 1997, two weeks after my grandmother died. I drove out to Honey Creek Road to clear her old farmhouse — a place I'd avoided for years. But the phone rang before I even got out of the car. Not her phone — a rotary mounted on a fence post at the edge of a dead apiary. I answered because it was her ring. Two short, one long. The voice on the other end asked for my mother by her childhood name. And then it asked me to come inside the hives. This is an episode about inheritance, about the…
The Phone at the General Store on Bald Mountain Road
It's late fall, 1987. Luna takes a detour off Route 9 and ends up at a general store that shouldn't exist — a place that sells things from a past that never was. The woman behind the counter doesn't blink. The phone on the wall rings at exactly the same moment every night. And when Luna answers it, she hears a voice she recognizes — but the person on the other end has been dead for thirty years. This episode is a quiet, slow-burn meditation on grief, longing, and the terrible things we're…
The Phone at the Burned-Out Church on Pigeon Roost Road
Luna recalls a humid August night in 2003, when a call came through the switchboard from a rotary phone that hadn't existed in fifteen years. The church on Pigeon Roost Road burned to the ground in '88 — everyone knew that. But the voice on the other end was a little girl asking for her mother, and the address on the line was the old parsonage, still standing but long empty. What Luna heard that night, and what she saw when she drove out there at dawn, has never quite left her. The phone was…
The Phone at the Motel on Bitter Creek Road
Luna remembers a summer night in 1997, working the front desk at the Dusty Mile Motel on Bitter Creek Road, outside a town called Pinhook, Arkansas. A man with no luggage checked in just past midnight, asking for Room 12 — a room that had been sealed for years after the family who stayed there never checked out. He didn't seem surprised by the condition of the room. He didn't seem surprised by anything. Luna tells the story of what she heard through the wall that night, and what the county…
The Phone at the Bus Stop on Dead Man's Curve
November 2023. Dead Man's Curve, Missouri — a blind hairpin on Route 9 where a school bus skidded into the ravine in 1987. Luna's aunt used to wait there every afternoon, twenty years after the crash, for a bus that never came. After Aunt Clara passed, Luna found a voicemail on an old flip phone — a single breath, a girl's voice asking if the next bus is on time. No return number. No carrier. Just the bus stop, the curve, and a question that keeps ringing. #DeadMansCurve #Route9 #Missouri…
The Phone at the Astro-Dome on Twisted Pine Road
Luna takes a call from a man who found a payphone inside a collapsed drive-in movie screen in the Florida scrubland. He calls from the concession stand, where the lights still hum and the projector runs old film of a woman who smiles back. As Luna listens, the phone line begins to carry something else—a sound like tape hiss, a voice that hasn't spoken since 1969. She tells him to hang up, but the line stays open. This episode is about what happens when a dead signal finds a live listener. Set…
The Phone at the Shoe Tree on Peachtree Lane
In the summer of 2005, a lonely stretch of Peachtree Lane in central Arkansas held a cottonwood tree draped in hundreds of discarded shoes—a folk tradition for luck and remembrance. Luna's cousin June, a quiet girl who kept her secrets in a shoebox, left a pair of her own sneakers tied to a low branch one July night. Days later, the sneakers reappeared on her porch, still knotted, still damp from dew. This is the story of what happens when a wish you throw away decides to follow you home. No…
The Phone at the Abandoned Church on Dusty Hollow Road
In the winter of 2014, Luna takes a detour past an abandoned church on Dusty Hollow Road, drawn by a flickering light in the steeple window. The door is unlocked, the pews are dusty, and the old rotary phone on the altar is ringing. She answers, and a woman's voice on the other end asks for help—but the number she gives is a cemetery in the next county. Luna ends up visiting that cemetery at midnight, with a shovel, following a compulsion that feels borrowed from someone else's grief. By the…
The Phone at the Carousel on Prospect Avenue
In the summer of 2007, a carousel sat silent on the edge of a dying town in rural Iowa. Luna's cousin worked the ticket booth for two weeks before she stopped coming home. The phone in the booth rang every night at exactly midnight—a call from a number that belonged to a hospital demolished in 1973. What Luna found when she drove out to close the booth for good was not her cousin, and not a machine. This is a story about what answers when you shouldn't have picked up. #Carousel #ProspectAvenue…
The Phone at the Chicken Coop on Fork Creek Road
September 1993. Fork Creek Road, just outside Henley, Kentucky. Luna's cousin Maybellene calls her from a payphone at her ex-husband's chicken coop, saying she's found something in the nest boxes — not eggs, but things that look like eggs, smooth and warm and pulsing with a faint blue light. By the time Luna gets there, Maybellene is gone. The coop is silent. But the eggs are still there, stacked in neat rows, and one of them is cracking. A story about country roads, family secrets, and the…
The Phone at the Mennonite Store on Dog Trot Road
A cold November night in 1989, and Luna is working the late shift alone at the county dispatch center. A call comes in from a small Mennonite bulk-foods store on Dog Trot Road—a place that doesn't even have a listed number. The caller is a boy, maybe twelve, asking for directions home. But he isn't calling from a phone. He's calling from inside the store after hours, and the lights are off. The more Luna talks to him, the clearer it becomes that he isn't lost in the usual way—he's been waiting…
The Phone at the Black Walnut Tree on Shiloh Church Road
October 1997, just past midnight on Shiloh Church Road. A man named Earl Foster stops at a payphone mounted to a black walnut tree — a phone that still has a dial tone, despite the lines being dead for eight years. He calls his mother, who died in 1989. She answers. She knows he's coming. She sounds exactly as she did the night before the aneurysm. This is not a ghost story about a dead woman. This is a story about a phone that connects to the wrong side of silence — and about what happens when…
The Phone at the Wicker Chair on Pigeon Roost Road
November 1998, just outside Tupelo, Mississippi. Luna's cousin Clara inherits a farmhouse from a grandmother who spoke to no one for the last decade of her life. The only thing kept clean was a wicker chair by a rotary phone in the hallway. Clara starts hearing the phone ring at odd hours, but when she answers, there is only the sound of a woman breathing — and a voice that knows things about Clara no stranger could know. The voice tells her to come sit in the wicker chair at the right time…
The Phone at the Moth Farm on Holloway Road
Luna recounts the summer of 2017, when she took a call from a woman named Iris at the old moth farm on Holloway Road, just outside Milledgeville, Georgia. The farm had been abandoned for decades, but the phone rang at 2:17 AM — a rotary dial, still connected, still pulling current. The woman on the other end was scared, and her story unraveled something Luna can't unhear. This episode is about the weight of a single unanswered question, the smell of dust and kerosene, and the way certain places…
The Phone at the Pump on Shotgun Road
Summer 1987. A roadside gas station on Shotgun Road in Bledsoe County, Tennessee. The payphone outside the restroom starts ringing at 2:17 a.m. every night for a week. The attendant, a man named Hollis, answers it on the seventh night—and hears his own voice, from the night of his brother's drowning twelve years earlier. Luna retraces the call, the station's boarded-up restroom, and what Hollis found taped inside the phone receiver. A story about grief that loops back on itself, and the one…
The Phone at the All-Night Laundry on Potters Lane
It's just past midnight on a Tuesday in late October, and Luna is at the Switchboard when a call comes in from a payphone inside the 24-hour laundromat on Potters Lane. The caller is a young woman who says she's been folding clothes for three hours, and that every time she looks up, the same man is standing at the window, watching her. But when the police arrive, the footage shows no one there. Luna listens as the woman describes what she sees in the reflection of the dryer door. A story about…
The Phone at the Wishing Well on Dusty Hollow Road
In the summer of 2009, a girl named Mae found a rotary phone bolted to the side of a dried-up wishing well on Dusty Hollow Road, just outside the town of Pender, Oklahoma. The handset was warm, even in the 110-degree heat. When she picked it up, a voice on the other end knew her name, her mother's maiden name, and the exact date of a drowning that was never reported. The voice claimed to be the well itself, and it only asked for one thing: another wish. This is what happened when Mae decided to…
The Phone at the Schoolhouse on Wolf Run Road
In the winter of 1998, a small-town substitute teacher named Anna Wilkes found herself alone in a one-room schoolhouse on Wolf Run Road after a blizzard. The power was out, the roads were closed, and the landline in the principal's office kept ringing—every hour on the hour—with no one on the other end. But the call was never for her. It was for a girl named Esther, who had died in that same building sixty years earlier, and who had been trying to reach her mother ever since. Luna pieces…
The Phone at the Frost Heave on Juniper Pass
It was the winter of 2007, and I was driving the haul road over Juniper Pass, the kind of route truckers only take when the interstate is closed by ice. The snow had been falling for hours, and the road was nothing but a pair of ruts through white. I saw the phone first as a dark shape against the drifts—a rotary dial mounted on a splintered post, glowing faintly under the moon. I stopped because the engine was overheating, and because the receiver was off the hook, swaying in the wind. The…
The Phone at the Distillery on Lost Nation Road
In the winter of 1999, Luna's uncle ran a small-batch distillery on Lost Nation Road, a gravel stretch just outside of Millbrook, Illinois. He had a private line that rang only twice a night, always at 3:17 and 4:22, always a woman asking for someone named Ellis. Luna was fifteen and staying with him over Christmas break, sleeping on a cot in the back office. One night the line rang at 3:17 and he was passed out cold. She answered. What she heard—and what she saw when she went to the barn—has…
The Phone at the Well on Miller's Lane
It's late July in the long drought of '94. Luna gets a call from a payphone nobody's used in years, out on Miller's Lane, past the old Foster place where the well went dry. A woman's voice, calm at first, then something else. She says she's been waiting for someone to pick up. She says the well isn't empty. Luna drives out there with a flashlight and a cordless handset, not sure what she's hoping to find. What she finds is a phone caked in rust, the receiver off the hook, and a sound coming…
The Phone at the Abandoned Motel on Moon Lake Road
November, just after midnight, on a dead-end road outside a town called Jericho Springs. Luna takes a call from a woman named Elara who says she's been standing at a payphone for three hours, waiting for someone to answer. The payphone is attached to a motel that burned down in 1987. She doesn't know why she's there. She doesn't remember how she got there. But she keeps saying the same thing: 'There's a light on in room twelve.' Luna stays on the line as the woman walks toward that light, step…
The Phone at the Trading Post on Old Jasper Road
A quiet November night in 1998. I was working the switchboard at the county dispatch relay when a call came in from a payphone at a trading post on Old Jasper Road. The man on the other end said he’d found something in the back room. A box of letters. All addressed to a woman named Eleanor, who’d been dead since 1962. He read me the last one. And then he asked if I could hear her breathing. This episode is about the line between the living and the dead, and what happens when someone crosses it…
The Phone at the Funeral Home on Sycamore Lane
November 1989. A funeral home on the outskirts of a small Kentucky town. Luna's cousin Mary took the night shift answering phones during a wake for a woman who'd died alone. The calls started coming in after midnight — a woman's voice, calm and precise, asking for the deceased by name. Each time, the caller knew details no stranger could: the dress she was buried in, the scar on her left hand, the song played at the service. Mary checked the morgue. The body was gone. But the phone kept…
The Phone at the Flooded Bridge on Panther Creek
September 1997. A call comes into the switchboard from a payphone on Panther Creek Bridge — a bridge that's been underwater for three years. The voice on the other end is a woman named Eleanor, asking for her son. Luna traces the line back to a submerged ruin, where the phone still rings at midnight. A story about grief that won't hang up, about the lines that still carry the dead, and about the one call you can never un-answer. #PantherCreek #FloodedBridge #Payphone #Switchboard #BadGrief…
The Phone at the Truck Wash on Grist Mill Road
It was late October of 2018, and I had driven out to the all-night truck wash on Grist Mill Road, just outside a town called Penance Grove. The place was a concrete shell lit by humming fluorescents, the kind of spot where truckers go to blast off a season of road grime. But that night, there was a payphone attached to the side of the building—one of those old metal booths with the glass shattered out. And it was ringing. A man named Carl, who ran the wash bay, told me it had been ringing every…
The Phone at the Cotton Gin on Hogg Road
December 1987. A night spent working the switchboard at a derelict cotton gin on Hogg Road outside Marvell, Arkansas. The only call that came through crackled from a line that had been dead for thirty years — a woman's voice asking for directions home. I traced the call to a farmhouse that burned down in 1956. The line stayed open until I told her the road wasn't there anymore. Then the silence was so complete I could hear the rust on the wires. This is the story of what happens when you answer…
The Call at the Payphone on Lost Lake Road
In the autumn of 1992, Luna's cousin Danny disappeared from a payphone on Lost Lake Road, a gravel strip that loops through the pine barrens east of Stillwater. The call came in at 3:17 AM — Danny's voice, wrong and hollow, saying he was standing at the phone but the phone wasn't there. Luna patched him through to the sheriff, listened to the static, listened to the silence. What she heard afterward — the breathing, the wet drag of something heavy across gravel — she has never told anyone.…
The Phone That Rang at the Feed Store on Bellflower Road
December on Bellflower Road, just outside Stillwater. Luna tells the story of the night she worked late at Grady's Feed & Seed, a fluorescent-lit box of wood dust and fertilizer bags, when the phone rang at 2:47 AM. She answered it, and the man on the other end asked if the store had rat poison in stock. She said yes. Then he asked if she would bring a bottle to the back door. She didn't. But she heard him knock anyway, three times, spaced like minutes. Then the lights went out. It's a story…
The Phone That Rang at the Payphone on Lost Lake Road
May 1992. Luna is driving home on Lost Lake Road, past the old boat launch, when a payphone starts ringing. She stops. No one else is around. She answers. The voice on the line is a woman she has never met, but who knows her name, her mother's maiden name, and the exact date Luna's grandmother died. The woman says she is calling from a phone booth that burned down in 1978. Luna stays on the line until the connection dies. This is a story about roads that loop back on themselves, about calls…
The Phone at the Diner on Gravel Pit Road
In the autumn of 2003, the all-night diner on Gravel Pit Road outside Barstow became the site of a recurring wrong number… but the call wasn't wrong. A woman named Elaine, waitressing the owl shift, kept taking calls from a girl asking for her mother. The girl's voice was thin, faint, like she was calling from very far away. Elaine listened because something in her gut told her to. Then the calls started coming even when the phone wasn't ringing. This is the story of what Elaine heard over…
The Line That Wouldn't Hang Up at the Switchboard on Flint Road
Late October, a Thursday night, nineteen ninety-seven. Luna is alone at the switchboard on Flint Road when a line comes in that refuses to disconnect. The caller is a woman named Eleanor, her voice thin and frayed, saying she's at a payphone outside the old Flint Road Market — a place that burned down six years ago. Luna tries to reason with her, but Eleanor keeps talking about the light in the market's basement, a light that never went out even after the fire. Luna patches her through to the…
The Call at the Derelict Church on Elkhorn Road
Luna recalls a night in October 1997 when a call came through the switchboard from a man trapped in an abandoned church on Elkhorn Road. He said something was scratching at the door—not an animal. The line stayed open for nine minutes, and Luna listened to every second. She heard the scrape of claws on old wood, a low hum from somewhere inside the walls, and then a voice that was not his, speaking in a language she had never heard. The call ended when the line snapped dead—not dropped, but cut…
The Light at the End of Copper Creek Road
A switchboard operator in a small town connects a call from a woman who says she's been walking for hours along Copper Creek Road. But the road was washed out years ago, and the woman's voice sounds like it's coming from somewhere far away. As the operator listens, she begins to piece together a story of a flood, a lost child, and a light that never should have been seen. Set in the autumn of 1998, in the town of Whitethorn, this episode explores the thin line between the living and the dead…
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