検索キーワード： 著者 "Fexingo" すべてのカテゴリー

The treeline marks the edge of the known world. In this anthology podcast, Luna takes you into the forest's threshold — where trails end, where the undergrowth thickens, where something waits just beyond the last pine. Each episode is a self-contained story about hikers, rangers, and wanderers who cross into the deep woods and find the old things that live there: root-woven traps, villages that don't appear on maps, a cabin with no door. From the Pacific Northwest to the Appalachian spine, these are tales of wrong turns and quiet horrors. Luna's voice draws you into the dusk-light, the snap ...

Under the sickly amber glow of a dying streetlight, something is always waiting to be uncovered. In Streetlight Burials, each episode is a self-contained story drawn from the cracks of a city that never sleeps — or forgets. Luna unearths tales of objects found beneath flickering lamps: a child's shoe with a name stitched inside, a bundle of letters sealed with wax, a rusted key that fits a lock no one remembers. These are not ghost stories in the traditional sense; they are quieter, rooted in the mundane turned sinister. A parking lot where shadows pool too thickly. A stretch of sidewalk ...

In the hollows of the Ozarks, a crumbling white clapboard meeting hall stands at the end of a gravel road. Luna steps up to the pulpit, dust motes spinning in the bare bulb light, and opens a hymnal whose pages are yellowed and warped, as if soaked through by something other than rain. Each episode of this anthology is a self-contained story drawn from the hymnal's entries — accounts of congregations that held too many closed-door sessions, of hymns that echoed through empty woods long after the last singer left. A deacon's wife who began speaking in languages that predate the church. A ...

Luna pours coffee at a 24-hour diner where the night shift never ends and the customers never quite leave. In 'Last Call at the Diner,' each episode is a standalone story served over the counter: a trucker who hasn't blinked in three states, a waitress who forgets her own reflection, a jukebox that plays songs from tomorrow. These are the quiet horrors that settle in the cracks of a vinyl booth, the kind that arrive with the 3 AM crowd and linger like cigarette smoke. Luna's voice is the only constant—low, unhurried, watching from behind the register as the ordinary turns hollow. There's no ...

In 'Heirloom,' Luna sits at her mother's old vanity and opens a velvet jewellery box. Each episode is a self-contained story inspired by a single object from that box — a locket with a stranger's portrait, a hairbrush tangled with gray strands, a cameo brooch with a hidden compartment. The stories travel through generations, unearthing secrets buried in cedar chests and attic trunks. From a wedding ring that refuses to abandon its previous owner to a christening gown stitched with a child's final breath, these are tales of inheritance and the debts we owe the dead. Luna's voice, low as ...

In the fluorescent hum of a 911 dispatch center, every call is a door to someone's worst moment. This anthology series follows Luna, a veteran operator, as she recounts the calls that never left her — the ones that defied procedure, logic, and sometimes reality. From a child reporting a monster that only appears when the line is open, to a stranded motorist whose GPS coordinates lead to a town that doesn't exist, each episode is a standalone story pulled from the archives of the emergency response network. The unifying thread: every tale begins with a ringing line and ends with a dial tone ...

Every Sunday, Luna sifts through the remains of strangers' lives at estate sales. In dusty living rooms and cluttered garages, she finds objects that refuse to stay silent — a child's music box that still plays a lullaby for someone long gone, a wedding photograph where the bride's face keeps changing, a set of encyclopedias with entries that rewrite history. In The Estate Sale, each episode is a self-contained story about the things we leave behind and the things that refuse to leave us. From porcelain dolls with teeth to vintage radios that pick up broadcasts from the dead, Luna unearths ...

Luna checks into a forgotten motel off a desert highway, where the Vacancy light flickers like a pulse. Behind the front desk, a guest register holds names that never check out — and a brass bell that rings on its own. In this serialized horror tale, each episode follows a new occupant of Room 9, a room that shifts its shape to match the deepest fear of whoever sleeps there. Luna narrates the slow unraveling of travelers, drifters, and those who thought they were just stopping for the night. The motel's TV plays static that whispers old secrets; the parking lot fills with cars that vanish by...

In a candlelit colonial room, Luna opens a leather-bound Bible stained with soot. Outside the window, a bonfire pierces the night — a pyre for the guilty, or the innocent. Burned at the Stake is an anthology of quiet, slow-burn horror set in early America and parallel worlds of paranoia and faith. Each self-contained episode follows a different soul caught between superstition and truth: a midwife accused of witchcraft, a farmer whose livestock speaks in tongues, a pastor who hears the forest praying back. Luna's voice, hushed and grave, draws you into these confessions — whispered across ...

On the edge of the world's largest mirror—a salt flat so white it blinds—there are shrines. Small, white-washed altars, some with offerings of dried flowers or handwritten notes, others dark and empty. Luna returns to this strange landscape each episode to open her leather journal and read a story tied to the salt. These are not ghost stories. They are records of the desperate, the devout, and the disappeared: a bride who walked into the salt and never returned, a geologist who found a crack that led not down but sideways, a sect of flagellants whose prayers left salt-encrusted wounds. The...

You unlock the door to your own home — but the key fits, the lights respond, and everything is just slightly wrong. In The Wrong House, Luna narrates standalone episodes of domestic dread: a woman finds a family photo album with her face in every picture but strangers as relatives; a man discovers his childhood bedroom now belongs to someone else's memories; a new parent realizes the nursery was built for a different baby. Each story unfolds in a familiar space — a kitchen, a hallway, a backyard — where the uncanny creeps through floorboards and settles in the wallpaper. Luna's low, ...

In a small apartment, a CRT monitor glows with a 404 error on a personal website that no longer exists. Luna leans close to the screen, each episode a different dead link — a message board thread about a town that vanished overnight, a cached page of a missing woman’s diary, an abandoned Geocities shrine to something that answered prayers. These are stories of the internet’s forgotten corners: the forums where users posted their last words, the webcams that still stream empty rooms, the archives that shouldn’t exist. Each tale is self-contained, a closed case file from the digital ...

In the deep blue hour before sunrise, when the sky refuses to lighten and the trees stand as black sentinels, Luna sits on her porch and tells of towns where dawn has forgotten to come. This anthology collects stories of perpetual night—places where the sun stalled on the horizon and never climbed, where birds stopped singing and shadows started breathing. Each episode is a self-contained tale from a different corner of a world that forgot daylight. A lighthouse keeper whose beam illuminates only his own approaching end. A child who trades her shadow for a lie. A highway where mile markers ...

You wake in the dark, pinned to your bed, unable to move. A shadow waits at the foot of the mattress, breathing slow. On the nightstand, the phone is off the hook. You can dial any number — but the line connects to something that was never human. This is the Sleep Paralysis Hotline. In each standalone episode, Luna answers a different caller trapped in the hypnopompic state between dreaming and waking. She takes down their stories: the hag that sits on the chest, the tall figure in the doorway, the whispering that comes from inside the pillow. The callers whisper back, recounting what ...

Every Halloween, Luna sits at her kitchen table with an old advent-style calendar—31 small doors, each hiding a tiny image that grows more disturbing as the month unfolds. For each door she opens, she tells a self-contained story inspired by that day's symbol: a cracked bell tolling for a forgotten village, a black candle that refuses to burn out, a child's drawing of a door that shouldn't exist. These are not ghost tales in the usual sense—they are fables of seasonal dread, where autumn leaves hide hungry things, and the boundary between costume and skin blurs. From the creaking of a ...

Dead Zone Radio is an anthology horror podcast that tunes into the static between stations. Each episode is a self-contained story drawn from the liminal spaces of late-night radio: a cryptic broadcast from a town that doesn't exist, a call-in show where the dead ask for dedications, a pirate signal that plays the same song until it rewrites reality. Host Luna sits in a parked car after dark, twisting the analog dial through AM hiss and FM ghosting, pulling these transmissions from the void. The stories are slow-burn and atmospheric, rooted in the loneliness of empty highways, the eeriness of ...

The Vanishing Mile is an anthology of American road-horror, each episode a self-contained story whispered from the shoulder of a lonely highway that shouldn't exist. Luna leans against a rusted pickup with the headlights dying behind her, unfolding a map that shows roads that disappear, towns that blink out, and mile markers that count backward. These are tales of detours that never end, hitchhikers who don't remember where they came from, and the silence between radio stations where something listens back. Every story shares one truth: the road is hungry. The asphalt drinks headlights, ...

In a quiet nursery, an old AM radio crackles to life, its amber glow casting long shadows across the crib. Luna sits beside it, her voice low and trembling, as she pulls stories from the static — tales of frequencies that shouldn't exist, of voices that slip through the airwaves to whisper secrets only children can hear. Each episode of Static Lullaby is a stand-alone descent into the eerie world of broadcast horror: a pirate radio station that plays lullabies from the dead, a ham operator who picks up a distress call from a town that vanished in 1959, a late-night talk show guest whose ...

Luna tightens her grip on the ice-axe and stares into the white emptiness. Above the Snowline is an anthology of high-altitude horror, where the thin air whispers secrets and the cold does more than freeze. Each episode is a self-contained story set in the world's most remote peaks — from the Himalaya to the Andes, from the Alps to the frozen ranges of Alaska. Luna guides you through tales of climbers who find things better left buried beneath the ice, of solitary mountaineers who hear voices in the wind, and of expeditions that vanish without a trace. The stories are slow-burn, atmospheric,...

The cul-de-sac is a perfect circle. Identical houses, clipped lawns, flags on every mailbox. But in every neighborhood, there is one house the children dare each other to touch. In this anthology series, Luna brings you the stories of that house—and the people who lived there before the street went quiet. Each episode is a self-contained tale set on or around the same suburban loop, where the mailman stops delivering, the porch light flickers for no reason, and the grass grows faster in one yard than all the others. These are stories of marriages that ended in the crawlspace, of kids who ...