検索キーワード： 著者 "Fexingo" すべてのカテゴリー

Deep beneath a nameless mountain range, an endless network of limestone passages winds through the dark. Luna lowers herself into the void, her helmet lamp casting a thin cone of light on ancient flowstone and the silent bones of things that crawled here long ago. In 'The Cave System,' each episode is a self-contained descent into a different cavern—some formed by water and time, others shaped by older, hungrier forces. Here, the rock remembers. It whispers in the drip of condensation and the scrape of gear on calcite. Luna tells stories of explorers who found more than they sought: a ...

In the small hours, when the world narrows to the glow of a single candle and the hiss of a microphone, Luna takes her seat in the sound-foam booth. The sign reads 'OFF AIR,' but the recording light is on. Each episode of Goodnight, Listener is a self-contained story — a lullaby from the dark side of the pillow. Luna's voice, hushed and intimate, leads you through tales of the uncanny that feel less like fiction and more like confessions overheard after midnight. These are stories about the things that live in the margins: the secondhand shop doll that remembers its previous owner, the radio...

Lost Broadcast is an anthology horror podcast set in the static-flecked glow of a 1970s television. Each episode presents a self-contained story that Luna plucks from the airwaves — a fragment of signal that shouldn't exist, a ghost in the coaxial cable, a broadcast that arrives from the wrong frequency. The stories are slow, atmospheric, and deeply analog: a ham operator who hears his own voice from a station that went silent in 1962, a late-night weather report that predicts disasters before they happen, a rerun of a children's show whose puppets seem to know the viewer's name. The ...

Every babysitter remembers a house that felt wrong — the locked door that shouldn't exist, the child who speaks to someone in the corner, the lullaby playing from a radio that isn't plugged in. The Babysitter's Notes is an anthology of those nights, each episode a self-contained story drawn from a tattered notebook Luna found in the crawlspace of a foreclosed home. The entries are dated, the handwriting shifts, and every tale orbits a single rule: never open the guest room closet after midnight. Some stories follow the sitter, some the child, and a few trace the thing that was already in the...

From a darkened window, Luna presses her ear to the glass. Beyond it, a quiet suburban street — but something is out there, humming. In 'The Hum at Night,' each episode is a self-contained story about the sounds that shouldn't be there: a low-frequency drone from the woods, a neighbor's rhythmic tapping, a song on the radio that repeats the same wrong lyric. These are tales of acoustic dread, where what you hear is worse than what you see. Luna's voice, a whisper in the dark, guides you through encounters with auditory anomalies — phantom frequencies, missing recordings, and echoes that ...

Welcome aboard the last bus out of town, where the dim light of reading lamps barely pierces the shadows. Luna sits by the window, her duffel bag at her feet, watching the dark highway streak by. Each episode of this anthology series is a self-contained story told from the edge of the seat — tales of strangers who board the bus, drivers who know too much, and towns that disappear behind you. These are stories about journeys that take a wrong turn, about passengers who carry more than luggage, and about the thin line between the road home and the road to nowhere. The atmosphere is intimate ...

Cold Wake is a maritime horror anthology where each episode is a self-contained voyage into the black Atlantic. Luna stands on the deck of a North Atlantic trawler, the sodium light casting long shadows as she tells stories of fishermen who haul up things that should never be caught — sentient knots of net, voices from the deep that answer questions no one asked, and wrecks that refuse to stay on the seafloor. The register is salt-crusted and whispered: the slow creak of a hull, the distant foghorn, the shock of cold water on skin. These are tales of isolation, of men who have seen too much ...

From the porch of a lonely farmhouse on the plains of central Illinois, Luna tells the stories of the Mothlight — those rare, flickering moments when something beyond the veil of ordinary darkness reveals itself. Each episode is a self-contained tale of rural horror, rooted in the soil of forgotten towns and silent cornfields. Here, the harvest moon hides hungry things in its shadows, old barns hold secrets that were never meant to be unearthed, and the light of a flashlight beam cutting through a swarm of moths might just be the last thing you ever see. Luna's voice is a low ember, burning ...

Salt Creek is an anthology horror podcast where each episode is a self-contained story set in and around the salt-encrusted waterways of the American Great Plains. Host Luna guides listeners through eerie tales of forgotten things that surface in the briny shallows—a Polaroid that captures something before it moves, a bridge that wasn't there the day before, a dead tree that hums at dusk. These are quiet, slow-burn horrors rooted in the landscape: the loneliness of a salt flat at twilight, the strange reflections in mineral-stained water, the way a creek can carry memories it shouldn't. ...

In the decaying town of Brookhaven, a former radio archivist stumbles upon a cache of cassette tapes left behind by a missing paranormal investigator. Each tape captures a local legend, a whispered confession, or a creature's growl—but as she pieces them together, she realizes the recordings are not merely documentation. The tapes are calling her. Luna guides listeners through this serialized mystery, where every episode peels back another layer of Brookhaven's hidden history: the rusted swing set that sometimes swings alone, the drowned church bell that rings at midnight, the road that ...

Luna sits alone at the motel front desk, the register open to a name that shouldn't be there. In Case File: Vacancy, every episode checks into a different room of dread — a traveler who vanishes between floors, a housekeeper who finds a room locked from inside with no guest, a phone that rings from a room demolished decades ago. The stories are self-contained, each a closed case file of the strange and still-unsolved, told in Luna's low, intimate voice as if she's reading from that leather register by the glow of the No Vacancy sign. No two keys fit the same lock; no two episodes share a ...

After midnight, when the station goes dark and the last live DJ has stumbled home, a single signal still bleeds into the static. Channel 6 — a local UHF broadcaster that shut down in 1989 — flickers back to life. Luna is the night engineer, the only soul in the building, her desk a tomb of flickering CRTs and dead mics. She watches the test pattern, logs anomalies, and waits. But the pattern keeps breaking — a woman's face surfacing in the noise, whispering fragments of a town called Sycamore Ridge that never existed on any map. Each episode Luna decodes a new piece of the broadcast: a ...

On the Texas-Mexico border, where limestone ridges slice the dusk and adobe chapels hold single flames against the dark, Luna tells stories of the Devil's Backbone — a spine of rock that legends say is a threshold. Each episode is a self-contained tale of those who cross that ridge: the smuggler who hears his own name in the coyote's call, the nun who finds a rosary that counts sins instead of prayers, the child who sees a candle flicker in a window that has been sealed for a century. These are not jump-scares; they are slow, creeping dread that settles like dust on a dirt road. The stories ...

A dirt road cuts through Pine Hollow, a town that exists only in the spaces between faded census records and whispered directions scribbled on scrap paper. Luna walks that road, clutching a map that seems to redraw itself with every step. In Pine Hollow, the forest remembers every lost child, every unresolved argument, every bargain made in the dark. The trees lean in. The Welcome sign rots. Serialized across episodes, this show follows Luna's search for answers about a town that may have never truly existed — or that exists too vividly. Each installment deepens the mystery: a radio signal ...

Sycamore Ridge is a serialized horror podcast about the town that vanished from every map—and the cassette tapes Luna found in a thrift store that refuse to stay quiet. Each episode pulls a thread from the same unraveling mystery: a quiet commuter town erased from county records, a choir of missing children who sang on a single broadcast, and a rusted water tower that hums at a frequency no one can name. Luna reads from the recovered journals of Amelia Croft, a former resident who documented the town's slow corruption by something beneath the sycamore grove. This is not a collection of safe ...

A hallway of identical doors, each one a promise of something left behind. In 'Rooms We Don't Open,' Luna guides you through the threshold of a single story per episode — a self-contained confession from a house that remembers, an apartment that listens, a hotel corridor that narrows as you walk. These are tales of spaces that hold secrets: the locked basement where the last tenant left something breathing, the nursery that hums in an empty house, the study whose books rearrange themselves at night. Luna's voice is the only constant, a low ember in the dark, as she unfolds each room's ...

The Night Librarian is a serialized horror podcast that follows Luna, a solitary archivist in a vast, candlelit library where every book is a door to another world — and every door has a lock. By night, she pushes a wooden trolley through aisles of stained-glass moonlight, cataloging tomes that whisper, bleed, and sometimes breathe. But a pattern emerges: certain books share a recurring symbol — a brass key stamped with an unfamiliar sigil — and each one describes a different town that has vanished from every map. As Luna traces the threads between these lost places, she uncovers a ...

On the Mojave highway, Luna moves through static. Each episode of this anthology is a fragment of desert delirium—a hitchhiker who knows your name, a radio station that only plays at midnight, a motel room where the walls breathe. Here, the heat waves are lies, and the Joshua trees are watchers. No two stories share a road, but all are bound by the same law: in the American desert, the dead don't stay buried. Luna's voice is a quiet companion as you drift through these parched, dreamlike tales where loneliness becomes a trap, and the horizon is a mouth. Each story is a self-contained descent...

In the folds of an Appalachian holler, where mist clings to the ridgelines and the dark spreads like a slow flood, Luna sits on a cabin porch and listens. These are the stories told by the mountain itself — whispered through leaves, carried on night winds, spoken in the creak of old floorboards. Each episode of 'Holler Tales' is a self-contained folk horror story rooted in the hollows and hills of Appalachia: a bride who follows a lantern light into the woods and never returns; a well that speaks in the voice of a drowned child; a music box found in a collapsed root cellar that plays a song ...

From a private library wall, Luna removes a single black-bound book—its leather cracked, its twine binding tight. This is 'Bound in Black', an anthology of stories drawn from that volume alone. Each episode is a self-contained descent into a different kind of dread: a woman who finds a photograph of herself in a book she's never opened, a man whose reflection begins aging faster than he does, a town where every library book contains a single handwritten page about the reader's deepest fear. The stories share a unifying thread—the power of what is written, what is read, and what is left ...