Game Trail — Fexingo Horror

First light on Mossy Creek Road, and a blood trail pulls Luna off the path. It leads to a cabin where an old trapper named Grady cradles something he never meant to catch—a human skull fused with antlers, the bone smooth and seamless. He says it whispered his name. He says it was already in the trap when he checked it at dawn. Luna helps him stanch the wound on his arm, but the blood on the skull is still warm, and the tracks outside the cabin only go in one direction. A story about what waits in a...

West Virginia, November 2002. A woman hears a sound from her dead husband's bed every night at 3:33 AM. Not a ghost—something that wears the shape of absence. Luna pieces together what crawled out of the man's last dream and into the guest room mattress. A story about grief that hollows a space, and the thing that moves into the hollow. Recorded at the edge of Hacker Valley, where the gravel roads end and the dark begins.

#FexingoHorror #HorrorPodcast #GameTrail #HackerValley #WestVirginia #Luna #GriefHorror #Bed #33AM #Ritual #Appalachia #GuestRoom #Dreams #Sleep #Absence #CottonSheets #Dust #Loneliness

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October 2023. A solo deer hunt on Packsaddle Grade, a gravel road that dead-ends in the Owyhee Mountains, goes wrong when Luna finds a human handprint in the mud beside a creek — fingers splayed, pressed deep, as if someone had been trying to drag themselves out of the water. The print is fresh. It leads upstream, then vanishes at a pool that shouldn't be there. A man in a canvas coat appears at dusk, standing on the opposite bank, and asks for a light. His voice is dry, like paper. She gives him her Zippo. He cups the flame in bo...

December 2022. Luna is called to a property outside Winters, California, where a woman named Cora Voss has been hearing something under her house every night for three weeks. The sound isn't scratching or gnawing — it's counting. A voice, low and patient, reciting numbers through the crawlspace grate. Luna brings a flashlight and a recorder, but what she finds under the house isn't an animal or a person. It's a hollow — a perfect sphere carved into the earth — and inside it, a stack of small bones arranged in sequences. The counting doesn't stop when the grate is lifted. It gets louder...

December 1997, near the Tule River Bridge just outside Porterville, California. Luna is nineteen, hunting alone for the first time since her father died. She follows a blood trail into a dry riverbed and finds a man named Emmett, who has been waiting thirty-five years for a deer that is no longer just a deer. What he tells her under the bridge will change how she reads the woods forever. No monsters. No gore. Just the slow, patient understanding that some game is only ever allowed to leave on purpose.

#TuleRiverBridge #Porterville #EmmettHayes #1997 #December #FirstHunt #Deer #BloodTrail #Waiting...

December 1987. Luna's uncle Virgil found a door standing alone in the woods off Lost Creek Road—a white six-panel interior door, no house within miles, no frame, just a door bolted to nothing. He opened it anyway. What he saw on the other side changed how he looked at the sky. This is his story, told the way he told it to her, one winter night on the porch, two fingers of whiskey warming his hand. A story about thresholds, about the things we agree not to see, and about the only time Virgil ever refused to go back.

December 2009, just outside the ghost town of Bodie, California. Luna's father had been tracking a wounded buck for six hours across the alkali flats. Then he found the fence. Not a game fence or a cattle fence—a chain-link barrier, forty feet tall, stretching as far as he could see through his binoculars. The gate wasn't locked. Inside, the snow was untouched. No tracks. Not even his own. He tells this story exactly once, sitting on her porch last November, and he still won't say what he saw after the light found him. Just that he left his rifle on...

December 1987 on Bitterwater Road, a gravel cut through the pine barrens of northern Maine. Luna's uncle Roy was a guide, the kind who could read a deer track at a dead run and tell you how many minutes ago the animal passed through. In the third week of deer season, he took a party of four hunters into a stretch of state land he'd worked for twenty years — a piece he knew like his own kitchen. They came back two days early, three men silent and one man gone. The one who came back changed did not speak for a...

November 2023. State Route 9, just north of Swanton, Vermont. Luna's cousin Ray ran a deer camp off a gravel logging road—a plywood shack with a wood stove and a propane lantern. When he stopped answering texts for three days, she drove up to check on him. The camp was dark. The stove was out. But the fire pit in the clearing was roaring, and there were footprints in the frost that didn't match any boot tread she'd ever seen. A quiet, patient thing had been sitting at the edge of the light for hours, watching. And Ray's rifle was st...

In the winter of 2019, on a gravel road called Tripoli Grade that cuts through the Okanogan-Wenatchee National Forest, a retired fire lookout named Ellis Kern kept seeing something moving through the trees beyond his property line. Not a deer. Not a bear. Something that walked on two legs but didn't move like a man. He started finding things nailed to the fence posts—strips of hide, braided grass, a child's mitten with the fingers knotted shut. When Luna met him at the Forest Service ranger station in Tonasket, he showed her the photographs he'd taken over three months. The th...

On a frozen November night in the town of Cutter's Ford, Luna follows a blood trail from a gut-shot buck into the woods behind the old Pender place. The tracks lead her to a dry well she's never noticed before, its stone lip scarred with tally marks. Inside, something is breathing. Something that has been waiting. Something that speaks in her dead father's voice. She does not fire her rifle. She does not run. She stands at the edge of that well until the sky goes pale, and when she finally walks back to her truck, she leaves the...

January 2024. A game trail in the Monongahela National Forest that Luna has walked every season for twelve years suddenly changes course. Not rerouted by windfall or rising water — but by something that has folded the land into a closed loop. She follows the deer sign into a creek bed that does not exist on any map, where the water runs backward and the birds fall silent at noon. A hunter from the next county over tells her about the nests: woven from hair and fishing line, hung from the crown of a dying hemlock, large enough to hold a ma...

Late October 2022, a dirt road outside the ghost town of Jack's Creek, West Virginia. Luna hears a story from a retired lineman named Ezra about a stretch of power line that hums with voices. He tells her about the night he climbed a pole to fix a transformer and found a chain wrapped around the cable — a chain made of links that felt warm, that whispered his name in his mother's voice. Luna walks that road at dusk and hears something behind the hum. A quiet episode about grief snagged on the wrong frequency.

#FexingoHorror #HorrorPodcast #GameTrail #We...

Luna recalls a September evening in 2017, when a call came in from a woman named Marian Finch, who lived alone at the dead end of Chimney Rock Hollow Road. The deer had been acting strange all week, she said. Then she found the string. Not a tripwire, not a trap line—something else. Something woven through the trees along her property line, tied with small objects that should not have been there. Luna drove out past dark, walked the line with a flashlight, and found a pattern that should not exist in the woods of central Pennsylvania. A story ab...

November 2002, Voss Creek, North Carolina. Luna was eighteen, still learning to track the hard way. A hunter named Cal Weatherby went missing on opening day, and the sheriff's department was short on volunteers. Luna's father sent her out along the creek bed because the dogs had picked up something strange. She found Cal's stand empty, his rifle untouched, and a brass bell rigged to a branch above the seat. The bell was still ringing—not swinging, not touched by wind, just vibrating with a sound that felt more like pressure than noise. Cal Weatherby had been gone for three da...

In the late autumn of 2009, Luna's uncle disappeared while hunting a wounded buck in the woods around Lost Creek, a small town in northeastern Pennsylvania. Days later, search teams found nothing but his orange vest and a half-eaten apple. But Luna's cousin, a game warden, noticed something strange at the edge of the tree line: a wooden sign, freshly hammered into the frozen ground, that had not been there before. The words on it were not English. Over the next week, three more signs appeared, each closer to the town center. By the time anyone thought to ask the...

Luna recounts a winter night in 2017 on a remote stretch of Vermont highway known as Dead Man's Curve, where a stranded driver's desperate knock on a stranger's door led to an encounter with something that wore a familiar face but had no memory of its own body. A story about hunger, forgetting, and the unbearable lightness of being almost human.

#DeadMansCurve #Vermont #Highway13 #HorrorPodcast #FexingoHorror #WinterHorror #StrandedDriver #BodyHorror #Doppelganger #FrozenLake #OldFarmhouse #KnockOnTheDoor #GasStation #Snowstorm #Thermos #Hunger #Memory #TheHand

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Luna tracks a deer through the high desert of Nye County, Nevada, on the morning after a heavy snow. The blood trail leads her deeper into a canyon she's never seen on any map. She finds a cabin — old, rock, door open — and inside, a man who has been waiting for someone to ask what he saw up on the mesa. He tells her about the figure that walked out of a lightning strike, about the hole in the sky that didn't close, about the thing that followed him down. She leaves before dark, but the canyon walls seem long...

It's deer season in the Monongahela National Forest, and Luna is tracking a wounded doe along Henshaw Grade when she finds a trap that shouldn't be there — an old rusted leg-hold, tagged with a number that leads to a man who went missing in 1987. She follows the chain deeper into the woods, past a collapsed cabin, past a pile of deer skulls arranged in a spiral, until she realizes the trap was never meant for animals. The thing that set it is still checking its lines. And it knows she's there.

#FexingoHorror #HorrorPodcast #GameTrail #HenshawGrade #DeerSeason #MonongahelaNationalForest #Le...

It was November, just after first light, and Luna was tracking a wounded doe along Leakey Grade — a gravel road that cuts through the Sam Houston National Forest. The blood trail led her off the road, into the cedars, and down into a dry creek bed where she found something that should not have been there. A hunting dog, a blue tick coonhound, sitting perfectly still on a flat rock. No collar. No tags. Just waiting. When Luna got closer, the dog stood up and walked deeper into the brush, and she followed it because that is what you do...

In the winter of 2019, a fire lookout named June vanished from the Colby Grade tower in the Monongahela National Forest. She left behind a logbook, a half-drunk thermos of coffee, and a single entry that read: 'They're not bears.' I found the tower six months later, boarded up but not sealed. The stairs groaned under my boots. The window glass was cracked from the inside. The logbook still sat on the desk, open to the last page, and the handwriting changed halfway down—smaller, faster, slanting left. I copied the entry into my own notebook before I left, an...

November 2021. Sutter Grade, Montana. A two-lane blacktop that cuts through the Lolo National Forest, barely a line on the map. I drove it because the detour around a washed-out bridge added ninety minutes, and I had a freezer full of elk meat that needed to reach Missoula by morning. The cold that night was the kind that gets inside your bones and stays there. I saw a man standing next to a pickup truck with its hood up, no coat, no gloves, just standing there like he'd been waiting for hours. He didn't say much. He didn't need to...

Luna recalls a winter night in 1996, when she was nineteen and working the register at a gas station outside Dunmore, West Virginia. A man in a brown coat came in just before midnight, bought a cup of coffee, and left footprints in the linoleum that never dried. Over the next hour, she watched him walk the same loop outside the station—around the pumps, past the payphone, back into the dark—each time leaving the same wet prints, even as the snow stopped falling. The deputy who stopped by said there was no man, only prints leading into the wood...

October 1998. Luna is called to a stretch of dirt track called Marrowbone Ridge, outside the town of Alder Creek, where a hunter named Tom Grady has been missing for three days. His truck is found idling at the dead end, door open, rifle still on the seat, and a drag mark leading into the woods that stops dead at a split-rail fence—where the snow on the other side is completely undisturbed. Luna walks the trail with the game warden, finding a single boot, a campsite from the 1800s, and something that was waiting for Tom to come home. Th...

Luna recalls a November evening in 2019, just outside the town of Balsam Springs, where a man named Roy Darden claimed his cattle were being taken one by one—not by wolves, not by rustlers, but by something that moved through the flooded timber without leaving tracks. She drove out to his property at dusk, rifle across her lap, and waited where the fence line met the black water. What she saw that night changed how she reads sign in a marsh. No blood, no fur, no hoofprints—just footprints coming up from the muck, drying on the grass, and a lo...

On a frozen November morning in 2009, Luna follows a blood trail into the woods near the abandoned railroad crossing outside Winder, New York. She expects a wounded deer. Instead she finds a man in a blue wool coat who asks her for directions to a town that was dismantled forty years ago — and then asks if she heard the train that morning, even though the tracks were pulled up in '73. What she hears next is not a train, but something that sounds like it wants to be one.

#FexingoHorror #HorrorPodcast #GameTrail #WinderCrossing #AbandonedRailroad #BloodTrail #BlueWoolCoat #NovemberMorning #Ne...

Late October 2019. Luna drives the back way into Pearsall, New Hampshire, on a rumor from a taxidermist she used to know. The man had been finding deer carcasses along Crooked Mile Road — not shot, not hit by a car, but skinned with a precision that made her old friend sell his shop and leave town. Luna walks the grade at dusk, following a scent that isn't quite blood, and finds a barn where the floorboards are the exact color of a winter sky. She meets a woman who doesn't blink, wearing a coat that looks like it was buttoned fr...

Hunting season, 2019. Luna follows a blood trail into the woods outside Kestrel Hollow, a dying town in the Allegheny foothills. The deer she'd wounded leads her not to a carcass but to a door — a wooden door set into the side of a hill, half-buried under frost and leaf litter. She opens it. What she finds inside is not a cave, not a storm cellar, but something that feels like a room left behind by someone who never intended to be found. The walls are covered in handwriting. The air smells of turned earth and old iron. And there is...

November 2019, on a dirt road called Mossy Run that dead-ends at the county line. Luna is tracking a deer when she finds an abandoned camper with a kerosene lamp still burning inside. The owner is gone, but the lamp never goes out. Over three nights she returns, watching the light flicker through the trees, until she finally understands what it means to leave a fire burning for someone who can't find their way home. A quiet, haunting story about the things we leave on for the lost.

#FexingoHorror #HorrorPodcast #MossyRun #KeroseneLamp #AbandonedCamper #LostHunters #NovemberHorror #AppalachianFoothills #LightInTheDark #DeerHunter...

December 1998. A warm snap melts the snow on Potters Mill Road, and a hunter named Emmett discovers something moving under the ice of the old millrace. Luna pieces together what happened to the family who owned the mill, the summer they tried to dam the creek, and the shape that watched from the spillway. A story about what freezes, what thaws, and what waits for the right temperature to crawl back out.

#PottersMillRoad #December1998 #EmmettCoyle #Millrace #Ice #Thaw #WarmSnap #Creek #Spillway #Dam #Family #Shape #Hunter #Frozen #BeneathTheIce #FexingoHorror #HorrorPodcast #GameTrail

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November 2019, just outside the ghost town of Shiloh, Missouri. Luna accompanies a deer hunter named Ray Garman into the Ozark backwoods, where a blood trail leads them not to a wounded buck but to something that has been waiting in the dark a long time. A story about what happens when the thing you're hunting starts hunting back — and the terrible debt that can pass between generations. This episode takes place on a steep limestone ridge above the White River, just after the first hard frost. Ray wears a red flannel coat and carries a .30-06 he bought from a...

November 2009. Luna's uncle Clem, a retired game warden, tells her about the last deer he ever tracked—a buck that left no prints in the snow, just a strange fence line that shouldn't have been there, three miles deep in Ponderosa Pines National Forest. Clem was sixty-three, sober four years, and not prone to stories. But that morning he found a trail of blood that smelled like ozone and led to a stretch of barbed wire strung between pines that had been dead for decades. The fence wasn't on any map. It wasn't flagged, posted, or maintained. And behind it...

West Texas, January 1999. A dry winter, a two-lane road that doesn't make it onto most maps, and a house on stilts that someone built for reasons nobody in town would talk about. Luna was twenty-two, working nights at a gas station outside Lamesa, when the man with the broken watch pulled in for gas he didn't need. He told her about the woman in the window, the one who only showed herself at three in the morning, and the thing he saw underneath the house when the wind was right. She didn't believe him until she drove out there...

It was the winter of 2018, just past midnight on a Tuesday, and I was parked at the end of Millbrook Grade — a gravel turnoff that dead-ends into the old logging road above Henshaw's Meadow. I was tracking a buck I'd hit earlier, a messy shot that I knew I'd regret if I didn't find it. The blood trail was sparse, just specks on the frost, and it led me up the grade, past the broken gate, into a part of the woods I'd never walked at night. That's where I saw the boots. A pair of work boots, set si...

Luna recalls a February night twelve years ago, when she was nineteen and hunting alone on a ridgeline above Stony Hollow, West Virginia. Fresh snow had fallen, and she picked up a blood trail that led not to a deer but to something else entirely — something that had been walking on its hind legs and dragging a broken trap. What she found in the hollow was not an animal, and it was not a person. This episode is about the moment you realize the thing you are hunting has been hunting you back, and the quiet that follows when yo...

Luna remembers a December morning in 2019, standing at the edge of Henshaw's Meadow in upstate New York, tracking a deer with an impossible blood trail. The snow was deep, the air still. She followed the tracks into the pines and found a hollow where something had been waiting. This episode is about the thing that watches from just beyond the tree line, the smell of wet fur and copper, and the way some hunts end not with a kill but with a promise. Luna recounts the day she learned that not all trails lead to game, and that some...

Luna recounts a November morning on Hargrove Grade, a gravel road in northern Maine where she found fresh deer tracks leading to a broken bell set on a stone. The bell rang without wind. She followed the sound deeper into the woods and found a man kneeling in the snow, his hands cupped around nothing. He spoke without moving his lips. She left the road that day with a ringing in her ears that still hasn't stopped.

#HargroveGrade #Maine #November #GravelRoad #Bell #DeerTracks #NoWind #KneelingMan #LipReading #EarsRinging #StillHappening #LunaNarrates #GameTrail #FexingoHorror #HorrorPodcast #SoloNarrated #HushedDread #Atmospheric

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Luna remembers a December night in 2019, when she was deer hunting alone on a ridge above the town of Pender, Missouri. Snow had been falling since dusk, and by midnight the trail was buried. She found an old bunkhouse—a single room with a wood stove, a cot, and a telephone on the wall that should not have been there. The phone rang at 3:13 a.m. She answered. The voice on the other end was her own, speaking in a language she did not know. What she heard that night changed how she understands time and her own breath. Th...

Deep in the woods of Linder's Trail, a blood trail from a wounded doe leads Luna to an old house no one has lived in for decades. Inside, the floors are clean and the stove is warm. A child's shoe sits by the fireplace. A rocking chair moves in the corner. Luna follows the blood trail into the basement, where she finds a root cellar door standing open. The blood leads down — and a woman's voice calls out from the darkness, 'You shouldn't have followed it here.' Luna tells the story of the house at the edge of Li...

November 2017. A cold dawn on Lacey Road, just outside the town of Minton, Ohio. Luna follows a blood trail into the woods behind an abandoned farmhouse — deer sign, she tells herself, but the tracks are too deliberate, too human in their hesitation. The trail leads to a clearing where the snow is undisturbed except for a circle of rocks, a fire pit full of ash, and a single word written in the frost on a flat stone: 'Listen.' She waits. The woods go silent. Then she hears it — a voice, low and calm, speaking her name. Not from any...