Empty Floor Twelve — Fexingo Horror

Luna boards the elevator on a Tuesday night in early February, heading home from her shift at the copy center in Bernalillo, New Mexico. The old brass buttons glow under her thumb, and the car shudders upward through a building with only eleven floors. But tonight, the doors open onto a humid glass room filled with ferns and flowering jasmine — a greenhouse she's never seen, somewhere in the middle of nowhere. Inside, an old woman in a canvas apron prunes a lemon tree by lantern light. She offers Luna a cup of tea and tells her a story about a daughter who went into the desert thirty years ago and never came back. The woman's hands move through the leaves with terrible tenderness, and Luna realizes the plants are not what they seem — they are reaching, listening, remembering. By the time the elevator doors close again, she carries a single seed in her pocket and a question she cannot shake: what does a greenhouse grow when its gardener is waiting for something that will never return?

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Luna's elevator opens onto a small adobe church in Deming, New Mexico, on a Tuesday night in late November. Inside, a woman named Rosa is waiting — not for Mass, but for twelve years of unanswered prayers to finally find their voice. What she shows Luna in the confessional, and what the candles in the back pew begin to spell, lingers long after the doors close again. A quiet, dust-choked episode about faith, patience, and the things that listen when no one is speaking.

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The elevator doors slide open onto a small-town dentist's office, empty and fluorescent-lit at two in the morning. Luna steps out, expecting nothing but dust and quiet. Instead, she finds a chair still warm, a tray of instruments laid out, and a single patient waiting with his mouth open too wide. There is no dentist here. There hasn't been one for years. But something in this room remembers how to drill, how to fill, how to keep a person still and compliant. Luna learns that some places hold onto their purpose long after the people have left — and that purpose does not always require a living hand to carry it out. Set in Junction, Texas, in the dead of a sticky August night, this episode is a slow, intimate walk through a room that has not stopped working.

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Luna rides the elevator to floor twelve and steps into a walk-in meat locker in an abandoned packing plant outside Council Bluffs, Iowa. The year is 1997, late November, just after midnight. The cold is wrong — dry and still, like the air inside a sealed tomb. She finds a man in a bloodstained apron sitting on a milk crate, counting on his fingers in a loop. He doesn't seem surprised to see her. He asks if she knows what a person smells like when they've been dead three days. He's not a threat — he's waiting for someone to come back. And he's been waiting a long time. This episode is a quiet, intimate encounter with grief, guilt, and the unbearable weight of unfinished business. Nothing jumps out. But the cold lingers long after she leaves.

#FexingoHorror #HorrorPodcast #EmptyFloorTwelve #Luna #CouncilBluffs #Iowa #MeatLocker #PackingPlant #1997 #November #Midnight #ManInApron #Counting #UnfinishedBusiness #StillAir #Grief #Cold #LingeringHorror

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It's the last night of October in Atoka, Oklahoma—a small town where the county fairgrounds host an annual pumpkin patch. When Luna steps off the elevator on floor twelve, she finds herself standing in a field of pumpkins under a moonless sky, the air thick with smoke from a distant bonfire. A woman in a mustard-yellow coat tends the fire, turning a pumpkin on a spit like a rotisserie. She offers Luna a slice, and the flesh tastes of cinnamon and something metallic—like old pennies. As they talk, Luna learns the woman has been here every October 31st for decades, waiting for someone to share the harvest. But the patch feels wrong: the pumpkins are too uniform, the vines too black, and the woman's eyes reflect the firelight a beat too late. When Luna looks away and back, the woman is gone, leaving only a half-eaten pumpkin and a coat folded on a stump. The elevator doors close, and Luna realizes she's holding a single pumpkin seed in her palm—warm, as if it just came from the fire.

#EmptyFloorTwelve #FexingoHorror #HorrorPodcast #SoloNarrated #AtokaOklahoma #PumpkinPatch #October31 #Bonfire #MustardYellowCoat #PumpkinFlesh #CinnamonAndMetal #Harvest #LiminalSpace #FirelightReflection #PumpkinSeed #SmallTownHorror #SeasonalHorror #Manifestation

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It's a humid October night in 2002 when the elevator doors slide open onto a freeway overpass outside of Kingman, Arizona. Luna steps out to find a man in a gray work shirt leaning against the railing, watching the headlights stream below. He doesn't seem surprised to see her. He tells her he's been waiting for someone to show up — someone who could confirm the date. The conversation that follows is quiet, almost mundane, until he asks if she knows what happens to a place when no one remembers it. The overpass is intact, the traffic moves, but something about the air feels older than it should. Luna stays longer than she planned, and when she finally steps back into the elevator, she notices a dent in the railing — a dent she's certain wasn't there before. A story about memory, abandonment, and the thin edge between a place that is lived and a place that is forgotten.

#FexingoHorror #HorrorPodcast #EmptyFloorTwelve #ElevatorHorror #LunaNarrates #KingmanArizona #October2002 #FreewayOverpass #MemoryHorror #ForgottenPlaces #RoadsideEncounter #AtmosphericHorror #SlowBurn #SoloNarration #AnthologySeries #TheDent #ManInGrayShirt #AdFreeShow

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November in Clifton Forge, Virginia, after midnight. The elevator doors opened to a small waiting room — wooden bench, a single lamp, and a woman named Grace who had been sitting there since 1987. She wasn't waiting for a train or a bus. She was waiting for news that never came. This is the story of how I sat with her for forty minutes, how she told me about her daughter's drive to Roanoke, and how the telephone on the wall rang once — then stopped. No resolution. No comfort. Just the cold weight of a wait that outlasts its reason. I still think about her hands, folded in her lap, still as if she were being photographed.

#FexingoHorror #HorrorPodcast #Luna #EmptyFloorTwelve #CliftonForge #WaitingRoom #Grace #Telephone #November #LiminalSpaces #QuietHorror #Atmospheric #Standalone #Anthology #Night #SlowBurn #Unresolved #DonationSegment

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Luna takes the elevator to floor twelve again, but this time the doors open onto a high school gymnasium in Shady Bend, Nevada—polished hardwood, folded bleachers, a scoreboard reading 47–47. A woman in a red cardigan sits alone in the top row, waiting for a game that ended decades ago. Luna sits beside her and learns about the night the team came back from the dead, the shot that never missed, and the point guard who never left. As the lights flicker and the ball begins to bounce on its own, Luna realizes the game isn't over. It never was. This episode is a meditation on grief, unfinished business, and the terrible weight of a tie that can never be broken. Written and narrated by Luna.

#FexingoHorror #HorrorPodcast #ElevatorHorror #EmptyFloorTwelve #ShadyBend #HighSchoolGym #BasketballGhost #47to47 #RedCardigan #GriefHorror #UnfinishedGame #TieScore #LunaNarrates #AnthologyHorror #ArtDecoElevator #SlowBurnHorror #GhostStory #Paranormal

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Luna presses the button for floor twelve in an Art Deco elevator that only has eleven floors. The doors open onto a high school hallway in Garnett, Kansas, circa 1987. A janitor named Frank sweeps the same spot for hours. The pay phone rings every seventeen minutes. Nobody answers. Luna stays long enough to learn what happens when you pick up the receiver — and why the water fountains run rusty at 3:17 AM sharp. A quiet, slow-burn episode about repetition, unfinished business, and the weight of a single unreturned call.

#EmptyFloorTwelve #FexingoHorror #HorrorPodcast #ElevatorHorror #GarnettKansas #HighSchoolHallway #Janitor #PayPhone #WaterFountain #Rust #Repetition #UnfinishedBusiness #ArtDecoElevator #SoloNarrated #AtmosphericHorror #SmallTownHorror #1987 #TheCall

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It's past midnight in late autumn, and the elevator opens onto a narrow record store in Tulsa, Oklahoma—dusty, warm, and lit by a single yellow bulb. Behind the counter sits a woman named Elaine, who seems to have been waiting for Luna. She talks about the store's history, about the people who used to come in, and about the one customer who never left. The shelves are full of albums that don't exist, and the air smells of old paper and something else—something that makes Luna's throat dry. Elaine offers her a record, a blank label, and tells her to listen alone. Luna takes it back to her apartment, and when she plays it, she hears her own voice—fragments of conversations she doesn't remember, words she never said. The next night, the elevator button for floor twelve glows, and she doesn't know if she can stop herself from pressing it again.

#EmptyFloorTwelve #FexingoHorror #HorrorPodcast #RecordStore #Tulsa #Oklahoma #LateAutumn #Elaine #Vinyl #HauntedRecord #UnheardVoices #MidnightEncounter #Retro #Atmospheric #SlowBurn #Memory #Luna #AnthologyHorror

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