Yule Wraith — Fexingo Horror

Luna tells the story of a December night on St. Perpetua's Drive, a winding gravel road outside the small town of Mercy Falls, Vermont. She was driving home late from a holiday gathering when the snow began to fall thick and fast, and her car slid into a ditch near an old stone bridge. A figure appeared out of the blizzard—a woman in a red coat, barefoot, carrying a single candle in a glass jar. Luna offered her a ride. The woman spoke only once, in a voice like wind through dry reeds: 'I've been walking since the first snow.' Luna drove her to a farmhouse at the end of the road, where an old man opened the door and said, 'You found her.' The woman stepped inside without looking back. Luna never learned her name, but she still sees that candle flame in the dark sometimes, flickering at the edge of her headlights. A quiet, lingering tale of winter roads and the things that wait in the snow.

#StPerpetuasDrive #MercyFallsVermont #TheWomanInTheRedCoat #CandleInAJar #DecemberNight #Snowstorm #OldStoneBridge #FarmhouseAtTheEndOfTheRoad #GravelRoads #HolidayHorror #WinterHorror #AtmosphericHorror #LunaReads #FexingoHorror #HorrorPodcast #AnthologyHorror #NoClosure #SoloNarration

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On Christmas Eve 2022, Luna's car skids off the unplowed gravel of St. Perpetua's Drive, outside the town of Coldwater, Nebraska. She walks a quarter mile through knee-deep snow toward a single lit window in a farmhouse. Inside, an old woman named Margaret is sitting at a kitchen table set for two—one plate empty, one plate full, both steaming. Margaret says she's been waiting for her daughter to come home for sixty-three years. She offers Luna a seat, a bowl of soup, and a story about the Christmas Eve her daughter walked out into the snow and never came back. The clock on the mantel chimes seven. Then eight. Then nine. The empty plate never cools. The front door never opens. But something scratches at the storm door—soft, like a child's mitten on glass. Luna leaves at midnight. She drives back past the farmhouse the next morning. There is no house. Just a field of snow and a single yew tree with a red ribbon tied to its lowest branch.

#StPerpetuasDrive #ColdwaterNebraska #ChristmasEve #Farmhouse #Margaret #YewTree #RedRibbon #EmptyPlate #StormDoor #Snow #Luna #FexingoHorror #HorrorPodcast #Anthology #YuleWraith #SoloNarrated #GhostStory #WinterHorror

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December 23rd, 2022. A back road in northern Minnesota, past midnight, snow so thick you couldn't see the hood of the car. A single candle burning on a stone well beside a forgotten church — St. Lucy's, the one they say was deconsecrated in the '70s. The man I picked up on that road wore a black coat with no gloves, no hat, and he told me he'd been walking from the well. He asked me to take him to the crossroads at Ryder's Bend, and he spoke the whole way in a voice that never changed pitch. He knew things about that road — things no hitchhiker should have known. When I looked back, the candle was still burning, but the well had no bottom. This episode stays with you: a story about kindness, liminal space, and the debt you don't know you've signed.

#FexingoHorror #HorrorPodcast #YuleWraith #StLucysWell #MinnesotaRoad #Hitchhiker #ChristmasEve #Snowstorm #CandleLight #LunaStory #AnthologyHorror #LiminalSpace #BackRoad #Frozen #LoneTraveler #Debt #Kindness #WinterHorror

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It's Christmas Eve, 1998, on a rural highway outside Elko, Nevada. Luna is driving home from a failed job interview when her car dies on a stretch of road that shouldn't exist. She walks to the only light for miles — an old stone church that isn't on any map. Inside, a single figure waits in the pews, and the bell in the tower rings thirteen times. The story of what she found there, and what she left behind, unfolds like a memory she's tried to bury for twenty years. No gore. No monsters. Just a quiet, frozen night, a bell that knows her name, and a choice she still can't explain.

#FexingoHorror #HorrorPodcast #YuleWraith #AnthologyHorror #StElianGate #ElkoNevada #ChristmasEve1998 #TheBell #Highway50 #LoneliestRoad #ChurchInTheSnow #BellTower #ThirteenRings #DoNotAnswer #FrozenNight #RoadHorror #SolitaryEncounter #DarkChristmas

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On Christmas Eve 1998, Luna's car skids off a back road near St. Dunstan's Ford, Vermont — a town that hasn't appeared on any map since 1953. She takes shelter in a small white church with a bell that rings without a rope, and meets an old woman named Agnes who is waiting for someone. The candlelight is warm. The snow keeps falling. And the bell rings three times every hour, counting something she cannot name.

#StDunstansFord #Vermont #ChristmasEve #YuleWraith #Bell #Church #Agnes #1998 #Snowstorm #FrozenRiver #RoadNotOnMap #HourlyBell #Candlelight #PorchTale #FexingoHorror #HorrorPodcast #Solonarration #AtmosphericHorror

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It's Christmas Eve, 1987, on a back road outside Dunbridge, Vermont. Luna's car skids off the icy shoulder into a ditch, and she walks to the only light she can see: a small white clapboard church with a stone well in the yard. Inside, the service is already over, but one woman remains—an old parishioner named Agnes, who insists Luna wait for the bell. Not the bell in the steeple, she says, but the one beneath the well. As the snow deepens and the hour grows late, Luna learns there is a reason the road is so empty, a reason the bell only rings when someone is lost. And it has already begun to toll.

#FexingoHorror #HorrorPodcast #standalone #anthology #ChristmasEve #DunbridgeVermont #StEadburghsWell #Agnes #thebell #1987 #icystorm #snowedinnight #backroad #church #lonelyChristmas #oldwoman #frozenwell #thingsthathappened

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December 1998, Birchwood, Ohio. Luna's grandmother asked her to drive the old parish key out to St. Lucy's Baptist Church, a building that hadn't held a service in forty years. The lock turned too easily. Inside, the pews were still dusted with rice from a wedding that never finished. A piano played three notes, then stopped. And on the altar, a guest book lay open to a page with a single name, written in wet ink, dated that morning: Luna's own name. A quiet, snowbound episode about keys that should not fit, doors that should not open, and the obligation of keeping a church warm for someone who has not yet arrived.

#StLucysBaptistChurch #BirchwoodOhio #TheKey #December1998 #SnowboundHorror #GuestBook #PianoNotes #WetInk #CountryRoad #ParishKey #UnlockedDoor #WeddingRice #Altar #LunaNarrates #FexingoHorror #HorrorPodcast #AnthologyHorror #AtmosphericHorror

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Christmas Eve, 1998. Luna's friend Margie, a postal worker in the tiny town of Millbank, takes the last route of the night—a single red envelope addressed to an abandoned farmhouse on Hemlock Road. The house has been empty for forty years, but there's a kettle boiling on the stove, a fresh set of footprints in the snow, and a woman in the window who wears Margie's own face. What she finds inside the farmhouse isn't a living person—it's a letter, a photograph, and a question about a debt she doesn't remember. This episode is a meditation on inherited guilt, the weight of a kindness you can't recall, and the things that wait at the end of a dead-end road for someone who owes them.

#FexingoHorror #HorrorPodcast #YuleWraith #Millbank #HemlockRoad #Margie #StUlricsWell #RedEnvelope #Kettle #Farmhouse #ChristmasEve #1998 #Snow #Footprints #Doppelganger #InheritedGuilt #Debt #Witness

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It's Christmas Eve, 1997, and Luna is driving home along a back road in upstate New York when her headlights catch a small mitten lying on the snow-covered bridge over Frost Creek. She stops to pick it up—red wool, hand-knitted, with a pattern of white snowflakes. The mitten is warm, as if just taken off. She looks around. No one. The woods are silent. She decides to leave it on the bridge railing, hoping its owner will come back. But as she drives away, she can't stop thinking about the mitten. Who left it? Why is it warm? And why does she feel like she's being watched from the tree line? The next morning, she returns to the bridge. The mitten is gone. But on the railing, there's another one—identical, but this one is cold, and inside, there's a small piece of paper with a phone number written in pencil. She calls it. A woman answers. 'You found my son's mitten,' she says. 'He's been gone for three years.' Luna hangs up. But the number stays in her phone, and sometimes, late at night, she wonders if she should call back.

#FrostCreekBridge #ChristmasEve #1997 #redmitten #missingchild #upstateNewYork #warmmitten #coldmitten #phonenumber #Luna #FexingoHorror #HorrorPodcast #YuleWraith #anthology #standalone #folkhorror #winterhorror #ghoststory

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On Christmas Eve, 2023, I found myself driving the back roads of Cutter's Mill, Maine, chasing a story about a spring that never froze. An old man named Elias lived alone in a cabin at the edge of the woods, and he told me about the wreath he hangs on his door every year—a wreath made of yew and holly, tied with a red ribbon. He said it keeps the wraith away. But when I asked him what wraith, he only smiled and pointed to the dark line of trees. That night, sitting on his porch with the snow falling, I saw something move between the pines. Something tall and thin, wearing a coat of frost. It didn't approach. It just stood there, waiting. And I understood that the wreath wasn't to keep it out—it was to keep it from forgetting him.

#YuleWraith #StCuthbertsSpring #CuttersMill #Maine #ChristmasEve #Snow #Wreath #YewAndHolly #RedRibbon #OldManElias #TheWraith #Frost #Pines #Porch #Candlelight #Tradition #FexingoHorror #HorrorPodcast

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