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In a cabin at the edge of the Appalachian foothills, Luna sits at a roughhewn kitchen table, a mason jar of black salt in one hand. She sprinkles a line across the windowsill, a warding gesture older than the kerosene lamp that flickers beside a faded hex sign on the cabinet. Each episode of Backwoods and Black Salt is a self-contained story pulled from the dirt roads and hollows where folk magic meets raw survival. These are tales of crossroads bargains, milk-sick houses, and the things that rattle the horseshoe above the door. Luna speaks in a hush, as if the walls themselves might listen. The unifying thread is place — a specific, rooted dread that comes from knowing the land remembers what you forgot. No wraparound arc, no recurring characters; just a collection of whispered chronicles from a world where black salt is both remedy and boundary. Open the jar and listen, but mind the line. #AppalachianHorror #FolkMagic #BlackSalt #HexSign #SmallTownHorror #BackwoodsTerror #CabinHorror #RuralDread #CryptidEncounters #MountainFolklore #WardingStories #SlowBurnHorror #FolkHorror #AnthologyPodcast #LunaNarrates #Horror #HorrorPodcast #FexingoHorror Keep every episode free: buymeacoffee.com/fexingo
Unknown Host hosts Backwoods and Black Salt — Fexingo Horror.
In the summer of 1987, along a forgotten stretch of county road in Potters Hollow, West Virginia, Luna's great-uncle Earl kept a well that was never used for water. The family knew not to ask about it. When Luna visited
Autumn 1998. A hundred-year-old bell lies at the bottom of Dyer's Millpond in southern Indiana. Everyone in Copper Creek knows the story—the 1906 mill collapse, the nine men who drowned, the bell that sank with them. But
September 1987, Dyer's Millpond, Tennessee. Luna's great-uncle Jessup kept a bell rope hanging from a live oak limb over the water—a warning, he said, for when the pond pulled someone down. After he died, Luna found his
October of '92. A night so dry the leaves sounded like breaking glass underfoot. I'd driven out past Picket Post, a dead-end road in the low country where the pines grow so thick they swallow the sky. A woman named Della
In the autumn of 1994, Luna's uncle found work repairing the bell tower of a forgotten mission church outside Poca, West Virginia. The building had been closed for decades, but someone—or something—had been ringing the b
October 1998. A rusted railroad trestle spanning a dry creek bed outside the town of Bitterwood, Missouri. Three nights before Halloween, a seventeen-year-old girl named Emmaline Dorny takes a dare from her friends: walk
In the late summer of 2008, Luna's Uncle Hoyt disappeared for three days on the Blackwater River, drifting in a borrowed johnboat with a broken trolling motor. When they found him—miles past Salt Lick Landing, past where
In the summer of 2017, Luna's cousin Ellie bought a foreclosed farmhouse outside Dunmore, West Virginia — a two-story clapboard with a root cellar that had been sealed with a padlock and a prayer. The previous owners lef
I was passing through Wayne County, West Virginia, in the fall of 2017 when a waitress at a diner told me about the scratchin' tree—a massive sycamore in Dunlow Holler where, for generations, people have left offerings o
In the autumn of 1998, Luna's cousin Ray took a job as the night lock-keeper at the abandoned Gray's Ferry on the Cattahatchie River. The lock hadn't been used in decades, but the county paid him to check the gates once
October 1987, two weeks before Halloween. A backwoods road in Jasper County, a red shed with a tin roof, and a man named Harlan who knew how to keep things out. But some things you invite in without meaning to. Luna reca
October 1997, a cool evening on the Tombigbee River. Luna's cousin Carter took a seasonal job as lock tender at an abandoned Army Corps of Engineers lock—a concrete ghost. He was supposed to open the gate once a week for
In 1937, Luna's great-aunt Hettie took a job at the Trinity County Poor Farm, a place meant to shelter the county's indigent, elderly, and disabled. But the farm had a hidden ward—a locked basement room where they kept t
It was the summer of '94, and I was tracing my great-uncle's last known steps through the hills of eastern Kentucky. A man named Hollis Pelfrey told me about the still at Three Forks Holler—a place where the corn liquor
Summer 1987. A month of drought in Murdock County, Tennessee. The ground cracked, wells went dry, and then the old quarry pit collapsed open like a mouth. My cousin Toby was the one who found it—a hole in the earth where
Summer of '97, a dry year in Pike County. When the creek drops low enough to expose the old floodgate at Tiller's Dam, nobody in town can remember who built it or why. Luna's great-uncle Josiah always said to leave it al
It's August of '95, two in the morning, and Luna is sitting in a rusted-out pickup outside Mavis's Bait & Tackle on the shore of Sugar Lake. Mavis has been running the shack for forty years, selling minnows and nightcraw
October 1987. Luna's car dies on a back road outside Hargrove, Tennessee, and she ends up at the only open house for miles — the home of an old woman who calls herself a stitch-wife. The woman offers shelter and a story
Luna recalls a November night in 2019 when she stopped at a roadside fruit stand in rural Virginia and met an old woman named Hettie who sold her a single apple from a tree that had not borne fruit in forty years. The tr
March 1987. A stretch of county road outside Yarborough Ford, Tennessee, where the gravel turns to dirt and the kudzu swallows fence posts whole. Luna's cousin Eli was a lineman for the power company, working nights to r
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