Graveyard Rotation: Luna works the dead shift at a coastal security hub, monitoring a network of empty hallways, locked wards, and silent parking lots. But one camera feed keeps pulling her attention — a corridor in an abandoned hospital annex that shouldn't exist on any blueprint. In this anthology, each episode is a self-contained story drawn from the files pinned to the guard-room corkboard: transcripts of distorted 911 calls, lost maintenance logs, entries from a night watchman's diary that grows illegible toward the end. The stories share a geography — the forgotten edges of towns, the infrastructure of neglect — but their horrors are personal: a highway rest stop where the vending machines play a song only the dead remember, a nursing home's basement where the furnace burns something that was never coal, a coastal lighthouse whose beam illuminates a second shoreline. Luna's voice stays low, as if the stories might hear her. She never leaves the desk. She never stops watching the one screen that flickers with something that moves against the glass. The clock reads 3:17. It always reads 3:17.

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