The Haunted Grove
The Haunted Grove is where paranormal horror fiction fans come to escape the everyday world through immersive, story-driven horror experiences.
We craft immersive scary stories that blur the line between reality and nightmare, perfect for late-night listening or satisfying your Creepypasta cravings. Our growing collection features everything from subtle psychological horror to full-blown supernatural encounters.
The Haunted Grove
Where All The Lost Things Go
Have you ever wondered what price you'd pay to bring back someone you've lost? In the shadow of Blackwood Forest, one family discovers the answer—and it's far more terrible than they could have imagined.
Michael and his little sister Emma venture into the infamous Blackwood Forest despite their father's dire warnings. Local legends speak of people who enter but never return, of voices that call your name, and dark figures that reach from the shadows. When Michael momentarily loses his grip on Emma's hand, she vanishes without a trace, leaving him devastated by guilt.
For ten years, Michael lives with the consequences of that fateful day. His health mysteriously deteriorates as he ages at an alarming rate. Then the impossible happens—Emma walks out of the forest exactly as she was a decade ago, not having aged a single day. While his parents accept this miracle without question, Michael notices something deeply wrong about the sister who returned. She doesn't eat, doesn't sleep, moves with mechanical precision, and watches him with unblinking eyes.
Searching for answers, Michael meets with local historian Dr. Eleanor Winters who reveals the horrifying truth: Blackwood Forest operates on the principle of exchange. For something to be returned, something of equal value must be given. Michael discovers his parents made an unthinkable bargain with the forest—trading their son's life force to recover their daughter. Or rather, something wearing their daughter's face.
As Michael confronts his parents and the entity posing as Emma, his body begins literally dissolving as the supernatural exchange completes. The thing wearing Emma's face delivers the chilling final revelation: "Now you're going to see where all the lost things go."
"The Blackwood Exchange" is a haunting exploration of grief, guilt, and the terrible bargains we might make when desperate enough. Listen now, and discover what happens when ancient forces offer to return what you've lost—for the right price.
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Welcome. You've stumbled into the Haunted Grove podcast, the place where paranormal horror fiction fans come to escape the everyday through immersive storytelling. I'm Megan, your host and narrator for tonight's tale, and, trust me, it's a good one. So sit back, turn the lights down low and, whatever you do, don't look behind you. Everyone in our small rural town grew up hearing about the Blackwood Forest. There were stories of people who went in but never came out, of voices that called your name when you got too close to the tree line, and of dark figures that would reach out and grab you and take you away forever. The stories varied depending on who told them. Old Miss Peterson claimed her brother had gone missing while hunting in the Blackwood in 1962, and emerged three days later, physically unharmed but unable to speak for the rest of his life. The high school history teacher, Mr Collins, told his students about colonial-era records describing the forest as a place where the veil between worlds grows thin. But the story that always gave me chills was the one about the Larson twins who disappeared in 1987. Search parties had combed the forest for weeks but found nothing. That was until exactly one year later, when two pairs of identical shoes appeared neatly placed at the forest's edge, as if to remind everyone of what the forest was capable of. Parents use those stories to keep their kids in line You'd better behave or the forest will get you Stellar parenting techniques. Most kids eventually outgrew the fear I had, or at least I thought I had.
Speaker 1:I was 16 that summer and Emma was nine. She was small for her age, with freckles that scattered across her nose like constellations and a gap-toothed smile that could convince me to do just about anything. Our small town of Millbrook sat in the shadow of the blackwood forest, the ancient trees looming over the eastern edge of town like silent sentinels. From my bedroom window I could see where civilization ended and where wilderness began, a stark line between the trimmed lawns of our neighborhood and the untamed darkness beyond. I replay that moment in my mind every day. That last instance of normalcy before our lives shattered my little sister in her yellow sundress, holding out her pinky with complete trust in her eyes. The small, seemingly innocent moment before I failed her. Come on, Mikey. She whispered that morning, tugging at my sleeve. Before I failed her. Come on, Mikey. She whispered that morning, tugging at my sleeve. Zach from my class says he saw glowing lights between the trees last night. I want to see if it's true.
Speaker 1:Zach Hamilton was known for his elaborate lies, but something in Emma's eager expression made me pause. She'd been collecting newspaper clippings about Blackwood Forest for months, keeping them in a special folder decorated with question marks. My sister, the junior detective, determined to solve the mystery. No one else could. Our parents had explicitly forbid us from going anywhere near Blackwood. Dad was especially adamant, almost irrationally so. He'd grab our shoulders too tight when he talked about it, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. Promise me, you'll never go in there, Not for anything, Not ever. Dad's fear of the forest went beyond normal parenting caution. Sometimes I'd catch him staring at the tree line from our back porch, his coffee growing cold in his hands, his eyes distant, with something that looked less like fear and more like recognition, like he was looking at an old enemy. Your father has his reasons, Mom would say. Whenever I questioned his strict rules about Blackwood, she never elaborated and something in her tone always stopped me from pressing further. We'd promised, but promises made to your parents feel different when you're 16 and bored and your little sister is looking at you like you're her hero.
Speaker 1:As we stood in front of the fallen oak tree that marked the unofficial boundary between the normal woods and Blackwood. I felt a moment of hesitation, Dad's warnings echoing in my mind, his voice unusually serious when he made us promise never to enter this place. Emma tugged at my sleeve impatiently Come on, Mikey, we're just going to take a look. I glanced at my watch. We'd told Mom we were going to the creek to skip rocks and look for frogs, so we still had a couple of hours before she would be expecting us back. I don't know, Em, Maybe this isn't such a good idea.
Speaker 1:Emma's face fell, her excitement dimming. But Zach said the lights were so pretty, like fireflies, but bigger and blue and green. She kicked at a pine cone, disappointed. I felt a twinge of guilt. I was always telling her she was too young or too small for adventures. Just once I wanted to be the cool big brother who showed her something amazing. We don't have to go far, I reasoned to myself, Just a few minutes in and we'll turn right back.
Speaker 1:Emma brightened up immediately. I knew you weren't scared. I'm not scared. I said too quickly. I just don't want Dad to find out. He won't. Emma promised It'll be our secret. Okay, Pinky swear. She held out her small finger. I linked my pinky with hers, making the promise official Pinky swear, but we stay together and when I say it's time to go, we go, no arguments. She nodded solemnly, her pigtails bouncing.
Speaker 1:Just then something flickered between the trees A flash of blue light, exactly as Emma had described. Her eyes widened. Did you see that, Mikey? Did you see it? She bounced on her toes, pointing excitedly. I had seen it. It was beautiful like nothing I'd ever seen before. Not quite like a flashlight or a firefly, More like something luminous and alive. Maybe it's just someone camping, I suggested, but I didn't believe it. No one would be camping in Blackwood. Let's just take a quick look. Emma pleaded Five minutes and then we'll go home, and no one will ever know.
Speaker 1:It was that light that decided it for me. There had to be a rational explanation. I was sure of it, and finding it would prove once and for all that all the stories about Blackwood were just that Stories. I'd be the one to debunk the town's oldest superstition and I would get to be my little sister's hero. Five minutes, I agreed, but hold my hand the whole time. Emma slipped her small hand into mine and together we stepped over the fallen oak. I should have said no and turned around right then. I should have grabbed her hand and ran all the way home, Because the moment we stepped past that fallen tree, everything changed.
Speaker 1:The silence as we made our way through the dense trees was deafening, as if the forest had swallowed all sound. The summer cicadas had went silent, the breeze died and even our footsteps seemed muffled, as if the ground itself was absorbing the noise. Mikey, Emma whispered suddenly, pressing closer to my side. Why is it so quiet? I forced a laugh. Probably just acoustics or something you know trees and shrubs absorbing the sound. But it wasn't just the silence that felt wrong. The air didn't just feel thicker, it tasted wrong Like drinking water with something dead or rotten at the bottom of the glass. Even the colors seemed muted, as if the forest was draining them away. The sunlight that should have filtered through the canopy didn't even reach the forest floor, casting everything in a twilight gloom, despite it being the middle of the afternoon.
Speaker 1:We kept walking following what looked like a trail. I kept telling myself we'd turn back in just a minute, just a little further, maybe just around the next bend. As we ventured deeper, I noticed something odd. We kept passing the same distinctive tree, a gnarled oak with a split trunk that almost looked like a screaming face. First it was on our left and then on our right and then behind us, even though we'd been walking in a straight line. The forest was looping us back, almost like it was herding us somewhere. My skin crawled with goosebumps, despite the humid air. Each step sent a shiver down my spine, like cold fingers tracing along my vertebrae. My legs felt increasingly heavy, as if the forest floor was trying to pull me down with each step.
Speaker 1:Did you hear that? Emma asked, stopping suddenly. I stopped and strained to listen. I did hear it, but what was it? Something almost like voices, Too distant to make out words, but distinctly human or almost human. It's nothing I said, but my mouth had gone dry. Probably just hikers. It's comforting to know we're not the only ones dumb enough to be in here, right, I said, hoping to convince myself more than a nine-year-old.
Speaker 1:Emma just shook her head slightly, staring off into the trees it's saying my name. And then she tilted her head a little more, as if, listening carefully, it knows about Teddy. A chill ran through me. Teddy was Emma's stuffed bear that she'd lost last year. It was her favorite thing in the world and we'd searched everywhere for it, but we never found it. How could voices in a forest know about that? It says it can show me where he is.
Speaker 1:She continued her fear giving way to curiosity. It says it knows where all the lost things go. Emma, don't listen to it, I said, squeezing her hand tighter. Her eyes had gone wide, fixed on something between the trees. Mikey, look, there's someone there. I followed her gaze and felt my heart stutter. Between two ancient oaks, something dark moved, not quite a shadow, but also not quite solid. It flickered like a heat haze, a human-shaped distortion in the air, and then it was gone. A wave of panic washed over me and I knew something was terribly wrong. We need to go, I said, grabbing Emma's hand. Now, as I turned to retrace our steps, I felt my stomach drop. I don't remember leaving the path, but Emma's hand Now, as I turned to retrace our steps, I felt my stomach drop.
Speaker 1:I don't remember leaving the path, but it's gone. It just vanished. The path we'd followed was no longer behind us. Every direction looked the same. It was just endless trees and dark shadows. Mikey, I'm scared. Emma whispered, clutching my hand. It's okay, I lied, Just stay close to me.
Speaker 1:We started walking towards what I hoped was the way we came. The whispers were starting to grow louder, seeming to come from all directions. The dark shadows between the trees shifted. It took on shapes that disappeared when I tried to focus on them, but there was no doubt in my mind they were following us. We should run, I said my voice tight with fear. Emma nodded, her fingers digging into mine. Don't let go, she said I won't. I promised On three. Okay, One, two. Something moved in my peripheral vision, a flash of darkness, closer this time, followed by a terrifying scream that almost left me paralyzed. Three, I shouted, and we bolted. We crashed through the underbrush and ducked under branches, the whispering rising to a horrifying cacophony all around us.
Speaker 1:I kept my eyes fixed ahead, searching desperately for any glimpse of light, any sign of the forest's edge. Emma's hand was sweaty in mine. Her breathing was quick and frightened. I could feel her struggling to keep up with my longer strides. Almost there I gasped, although I had no idea if that were true. Just a little.
Speaker 1:It all happened so quickly. My foot caught on an exposed root. I stumbled and fell face first into the ground. The pain from my nose breaking on. Impact seared through my whole body like waves of white-hot electricity. Mikey, Emma's voice cried out, her hand still in mine. And then suddenly it wasn't. I felt her fingers slip through mine like smoke Solid one moment and gone the next.
Speaker 1:I scrambled to my feet, my eyes watering, blood streaming down my face. The metallic taste filled my mouth. Emma, Time seemed to freeze. The space where she had stood just a heartbeat ago was empty, but not just empty. It was wrong somehow, Like a hole in the world. The impact had left my vision blurry.
Speaker 1:I tried desperately to clear the tears, dirt and blood from my eyes so they could focus Emma. I spun around eyes searching wildly Emma, where are you? The whispers stopped and the forest was silent again. But she was gone. It had only been seconds, but the spot where she stood was empty air. I screamed her name until my throat was raw. I backtracked frantically, searching every direction. I don't know how long I searched, minutes or hours circling, desperately calling her name, but I was getting nowhere and I realized I needed help. I ran blindly, desperately crashing through the forest until, miraculously, I broke through the tree line and into the fading daylight of early evening.
Speaker 1:What came after was a blur Me sobbing on our front porch, my mother's scream and my father's face. It didn't just drain of color, it transformed Aged years and seconds. When I stammered out where we had been, his eyes widened with a recognition that confirmed my worst fears. This wasn't just parental terror. This was the look of someone having their nightmare come to life for a second time. It took her, was all he said, his voice hollow, and then, in a whisper, almost to himself Not again.
Speaker 1:Police with flashing lights and dogs combed the forest. Search parties that went on for days and then weeks. They never found a trace of her Not a footprint, Not a single light-up sneaker and not one thread of her yellow dress. It was like the forest had simply opened up and swallowed her whole. The search was eventually called off. The police report labeled it as an unexplained disappearance.
Speaker 1:Life somehow went on, but nothing was ever the same. My parents became a shell of themselves. They stopped talking to each other and then to me. They never said the words out loud, but they didn't need to. Their eyes said whatever they were thinking every time they looked at me. It's your fault. This is all your fault.
Speaker 1:I graduated high school, moved out. I tried college in the city but couldn't focus. My health started to decline around my second year. It wasn't just fatigue or illness. It was something deeper, more fundamental Hair thinning prematurely, my joints aching like an old man's and my skin developing fine lines decades too early. Some mornings I'd wake up and notice a new gray hair or find my hands trembling slightly when I tried to hold a pen. The doctors ran tests, ordered scans and drew vials of blood, but they all showed the same impossible thing my body was aging at nearly twice the normal rate. We'd never seen anything like this in someone your age, they'd say. Puzzled, they blamed stress, suggested specialists and prescribed medication that did nothing. I knew what it was. I figured it was just punishment for losing her, for being the one who walked out of that forest alive.
Speaker 1:I eventually left school and ended up back in town working at the hardware store and living in my parents' basement, where I didn't have to see the empty bedroom across the hall with its faded yellow wallpaper. My parents' grief had transformed them, but there were odd behaviors I didn't understand at the time. Dad would disappear for days with vague explanations. Mom started collecting strange herbs and books with symbols I didn't recognize. One Saturday I came home early and found them huddled at the kitchen table with papers spread out, whispering intensely. They jumped when they saw me quickly gathering everything up. Mom's eyes were red-rimmed, not just from crying. There was something feverish in them, desperate. What are you guys doing? Just sorting through some of Emma's things, Dad said too quickly, but I glimpsed what looked like maps of Blackwood Forest and something that resembled a contract before Dad shoved everything into a drawer.
Speaker 1:Every year on the anniversary of that day, the day that I lost her, I go back to the forest, Not inside but to the edge. I bring flowers, tell her I'm sorry and beg for forgiveness, and I listen desperately for the whispers, hoping that they will tell me where all the lost things go. But they never come. The strange thing was, whenever I got closer to Blackwood Forest, my symptoms would temporarily ease. The annual visits to its edge became not just a ritual but a relief. For those brief moments the constant ache in my bones would subside, my breathing would become easier, as if the forest was drawing something from me but also giving me something back, Almost like it was granting me some relief from the pain of survivor's guilt. I never told my doctors that part. How could I explain that? The place that took my sister seemed to be the only thing keeping me from falling apart completely? The 10th anniversary felt different from the moment I woke up. 10 years, A decade, without Emma. The number felt significant, Final, somehow. In numerology, ten represents completion of a cycle. In biblical terms, it signifies divine order, A full measure.
Speaker 1:I chose the flowers with extra care Yellow daisies Her favorite, the teddy bear, wasn't a spontaneous purchase. I'd ordered it specially, custom-made to look like the one she'd lost as a child. The words I love you very much embroidered on its heart, the kind of silly pun that would have made her roll her eyes and giggle. As I drove the familiar route, I noticed the forest seemed to press a little closer to the road than I remembered Branches reaching out like grasping fingers. Birds fell silent as I passed. Even the air felt charged like the stillness before a lightning strike. The radio kept cutting out, replacing music with static that almost sounded like whispers. The sky darkened unusually early, though the forecast had promised clear weather that day. A mist had settled on the ground, A mist had settled around the tree line, as if the forest were breathing out. I parked in the same spot I always did, and walked to the stump of that fallen oak tree, my legs aching with each step, my body feeling decades older than it should. The boundary between the safe ground and the blackwood forest stretched before me More imposing than ever. I placed the yellow daisies and the teddy bear at the base of the fallen oak, my hands trembling slightly from my worsening condition.
Speaker 1:The ritual had evolved over the years First just tearful apologies and then one-sided conversations about my life and eventually quiet reflections on what she might have become Today. I simply sat in silence, the words having run dry years ago. What more could I say that I hadn't already said a thousand times? Time slipped away. As I sat there, watching the shadows lengthen across the forest floor, the wind picked up, rustling through the leaves with a sound almost like a distant conversation. An hour had passed in what felt like minutes. After I was done, I stood up and said my goodbye, the same words I had always used I'm sorry, Emma, I'll come back next year. My voice sounded hollow even to my own ears.
Speaker 1:As I started back to the car. Something made me pause, A whisper, so faint it could have been. The wind seemed to call my name. I stopped, A heart suddenly racing. I listened Nothing, Just the rustling of leaves and the distant call of a crow. Who was I kidding? There would never be a whisper. There would never be forgiveness.
Speaker 1:I reached for the car door handle, my arthritic fingers wrapping around the cold metal. Hello, Is someone there? I froze mid-motion my mind rejecting it instantly. A hallucination, a trick of the wind? The manifestation of a decade of guilt and grief? It couldn't be real. I'd imagined her voice so many times before in dreams and in those moments between waking and sleep. This was different. This was solid and present. That was her. My legs nearly gave out, the blood drained from my face so quickly. I felt lightheaded. I gripped the car door handle behind me for support, my knuckles white, my aging joints screaming in protest.
Speaker 1:I slowly turned around. Every movement, feeling like it took an eternity. And there she was, stepping out from between the trees Nine years old freckles across her nose, arranged exactly as I'd remembered them, a yellow sundress without a single wrinkle or faded patch, as if it had been preserved in formaldehyde rather than worn in a forest for ten years. Her light-up sneakers flashed red, blue and green with each step the pattern I remembered precisely, though the battery should have died years ago. It wasn't just that she hadn't aged, she was preserved with perfection. That felt wrong, Too pristine, Too exact, Like someone had pulled her directly from my memory rather than found her in the woods. Even the smudge of dirt on her left sleeve the one she'd gotten when she tripped just before we'd entered the forest was still there, preserved like an insect in amber.
Speaker 1:She moved toward me with steps that were just slightly off rhythm, like someone learning to walk in a human body, her head tilted at an unnatural angle and her neck rotating just a fraction too far to be comfortable. Mikey, you look so old, she said, Her voice perfectly modulated, yet somehow mechanical, like audio played through a damaged speaker. Her eyes fixed on me without blinking, studying my face with an intensity that felt more analytical than emotional. Emma, I managed my voice, barely a whisper. The name felt foreign on my tongue after so many years of only speaking it in an apology or a prayer. She smiled, and a perfect recreation of her gap-toothed grin, yet somehow it was wrong, as if someone had studied photographs of human expression without understanding what made it genuine.
Speaker 1:I've been waiting for you, she said, coming closer with those strange gliding steps For such a long time. Behind her, the forest seemed to watch the shadows between the trees deepening. Despite the day not having surrendered to evening, the temperature dropped suddenly, my breath fogging in the air between us. How, how are you here, I asked, unable to process what I was seeing. Where have you been all this time? She stopped just a few feet away from me, close enough that I should have felt the warmth of another human being, but instead there was only cold In the forest. She replied simply waiting to come home. She reached her small hand out towards me, but the movement was just a beat too slow. Take me home, Mikey. Mom and dad are waiting. How could she know that? How could she know anything about our lives after 10 years in the forest? But her hand remained extended, patient and unmoving, her unblinking eyes fixed on mine, with that too intense of a stare Against every instinct screaming within me. I reached out and took her hand. It was cold, so cold, and it felt somewhat hollow, like grasping a glove filled with ice water. Let's go home, I heard myself saying, though everything inside of me knew that what was coming back with me wasn't my sister.
Speaker 1:I called my parents from the car, my hands shaking so bad I could barely hold the phone. My mind was racing, struggling to process what was happening. How is this possible? She hadn't aged a day, ten years gone, and yet here she was, exactly the same. It defied everything I understood about reality. Mom, Dad, I stammered into the phone, my voice breaking. I found Emma. She's here. She's just walked out of the forest. It's her, it's really her.
Speaker 1:I expected gasps and sobs and frantic questions. I expected them to think I'd finally lost my mind from grief and stress. Instead, after a moment of silence, my father simply said bring her home, Michael. No questions about how, no disbelief, no shock at all. His voice was calm and measured, as if he'd been waiting for this call, as if he'd known all along that this day would come. Dad, don't you understand what I'm saying? My voice rose trembling, with a mixture of confusion and mounting unease. Emma's here After ten years. She hasn't aged. This isn't, this can't be normal. Just bring her home. He repeated Something strange and distant in his tone and then he hung up.
Speaker 1:I stared at Emma in the passenger seat. She stared back, unblinking that too-perfect smile fixed on her face. My hands gripped the steering wheel so hard my knuckles turned white as I tried to make sense of what was happening. Was I hallucinating? Was this some kind of hoax? Front porch, as if they'd been waiting there since my call. No rushing out to the car, no tears of disbelief or joy, Just standing there, their faces unreadable.
Speaker 1:My mother's eyes darted between Emma and me, Something like guilt flickering across her features, before replaced by a smile that didn't even reach her eyes. My father put his hand on her shoulder, a gesture that seemed more restraining than comforting Mom. Dad, I said, as Emma skipped, with movements too precise, too mechanical, up to the porch. How are you not freaking out right now? She was gone for ten years. She looks exactly the same. How is this possible?
Speaker 1:Mom knelt down and embraced Emma, her body visibly trembling it's a miracle. She whispered, but her eyes, when they met mine, over Emma's shoulder, held something that looked more like fear than joy. Her fingers dug into Emma's back, white-knuckled, as though afraid she might dissolve if not held tightly enough. Dad put his hand on my shoulder, squeezing too tight. Some things don't need explanations, Michael. Sometimes we just need to be grateful. His smile never reached his eyes, which kept darting out behind me, as if he was expecting something else to emerge from the forest.
Speaker 1:As we entered the house, I noticed strange markings freshly carved into the doorframe, symbols I'd never seen before. Mom quickly ushered Emma past them, her hand now hovering just above Emma's back, never quite touching her. Now that they were inside, I made your favorite dinner, Mom said too brightly Dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets and mac and cheese. The table was already set, as if they'd been expecting this reunion all along. The words didn't match their body language and I could feel it. The tension humming beneath their practice calm. The way they exchanged glances when they thought I wasn't looking. The deliberate way they steered the conversation away from where Emma had been or how she'd returned. But they had to know something was wrong. They had to feel it. No parent could look at what came back from that forest and truly believe it was their child, Could they, Don't? My mother hissed when I cornered her in the kitchen. Don't ruin this for us. But, mom, you have to see that something's not right. I said drop it, Michael. Her fingers dug into my arm with surprising strength. We have Emma back and that's all that matters. I wanted to scream at them. Don't you see it? Don't you feel how wrong this is, but the desperate hope in their eyes stopped me. They needed this to be Emma. They needed their daughter back, even if what returned was just wearing her face. And maybe a part of me needed it too. Needed absolution for the moment.
Speaker 1:Ten years ago, when I let go of her hand Throughout dinner, Emma pushed her food around her plate without ever taking a bite. Neither parent commented on it. Dad talked about mundane things Baseball scores, weather forecasts, neighborhood gossip His voice unnaturally bright, while his eyes kept returning to Emma and what looked disturbingly like fear. Mom's hand shook so badly she spilled her water twice. The second time Emma reached out to help. Her movements were just too fluid and too precise, and when their fingers brushed together, Mom flinched a tiny, involuntary movement before forcing another smile. It's good to have our family complete again, she said, her voice breaking slightly at the word complete. And now she's home and my parents are smiling those brittle, desperate smiles. Everything should be perfect.
Speaker 1:That night, as I lay in bed listening to the unfamiliar sounds of Emma moving throughout the house footsteps too measured, too deliberate for a child I made a decision I would play along, pretend I believed, but I would watch. I would document every strange behavior and every impossible detail, because whatever came out of that forest wasn't my sister. It was something else, something that knew how to wear her face, how to mimic her voice, how to move her limbs in an almost but not quite human way, and my parents knew it too. The question was why were they pretending they didn't? The floorboards in the hallway creaked. Slow, deliberate footsteps approached my door. They stopped just outside. I held my breath watching the shadow of the feet in the gap beneath the door. One minute passed, and then two, and the shadow remained unmoving. Whatever was out there was listening to me, just as I was listening to it, and then, softly, softly, came the sound of Emma's voice, perfectly mimicked, yet somehow wrong. Sweet dreams, Mikey. I'll see you in the morning. The shadow remained for another long moment before moving away. I didn't sleep that night or the night after, because every time I closed my eyes I saw that thing's too wide smile stretching in the darkness and I knew something terrible had just begun. I needed answers, Real answers, Not the evasions and deflections my parents offered.
Speaker 1:So a week after Emma's return, I drove to Blackwood Forest, but I didn't go alone. I arranged to meet with Dr Eleanor Winters, a local historian who had written several books on the region's folklore. When I called her and explained what had happened, she didn't even seem surprised, just resigned. It's happened again, she muttered, After all these years. We met at a small cafe overlooking the forest's edge.
Speaker 1:Dr Winters was an elderly woman with a sharp eye and a no-nonsense demeanor. She brought with her a stack of leather-bound books and folders. Blackwood Forest has been taking people for centuries, she explained, spreading out old newspaper clippings. The indigenous people who lived here before the European settlers called it the Hungry Woods. They left offerings at its boundary to appease whatever lived inside. What does live inside, I asked? She shook her head. No one knows for certain, but the legends are consistent about one thing the forest doesn't just take people.
Speaker 1:She slid an ancient yellow journal across the table. This belonged to Reverend Thomas Blackwood, the town's founder. His daughter disappeared in those woods in 1843. Three years later she returned unaged and exactly as she'd been when she vanished. But what walked out of that forest was not her. A blood ran cold Like Emma. Yes, Dr Winters' eyes were grave, and like the Milburn child in 1892, and Elise Corman in 1924, and Timothy Harlow in 1972. I frowned. Timothy Harlow, that's my father's brother, my uncle Dr Winters, looked surprised. Your father never told you. Timothy disappeared in the forest when they were children. He returned weeks later, seemingly unharmed. My father barely mentions him. He says they're estranged. I'm not surprised. She tapped the journal, her weathered fingers tracing the faded ink with the familiarity of someone who'd spent decades studying these pages. My family has documented Blackwood's history for four generations. My great-grandfather was Reverend Blackwood's assistant and kept records of what truly happened. After his daughter's return, she pulled out a leather portfolio containing yellowed newspaper clippings, photographs and handwritten accounts.
Speaker 1:According to Blackwood's detailed observation, what returns from the forest isn't human. It may look like the person who was taken, have their memories, imitate their behavior, but it's something else. Wearing their skin why? I asked my throat tightened. What does it want? Dr Winters hesitated, as if weighing how much to reveal. The indigenous people who lived here called it Kawanoke, the hungry place, and when European settlers arrived in 1802, they were warned never to build near it. Reverend Blackwood ignored those warnings. She pulled out a faded map. The original town was actually built closer to the forest and after seven children disappeared in the winter of 1843, the entire settlement relocated to where Millbrook stands today. All except Blackwood, who studied, who stayed to study what he called the entity.
Speaker 1:According to Blackwood's final writings, the forest isn't just a place. It's a threshold, A thin spot between our world and somewhere else. Something ancient dwells in its center, neither fully here nor there, and the settlers who encountered it described it as darkness given form or the absent shape like a man. There have always been a select few shamans, witches, practitioners of old ways who understand what dwells in Blackwood. They work to keep it satisfied so it isn't unleashed into the world.
Speaker 1:The forest operates on the principle of exchange. She continued For something to be returned. Something of equal value must be given. Not just any sacrifice will do. It requires specific terms, Like what I asked. My mouth dry, she hesitated and then said Human life, Vitality.
Speaker 1:When a child is taken, the price for their return is typically the natural lifespan of another person. The younger the child, the steeper the price. A chill ran through me as I thought of my rapidly aging body. The exchange must be willingly offered, she continued, A contract of sorts, Signed and sealed through ritual. What does that mean, I asked, though I was beginning to suspect the terrible truth. She met my eyes steadily. It means someone paid a price for your sister's return, Mr Harlow, a steep one. Her gaze dropped to my trembling hands and the premature gray hair at my temples, and judging by your condition, I believe I know exactly what that price was. I felt sick, remembering the way my parents avoided the questions, their strange lack of surprise at Emma's return, no explanation for my deteriorating health. I need to get home, I said, abruptly, gathering the material she'd brought. Can I borrow these? She nodded. Be careful, Mr Harlow, the rules of the forest are absolute. Once an exchange is made, it cannot be undone.
Speaker 1:I spent the next days poring over Dr Winter's material. Blackwood's journal described the replacements in disturbing detail how they didn't sleep or eat, how animals feared them, how their reflections sometimes slipped, revealing their true nature. Meanwhile, the signs I'd been seeing in Emma grew more pronounced. I caught her standing in the bathroom one night staring at her reflection, with her head tilted at that impossible angle. When she noticed me watching, she smiled. But in the mirror her reflection didn't smile back. Instead it seemed to ripple like dark water, disturbed by a stone.
Speaker 1:Most terrifying was the night I woke up at 3 am to find her standing at the foot of my bed, perfectly still, watching me sleep. When I startled awake, she didn't move, didn't seem embarrassed to be caught. You're dying, Mikey, she said matter-of-factly. It won't be long now. I sat up, my heart pounding what are you? What did you do to my sister? She smiled, that terrible smile that stretched too wide across her face, revealing too many teeth. Oh, Mikey, I am your sister. Well, almost. The forest keeps what it wants, but it can send back things like me. Where is the real Emma, I demanded. She's still in the forest. She's part of it now, just as you will be soon. I couldn't sleep after that.
Speaker 1:The next morning, I confronted her directly in the kitchen while our parents were out. Stop, I said, placing myself between her and the door. You're not my sister. She smiled, that inhuman smile. Oh, but I am More than you think, but less than you'd hope. What does that mean, I demanded? It means I have her memories, Her voice, her face. She stepped closer and soon I'll have yours too.
Speaker 1:What did you do to me, I asked, my voice shaking. She let out a cold, slow, evil laugh. Not me, Mikey. Her eyes flickered towards the door as we heard my parents' car in the driveway. Ask them.
Speaker 1:Ask what price they paid for my return, my parents entered grocery bags in hand. They froze when they saw our confrontation. What's going on? My father asked cautiously. I turned to them, fury and betrayal surging through me. What did you do? What deal did you make? My mother's face drained of color. My father's expression hardened, Michael. He began, but I cut him off. Tell me the truth. What price did you pay to bring her back? For a moment, silence hung in the kitchen and then my mother broke, collapsing into a chair, her body shaking with sobs. You don't understand. She cried. We had no choice. What did you do? I repeated, my voice barely a whisper. Now, my father's face was stone. After she disappeared.
Speaker 1:We searched everywhere, consulted everyone and eventually we found Mr Kane, a hermit who lives in the forest and who knows how it works. He knew how we could bring her back. At what cost? I demanded, though I already knew the answer the forest requires a balance. He said mechanically, as if reciting something memorized a long time ago A life for a life. You left her behind. My mother wept. You let her go. It was your fault. We had to fix it.
Speaker 1:The room began to spin around me. My vision blurred. My legs suddenly felt weak. You traded me. I gasped your own son. We made the only choice we could. My father said, not meeting my eyes, the exchange has already begun.
Speaker 1:The thing wearing Emma's face said, stepping closer to me and smiling that ghoulish smile. I felt dizzy, lightheaded. The room tilted sideways. I reached for the counter to steady myself, but my hand passed right through it as if I or it wasn't fully solid. I looked down at my arm in horror. It was becoming transparent, fading like an old photograph. What's happening to me? I gasped. You're becoming part of the exchange. The false Emma said, tilting her head as she watched me dissolve. It's part of the contract. I collapsed to the floor, my body no longer able to support itself. My mother's sobs seemed distant. Now, coming from miles away, my father stood over me, his face, expressionless. One child for another. He said coldly that was the deal. A darkness closed in around me. I heard Emma's voice, no longer pretending to be human. Don't worry, Mikey, You're getting your wish. Now you're going to see where all the lost things go.
Speaker 1:You've been listening to the Haunted Grove Podcast. If tonight's story drew you in, leave a review, share the scare and follow and subscribe for more immersive paranormal horror fiction stories If you love spooky storytelling and want to support the show, consider joining the Midnight Club over on our Facebook page. Members get exclusive access to stories, behind-the-scenes content, early access to episodes and so much more. This isn't just a membership. It's where you belong. Until next time, sleep tight and, whatever you do, don't look too closely at the shadow in the corner of the room. You might just find it's looking back.