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
Into The Woods: A Terrifying Tale of Isolation and Madness
A serene mental health retreat transforms into a waking nightmare in "The Deer That Followed," our most psychologically unsettling tale yet. When Alex's therapist suggests disconnecting to reset after multiple panic attacks and concerning diagnoses, they take the advice to the extreme—booking a remote cabin deep in the woods with no phone signal, no people, and nothing but their thoughts and medication.
The cabin itself feels wrong from the start. Hunting trophies with glass eyes that seem to track movement. Strange rules posted on the kitchen table, including the cryptic warning: "If a deer follows you, go back inside." Wildlife camera monitors that reveal something impossible—a deer eating a rabbit, then transforming into something that stands upright with fingers unfurling from what had been delicate forelegs, its deer head maintaining those bottomless black eyes.
What follows is a night of pure terror as the creature circles the cabin, mimicking voices Alex recognizes—their therapist, their mother, even their own voice—begging to be let in. The psychological horror intensifies when Alex can't determine if what they're experiencing is real or a delusion brought on by missed medication doses and isolation. When the sheriff arrives in the morning, his ambiguous response only deepens the mystery.
The story's true horror emerges when Alex returns to their city apartment, believing they've escaped, only to find evidence that the creature has followed them—muddy hoof prints on their 17th-floor balcony and that same tapping at their window at night, accompanied by their own voice asking to be let in.
We've crafted a tale that deliberately blurs the line between mental health struggles and supernatural terror, leaving you to question which is more frightening: the monster in the woods or the possibility that it exists only in Alex's mind. Listen with the lights on, and remember—that shadow in the corner of your room might just be looking back.
https://www.facebook.com/Thehauntedgrovepod
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. I didn't come out here to run away. At least that's what I kept telling myself. Rock bottom has a way of sneaking up on you. One minute you're managing your anxiety. The next you're having your third panic attack in your therapist's office while she calmly writes down words like disassociative episodes and potential psychosis.
Speaker 1:Dr Levinson gave me two choices Start taking my mental health seriously or she was putting me on an impatient hold. Option one seemed like the obvious choice, even for someone as stubborn as me. When the walls of your mind start closing in, sometimes you need distance to see things clearly. She said, scribbling me a new prescription with a higher dosage. You need to disconnect to reset, she said as she handed me the prescription. So I took her advice and, as usual, I went right off the deep end with it.
Speaker 1:I booked a cabin deep in the woods no phone signal, no people, no modern distractions, just me, my meds and all the thoughts I'd been running from for years. It took me seven hours to get here. The GPS died during the last hour, leaving me to navigate with the handwritten directions the owner had emailed me. I followed creeks and counted wooden bridges until the road narrowed to a dirt path that seemed to fold in on itself. The cabin was smaller than the picture showed. It was not cozy, rustic, but more like neglected and forgotten. The porch sagged on one side and creaked under my weight. A wind chime made of deer antlers hung motionless by the door, more like neglected and forgotten. The porch, sagged on one side and creaked under my weight. A wind chime made of deer antlers hung motionless by the door, even though I could feel the breeze on my skin. The owner had given me a pretty big discount because it was late in the fall and this place didn't rent out all that much.
Speaker 1:No kidding, the smell hit me as soon as I opened the door. It was musty, with undertones of something sharp and animal-like, the kind of smell that makes the back of your throat itch. Inside, dust floated in the thin shafts of the afternoon light, the wooden floor complained beneath my feet, each board with its own unique groan. I kept getting the weird feeling that the boards were trying to warn me about something. The walls were lined with hunting trophies, faded photos of men with dead animals, rifles mounted like crosses and a collection of knives with yellowed bone handles. A mounted deer head dominated the far wall. Its glass eyes seemed to track me as I moved around the room. Obviously this was a hunting cabin.
Speaker 1:My experience with hunting began and ended with the Big Buck Hunter arcade game at my favorite downtown bar. No way was I qualified to be out here. On the kitchen table I found a handwritten list with five rules. One pack out all your trash. Two no pets. Unless they're hunting dogs, they sleep outside. Three no emergency services nearby. Use the satellite phone only if it's life or death Instructions taped beside it. Extra charges will apply. Four fire is only in the fireplace or the fire pit out back. And five do not leave the property after dark. If a deer follows you, go back inside. I laughed when I read the last one. I may not be a hunter, but I'm pretty sure deer don't stalk people. It seemed like the kind of local superstition you'd include to give the city folk a thrill, like we'd all sit around the bonfire telling ghost stories about the demon deer of whatever county this is called. Beside the list were instructions for the camera monitors. The owner had set up wildlife cameras that fed into screens inside. It was a pretty cool idea, especially for someone like me who should definitely not be interacting with the local wildlife.
Speaker 1:I spent the afternoon unpacking and wiping down surfaces that felt tacky under my fingers. My medication, lined up on the bathroom shelves, looked bizarre Clinical orange plastic bottles against splintering wood shelves. The harsh bathroom light made the warnings on the labels jump out May cause drowsiness. Do not mix with alcohol. May cause hallucinations in some patients.
Speaker 1:The first night was quiet. I sat outside by the fire pit with a blanket watching the stars appear one by one. The darkness out here wasn't like in the city. It felt heavy, like something you could drown in. But the stars there were so many, each one blinking awake as my eyes adjusted. For the first time in months my chest didn't feel tight, my shoulders relaxed away from my ears and I actually started to feel okay, like maybe this forced retreat wasn't so bad after all. I fell asleep on the couch, the dying embers casting shadows that seemed to move on their own. My dreams were filled with hoofbeats and whispers. The morning broke with birdsong. That seemed too cheerful and too normal. I felt stupid for how tense I'd been the day before. The cabin groaned and popped as the morning sun warmed the old wood. I made coffee on the ancient stove, watching the steam curl against the window while trying to remember if I'd taken my meds before bed.
Speaker 1:I decided to check out the trail by the lake. The path was well-worn, winding between pine trees so tall they blocked out most of the sky. The air smelled of decomposing leaves and pine sap, with the occasional metallic undertone. I couldn't quite place. Everything looked normal Fallen logs, pine cones, glimpses of the lake through the trees. The longer I walked the more I felt watched, not threatened exactly, but observed. I stopped several times, turning full circles, nothing but trees and silence, a silence so complete. It felt like the forest was holding its breath, waiting for something. As I continued, the trail curved around a massive boulder and I found myself staring at a small clearing. In the center stood a crude arrangement of sticks, three branches forming a triangle, with smaller twigs balanced across them. No-transcript, probably just a marker left by hikers, I muttered, my voice sounding flat and wrong in the dense air.
Speaker 1:I continued walking, but I couldn't shake the feeling of unseen eyes following me all the way back to the cabin. By the time I reached the porch my shirt was sticking to my back, despite the cool weather that evening. I sat by the fire pit again. The flames cast wild shadows across the yard as the darkness pressed in. Everything smelled more intense at night the smoke, the pine and something else, something musky like a wet dog and rotten eggs. From the corner of my eye I caught movement in the woods, two points of light hovering, low eyes reflecting the firelight. Just a raccoon, I told myself, trying to stay calm. Or a fox? But the owner had mentioned bears too, hadn't he? And those eyes were pretty far off the ground for a raccoon. As the minutes ticked by, the weight of the stare grew heavier, almost physical. If that was a raccoon, it would be the size of a bear. If it was a bear, well, I wasn't going to risk having my first bear encounter be my last. I put out the fire as quickly as I could and walked back to the cabin, trying not to run. Whatever it was, it didn't let me out of its sight. I could feel its gaze burning into the back of my neck. I double-checked the locks, telling myself I was being ridiculous. But I also pushed a chair under the door handle, just in case.
Speaker 1:By day three I was crawling out of my skin. No phone, no internet, no human contact, just me and the squirrels and the growing certainty that skipping my evening dose of meds was a bad idea. My thoughts kept circling back to all the things I'd come here to escape. The silence magnified every sound, every creak of the settling house, every whisper of the wind and every scratch against the cabin's exterior. Was it branches? It had to be branches. I caught myself talking out loud just to hear a human voice. This place is getting to you, alex, I said to the empty room. Sometimes I swear I heard my own voice coming back to me from outside just a split second later, like a mocking echo. Oh man, I really am going crazy. I chuckled, but the sound fell flat.
Speaker 1:I decided to watch the only TV available Nature's live show. I pulled a chair up to the monitors for the outside cameras and flipped through the feeds Driveway, fire pit and two facing the woods. Everything was in the eerie night vision green, but at least I could see what was out there Right now. The live show was boring no wildlife to watch. I left the monitors on while making dinner. The steady rhythm of my knife against the cutting board was almost soothing.
Speaker 1:And then a faint beep from the monitors Motion detected. That's when I saw it A deer at the edge of the woods. Its form looked ghostly in the night vision. At first I was excited. Looks like someone's joined me for dinner, I said, watching the deer with its head down munching away. But something was off. It wasn't eating grass, it was hunched over something that was moving. My brain took way too long to process what my eyes were seeing. The deer had pinned something down with its front hooves A rabbit and it was eating it, ripping it apart with its teeth. My knife clattered to the floor, the sound unnaturally loud in the quiet cabin.
Speaker 1:Deer are herbivores, right, I said my voice higher than normal. They don't eat meat, or do they? God, I wish I could google this. Maybe this was normal behavior that they just left out of Bambi. Oh my god, you're three days in and you're already freaking yourself out. I muttered, but I couldn't look away from the monitor.
Speaker 1:The deer froze mid-motion. Slowly it started to raise its head from its kill and look directly at the camera. Its eyes didn't reflect the infrared light like they should. Instead they almost absorbed it like two black holes in its head. My skin prickled with goosebumps. It took a step towards the camera and then another. Each of its movements were stuttering and wrong, like it was wobbling around trying to stay standing up. Jesus, does this thing have some kind of disease? It whispered, and then the feed cut out. What the fuck did I just watch, I said to the empty room. I tried to laugh it off. This had to be normal nature stuff I just had never seen before. Regular deer behavior that city people don't know about. And yet my heart wouldn't stop racing and a sense of fear wouldn't leave my mind.
Speaker 1:That night's sleep was impossible. Every sound outside became amplified in my head. The wind in the trees sounded like whispers. The occasional splash from the lake seemed deliberate, like something large was entering the water. Around 3am I gave up and tried to distract myself with solitaire. I was midway through my second game when I heard it the soft thud of something walking around the cabin's perimeter. Not random animal movement, but methodical, purposeful. I went to the monitors and flipped through the feeds until I found the source. The deer was back, pacing around the cabin in that jerky, unnatural gait. As I watched, it stopped and turned towards the front of the cabin, directly towards the camera, towards me. Those hollow eyes seemed to look right through the walls, right through the screen, directly into me. My mouth went dry. The air in the cabin suddenly felt cold and thin, like I was at high altitude. I could smell something rotten seeping in from outside like wet fur and spoiled meat.
Speaker 1:What happened next made me question whether I was awake or trapped in some horrible nightmare. The deer began to rise onto its hind legs, not like a deer, rearing up like a human standing. Its spine elongated, with a series of wet cracking sounds that I swear I could hear through the walls. Its shoulders widened, stretching the skin until I could see dark shapes moving beneath the surface. Its front legs hung at its sides and fingers, not hooves, were unfurling from what had been delicate forelegs. The head remained a deer's head, but wrong. The jaw hinged open far wider than what should have been possible, revealing canines and rows of sharp teeth. And those eyes, those bottomless black holes, remained fixed on the camera, fixed on me.
Speaker 1:I froze, I couldn't move, I could barely breathe. My brain was scrambling for explanations. I was dreaming. I was hallucinating. My medications had side effects. The isolation was getting to me or hey, I'd forgotten my evening dose two nights in a row. That had to be it.
Speaker 1:The creature opened its mouth wider, impossibly wide. The sound that came out wasn't animal or human. It was a high, thin wail that made me cover my ears and my head hurt. I jumped back as the deer suddenly turned and ran off screen. What the fuck was that? I gasped my voice barely a whisper, and then I heard it footsteps on the front porch. Not the soft patting of an animal, but the deliberate steps of something, heavy, hooves and then claws scraping against the outside wall. The wood groaned in protest. The smell grew stronger decay and copper and something else. It's not real. I whispered to myself. This is not real. It's the meds or the lack of meds. There's no way this is real.
Speaker 1:I grabbed the satellite phone bumbling with the power button. It was dead. I followed the instructions taped beside it, but nothing, not even a flicker. Something tapped on the window Three distinct taps like knuckles against the glass. My stomach twisted itself into knots. Then I heard a voice outside the cabin Help me, please help me. It was my voice, but I hadn't spoken. I'm hurt. Please, I need help. My voice again, but twisted, it was off, like a recording being played at the wrong speed.
Speaker 1:I backed away from the window, nearly tripping over the chair. The hallway seemed longer than before the bedroom door further away. I had to get out. I had to get to my car. I grabbed my keys and my jacket. I threw open the front door without looking through the peephole. The porch was empty. It was only 20 feet to the car. I could make it.
Speaker 1:I sprinted across the gravel, my footsteps sounding like gunshots, in the silence. The car was there, but something was wrong. The tires were slashed, not cut, but torn, like something had ripped through the rubber with its teeth. Just then, something moved behind the car. A shadow detached itself from the darkness and came into view. It was not fully deer anymore. It was not fully anything I recognized.
Speaker 1:I turned and ran back towards the cabin, my only shelter against this nightmare. I could hear it behind me. It sounded like a dozen legs moving at once, like bones scraping against each other. I barely made it back inside, locking the door behind me. I pushed furniture against it and barricaded myself in For the rest of the night.
Speaker 1:It tried to get me to let it in. It mimicked my therapist Alex, you need to face your fears. Open the door. This is just avoidance behavior. It mimicked my mother Honey, please let me in. I drove all this way to check on you. Are you even taking your pills? It mimicked me. This isn't real. It's just another panic attack. Let me in so I can help you breathe. Remember what Dr Levinson taught us. It scratched the windows and knocked on the walls, begged to be let in. Sometimes it sounded like it was inside the room, with me whispering directly into my ear, its breath hot and rancid. I curled in the corner, my hands over my ears, my eyes squeezed shut.
Speaker 1:The medication I brought was in the bathroom. It was too far away. This isn't real. I kept telling myself. This is a delusion. This is why you need help. You're not taking your meds properly. But delusions don't scrape paint from the doors and they don't leave gouges in the wood, or do they?
Speaker 1:The sun eventually rose and everything was quiet. A bird song returned as if nothing had happened. The satellite phone worked just like that full power. I called the sheriff, my voice shaking as I told him everything. There was a long pause. After I finished, I'll be out there in an hour, he finally said, his voice carefully neutral.
Speaker 1:While waiting, I paced the cabin In the daylight. Everything looked so normal, except for the deep gouges in the front door, the scratched window glass and the strange tracks in the mud outside. Had I done those things myself and my mind fully fractured completely? When the sheriff's truck pulled up, I almost collapsed with relief. He was tall and weathered, with a face that had seen too much sun and not enough smiling. He listened patiently as I rambled through my story again. His expression unreadable, show me, was all he said. When I finished, I led him around the cabin, pointing out the damage, the claw marks on the door, the scratches in the windows. He nodded, taking pictures with his phone and there's tracks, I said leading him to the side of the cabin where I'd seen the footprints in the mud. They were still there, hoofprints that morphed into barefoot human prints that morphed into something else.
Speaker 1:The sheriff knelt down studying them carefully. His face gave nothing away. What do you think made these? I asked my voice barely above a whisper. He didn't answer at first, just stood up slowly brushing the dirt from his knees. And then he looked at me, really looked at me for the first time.
Speaker 1:How long have you been out here alone? He asked Three days, and you're from the city. It wasn't a question, but I nodded anyway. Have you taken any drugs or are you on any medication? I hesitated. Yes, meds for anxiety and other things. Have you been taking them regularly? I looked away. I might have missed a dose or two. He nodded unsurprised. You say this thing looked like a deer at first, yes, but then it stood up, it walked on two legs and it it talked to you. He finished in voices you recognized. I felt embarrassed, do you believe me? He sighed, looking outward towards the tree line. My stomach dropped. You think I imagined it that I did all this damage myself. He shrugged. I think you should get back to the city, back to your doctor, and get your medication sorted out. But the tracks, the tracks could be anything deer tracks overlapping with human prints, and then your mind is filling in the rest. But his eyes didn't quite meet mine when he said it. Have you ever seen this before with anybody else who's stayed here? The sheriff's expression softened slightly. Go home, take your meds, stay around other people and don't come back here.
Speaker 1:Back in my apartment, surrounded by city noise, light pollution and the comforting proximity of other humans, I tried to convince myself that it had all been some kind of breakdown. The isolation, the stress, my history of anxiety, the missed medication it was all a perfect storm. But sometimes when I look in the mirrors I see something standing behind me, but when I turn, there's nothing there. Last night I found muddy marks on my balcony. They could have been hoof prints, but they could have been anything. Dr Levinson says I'm making connections that aren't there and I'm still processing trauma. But now I hear it at night outside my apartment window, 17 stories up Tap, tap, tap and my own voice. Alex, this isn't real. This is just another one of your panic attacks. I can make it all go away. Just let me in.
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.