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
The Raven's Warning: A Modern Poe-Inspired Murder Confession
Guilt has a way of taking form when we least expect it. For one tormented soul, it arrives as a raven on a sleepless December night.
Our latest tale draws you into the fractured mind of a killer whose late-night scrolling is interrupted by a mysterious knocking at their apartment door. What begins as irritation quickly spirals into terror as a raven—not unlike the one from Poe's classic poem—flies through the window and perches on a decorative bust. But this is no ordinary bird. It speaks, uttering the name of Lenore, the victim whose blood still stains the floor of the narrator's apartment.
The story unfolds through rhythmic, hypnotic prose that echoes Poe's original work while bringing it firmly into the modern era. We witness the protagonist's desperate attempts to deny their crime, even as supernatural forces gather to exact justice. The walls begin to bleed, ghostly whispers fill the apartment, and the raven—that grim, ungainly fowl—serves as judge and jury for a murder most foul. What's particularly chilling is how the narrative blurs the line between supernatural haunting and psychological breakdown, leaving listeners to wonder if the raven is real or simply a manifestation of unbearable guilt.
When the pounding at the door returns at the story's conclusion, stronger and more insistent, we know that justice—whether earthly or otherworldly—has come for our narrator. The raven's final "nevermore" rings with finality, promising that the protagonist's freedom, like their victim's life, has reached its end.
Ready to experience more spine-tingling tales of supernatural phenomena and psychological horror? Follow the Haunted Grove Podcast for weekly excursions into the darkest corners of imagination. And if you're brave enough to venture deeper into the shadows, join our Midnight Club on Facebook for exclusive content that will keep you looking over your shoulder long after the episode ends.
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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. It's Friday night. I'm numb and speechless. There's no rest or peace. It's bleak and sleepless. So I'm catching up on texts and emails I left unopened long before, without sleep. My eyes were aching when suddenly there came a shaking, like a knock softly breaking, breaking through my apartment door. It's just the wind. I whispered lowly, tapping at my apartment door. Only that and nothing more.
Speaker 1:I still recall it was December, the coldest month. I can remember Every flicker from the screen casting ghostly shadows on the floor, desperate for the dawn of morning, numb from grief and endless mourning. Grief for her whose name I'm scorning, I won't say it anymore. And the hush, so strange, so hollow, crept into places. Fear could follow, whispering through heavy curtains, pulsing through my chest's dark core. So to steady my breath from shaking and to stop my tired heart from breaking, I muttered lies of my own making. It's just the wind outside, I'm sure. Maybe it's a visitor, someone lost and confused and knocking at my door. Maybe it's just a glitch and nothing more.
Speaker 1:Through my anxiety intensely spiraling, I spoke with shaky courage rising. Sorry. I said I must have dozed and didn't hear you. Your knock was softer than before. That's a lie. The truth is I was scrolling, reading comments full of trolling, letting all that mindless drolling drown out knocks I might ignore. I usually don't have guests unexpected. You probably should have called or texted. Wait, there's a camera mounted just above my apartment door.
Speaker 1:I pulled up the feed but saw only darkness there and nothing more. As I stood there, straining, viewing, I saw a heavy shadow moving and dreams of things I'd locked away came leaking through my bedroom door, though the silence had no meaning, but still I swear. I heard my own voice repeating the name I'd typed, but kept deleting, softly whispering Lenore, my own voice echoing the name. I swore that I wouldn't speak of anymore. Only that and nothing more. I closed the app. My pulse was reeling, my heart and mind too raw for healing. When again I heard that tapping harder now than it was before, surely I gasped this is madness, it's just my guilt and creeping sadness from the moment that my rage took hold and turned from red to blackness, still hours, fresh and bleeding sore. Wait a minute. If I can see outside my open window, maybe I can peer down into the blackness and catch a glimpse. To stop this madness. To prove this is no person knocking at my door, it's just a draft and nothing more. As I threw back the window curtain, my hands were shaking and I felt my mind and senses breaking. When, through the open window flew that heavy shadow from before, I panicked.
Speaker 1:But this was no monster from my imagination. It was just a bird with grim fixation, a raven. Without a glance or hesitation and with quiet domination it perched itself on the bust of some dead goddess I ordered online to spruce up my decor. It just perched and stared and nothing more. Then this bird of dark dimension stirred my soul with apprehension, though its gaze was still and lifeless, like a mask from ancient lore. What is this? I asked a question. Carefully measured, you look ruffled, winged and weathered, but I heard you speak, so I know you're more than feathered. What's your name? I instantly regretted the desire to know more. The raven's stare was cold and hollow. But the worst was yet to follow, because when it spoke the word it chose. It shook me to my inner core. The raven quoted nevermore. I was stunned to hear it speaking, frozen, stiff, my body weakening Though the word meant less than nothing. It cracked the mask I wore before. This can't be real. Birds don't speak.
Speaker 1:But as my panic spiral deepened, another thought began to creep in. Maybe if I record and posted they would pity me. For sure they would cry for me and for Lenore. Maybe they would think she left me and not suspect the truth. That pressed me, not hear the silence screaming through this bloodstained corridor, but in the chaos of its landing, I moved from where I once was standing and my phone. It must have fallen and is lost inside a shadow somewhere on this darkened floor, without proof. Who would believe there was a talking raven perched atop my living room decor, especially one named Nevermore? But the raven, still unblinking, seemed to know what I was thinking, as if he stared straight through me to the blood upon the floor.
Speaker 1:I tried to shake the sick suspicion. I called it grief or deep contrition, but the guilt hung close, a heavy vision that I couldn't look away from anymore. I couldn't scrub the way her pleading echoed off these very walls only hours just before, before she stilled and spoke no more. The air grew thick, the lights grew colder and voices whispered from the corner saying things I dare not utter, speaking of the crime I had committed in the hours just before. I closed my eyes but saw her clearer. It was Lenore's face, but, drawing nearer, her body pale and broken in the mirror, floating just above the floor, arms outstretched, her mouth still bleeding, reaching through my bedroom door, reaching for me to settle the score. I'm sorry I croaked, but she was fading.
Speaker 1:The raven's gaze felt harsh and grating, scratching at my crumbling patience, dragging horrors through the floor. It was an accident. I lied as my trembling voice denied the truth that the sleepless night had carved into my core. It was no accident, no slip, no saving that caused the silence behind the door. Quoth the raven nevermore. I sank into the leather seating, my heart and mind both fiercely beating. Staring at that damn dark creature perched atop my room decor, I whispered low. She's not returning these dreams, this dread, this useless burning. It's not madness, it's discerning what I can hide from you. No more. The raven shifted its eyes, demanding, and it muttered back in understanding the name that I had tattooed upon me to prove how much I loved her.
Speaker 1:Only weeks before my love, my world, my sweet Lenore, the smell of iron, thick and seeping, filled the room where she lay, sleeping, where once I thought she'd never leave me, where I thought our love would soon restore. But anger flared and hands, once mild, twisted into something wild and, through my rage, a fate defiled. Now the ghost of Lenore lingers over the stain upon the floor, watching and waiting a memory and something more. Demon, I screamed at the black, cold specter. Tell me I'm no wretched defector. Tell me this is just the sorrow of a heart that's bruised and sore. But the raven, cold and dying, answered. Not my desperate crying, just the shadow of her voice, still lying trapped behind my bedroom door, just the echo of a choice I cannot take back anymore.
Speaker 1:The raven quoted For Lenore. You don't know, I croaked in pleading, but the room itself was bleeding. The walls ran red with the silence I had murdered just before. It was anger. I kept crying. It was panic, not deciding. I just wanted peace, not dying. I didn't mean to lock that door. But the raven brought a message Dear sir, there's no need for your confession. I care not what excuses you manage to explore. You see, your crime was so horrific that your punishment is so specific. No prison cell will keep you from what you did behind that door. The panic in me started rising my own fate, I'm realizing. This bird was speaking of the justice being sought for sweet Lenore and suddenly there came a shaking, like the very walls were breaking, a pounding loud, relentless, at my trembling apartment door. It's not the wind. I whispered lowly as the giant reaper slowly came to claim me for my crimes against my love Lenore and the raven. While the raven sat there smiling his dark figure so beguiling, perched atop the dead-eyed goddess I had ordered for decor Quoth the raven.
Speaker 1:Nevermore 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.