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
Ghost Hunter's Regret: The Video That Ended Everything
Fame can be a ravenous monster, consuming those who chase it too desperately.
The moment Alex's ghost hunting video hit a million views, everything changed. Suddenly his YouTube channel wasn't just a hobby—it was a potential career. Sponsors appeared, subscribers multiplied, and the pressure mounted to deliver something even more terrifying than before. Hollowbrook Asylum seemed like the perfect location for his next viral hit. With its history of cruel experimental treatments, a mysterious fire that claimed 27 lives, and urban explorers who'd mysteriously gone silent after visiting, it promised everything his audience craved.
Despite warnings from their psychic team member Ivy, Alex convinces his reluctant crew to venture into the decaying structure with their equipment. What begins as a standard paranormal investigation quickly devolves into a nightmare beyond imagination. The asylum reveals itself to be something more than a haunted building—it's alive, with corridors that shift and rearrange, trapping them in an ever-changing labyrinth. And something hunts them through those halls—a shadow that moves like smoke, tries to speak, and knows Alex by name.
This episode explores the psychological horror of being trapped in an impossible space with an entity that wants more than just to frighten you. It examines what happens when ambition blinds us to danger, when warnings go unheeded in pursuit of that next dopamine hit of online validation. The most chilling aspect isn't the supernatural terror but the all-too-human motivations that led these ghost hunters into darkness.
By the end, you'll understand why Alex deleted his channel, burned the footage, and still wakes screaming when he hears his name whispered in the dark. Because fear isn't just content—it's a door. And some doors, once opened, stay open forever.
Join the Midnight Club on Facebook for exclusive stories, behind-the-scenes content, and early access to future episodes. Until next time, sleep tight, and remember that some shadows aren't meant to be disturbed.
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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 all started with a graveyard and a shaky camera. I'll never forget the night we filmed the Blackwood Cemetery video. My hands were numb from the cold, my breath fogging the lens while I whispered into the mic If there's anyone here, give us a sign. Behind me, jenna rolled her eyes so hard I could practically hear it. She'd been against the whole spooky voice thing from the start. Just talk normal, alex. She said you sound like a terrible Halloween store employee. But hey, the bit worked. Three days after we uploaded the video the Blackwood Haunted Cemetery it hit a million views and then five. The comments were flooding in that shadow at 843, wtf and fake but cool effects. And my personal favorite, this guy's gonna get eaten by a ghost.
Speaker 1:I didn't sleep for 48 hours. I just kept refreshing the stats, watching the subscriber count, climb, sponsorship offers piled in my inbox, energy drinks, vpns, a company that sold ghost-repelling crystals. I should have quit while I was ahead. But quitting wasn't really my style, not after years of filming blurry orbs in my grandma's attic and editing reaction videos in my dorm room. This was my shot. My YouTube channel had been a joke to everyone except for me. My parents called it a phase, my ex called it embarrassing, but suddenly now everyone cared, even strangers. They wanted more, more scares, more proof, more of me standing in the dark pretending I wasn't pissing myself every time a floorboard creaked. The problem is the internet's a hungry beast. Give it a taste of blood and it'll eat your whole arm off in seconds. You're obsessed, jenna said, squinting at me over her latte.
Speaker 1:We were crammed in our usual booth at the 24-hour diner, the one with the sticky tables and the waitress who always forgot my ketchup. Jenna had her camera dismantled in front of her, cleaning the sensor with a microfiber cloth, like it owed her money. You've watched that damn video 200 times. I paused the clip on my laptop, the exact frame where everyone said they saw a shadow figure dart behind a tombstone, freeze and then enhance Right there A smudge of pixels. That could have been a person or a tree, or even a trash bag, I guess, but the comments were convinced it was Casper's edgy cousin. It's research. I said we need to figure out what made this one stick. Was it the lighting, the pacing, the weird EVP at the end? Or maybe Marco chimed in sliding into the booth with a plate of fries? People just love watching you hyperventilate over nothing. He tossed a fry at me.
Speaker 1:Marco was our sound guy, a human golden retriever with a podcast voice. Face it, dude. You're the star. Your oh-crap-oh-crap face is pure cinema. Jenna snorted he's not wrong. You give off the whole terrified toddler vibe. Thanks, I deadpanned. I'm glad my existential dread is entertaining, but they weren't wrong. The algorithm loved raw reactions. The comments section dissected every gasp, every flicker of doubt in my eyes. He's so scared. This has to be real.
Speaker 1:Ivy, our psychic medium consultant, slid into the booth last. She was chewing her thumbnail, staring at the shadow frame on my screen. You shouldn't have posted that, she muttered. I sighed Not again. I'm serious, alex, you don't know what you're messing with. That wasn't just a shadow, it was an invitation. Marco tossed a fry at her. Relax, miss Cleo, it's a graveyard Dead. People are kind of the whole deal. Ivy didn't laugh. She never did.
Speaker 1:She joined the crew six months ago after sliding into my DMs with a rambling message about negative attachments and spiritual crossroads. I'd hired her because, well, she looked the part all black lace and stormy eyebrows and the fans ate it up but half the time I was pretty sure she was just making shit up. Look, I said, slamming my hands on the table harder than I meant to. This is how it works. The cemetery video went viral and now we need to go bigger and scarier to keep riding this wave. I'm talking a locus of paranormal activity, somewhere where the history's so dark even the skeptics will shit their pants. Jenna raised an eyebrow Bigger than a haunted cemetery. I grinned spinning my laptop around for them to see.
Speaker 1:Meet Hollowbrook Asylum. I'd found the name buried in a Reddit thread titled Places that Will Literally Kill you. It was built in 1903 and shut down in the 70s after a fire. A lot of people died, though the official count keeps changing depending on where you looked. We would definitely have to do better research to get the whole story. Every urban explorer so far who had tried to film there had either noped out or, well, their channels went dark.
Speaker 1:It's perfect? Absolutely not. Ivy said her face pale. Come on. I said it's gold. The second we announce it, the hype will go nuclear. You don't understand. That place isn't just haunted, it's alive. Marco grinned that's dope, more content. But Jenna was quiet staring at the asylum photos on my laptop crumbling brick and shattered windows that looked like empty eye sockets. Alex, this feels different. That's because it is different. I said it's our ticket to another viral video.
Speaker 1:Ivy stood up abruptly. I won't be part of this, then leave. I said sharper than I meant to. But this is happening with or without you. She left, letting the diner door slam behind her. Marco whistled Damn, you're kind of a dick. You know that he's not wrong, jenna said. But I was already pulling up the map on my phone tracing the route to Hollow Brook. It was three hours north, abandoned and no security, just us, the dark and whatever was waiting.
Speaker 1:Ivy didn't come back, not that I expected her to. She had ghosted the group chat, left my text on read and even Marco, who'd once talked her out of a full-blown panic attack after a raccoon had wandered into our shot, he couldn't even get her to pick up. She'll chill, he said. You know how she gets. All the veil is thin and then she's fine by Tuesday. But Tuesday came and went, and so did Wednesday, and by Thursday I had stopped caring. Hollowbrook Asylum wasn't going to film itself and the clock was ticking. Sponsors were already breathing down my neck, fans spamming where's the new video in the comments? I'd promised a teaser trailer by this weekend, so I buried myself in the research Late nights, hunched over my laptop, reddit threads filling my browse tabs. The more I dug, the weirder it got.
Speaker 1:The asylum's history was a graveyard of trigger warnings. It opened in 1903 as a sanitarium for the morally defective, which in the early 1900s could mean anything from schizophrenia to liking jazz. The head doctor, a guy named Thomas Hargrove, had a reputation for innovative treatments, which translated to things like ice baths, electroshock therapy and a basement full of tools that'd make a medieval torturer squeamish. Then, in 1972, there was a fire. It started in the east wing. They said faulty wiring, but locals swore they heard screams before the flames took hold. 27 people died patients, nurses and even Hargrove himself. The place never reopened. It just sat there rotting while the town tried to forget. But the internet never forgets.
Speaker 1:You're really doing this, huh? Jenna stood in my doorway arms crossed, staring at the disaster zone. I had turned my apartment into printout of the asylum's blueprints littered all over the floor. My whiteboard was a spiderweb of red strings connecting phrases like mass graves and Hargrove's occult symbols. I'd even tracked down a digitized patient journal from 1965 and printed it out. You mean we're really doing this and stop looking at me like that. It's called pre-production, I said, squinting at a blurry photo of the asylum's entrance. The doors were boarded up but someone had spray-painted Get Out across the planks, a warning, or maybe just bored teens.
Speaker 1:Jenna kicked a stack of papers. This isn't pre-production. This is a serial killer's vision board. Look, the fans want lore, so we're gonna give them lore. I tapped the patient journal. This guy, sam Teller, wrote about Hargrove taking patients into the basement at night. He said they'd come back, changed, hollowed out One, even bit off his own tongue. Cool story Still not worth dying over.
Speaker 1:We're not gonna die. We'll be in and out Three hours max. She sighed, collapsing onto my couch. You didn't see Ivy's face, alex. She was terrified. Ivy's always terrified. Last month she had visions that Marco's car was cursed. Turns out he just needed new brakes. This feels different. Everything feels different when you're chasing 10 million views. She didn't laugh. I didn't tell her that I had already ordered all brand new top-of-the-line gear New cameras with better low-light capability, laptops, top-of-the-line voice recorders All branded of course. I was in the hole 15 grand on a new credit card I had just opened. This video had to work.
Speaker 1:The day finally arrived for us to drive to Hollowbrook. The gear prepped was almost fun. Marco brought over the love of his life, his parabolic mic that could hear a mouse fart from 100 yards away, and Jenna calibrated the night vision cameras. I packed the ghost hunting starter kit I had got online a while ago an EMF meter, ir thermometer, dowsing rods and a bag of salt. It was actually Ivy's idea. Back when she was still answering my calls, I caught myself feeling embarrassed about our gear. We were big time now, the real deal. We needed that new gear. What's this? Marco held up a Ziploc bag full of dried herbs Sage, I said, for cleansing or whatever. Since when do you believe in that crap? I don't. But the fans eat it up. Remember the livestream where Ivy smudged the doll hospital? The views skyrocketed. He tossed the sage back in the kit. Fake it till you make it. Huh, welcome to YouTube.
Speaker 1:We finished loading the van around 6pm. Just as we were about to leave. My phone buzzed A text from Ivy. The text was a photo, a symbol carved into stone Three overlapping circles with jagged lines cutting through them, and underneath the photo her text said Stay away. He's not just a ghost. My thumb hovered over the reply button. Marco leaned over my shoulder. Ooh, cryptic ex-colleague alert, you gonna answer. I deleted the message. Nope, cool, dude, focus. We've got a haunted asylum to defile.
Speaker 1:The drive took three hours. Three hours of Jenna snoring in the passenger seat, marco scrolling through memes and me white-knuckling the steering wheel. The closer we got, the heavier the silence grew. Even Marco stopped talking when the GPS announced your destination is on the right. Hollowbrook Asylum was in front of us. It looked dead, not abandoned, but dead. The bricks were blackened from the fire, the windows shattered, vines were crawling up the walls. The smell hit us before we even opened the doors A sweet decay like flowers left too long in the water. Holy shit, marco whispered.
Speaker 1:Jenna turned on her camera Rolling. I grabbed my backpack and tried to steady my hands. This is it. This is the shot, the moment. Then the wind kicked up. It wasn't natural. It came in a single violent gust howling through the asylum's broken windows and for a second, just a second. I saw it, a shadow in the third floor window watching us. Did you, jenna started? It's just a light playing tricks, I said too quickly, probably just a reflection or something. But my phone buzzed again. Another text from Ivy that read too late. I was starting to get annoyed. We didn't talk about the shadow in the window. After that Some unspoken rule kicked in, the same one that makes you laugh at a funeral or a whistle in the dark. It was denial, but with better lighting.
Speaker 1:Marco cranked up the radio as we hauled the gear out of the van, humming along to some pop song about heartbreak. Jenna muttered about lens filters and I checked my phone one last time. No new texts from Ivy, just the old one glaring up at me. That said too late. I stuffed the phone in my pocket Focus. This is what you wanted.
Speaker 1:The asylum's front doors were boarded up, but someone had pried the planks loose long ago. The wood creaked as I pulled it aside. Inside the darkness had texture. It clung to everything and made the air thick. The smell was horrific Burnt something. I don't know what it was, but it practically punched you in the face as soon as you stepped inside.
Speaker 1:Lights, jenna said, flicking on her headlamp. The beam flooded the dark room. The lobby was a corpse. The wallpaper was peeling off the walls, revealing several cracks. Underneath there was a reception desk toppled over its drawers, spilling out old papers. Marco nudged a crumpled patient gown with his boot. Classy place, five stars on Yelp. Quiet, jenna hissed, adjusting her camera. We're rolling. I switched on my YouTube voice, that half-whisper every ghost hunter uses to sound both brave and vulnerable. This is Hollowbrook Asylum, abandoned for over 50 years, but some say the souls trapped here never left. The words even tasted like a script, but the fans loved it.
Speaker 1:We started in the east wing where the fire began. The hallway was a black tunnel that swallowed our light. We could hear our footsteps echoing. Every breath we took sounded amplified, but my EMF meter stayed silent. Come on, give me something.
Speaker 1:Then in the old surgery room the temperature dropped. You feel that Jenna whispered her camera panning across a bunch of rusted scalpels and a stained operating table. Feel what Marco said too loud. I feel like I need a tetanus shot, but I felt it. The cold wasn't natural. It hit me under my jacket and gave me chills. I looked at my thermometer and was surprised 14 degrees Fahrenheit, cold spot. I said, trying to force the excitement in my voice. Classic paranormal activity.
Speaker 1:Jenna zoomed in on the table. Alex, look, there were grooves in the leather restraints, deep ones. They looked like claw marks. Nope, marco said backing towards the door. Nope, nope, nope. The EMF meter screamed A sharp whine. With the needle stuck in the red, jenna's camera light started flickering. Did you get that, guys? Jenna's voice was steady but her camera hand shook.
Speaker 1:Look at the walls. Symbols, the same three circles from Ivy's text carved deep into the plaster. Dozens of them, maybe hundreds. Some were old but others fresh enough that dust hadn't even settled on them. My EMF meter chirped once like a question let's check out the basement. I said Of course you want to check out the basement, marco muttered. Jenna whipped toward me Are you insane? We need proof, real proof, proof of what? That we're idiots. Just five minutes. If nothing happens, we'll leave. Marco groaned. Famous last words, dude.
Speaker 1:The stairs to the basement were hidden behind a collapsed wall. The doorway was buried behind debris. It took all three of us to shove it aside. The air here was stale and the smell got worse with each step down. The basement looked like a dungeon. The walls were made of stone and covered with something that looked like algae. The basement looked like a dungeon. The walls were made of stone and covered with something that looked like algae. It wasn't one room, but many, connected by a maze of corridors. Some of the rooms had drains in the floor that were surrounded by dark stains radiating outward. Others held equipment that I didn't recognize, metal frames with too many joints and tables with grooves for fluids. Home, sweet home, marco muttered, but the joke fell flat. We searched each room and eventually we found Dr Hargrove's office. The door had been locked from the inside, but fifty years had rotted the wood and made it soft. Inside, filing cabinets stood open, papers scattered everywhere, and on the desk was a leather journal. Jenna's camera flickered back on the night vision, giving off its usual green light. We're rolling, she said. Hesitantly, I opened it. Hargrove's handwriting was precise, clinical. There were patient names and treatment notes, and then, towards the end, the writing changed, became more frantic. The same phrase repeated they're still here with me in the walls. The EMF meter screamed and I really did almost piss myself. Jesus, I've never heard it make that noise before. Scared the shit out of me. I raised the EMF meter up to take a look at it, but it was dead. The thermometer was dead too. Guys, all of our gear is. A door slammed upstairs and then another, and then another A cascade of slamming racing toward us. What's that? Marco yelled. The answer came fast and we didn't like it. It was the sound of the basement door slamming shut hard. The thud shook the dust from the ceiling. Jenna's camera almost dropped as we bolted for the stairs. No, no, no, marco chanted, yanking at the door, but it didn't budge. Kick it, jenna shouted. We threw ourselves against the door, but it wouldn't move it. Ourselves against the door, but it wouldn't move. It was almost as if it had fused itself shut. I slammed my fist against the door and in the moment of silence that followed, my heart stopped. I could hear something Slow footsteps coming in our direction. We all turned at once. The green glow of Jenna's camera lit the room, just enough for us to see it. A shadow pooling at the end of the hall. Not cast by anything, it pushed itself upward, forming into a tall, human-like shape. Oh god, jenna breathed. The EMF meter suddenly came to life in my hand, screeching like a dying animal. Just as the shadow lunged towards us, we ran, not towards the door but away down a corridor we hadn't seen before. It was half-collapsed. Marco tripped, cursing as his knee slammed into a stone. Jenna dragged him up, her camera somehow still rolling. My lungs were burning. The EMF noise chased us as the shadow's presence got stronger. We burst into a room A chapel Maybe With broken pews and a shattered stained glass window. The moonlight wasn't strong, but it was enough for us to see a path to another door, an exit. We ran into the room, slamming the door behind us. There, I yelled. Marco reached the door first, yanking the handle, it creaked open, revealing not the night sky, as it should have, but another hallway. I managed to eke out the words what the hell? In between gasps of air. This isn't the way out. Jenna whispered. The EMF meter in my hand screeched again, the sound echoing off the walls. And behind us the shadow had seeped under the door we had just slammed, pooling on the floor like spilt ink. It doesn't matter. Marco shoved Jenna and me through the door and into the hall Move. The basement became a nightmare of wrong turns and dead ends, hallways that led to rooms we had already passed, stairs climbing to solid ceilings. The building kept rearranging itself. Rooms multiplied and corridors stretched and contracted, and behind us that thing followed, not running and not walking, moving like smoke with purpose. As we ran, jenna's camera light bounced wildly, catching glimpses of symbols carved into the stone Three overlapping circles slashed through with what looked like marks from claws. Finally, we collapsed into a storage closet, barricading the door with a splintered shelf. Marco's phone buzzed. A text lit up the dark from Ivy, don't listen to him. Jenna pressed a shaking hand to her mouth. What does that mean? Before I could answer, the shelf against the door shuddered. Something scratched slowly across the wood and then a raspy voice tried to speak from the other side. I said tried because as soon as I realized it was trying to speak, I started screaming and banging on the door, trying my best not to listen to it. The others thought I was losing it, but when they realized why I was acting that way, we started taking turns every time the thing tried to speak to us. We were trapped in that asylum, lost in that messed up labyrinth for six hours, six hours of banging on the door and screaming at the top of our lungs every time that thing tried to speak. None of us could get any rest. We weren't even sure if what Ivy had said about not listening to it was true, but we weren't in a position to try to find out. Ivy found us just after dawn. How she got in, I don't know no flashlight, no gear, just a jar of ash and a key to a door we hadn't seen before. Apparently, she'd spent the whole night having nightmares and didn't even remember sending the text. She only realized that something had happened when she saw the text messages in the morning. She dragged us down a corridor smeared with bloody handprints. She moved through the asylum like she belonged there, carrying a mason jar full of ash and speaking words that made no sense. She led us through passages I swear weren't there before. Don't look back, she said. But I looked. I heard something whisper my name, alex, and I turned around A towering silhouette in a charred uniform, skin dripping like wax from his bones, his face half-melted, his jaw unhinged and his eyes were two black voids, the cleaver in his hand crusted with rust and other things I didn't want to name. He took a step forward and the walls bled, alex. I screamed loud enough to drown him out. I quit the next morning, deleted the channel, burned all of our gear and the SD cards with all the footage in a steel drum behind my building. The flames ate my logo, my merch, the stupid sage bundles I'd never believed in. After that, marco wouldn't speak. Jenna deleted every photo off of her phone and scrubbed her skin raw in the shower. Me, I couldn't sleep. Every time I closed my eyes I saw him, that shadow, standing in front of me, raising a cleaver. Alex, he'd hiss and I'd wake up screaming, trying not to listen. Some stories, once started, never really end. They just wait for the next chapter, the next fool with a camera, the person who thinks fear is just content. But I know better now. Fear is a door and some doors, once opened, stay open Even if you burn the key. 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.