Horror Tales: The Raven’s Pact.

"But the raven, cunning, only laughed from the top of the bell tower." - Ketty Williams

In the village of Skogheim, where the wind whispered secrets among the twisted trees, lived a young man named Sven. Since childhood, he had heard the tales of the Black Forest, where those who entered uninvited never returned. The elders murmured about the Iron Raven, a creature that watched from the highest branches, waiting for a soul foolish enough to bargain with it.

That year's winter came cruel and hungry. Sven, orphaned and alone, found himself desperate. There was no bread, no firewood, and the neighbors' doors remained shut to his pleas for help. Despair led him to the forest’s edge, where, with lips cracked from the cold, he murmured what should never be spoken:

— I would give anything for a chance to survive.

The wind ceased. The world fell silent, as if holding its breath. Then, a metallic sound filled the air, like iron wings beating against the sky. A raven descended from the twisted branches and landed before Sven. Its eyes were bottomless black pits, and its voice was a whisper that flowed like rust.

— Anything? — asked the Iron Raven, tilting its head.

Sven hesitated. The creature’s gaze was hypnotic and hungry. But the hunger in his own stomach was even worse.

— Yes — he whispered.

The raven spread its wings, and beneath its shadow, a bag of golden coins appeared at the young man's feet.

— Food and warmth for a year — said the creature. — But on the winter solstice, I will return to claim what is mine.

Sven seized the bag without a second thought and ran back to the village.

For a year, he lived in comfort he had never known. He bought warm bread and sweet wine, slept beneath thick blankets, and smiled as he never had before. But as the days grew shorter and winter returned, a cold fear began to tighten in his chest.

On the night of the solstice, the wind carried the echo of metallic wings. Sven fled to the church, where the priest told him:

— Creatures of the night cannot cross sacred doors. Stay here until dawn.

But the raven, cunning, only laughed from the top of the bell tower.

— A man may escape the cold, Sven, but never his word.

Sven remained hidden. Dawn arrived, and he thought he had deceived the creature. But when he looked at his hands, he saw his fingers hardening, turning into dark scales like iron. His heart pounded in despair, but it was no longer flesh—only cold metal. He tried to scream, but his voice emerged as a hoarse caw.

When the village awoke, a new black raven perched atop the church, its eyes gleaming with intelligence and sorrow. The old Iron Raven was nowhere to be found.

And the new one waited, patiently, for another soul desperate enough to bargain.