Solved Murders - True Crime Stories - A Cabin Trip Turns Into a Night of Terror When a Stranger Knocks After Sunset PART4 #6

Episode Date: September 18, 2025

#horrorstories #reddithorrorstories #ScaryStories #creepypasta #horrortales  #cabintripfinale #strangerdanger #nightterror #isolatedhorror #survivalstory  In the gripping conclusion, Part 4 reveals the final moments of the harrowing cabin trip. The narrator confronts the stranger’s true intentions as fear and desperation collide. This chapter highlights the fight for survival amidst isolation and terror, bringing the story to a chilling and suspenseful climax. horrorstories, reddithorrorstories, scarystories, horrorstory, creepypasta, horrortales,part4finale, cabintripterror, strangerthreat, survivalfight, darkwoods, chillingclimax, terrifyingfinale, realhorrorstories, fearandpanic, hauntedcabin, nightmareends, suspensehorror, dangerinthedark, escapeandfight

The night I'll never forget, I don't think I'll ever really be able to explain what happened that night. Every time I try to talk about it, my throat feels tight, and my hands start shaking like they did when it all went down. But I'm going to tell it anyway because sometimes when something that messed up happens, you need to get it out. Maybe by writing it all out, I'll actually sleep again without waking up drenched in sweat, heart pounding, thinking I see faces in the dark. So, picture this, there we were, me, Amanda, Sarah, Beth, and Abby, crammed into Abby's SUV like we always were on weekends. I was in the back, sitting in the middle seat between Amanda and Sarah, which honestly wasn't ideal because Sarah was kind of jumpy even on a good day, and that night she was teetering on the edge of a full-on freak out. Beth and Abby were in the

front seats, chattering away like they always did. They were best friends, practically good. glued at the hip. Sarah wasn't a big smoker, but Amanda and I were, and even though we kept the windows cracked, I could tell Sarah was already regretting agreeing to come out with us. She was paranoid, constantly shifting in her seat, fidgeting with the zipper of her jacket. And, you know, I can't even blame her. The place we were in wasn't exactly comforting. It was pitch black outside. Like the kind of blackness that feels heavier than it should, pressing against the windows, swallowing up everything more than ten feet away. The only light came from a single, pathetic street lamp in the middle of the parking lot,

way off in the distance, at least a hundred feet from where we were parked. Its glow was so weak it barely did anything but make the shadows around us look sharper. Sarah kept mumbling about hearing leaves crunching outside. I swear someone's out there, she whispered, over and over, her voice tight and shaky. We tried to calm her down, told her it was probably just her imagination. It's a park, Sarah, I said. There are squirrels. Maybe a raccoon.

Chill, but she didn't chill. If anything, she spiraled. Fifteen minutes of her breathing fast and clutching her knees like she was bracing for an earthquake, until finally, Amanda suggested we turn off the music. Let's just listen, she said. So we did. The car went quiet, except for the occasional click and flick of Amanda's lighter as she sparked another cigarette. I don't know if silence made things better or worse, but for me, it made it worse.

Because that's when we actually heard it. Leaves. Crunching Not a single crunch like a deer hopping through the woods. No. This was rhythmic. Purposeful. Footsteps.

We all sat up straighter at the same time. Okay, yeah, I heard that too, Amanda muttered. Sarah looked at me with eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights. See? I told you, I forced a laugh. It's probably an animal. But even I didn't sound convinced. We sat there in silence for what felt like forever, probably only five minutes,

waiting for something else to happen. My chest felt tight and I couldn't stop glancing at the dark tree line, half expecting some creepy face to suddenly pop out. To distract everyone, I started telling this old ghost story I knew, about a girl who drowned at sea and supposedly haunted the shore. I barely got a few sentences in before Amanda snapped, stop. You're making it worse. Fine. No ghost stories. That's when Abby admitted she was too freaked out to drive. I just. I can't. I need a minute, she said, her voice trembling. She closed her eyes, trying to breathe deeply like one of those meditation apps told her to do. She said she needed to find her happy place. Honestly, I wanted to laugh at that,

but I didn't. Not after what we were hearing. I figured I'd get out of the car, light a cigarette, and clear my head. But before I could even reach for the door handle, Sarah's hand shot out and grabbed my leg like a vice grip. Don't, she whispered. Her face was pale as snow, her pupils huge. I heard something. Right outside, I tried to laugh it off. You're overreacting. I didn't get to finish my sentence. Because that's when everything went to hell. Abby turned the key in the ignition. Nothing. The engine didn't even try to turn over. What the hell? Abby muttered, trying again. Still nothing. That's when Sarah really lost it. She started fumbling with her door lock, making sure it was engaged, muttering prayers under her breath. Abby tried one more time,

and finally, the engine roared to life, echoing across the empty park. We all let out a breath of relief. But the relief lasted about two seconds. Because when Abby switched on the headlights, we screamed. All of us surrounding the car, completely circling it, were men and women dressed in black. Every single one of them wearing ski masks. And they weren't just standing there. They were holding dead animals. Cats. Raccoons. Dangling them by their tails. The animals were split open. Go. Amanda screamed.

Abby threw the car in reverse, tires screeching. That's when the masked people started yelling, no, screaming, pounding their fists on the car, kicking at the doors, smacking the windows so hard I thought they'd shatter. It felt like we were in the middle of a riot. And then, silence. They just stopped. No movement.

No sound. They just stood there, staring at us through those black masks. Abby slowly backed out of the parking spot, shaking so hard I could hear her teeth chattering. As we moved, a few of them took off their masks. They were smiling. These smug, chilling grins that made my stomach turn. Then Abby floored it. We tore through the park's twisting roads like a bat out of hell.

Nobody spoke until we reached a stop sign near the exit. That's when we finally started talking, all at once, voices overlapping, trying to make sense of what we'd just seen. And then, bam, two feet slammed onto the hood of the SUV. A man. Out of nowhere. Abby screamed and hit the gas. He smashed into the windshield, spiderwebbing the glass, then rolled off as we sped away. We didn't stop until we reached some upscale neighborhood miles away. I jumped out, lit a cigarette, and tried not to throw up. We didn't say much after that. I felt sick. I felt guilty. I was the one who suggested that park. Abbey later told her dad she hit a deer. That's what explained the dent and the shattered windshield. But I know the truth. And I'll never forget those smiles. The night I'll never forget. We didn't talk much on the drive back to my house.

Nobody wanted to be the first to say it out loud, that we had just seen something we weren't supposed to see. That those people weren't just some random group of creepy kids playing pranks. No, what we saw was organized. It was ritualistic. Abby's hands were still shaking on the wheel, and Amanda kept glancing at the busted windshield like she expected to see that guy's face pressed against it again. Sarah, she hadn't said a single word. She just sat there with her arms wrapped around herself, rocking slightly like she was trying to soothe herself. I stared out the window, my cigarette dangling from my lips, but I wasn't really seeing anything.

My mind was stuck back there in that parking lot, replaying those faces, those grins. Like they were happy to be seen. When we finally pulled into my driveway, I didn't even say goodbye. I just got out, muttered a thanks, and walked inside. My dad was already asleep, so I went straight to my room, closed the door, and sat on the floor in the dark for hours, just shaking. I didn't sleep that night. And here's the thing, I never saw those girls again. I don't mean that like they vanished or anything.

We just, never talked after that. Abby dropped me off, and that was the last time we spoke. No texts. No hangouts. No explanations. It was like we all silently agreed that if we ignored it, maybe it would stop existing. But I couldn't ignore it. Over the next few weeks, I did what anyone would do when they see something so insane they can't make sense of it.

I started Googling. Late nights, deep dives into the weirdest corners of the internet, message boards where people talked about ritual activity in our area. And you know what I found. There were rumors. Old articles. A handful of police reports that were vague as hell. Stuff about animal mutilations and, strange gatherings, in that same park. Most of it brushed off as urban legends or teen vandalism.

But the timing? It matched up. I don't think we stumbled across a prank. I think we walked in on something we weren't supposed to see. And I've been asking myself ever since, what if Abby's car hadn't started? Weird coincidences. The thing is, that wasn't my only brush with something, or someone, dark. It sounds insane when I lay it all out, like I'm cursed or something. But I swear on my life, this is all true. See, my life has been full of these strange, creepy coincidences where I end up

crossing paths with people who later become, well, monsters. It started when I was a kid. After my parents divorced, I moved with my dad to this quiet little town in Connecticut called Southbury. He worked at a shell station, pulling long hours, and once I was old enough to ride my bike, I'd go visit him there after school. It was kind of our thing, he'd let me grab a snack, I'd sit behind the counter, and we'd talk about my day. One summer day, this lanky, pale kid walked into the station. He looked weird, not just awkward, but off. You know how sometimes you look at someone, and something deep in your gut just whispers that something isn't right.

That was him. I watched as he wandered around, then slipped a snack into his pocket. I tugged at my dad's sleeve, pointed at the kid, and whispered, he's stealing. My dad walked over, confronted him, and when he found a snack, he told the kid to get out. The boy stormed out, screaming profanities the whole way. His name. Adam Lanzah. Years later, he would go on to massacre 26 people at Sandy Hook. Fast forward to 2007. I was staying with my mom in Baltimore. She had a new boyfriend at the time, and one night they

wanted to go out but couldn't find a babysitter. Enter Nick. He was a relative of a friend, probably in his late teens or early 20s, and yeah, he was kind of weird, but we got along. We played Star Wars on the PS2, watched R-rated movies I probably wasn't supposed to see, and honestly, I liked him. He was one of those older guys that made you feel cool for hanging out with them. But before my mom ever needed him to babysit again, he murdered his parents and two younger brothers. His name. Nicholas Browning. And then there was Dylan. By 2014, my stepdad had been transferred to a military base in South Carolina. I was a moody teenager by then, spending way too much time in sketchy chat rooms, talking to people I shouldn't have been talking to.

That's how I met Dylan. He seemed normal at first. Kind of quiet, awkward, but harmless. I started hanging out with him and his friends. Until I realized they weren't just weird, they were racists. Hardcore neo-Nazis trying to recruit me into their little hate group. I cut off contact. A year later, Dylan Roof walked into a church in Charleston and murdered nine people.

I know what you're thinking, no way. This many coincidences. You're making this up, but I'm not. And do you know what's worse than living with those coincidences? The paranoia. Because now, every time I meet someone new, I can't help but wonder, are they next? Jessica's story, I want to end this with another story. Not mine this time, but one I can't stop thinking about.

Her name's Jessica. She's 15, from Ireland, and she reached out online to tell her story. And when I read it, I couldn't stop shaking. Jessica lives in this big suburban neighborhood. The kind of place where everyone knows everyone. The kind of place you're supposed to feel safe. She likes to take walks, something to keep her sane during the pandemic. One evening, around 4.30 p.m., she went out for a walk. It was snowing, quiet, peaceful,

except for him. She'd seen him before. This man in his 40s, tall, always wearing the same clothes, jeans, flannel, dirty shoes, and his hair in a tight man bun. He always stared at her. And that night, as she walked past him, she felt his eyes on her again. She kept walking, kept her head down, but she couldn't shake the feeling that he was following her. And when she turned around, he was. And that's where her story cut off. She promised she'd finish it later. But she never did. And that, more than anything, terrifies me. Because maybe she can't T-O-E continued.