Solved Murders - True Crime Stories - A Cabin Trip Turns Into a Night of Terror When a Stranger Knocks After Sunset PART5 #7

Episode Date: September 18, 2025

#horrorstories #reddithorrorstories #ScaryStories #creepypasta #horrortales  #cabintripaftermath #survivorstory #nightoftfear #emotionalhealing #traumarecovery  Part 5 explores the aftermath of the terrifying cabin trip. The narrator reflects on the trauma, the lasting fear, and the long road toward healing after a night that changed everything. This chapter highlights the emotional journey of survival and the strength it takes to reclaim peace after horror.  horrorstories, reddithorrorstories, scarystories, horrorstory, creepypasta, horrortales,part5aftermath, survivorstrength, traumahealing, emotionalrecovery, nightmaresbehind, personaljourney, realfear, healingprocess, survivorreflection, horrortruth, lifeafterhorror, darkpast, overcomingfear, strengththroughpain

The night everything changed, he was still there, still staring. It wasn't the kind of casual glance you give someone when you pass them on the street. No, this guy was locked on me like some creepy department store mannequin that had suddenly come to life. He was standing just a few meters behind me, frozen but somehow moving at the same time. That's the only way I can describe it, like his whole body was too still, but his eyes followed me in a way that made my stomach churn. We made eye contact for maybe five seconds, but it felt like an hour. You ever get that primal, animalistic feeling where your body decides for you?

That deep gut instinct that says, you're in danger, move now. That's what hit me. My fight or flight instinct kicked in hard, and flight was screaming louder than anything. I didn't even want to blink. My mind scrambled, trying to figure out my next move. He was closing in slowly. I knew if I hesitated, even for a moment, I'd regret it. The crosswalk up ahead glowed faintly in the darkness.

I hurried to it, waiting for the light to change. Of course, it didn't. Those few seconds felt like an eternity. The street was nearly empty, just a long stretch of concrete lined with trees that did nothing to make me feel safer. The road wasn't well lit either, only a few dim lamps flickered here and there, leaving plenty of shadows for someone like him to disappear into. And then I heard it. Footsteps. Soft but deliberate. Getting closer. I told myself he would just walk by. He'd pass me, maybe mumble something weird, and that would be it. But no. Hey there, he said, his voice low,

like he was trying not to scare me but failing miserably. I turned around slowly, forcing an awkward smile I didn't mean. Uh, hey, that was all I could muster. The light turned, and I crossed the street. My heart thumped as I walked quickly, hoping the distance between us would grow. It didn't. His footsteps grew louder behind me. Hey, he called out again, this time with more insistence.

My body stiffened. Uh, hi, I said back, trying to sound casual but also firm. My voice came out stronger than I expected, but I didn't dare stop walking. I'm trying to get rid of some phones, he said suddenly, closing the gap between us. You want one? I'm selling them off. That's when my stomach sank. No one trying to sell a phone chases you down a dark street at night.

He wasn't trying to make a deal. This was something else, something darker. Every alarm bell in my head went off at once. No, thanks, I said quickly, forcing some fake cheer into my tone. Have a nice night. I sped up my pace. He matched it. That's when the panic set in. My phone was broken. I couldn't call anyone for help.

I couldn't even fake a phone call to make him back off. I was truly alone. I turned a corner, hoping, praying, that someone, anyone, would be around. No cars. No people. Just me and him. It was now or never. I counted in my head.

Three, two, one, run. And I did. I sprinted like my life depended on it, because I knew it did. For a second, I thought maybe I'd lose him. Maybe he'd give up. Then I heard it. The pounding of footsteps behind me. He was chasing me.

My heart nearly exploded out of my chest. My legs burned, but I didn't stop. And that's when I made the mistake of looking back. Even in the poor lighting, I saw it. A large kitchen knife glinting in his hand. My blood ran cold. He wasn't trying to rob me. He was trying to kill me.

I wanted to scream, but my body was too focused on running. I tore through the streets of my village, lungs burning, until, finally, I saw people in the distance. That's when it happened. I felt it. A cold, sharp object slammed into my back. I staggered forward, gasping. The pain was immediate and unreal. And then came the warm, sticky feeling of blood sliding down my spine. He'd stabbed me.

But I didn't stop. Even though my vision blurred and my legs felt like jelly, I kept going. I wasn't dying on that street. There was a small police outpost across from my neighborhood. I saw it like a glowing beacon in the night and sprinted with everything I had left. As I stumbled toward the entrance, I looked back. He was gone. Just like that, vanished into the night.

I crashed through the door, screaming. Two officers rushed to me. One grabbed a phone, calling an ambulance, while the other pressed something against my wound to stop the bleeding. I tried to explain between sobs, but the words came out jumbled. He, he followed me, knife. That's all I could manage. The ambulance came fast. The hospital stay was a blur. They stitched me up and said I was lucky. If the blade had gone even an inch deeper, I wouldn't be here. They asked for a description. I gave them every detail I could remember. But they never found him. That was five years ago. I haven't taken a solo walk since. And I don't think I ever will. The Mike incident. Now, that wasn't the only time I almost

died. The next story is even worse. Let me backtrack a bit. I was 16 when this happened, living in a rough of Canada. I won't say exactly where because, well, I like breathing. But let's just say it wasn't the kind of neighborhood you stroll through at night unless you know exactly who runs it. Back then, I was a punk. I'm not proud of it, but it's the truth. Me and my friends thought we were invincible, robbing, selling weed, partying like we were rock stars. No rules, no consequences. That's how I met Mike. He was a, friend of a friend. If you picture danger personified, you've got Mike. Fat white dude, late 30s, tattoo sleeves crawling up both arms. The words F asterisk asterisk you were tattooed

across his knuckles, just in case you weren't already terrified of him. He had a reputation, always in and out of prison. Drugs, assaults, you name it. So why was I dealing with a guy like him? Because I was young. and stupid. I was trying to sell some electronics I'd acquired. Mike was interested. I didn't go alone. I brought a friend, partly for help carrying the stuff, partly so I didn't get jumped. We walked into his house, a filthy little place that smelled like cigarettes and despair. He lounged on the couch like a king on his throne. How much, he grunted. I told him. Can't even remember the number now, but

I know he didn't like it. I'm not paying that. 400. Take it or leave it. We went back and forth. My friend, being the idiot he was, decided to escalate things. Quit F asterisk asterisk asterisk I-N-G around, fat ass. Pay up or shove it.

That's when everything changed. Mike reached between the couch cushions and pulled out a chrome handgun. Cocked it. Pointed it right at us. Get the F asterisk asterisk asterisk out of my house, he snarled. We didn't argue. We grabbed the electronics and bolted. Once we were safely away, we laughed like maniacs, like it was all some big joke.

But inside, I was shaking. I just had a gun in my face. I thought that was the end of it. I was wrong. That night, I went to a house party with my girlfriend. drank too much, smoked too much. Typical night. She eventually wanted to go home, so we left on foot. Halfway there, she stopped to take off her heels. That's when I heard it. Surprise, bang. A gunshot. I grabbed her, ducking behind a car as more shots rang out. She slumped in my arms.

She'd been hit, in the chest. I pressed my head. I pressed my head. hand against her wound, begging her to hold on. Then he appeared. Mike. And he wasn't alone. Behind him stood another man with a sawed-off shotgun and a bandana hiding his face. Mike yanked my girlfriend away from me, aiming his gun at my head. Dude, please. I begged. She's got nothing to do with this. He smirked. Damn shame. She's cute. Then he pointed the gun at her head. Something in me snapped. I lunged at him, screaming, I'll F asterisk asterisk asterisk I-N-G kill you. Before I reached him, the other guy smashed me in the back of the head with the shotgun. Mike turned the gun on me. Your turn. Then, gunfire erupted. My friends, they'd seen what

was happening and came running, shooting at Mike and his buddy. In the chaos, they fled. The rest of the night is a blur, cops, ambulances, tears. My girlfriend survived. Barely. Mike didn't. The cops caught up with him days later. And me? I learned that night that I wasn't untouchable.

Most of the people I used to run with are dead or in prison now. I should be, too. So yeah, like I said, this all went down about five years ago. I was 16. And honestly, I wasn't some innocent little angel who just happened to get caught in a bad situation. Nah. I was a total screw-up back then. No other way to put it. Me and my friends thought we were untouchable, little wannabe gangsters, thinking we were living the high life when really, we were just a bunch of dumb kids doing dumb stuff. We'd steal. We'd sell whatever we could get our

hands-on. We'd throw these chaotic parties that'd go all night, like we were rock stars or something. Looking back now, I cringe. But at the time, I thought I was invincible. The place where all this went down. I won't name it. Not because I'm trying to be mysterious or whatever, but because, well, I don't want anyone trying to track me down. It was in Canada, that's all I'll say. And like I said, we weren't exactly the good kids in the neighborhood. Anyway, this one day, I had gotten my hands on some electronics, don't ask how, just, let's say they fell off the back of a truck. I knew a guy who might be interested in buying them.

He wasn't really my friend, more like, a friend of a friend. Someone I'd been warned about, but I figured, hey, it's just a quick deal. What could go wrong? This guy, let's call him my friend. was, well, he was something else. You know when you meet someone in every part of you is screaming, stay away from this dude? That was Mike. Big guy, probably pushing 300 pounds, tattoos running down both arms. And not the artsy kind. No, I'm talking, I've been to prison, don't mess with me, tattoos. He even had the words F asterisk asterisk you, tattooed across his fingers, which pretty

much summed up his whole personality. He had this permanent scowl, like the world owed him something. And here's the thing, Mike wasn't just some shady guy you meet on the street. He had a reputation. Everyone in our circle knew about him. In and out of prison, mostly for drugs and assault. Some people said he'd done worse. You know how rumors are. But still, I should have listened. Instead, I ignored every single red flag and walked right into his house like an idiot. I brought one of my buddies with me because, well, I needed help carrying the stuff and also. I didn't really trust Mike. Not that having one friend with me would have done much if things went south, but hey, it made me feel a little safer.

We get inside his place, and let me tell you, the dude lived exactly how you'd expect someone like him to live. It was a dump. Old furniture, empty beer cans everywhere, that musty smell like no one had cleaned in years. He didn't even pretend to make the place look presentable. He just plopped down on this ratty old couch and stared at me like I was wasting his time. So, he said in this low growl of a voice, how much you want for it, I told him my price. I don't even remember the exact amount now, but it wasn't outrageous. Fair for what I was selling. But Mike? Mike wasn't having it. I'm not paying that, he said, waving his hand like I was trying to scam him. Four hundred. That's the best you're going to get. Four hundred. That was way lower than what I was asking. He might as well have spit in my face. We went back and forth for a bit, me trying to hold my ground,

him acting like I was insulting him by not just taking his offer. It was tense, but I figured did it end in one of us caving. And then my friend, God bless his stupid, reckless soul, decides to open his mouth. Hey, fat asterisk asterisk, asterisk, he said. Quit screwing us around and pay up, or go F asterisk asterisk yourself. Everything stopped. Mike's eyes narrowed. I swear, the temperature in the room dropped about 10 degrees. And before I could even process what was happening, Mike reaches down between the couch cushions and pulls out a chrome handgun. Not just pulls it out. He cocked it. Pointed it directly at our faces. Get the F asterisk asterisk out of my house, he snarled. Now, before I blow your little heads off, I've had plenty of scary

moments in my life, but that one? That one is burned into my memory. When someone points a loaded gun at you, everything slows down. Your brain is screaming, this is it, this is how I die. But you can't move. You're frozen. I don't even remember what I said. Probably nothing. My buddy sure didn't have any smart comments left in him. We just grabbed the stuff and got out of there as fast as we could. And here's the worst part, once we were in the car, we started laughing. Like it was some kind of joke. Like almost dying was funny. But deep down, I was shaking. I felt sick.

I wanted to go home and crawl into bed and forget the whole thing ever happened. But of course, I didn't. That night, I went to a house party with my girlfriend. Because why not? I figured I could drink away the memory of having a gun in my face. I spent hours drinking, smoking, just trying to pretend everything was fine. It wasn't. Eventually, my girlfriend wanted to go home. She was drunk, I was drunk, but whatever. We decided to walk. At one point, she took off her shoes because they were hurting her feet.

We stopped so she could adjust them, and that's when it happened. Surprise, that voice. That deep, mocking voice. I turned just in time to see a flash. Banged. The sound. The sound. was deafening. My ears were ringing. I ducked down behind a car and pulled my girlfriend with me. She wasn't moving. I looked at her and my stomach dropped. Blood. So much blood. She'd been shot in the chest. I panicked. I pressed my hand to the wound, whispering, it's okay, it's okay, stay with me. But I don't know if I was trying to convince her or myself. And then, I saw him. Mike.

He had this twisted grin on his face, like he was enjoying this. Like shooting my girlfriend was just another Tuesday for him. And he wasn't alone. There was another guy behind him, bandana over his face, carrying a sawed-off shotgun. Mike yanked my girlfriend out of my arms like she was a ragdoll and pointed his gun at me. Please, I begged. Mike, she has nothing to do with this. Let her go, he tilted his head.

Damn shame, kid, he said. She's cute, and then he aimed the gun at her head. Something in me snapped. I didn't care about the gun anymore. I didn't care if I died. I just saw red. I screamed, I'm gonna F asterisk asterisk asterisk I and G kill you, and charged at him. I didn't make it far.

The other guy, the one with the shotgun, slammed me in the back of the head with the butt of his weapon. I went down hard. Everything was spinning. My ears were ringing. And then I heard Mike say, Your turn. I thought that was it. I thought I was about to die. But then, gunshots. Not from Mike. From somewhere else. My friends. They had followed me, apparently, and when they saw what what was happening, they opened fire. The two guys ran, took off into the night. The rest is a blur. Cops. Ambulances. Someone telling my girlfriend's family what happened. I don't even remember half of it. I just remember sitting there, numb, thinking, this is my fault. All of this is my fault. Mike and his buddy didn't get far. The cops caught them a few days later. But by then,

something in me had changed. I wasn't untouchable. I wasn't a rock star. I was just a stupid kid who almost got himself and the girl he loved killed. Most of the people I used to hang out with. They're either dead or in prison now. I got out. Barely. And I'm never going back. The end. Thank you.