Solved Murders - True Crime Stories - A House Party Turned Into a Trap I Barely Escaped a Setup That Could’ve Killed Me PART1 #72

Episode Date: September 16, 2025

#horrorstories #reddithorrorstories #ScaryStories #creepypasta #horrortales  #housepartyhorror #trappedandbetrayed #neardeathescape #partytrap #survivorstory  Part 1 introduces a terrifying true story of a night meant for fun that quickly devolved into a deadly trap. The narrator found themselves surrounded by betrayal and danger, barely escaping a setup that could have ended their life. The story exposes the harsh reality behind appearances and how trust can be weaponized in the most unexpected places. This opening chapter sets the stage for a harrowing journey of survival and fear.  horrorstories, reddithorrorstories, scarystories, horrorstory, creepypasta, horrortales,partytrap, nearfatalescape, betrayalhorror, survivalinstinct, dangerousnight, truehorrorstory, chaoticevents, twistedfriendship, darksecrets, emotionaltrauma, realfear, nightmareunfolds, trustbroken, chillingexperience

This whole thing happened back in the early 90s, somewhere around 91 or 92. I was about 10 or 11 years old. We were living in a quiet, rural area not too far from Kansas City. Now, if you drive through that same neighborhood today, it's barely recognizable, houses all over the place, paved roads, new stores. But back then, man, it was all gravel roads and big open fields, the kind of place where you knew all your neighbors by name. We lived on this little gravel road where hardly anyone ever drove unless they lived there.

I'm talking, maybe five or six houses on the whole street. Across from our house, there was this wide cornfield with some trees scattered near the edge. That's where I spent most of my time with the local kids. There were two boys my age in the neighborhood, and the three of us decided we were going to build ourselves a treehouse or a fort or something. You know, something to call our own. We didn't care how rough it looked, hell, we thought we were engineers. It was like our own version of the Losers Club in that old Stephen King miniseries, it, you know, when they build that dam outside dairy? Yeah, it felt just like that. Every afternoon, we'd meet up, head across the street, and start hammering boards into trees,

stacking wood, pretending we were soldiers or superheroes or whatever else our imaginations came up with. Then one afternoon, while I was out there with one of the boys, we noticed something weird. A small, beat-up blue car kept driving up and down the street. Now, because it was a gravel road, folks usually drove slow to avoid kicking up dust or spinning out. But this guy was creeping. Like, extra slow. And every time he passed by, he'd look out the window and stare at us. I mean, stare. Like he was studying us or something. He did this three, maybe four times.

At first, we just figured he was lost, maybe trying to figure out directions or something. Maybe curious about what we were building. We didn't think too much of it. But then my friend had to leave. Something about dinner or chores, I don't remember. So there I was, alone in the fort, still fiddling with something. sticks and rope, trying to build something that probably made zero architectural sense. That's when I saw the blue car again. This time, it didn't just drive by. It stopped.

Dead stopped, just a few feet from where I was standing. The driver rolled the window down and stared at me. I don't mean the casual kind of glance people do when they're driving past something unusual. No, this guy looked at me like he had something planned. Right then, my stomach dropped. You know how they always told us about stranger danger. My dad used to say, if a stranger ever tries to grab you, you scream your damn head off and run like hell. That advice came echoing back, loud in my head. I started looking around, thinking, where the hell do I run? If I go into the cornfield, I'll be lost. That field stretched for miles. If I tried to run to my house, I'd have to cross the street.

right in front of his car. Then I saw him reach for something. I don't know what it was. Could have been anything. A phone. A weapon. My instincts didn't care. They just screamed, go. I saw the driver's door crack open. That was it. My body took over, and I booked it. Ran full speed toward my house. I kept to the far side of the road, keeping as much distance as possible from his car. I could hear the crunch of the gravel as he slammed the door shut and threw the car into reverse. He was trying to cut me off. I hit the edge of the road and dove across, just barely dodging his bumper. If I'd been even half a second slower, he would have hit me, or worse, grabbed me.

I didn't stop. I screamed the whole way up the driveway, yelling for my dad. He burst out the front door just as I made it up the steps. I turned around, gasping, pointing at the road. But the blue car, gone. All that was left was a cloud of dust swirling in the air. That night, I had this horrible nightmare. I was running down an endless gravel road, my feet raw, my throat dry, and behind me, always just a few feet back, was that same blue car, crawling, chasing, relentless. I woke up screaming. My parents came running. I ended up sleeping in their room for a week. Even now, almost 30 years later, I remember it like it was yesterday. I have no doubt

in my mind that the man in that blue car had bad intentions. If I hadn't run, if I had hesitated even a second longer, I probably wouldn't be here. I think about all those missing kid posters we saw growing up, and I wonder, was that man connected to them? Guess I'll never know. But I'll tell you one thing, I've taught my kids the same lesson my dad taught me. If something feels off, you run. You scream. You survive. Now, that wasn't the only creepy encounter I had growing up. Let me fast forward a few years to when I was a teenager. I had this habit of cutting through the local park at night, even though everyone warned against it. The stories were all the same, homeless people causing trouble, muggings, weirdos lurking around, but I brushed it off. I worked as a

lifeguard at the community pool and usually finished late, and the park was the fastest way home. Every time I walked through, there was this one particular spot where I always smelled weed. Strong. But I never saw anyone. Not once. It became normal. Then came the night everything changed. I was doing my usual stroll through the park, passing the spot where the weed smell always lingered. But this time, I felt watched. I glanced behind me and saw a figure.

Tall, thin. I couldn't tell if it was a guy or a girl. They were just far enough back to be a silhouette. Then I saw the mask. Not just any mask, one of those guy Fox Vee. for Vendetta masks. Creepy as hell. And this person was wearing a short skirt, holding a knife, and moving towards me. Then came the scream. It was blood-curdling. Not high-pitched. No, this was deep, guttural. Not human. Or not sane, at least. It made every hair on my body stand up.

I didn't wait around. I turned and ran. Harder than I'd ever run in my life. The sound of their feet slamming the ground echoed behind me. They were chasing me. I made it to my front door, heart ready to explode, patting every pocket for my keys. Nothing. They were in my backpack, which I had dropped sometime during the sprint. So I banged on the door.

Hard. Loud. Desperate. My dad opened the door mid-yell, ready to scold me. until he saw my face. Someone followed me home, I gasped. They had a knife. He stepped outside, but there was no one.

Just the quiet street. I never saw that figure again. But that wasn't the end of creepy run-ins. Let's jump ahead to October 2016. You remember the killer clown craze, right? People dressing up like clowns, scaring others, sometimes even assaulting them. Well, at the time, I thought it was just dumb teenagers being idiots. I was living alone then, in a two-story house in the middle of nowhere.

My nearest neighbor was three miles away. Just tall grass and forest between us. That night, I was watching Friday the 13th, getting into the Halloween spirit. Around 10.55 p.m., right as Mrs. Voorhees was about to get decapitated, I heard a knock at the window. Not the front door. The window. I paused the movie and looked, but saw nothing but dark. Ten minutes later, I was heading upstairs when I heard knocking again, this time at the front door. Now, my front door had these frosted glass panels. I leaned to the side and saw something red.

I changed my angle. Boom, there it was. A freaking clown. Full makeup, big red nose, red balloon, the whole thing. And a knife. He pressed his face right up to the glass. I dropped my phone, picked it up, started dialing 911. That's when he started pounding on the door. Like, loud enough that the glass cracked. I sprinted upstairs, locked my bedroom door.

Right as I was about to call the cops, my phone rang. It was my neighbor. Reception sucked in my area, and his voice kept cutting in and out. All I caught was, clown, broke in, heading your way, then the line died. I called 911, breathless, explaining everything. While on the phone, I heard glass shatter downstairs. Dispatch told me to stay locked in the room. Then came the footsteps.

Up the stairs. Slow. Heavy. Then pounding on my door. It lasted forever. Then, sirens. Clown guy screamed some nonsense and bolted out the back. The cops showed up seconds later. Turns out my neighbor had also been attacked. The clown broke into his house first. Police searched the area and found the guy hiding in my backyard. He had two knives and a loaded

Glock. The scariest part. He covered three miles in two minutes. No vehicle. No four. No flashlight. Just a clown in the dark. The next day, I started getting texts from an unknown number. Stuff like, you're next. Better sleep with one eye open. The guy was in custody, so who the hell was texting me? I never got answers. Nothing else happened. But that whole ordeal made one thing very clear. I hate. Clowns. To be continued.