Solved Murders - True Crime Stories - Chased, Watched, and Hunted True Stories of Terror, Close Calls, and Creeps PART3 #75

Episode Date: September 27, 2025

#horrorstories #reddithorrorstories #ScaryStories #creepypasta #horrortales #trueencounters #realhorrorstories #stalkerstories #creepyencounters #nightmarefuel  Part 3 of Chased, Watched, and Hunted brings another round of terrifying real-life encounters where ordinary moments turned into chilling nightmares. These stories capture the fear of being followed, the panic of close calls, and the unnerving feeling of being hunted by strangers—or something worse. Each tale pulls you deeper into the raw tension of survival when danger is lurking just out of sight.  horrorstories, reddithorrorstories, scarystories, horrorstory, creepypasta, horrortales, trueencounters, truestoryhorror, creepyencounters, realnightmares, unsettlingstories, scaryencounters, disturbingmoments, chillingtales, nightmarefuel, stalkerstories, realhorrorstories, survivalhorror, creepyexperiences, truestoryterror

So I stepped outside. Just needed a breath. Too hot in there. My scarf was strangling me, gloves felt like oven mitts and the jacket. That thing was a sauna all on its own. No snow, no wind, not even a breeze. Just calm, winter air. Exactly what I needed.

I'd barely been outside a minute when this white Chevrolet creeps up to the curb. Real smooth. At first, I thought it was nothing. Just someone lost or dropping someone off. But then I saw them. Two huge guys, like NFL linemen huge. Crew cuts, both of them.

Driver and passenger. I figured, military dudes, maybe. We had a base not far off, so it wouldn't be totally weird. But there was something, off. The passenger rolls his window down, flashes this toothpaste commercial smote. and says, Hey, come here. I want to talk to you. I was 16. Awkward age. I wasn't stupid, but I wasn't confident either. Polite to a fault. You could punch me in the face and I'd probably apologize for bleeding on your shoes. So I started stammering, oh, I'm sorry, this isn't what it

looks like. I don't know why I said that. Like, did I think they thought I was working the street corner or something. Embarrassment can make you say dumb stuff. They kept insisting they just wanted to talk. Friendly tone, but their eyes were sharp. I kept repeating, I'm not that kind of girl, I swear. I'm just waiting for my mom, she's inside. They weren't hearing a word. Suddenly, the passenger door swings open and one of the giants starts coming toward me. Slow, deliberate. Like a lion locking eyes on a gazelle that forgot it had legs. And that was it. Something switched in my brain. That passive, apologetic kid melted away. You don't need to get out of the car just to talk. I shouted, way louder than I expected. I can hear you just fine from here. Irish fire kicked in. Scandinavian ice in my veins.

I might have been five foot nothing, but at that moment, I felt seven feet tall. Didn't matter. He kept walking. I turned and bolted back inside like I'd just seen a ghost. My mom was mid-sentence, probably telling some long-winded story, and my uncle was standing nearby, chatting. They took one look at my face and knew something was wrong. What happened, they asked at the same time. I explained everything, voice shaking.

What kind of car, my uncle snapped. White Chevrolet. My mom didn't hesitate. Go get him. That was all it took. My uncle shot out of there like a cannon. Out the doors, down the sidewalk, chasing that car like a man on a mission. You sons of, underscore, underscore. I heard him yell.

Get out of that car so I can rearrange your teeth. My mom was seething. You could see the rage in her eyes. But my little sister, just a toddler, was getting scared, so I crouched down and tried to distract her. A few minutes later, my uncle came back, huffing and puffing like he'd just run a marathon. They hit the light down the street, he gasped, but took off before I could catch up. That was the end of our trip to Indy. We still talk about it sometimes. Moral of the story. Being polite can get you killed.

If your guts screaming, listen to it. Fast forward to another story, different place, different time. I live on a farm about 35 minutes outside the city. Not a massive city, around 100,000 people, but big enough. I play hockey there, go to school there. So every morning, it's the same routine, drive into town for practice, school, then back home. There's this two-kilometer gravel road you got to take before you hit the main highway. Usually dead quiet. Sometimes a deer or two, but that's it.

One day, on my way to a home game, I passed this beat-up tractor near a ditch. It had been sitting there a month, abandoned, no big deal. But this time, there was someone under it. Looked like they were fixing something. But, they weren't moving at all. No shifting, no grunts, no, ouch, when they bang the wrench on something. Just, still, kind of gave me the creeps, but I had a game. to get to. So I kept going. Hours later, I met up with my mom post-game. She was talking to my

aunt on the phone when her face went pale. They found a guy, she said, almost whispering. His head got cut clean off while fixing a tractor. I stopped breathing. Where? I asked, dreading the answer. Near where we live, she said. Right around that gravel road, that man, was already dead when I passed him. Had gone. And I hadn't noticed. On the way back home, the area was swarmed, ambulance, cops, people with cameras. The body was still there, covered by a blanket.

That big tractor will have blocked the view, thank God. If I'd seen his headless body, I'd have nightmares for life. Worse, my little brother was with my mom. If he'd seen it. I still think about it. Okay, next one. This happened in 2019. I was 22, going to Brigham Young University in Utah.

Thanksgiving break was coming up, and I planned to drive back home to California. Bay Area. About a 12-hour hall. I kept checking the weather every hour like a maniac. If you've ever driven through the Sierra Nevada's, you know that snowstorms can turn that trip into a death wish. My sister was also headed home, but she chickened out and booked a last-minute flight. Smart move. I, however, decided to be brave, read, stubborn, and hit the road. Only problem. My Ford focus was front-wheel drive, totally not snowstorm material.

So I asked my sister if I could take her Jeep Wrangler instead. Better traction, more power. She agreed, but only if I drove her to the Salt Lake City. airport first. Deal. So I drop her off, say our goodbyes, and hit I-15 North, eventually merging onto I-80 West. At first, the road was clear. Nevada was smooth sailing. But I knew the real challenge was waiting just past Reno. The snowstorm was crawling in from the west, ready to swallow everything in its path. As I drove deeper into the mountains, the world turned white. Visibility dropped. Snow came down like someone shook a giant powdered sugar shaker. The road disappeared under a thick blanket, and my wipers worked overtime. Cars were pulling over left and right.

Truckers hit the hazard lights. But I pressed on, slow and steady. Then, halfway through a winding stretch with cliffs on both sides, my headlights caught something ahead. A minivan, half buried in snow, hazards blinking weekly. I slowed down and pulled up beside it. Inside was a woman, maybe late 40s, and a kid in the back seat. She looked panicked. Windows fogged. Engine off. I rolled my window down. You okay? She shook her head. Car died. No cell service. I couldn't just leave them there. The temperature was already in the teens. Another hour and and they'd be icicles. Pop the hood, I told her. Let me take a look. Now, I'm no mechanic, but it didn't take a genius to see her battery was toast. Totally corroded. No way that thing was

starting again without help. Grab what you need, I said. I'll drive you guys to the next station. She hesitated, but eventually piled into the Jeep with the kid and a couple of bags. The drive was tense. Snow was relentless, and we nearly slid off the road twice. But after an hour, we saw lights. A rest stop. They thanked me a hundred times, offered to pay me, but I waved them off. Just pay it forward, I said. I never got their names, but I think about them sometimes. Wonder if they made it home okay. Wonder if that kid remembers the stranger who gave them a ride through a Blizzard. Because I sure do. To be continued.