Solved Murders - True Crime Stories - Chilling Encounters Stalkers, Hidden Cameras, and Terrifying Underground Tapes PART1 #15

Episode Date: October 29, 2025

#horrorstories #reddithorrorstories #ScaryStories #creepypasta #horrortales #stalkerencounters #hiddencameras #undergroundtapes #truehorrorstories #survivorstories  Part 1 introduces chilling real-life encounters involving stalkers, hidden cameras, and underground tapes. The stories reveal how ordinary lives can be invaded and monitored in terrifying ways, creating intense suspense and fear. This installment highlights the dangers of being watched, manipulated, and threatened in seemingly safe environments.  horrorstories, reddithorrorstories, scarystories, horrorstory, creepypasta, horrortales, stalkerencounters, hiddencameras, undergroundtapes, suspenseandterror, dangerousencounters, frighteningexperiences, realhorrorstories, nearfatalencounters, survivorstories, fearinthedark, chillingencounters, unexpecteddanger, psychologicalhorror, truecrimehorror

My lucky hat, my sister's stalker, and the creepy roommate. I was 19 when all of this started, and at the time, I thought my life was about as normal as it could get for someone living way out in the sticks. I lived on a farm with my mom and my older sister. Our land stretched on forever, nothing but open fields, broken down fences, and rows of crops disappearing into the horizon. No neighbors for miles. The kind of place where you could scream at the top of your lungs and nobody would hear you except maybe a crow or a passing coyote. Some people say living that isolated is peaceful, but honestly, it could also feel, eerie. Like the world was too quiet sometimes.

Most of the farm work fell on me. I was the one out there every morning fixing things that broke, feeding animals, checking irrigation. My mom handled the business side, taxes, supply orders, coordinating sales. She was good at numbers, I was good at hauling hay and repairing rusty hinges. My sister, on the other hand, had nothing to do with the farm. She had an office job in the city, and she usually dragged herself home late, sometimes looking like the life had been sucked out of her by fluorescent lights and endless emails. That night was one of those nights.

I was outside on a ladder fixing the porch light that kept flickering, when my sister's car rolled into the driveway. She parked, stepped out, and from the way she moved, I could already tell she was tired. But when I got inside the house, I noticed something was different. She wasn't just tired. She was shaken. She sat at the kitchen table with Mom, whispering in this urgent, low tone like she didn't want the walls to hear. I asked her what was going on, and that's when she told me something that made my stomach twist. There's this car, she said, her voice trembling a little. It's been following me. Not just tonight.

All week. She explained how she'd seen the same light blue sedan behind her on multiple nights. At first, she thought it was just some commuter taking the same road. But then it started to feel deliberate. Sometimes the car would tailgate her, then back off, then vanish, only to reappear again a few days later. Tonight was the worst, though. Tonight, they had followed her nearly the whole way home. She tried taking random turns, going down roads she didn't normally use. She made you turns, circle blocks, but every time she glanced in her mirror, those headlights were there. That's why she was late. She had been desperately trying to shake them off.

Mon told her right away, call the police. And I agreed. My sister was smart and capable, but she was also, how do I put this, too friendly? Too trusting. She had this habit of seeing the best in people, even when they were flashing neon signs screaming, Stay away. Every one of her ex-boyfriends had turned out to be creeps, stalkers, or wannabe manipulators. So the idea of her being followed was extra scary.

The problem? She hadn't gotten the license plate. She was too rattled, too focused on getting away. All she could tell the cops was, like blue sedan, older model. That wasn't much to work with. The police told her the usual, reported if it happens again. That was all they could do. A few days went by.

No car. No tailgater. We thought maybe it was over. But that's when things got even weirder. One morning, I walked out to the front porch, ready to start work, and noticed a shoebox sitting there. No return address, no shipping label, nothing. Just an old shoebox with duct tape around it. I opened it, half expecting some kind of snake to jump out. But instead, There was a VHS tape inside. Yeah, a VHS tape, like it was 1,997 or something. We still had an old VCR hooked up in the living room, mostly because Mom refused to get rid of it.

So I popped the tape in. What I saw on the screen made my blood run cold. It was footage. Surveillance footage. Of our house. The camera was angled. from far away, pointed directly at our front door. The video started in the morning, with my sister leaving for work, and ended when she came home that night. There was a weird cut in the

middle, so it wasn't the full eight hours, but the message was clear, someone had been watching us. When my sister woke up, I showed her the tape. She froze. That was the day before I called the cops, she whispered. Look, I'm wearing the same clothes. It was undeniable. Someone had been filming us. My sister and mom were freaked out, but I decided to do something about it. I walked out to the edge of the pasture, the direction the video seemed to have been filmed from. The vantage point was perfect, but there was nothing there.

No camera, no tripod, no footprints. Any evidence had been erased, probably by rain, or maybe the creep had been careful. We called the police again. They asked for the tape, but of course, they said the same thing as before, there was no direct threat. Just, implied. Without proof of trespassing, their hands were tied. Basically, the person who left the tape knew exactly how to play this game. We thought maybe that would be the end of it.

But then, a second package arrived. Another tape. Same thing, our house, my sister leaving, my sister coming back. That's when I realized we were dealing with someone who wasn't just a stalker. They were taunting us. They wanted us to know they were watching. The Forest Cult, Part 2, Continuation. When people say, you'll laugh about this someday, they clearly aren't talking about running into 300 tree people in the middle of nowhere.

We weren't laughing. We weren't even breathing right. The whole drive back out toward the highway felt like being chased, even though technically nobody was following us. Every time a shadow moved in the headlights, I swore I saw another one of those camouflaged figures just waiting at the edge of the road. Maybe my brain was fried from adrenaline,

but part of me couldn't shake the idea that they were silently escorting us out of their territory. Eric drove like he was balancing on a tightrope. Hands at ten and two, eyes glued forward, shoulders tense. No music, no chatter, no dumb jokes like he usually cracked on late-night drives. Just the sound of the tires crunching gravel and the occasional nervous exhale from someone in the truck bed. Ashley sat next to me in my car when we finally merged onto the highway. She didn't say a single word for a at least 10 miles. She just stared out the window, clutching her backpack like it contained her entire life. And honestly, after what we saw, I couldn't blame her. The aftermath nobody wanted. The next morning, you'd think we would have all texted each other a hundred times, trying to piece together what happened. But no. Radio silence. Not a single message in our group

chat. Nobody wanted to be the first to bring it up. Maybe it was guilt for running, maybe it was fear that talking about it would summon those things again. When Eric finally broke the silence two days later, it wasn't what I expected. Eric, anyone else's phone acting weird? That was it. Not what the hell happened? Not, are you guys okay? Just that one question about his phone. And of course, right when I read it, I realized mine had been glitching too. Battery draining twice as fast, random static during calls, notifications showing up hours late. At first, I brushed it off. Poor signal, maybe some background app hogging resources.

But then Ashley mentioned hers was doing the same thing. And Mike and Jake. Every single one of us. The visit. For nights after we left the woods, I woke up around 3 a.m. to what I thought was tapping at my window. It wasn't loud, more like a soft tick-tick-tick, almost like a branch brushing against the glass. But here's the thing, I live on the second floor of my building. No trees even close enough to reach my window.

When I pulled the curtain back, there was nothing. Just the faint orange glow of the streetlight and an eye. empty parking lot. Still, I couldn't shake the feeling that something had been there. I didn't mention it to anyone at first, because honestly, I didn't want to sound crazy. But two days later, Ashley caved during lunch. Ashley, has anyone else seen something? Like, outside their windows? The group chat blew up. Eric had heard footsteps around his house late at night. Jake's dog wouldn't stop barking at the tree lean behind his property. Mike swore he saw a figure in his rearview mirror that vanished when he looked again. We weren't done with those people. Not even

close. The police report that went nowhere. I thought maybe the cops would actually follow up on our report after all. Maybe they'd realize a bunch of 20-somethings wouldn't make up something this insane. So, I went down to the station myself. Big mistake. The officer behind the desk barely looked up from his paperwork when I asked about the report. He flipped through a binder, shrugged, and said, doesn't look like we found anything unusual. That was it. No follow-up questions, no offers to investigate further. Just total dismissal.

But when I pressed, when I mentioned there were hundreds of the things. those people, he finally looked me in the eye. And I swear there was something in his expression, like recognition, like he knew exactly what I was talking about but wasn't going to admit it. He leaned closer, voice low. Officer, best advice I can give you, kid. Let it go. Don't go looking for answers you don't want. And just like that, he went back to his paperwork. Conversation over. The breaking point. Things escalated fast after that. Eric's truck, the same one we used to escape, got broken into.

Nothing stolen, nothing damaged, just his glove box open and inside it, a bundle of twigs tied together with twine. Jake's house got egged, except when he went to clean it up, that eggs weren't eggs at all. They were small sacks filled with something foul-smelling and rotten. Ashley started getting phone calls from unknown numbers. Always late at night. Always silence on the other end, except for the faint sound of that same chanting we'd heard in the woods. I was the last holdout, convincing myself it was just bad luck or paranoia. Until one morning I stepped outside and found a dead crow on my car hood. Its eyes were gone. Too many questions.

We met up at a diner, all five of us, trying to make sense of what was happening. Nobody ate much. Coffee went cold, pancakes sat untouched. Do you think it's a cult? Ashley finally asked, voice barely above a whisper. Eric shook his head. If it's just a cult, why didn't they kill us when they had the chance? They had a sniper on us.

They had numbers. They let us go. Maybe that's the point, Mike muttered. Maybe they wanted us to leave, but not before we saw them. I hated how that sounded. Like we were witnesses to something bigger than we could understand. Jake leaned in, his face pale. What if, what if it's not about us?

What if it's about spreading fear? About controlling the story? We tell people, nobody believes us. Police dismiss us. Phone's glitch. Weird stuff keeps happening. It's like they're already inside our lives. That shut the table down. None of us wanted to admit it, but he was right. The dream. That night, I had a dream so vivid it felt more like a memory. I was back at the campsite. The fire was burning low, embers glowing red.

Around me stood the tree men, hundreds of them, just like before. But this time, none of them wore camouflage. Their faces were visible. And the worst part... They weren't strangers. They were people I knew. My neighbors. Old teachers.

The guy who works at the gas station. Faces from everyday life. all staring at me, all completely silent. When I jolted awake, my sheets were damp with sweat and the faint smell of smoke lingered in my room. And that was only the beginning of what came next. To be continued.