Solved Murders - True Crime Stories - Chilling True Crime Encounters From the Gainesville Ripper to Unexpected Killers PART2 #1

Episode Date: October 8, 2025

#horrorstories #reddithorrorstories #ScaryStories #creepypasta #horrortales #truecrime #gainesvilleripper #unexpectedkillers #criminalencounters #realhorrorstories   “Chilling True Crime Encounters: From the Gainesville Ripper to Unexpected Killers PART 2” continues the terrifying journey into real-life encounters with killers. From infamous serial crimes to shocking unexpected attacks, these stories highlight the fear, tension, and unpredictability of facing dangerous individuals. Each account reveals the chilling reality of human cruelty and the lingering trauma left behind.  horrorstories, reddithorrorstories, scarystories, horrorstory, creepypasta, horrortales, truecrime, gainesvilleripper, unexpectedkillers, criminalencounters, chillingencounters, realhorrorstories, terrifyingmoments, darkencounters, nightmarefuel, crimehorrorstories, scaryexperiences, unsettlingstories, realfear, truecrimeaccounts

Horror. I remember the way he looked up at me, slow and deliberate, as if weighing something in his mind. All right, he said, motioning with a little nod. Follow me. I trailed after him, still holding the battered VHS tape in my hands like it was some kind of fragile relic. The guy, mid-50s, wiery frame, salt and pepper hair sticking out from under a cap, led me past rows of dusty shelves, stacked with old electronics that looked like they hadn't been touched since the 90s. We moved toward the back of the shop, where the air smelled faintly of solder and warm plastic. Back there, he had what I could only describe as a shrine to ancient video tech. Bulky VCRs, spools of wiring, weird editing decks, a hulking CRT TV that probably weighed more than a fridge. His workshop wasn't neat. There were

cables coiled like snakes on the floor, boxes of unlabeled tapes, and random tools scattered on a long wooden workbench. But somehow, it had that organized chaos vibe. You could tell this was his zone. He gestured for me to hand over the tape, and I did, reluctantly. He inspected the wrinkled section like a jeweler examining a flawed diamond. All right, he muttered. I've seen worse. Instead of trying to yank or smooth it with bare hands like I had, he pulled out this odd contraption, looked like steel tongs with plastic padded tips. With almost surgical precision, he pressed the bent tape flat, millimeter by millimeter. His movements were fast but deliberate, like a man who had done this hundreds of times. I found myself staring, fascinated by how steady his hands were.

Finally, after what felt like forever, he set the tongs down and started winding the tape back into its shell. There, he said, nice and flat. Let's see what kind of life she's got left in her. He rolled over a cart with an old TV perched on top, a VCR sitting beneath it. The whole thing looked like it belonged in a school library circa 1988. He slid the tape in, pressed play, and the machine made that satisfying whir-click sound. The screen flickered to life. There was my mom and me years ago, sitting on the living room carpet. She was smiling, I was laughing, and in my tiny hands was this ridiculous but adorable

musical teddy bear. Its little electronic heart would light up in colors when it played music. Watching it, I couldn't help but smile a little. For a moment, it felt safe. The repair guy tilted his head. What part got messed up? I didn't answer. On screen, my mom reached out and gave me a big hug, and then it hit.

Like a sudden punch in the gut, a hot, heavy feeling spread through my chest. It was like my body remembered something awful before my mind did. My dad, behind the camera, set it down on the floor. The screen glitched, like it always had at this point. But this time, instead of a wall of static, the picture was visible. Slower, though. The tracking must have been off, because everyone's voice sounded lower, distorted, almost demonic. The guy glanced at me.

Better than it was before, right? I opened my mouth to respond, and that's when it came back. Not a trickle of memory, not a hazy image. This was a flood, a tidal wave crashing down on me, cold and suffocating. Oh my God, I whispered. This day, this awful day. On the TV, my dad stormed into frame, his heavy footsteps pounding. Ben, he barked. From somewhere off screen, my mom's voice, What are you doing? Shut up. My dad dropped to his knees in front of four-year-old me.

In his hand, a steak knife. The tip hovered inches from my nose. You, little, his voice was distorted but still filled with vexed. Venom. This little punk wants to play with girl toys, and I'm sick of it. Here, be a man. Cut it up. On screen, my tiny self started to cry. The sound warped and drawn out by the slow playback. The wailing was so loud, I swear I could feel the plastic on the old TV vibrating. The repairman turned toward me, his face pale. Jesus, is that you? I couldn't even answer. My eyes were glued to the screen, my stomach twisting into knots. The video jumped, then resumed. My mom's voice, frantic, Benjamin, stop. My dad stood, disappeared off screen, and then, bam, a sound like a cannon going off underwater. My mom collapsed backward out of the doorway. Red splattered the wall behind her. She lay still for a moment, dazed, before trying to push herself up. My dad reappeared in frame, grabbed the knife again, and turned toward me. With a furious lunge, he drove the blade straight

at my chest, but the teddy bear took the hit. Its little music box let out a warped tinny tune, as its heart lit up one last time in a kaleidoscope of colors. My dad yanked the knife back, the bear still impaled, and began stabbing the floor next to me over and over, until the blade snapped. The bear tumbled to the ground, a gaping hole torn through it, stuffing flying everywhere like snow in a nightmare. The camera's autofocus caught my face, wide-eyed, trembling, as I picked up the ruined bear and clumsily tried to shove the stuffing back in. My dad, breathing hard, reached for the camera, but my mom had gotten back up. He set the camera down facing the wall. I heard her footsteps rushing forward. Felt my own

crying fade as she scooped me up and carried me down the hallway. When the damage section ended, the audio returned to normal. Feet appeared at the edge of the frame as someone picked up the camera again. My dad's voice suddenly calm. I'm sorry. It won't happen again, all right? A quiet voice, hers, answered, I love you too. I hit stop. The tape clicked to a halt. The repairman just stared at the blank screen, his mouth slightly open. Kid, what the hell was that about? My father, I said, was a monster. My mom knew he was a monster. They kept this incident, this attempt, secret for all these years. My voice cracked. He meant to kill me. And if it hadn't been for that stupid stuffed bear, he probably would have. Part of me wanted to break down, cry right there in the shop.

But another part refused. My jaw clenched. In my back pocket, my phone started buzzing. I pulled it out. Caller ID. Dad. I stared at the screen, my hand shaking. There's always a reason to be afraid. The end.