Solved Murders - True Crime Stories - Creepy Encounters Three Terrifying Stories of Strangers, Bus Stops, and Survival PART1 #11

Episode Date: October 19, 2025

#horrorstories #reddithorrorstories #ScaryStories #creepypasta #horrortales #creepyencounters #strangerdanger #busstopstories #survivalstories #realhorror  “Creepy Encounters Three Terrifying Stories of Strangers, Bus Stops, and Survival PART1” brings to life unsettling real-life style horror tales where everyday situations spiral into danger. From suspicious strangers at bus stops to terrifying survival moments, these stories remind us that fear often hides in the most ordinary places.  horrorstories, reddithorrorstories, scarystories, horrorstory, creepypasta, horrortales, creepyencounters, truehorrorstories, survivalhorror, busstopstories, late night fear, dangerstrangers, truecrimevibes, realhorrorstories, urbanhorrors, chillingencounters, everydayterror, scaryencounters, unsettlingstories, horrorcommunity

Horror. Number three. The Old Man at the Bus Stop. I want to take my time telling this one because it still sticks in my memory like a splinter that never fully heals. It's been years, but every time I walk past a bus stop, every time I hear heavy footsteps behind me, or even catch someone smiling a little too long, my stomach does this uncomfortable twist. This happened about seven years ago, right when I had just started high school. I was still that mix of nervous and excited, trying to balance new routines, more homework, and the awkwardness of teenage life. Now, the setup might sound innocent. My high school wasn't far from my little brother's school, only about a 10-minute walk separating the two. Because of that, I had the daily job of picking

him up after classes. My parents trusted me with it, and honestly, I didn't mind. It was part of my day. I'd leave school, maybe chat with a friend on the way out, and then head down that same stretch of road to meet him. The walk itself was straightforward, a main road, open to the sun, traffic rolling by, and enough space for me to feel like nothing bad could ever happen. It wasn't some creepy alley or deserted path. It was one of those roads where you think you're safe just because there are cars and daylight. Funny thing is, danger doesn't care if it's day or night. It doesn't care if you feel safe.

That's something I learned the hard way. Most of the time, the walk was pretty quiet. Sure, you'd get other kids leaving their schools around the same time, sometimes a jogger or an older person shuffling toward their apartments, and of course, a couple of people waiting at the bus stop halfway between the schools. The bus stop always had maybe one or two people at most. It wasn't crowded, just a lonely little bench with a metal pole holding up a time-taker. One afternoon, it's burned into my brain like a photograph.

I was making the walk like always. That day I'd forgotten my headphones at home. Normally I'd have music blasting in my ears, my own little soundtrack to block out the world, but that day it was just me and the sounds of the street. I remember thinking, well, at least I can enjoy the sun. So there I was, walking in the warmth, taking everything in without much thought.

thought. When I reached the bus stop, I noticed an old man sitting there on the bench. He looked ordinary at first glance. I'd put him at maybe 60, maybe 65, not tall, not muscular, not the kind of guy you'd think twice about. He just looked average, harmless even. I walked past him without a second thought. But then, as soon as I passed, I heard movement, the sound of him standing up. At first, I brushed it off. Maybe he was checking the bus time table. Maybe the bus was coming. But when I glanced quickly at the road, I didn't see a bus approaching. No engine sounds, no bus lights in the distance. Something in my gut twisted. I turned my head just slightly to check, and sure enough, there he was, about five steps behind me. But the thing that froze me wasn't just how close he was. It was the way

he was staring. His eyes were locked on me, like he didn't even want to pretend he wasn't following. His gaze clung to me, heavy and unsettling. I felt the air shift instantly. My casual walk turned into a speedwalk. My heart started to race, and my legs just knew they needed to move faster. But then, I heard him speed up too. The scuff of his shoes quickened, his breathing just barely audible, behind me. I risked another glance, and my blood ran cold. He was still staring, still smiling. But this wasn't some friendly old man smile. No, this was something else, something wrong. His grin stretched across his face in this devilish way that made my skin crawl. He wanted me to see it. He wanted me to know he was enjoying this. There was no one else. There was no one

else around at that moment. Cars kept rolling by, oblivious, but people, none. No jogger, no other students, no one walking their dog, just me, him, and a long stretch of sidewalk. My brother's school was maybe 200 meters ahead, close enough to see, but far enough to feel unreachable. Panic settled in. I didn't even think. I just bolted. My legs pumped as fast as they could. My school back. My school back. bouncing painfully against my back. Every time I dared to look over my shoulder, the old man was still there, running, not just shuffling along, running. And the grin never left his face. He was faster than I expected, too. My brain screamed, this isn't real, this can't be real, but my body knew better. And here's the thing, I know what you're thinking. A teenage girl should easily outrun a 60-some

man, right? That's the logic. But logic doesn't work when you've got a heavy school bag dragging at your shoulders and an old gymnastics injury in your knee slowing you down. Every step burned, but fear kept going. By the time I reached the edge of my brother's school grounds, I thought maybe, maybe he'd stop. Other kids were leaving the building. There were adults milling about. surely he'd see the crowd and back off. But no, he didn't stop. He didn't even hesitate. In fact, he did something that made my stomach twist in a whole new way.

He started yelling, loud, desperate, accusing. He shouted to the people near the school. My granddaughter, she's running away from me. Somebody stop her. She's in trouble. His voice was booning, his words dripping with face. concern. But his grin, that grin, didn't match his words at all. It was sinister, mocking, like he thought this was all some sick game. My mind went blank. For a split second, I froze.

What if someone believed him? What if some well-meaning adult actually grabbed me and handed him over to him? The thought chilled me more than anything. But then the road loomed ahead, a busy one, cars, flying by at full speed. I had to stop at the curb. My chest was heaving, my eyes darting everywhere for a gap in the traffic. And that pause, that one second was enough for him to catch up. I felt a tug. He grabbed the strap of my school bag. His hand clamped down, pulling me back. His breath was hot against my ear as he snarled. Stop being such a little bitch. I'm going to win. I'm taking you. That sentence, those words, are burned into my memory. Even writing them now, years later, I feel my chest tighten. He wasn't pretending anymore. He wasn't playing the worried

grandpa act. It was raw, ugly, and real. I screamed. Not a little yelp, a full, terrified scream that ripped out of my throat. And then, not even caring about the cars, I tore myself free and ran straight across the road. Horns blared, tires screeched. A car swerved around me, but I didn't care. My only thought was get away, get away. I burst through the gates of my brother's school, tears blurring my vision,

my chest aching from how hard I was running. I darted straight into the main building and slammed myself against the receptionist's desk. words tumbled out of me between sobs. I told her everything, the man, the chase, his words. She blinked, stunned, and then slowly turned her head to the window. He's right there, I whispered. Sure enough, the man was standing outside the school gate. His head moved left to right, scanning the crowd, like a predator looking for prey.

His grin had faded into something colder, but his eyes still searched. hungrily. That's him, I said, pointing with a shaking finger. The receptionist's face tightened. She told me to stay right there behind the desk while she called the police. Her voice was calm, but her hands shook as she dialed. Minutes dragged like hours, ten of them, maybe more. I stayed crouched behind her desk every nerve on fire, convinced he would storm inside at any second. But eventually, the man drifted away, walked off, slow and casual, like he hadn't just terrorized me. When the police finally arrived, they took my statement. They also went looking for him, and to my surprise, they actually caught him. Turns out, he wasn't some random, confused old man.

He had a history. He'd been hanging around my brother's school, trying to lure kids with candy, coaxing them to follow him home in the afternoons. The thought made me sick. It made me furious. I wasn't the first he'd tried this with, and I might not have been the last if I hadn't screamed, if I hadn't run, if the receptionist hadn't called the police.

From that day on, I changed everything. I stopped walking past that bus stop. I switched sides of the street. I never let my guard down on that road again. And even now, years later, I don't think I'll ever forget the sound of his footsteps, the tug on my bag, or that awful, evil grin. Because the truth is, monsters don't always hide in the dark. Sometimes they sit on a bus stop bench in the middle of the afternoon.

To be continued.