Solved Murders - True Crime Stories - Creepy Encounters Three Terrifying Stories of Strangers, Bus Stops, and Survival PART2 #12

Episode Date: October 19, 2025

#horrorstories #reddithorrorstories #ScaryStories #creepypasta #horrortales #creepyencounters #busstophorror #strangerdanger #survivalhorror #truefear  Part 2 of Creepy Encounters: Three Terrifying Stories of Strangers, Bus Stops, and Survival escalates the suspense and danger. Realistic accounts of encounters with strangers at bus stops, tense survival situations, and unnerving moments highlight the unpredictability of everyday life. These stories reveal how ordinary places can quickly become arenas of fear and tension.  horrorstories, reddithorrorstories, scarystories, horrorstory, creepypasta, horrortales, creepyencounters, busstophorror, strangerdanger, survivalhorror, truefear, unsettlingencounters, chillingmoments, realfearstories, urbanhorror, late night terror, darkencounters, everydayhorrorstories, nightmarefuel, scarytrueevents

Horror. Number two, the man in the woods. I grew up in rural Michigan, the kind of place where the air always smelled faintly of pine trees, damp soil, and whatever was cooking in somebody's kitchen a mile down the road. It wasn't some bustling suburb with neatly cut lawns and kids everywhere, this was the country. Long stretches of cracked asphalt, woods that seem to stretch forever, and neighbors who you might not see face to face for weeks, even though they technically live down the road. Our house sat at the bottom of a hill on this quiet country road. Nothing fancy, just a small, comfortable home where my parents did their best to raise me with a sense of safety, even if the woods surrounding us sometimes whispered a different story.

My school bus stop, though, wasn't right outside our house. Nope, it was all the way at the top of that hill. Once you passed our driveway, the road curved up and the stop was tucked right by the woods that leaned in a little too close for comfort. This story happened when I was seven or maybe eight years old. At that age, days all blur together into routines, waking up, brushing teeth, scarfing down cereal, trying not to spill milk on your homework, and making sure you caught the bus on time. My bus usually showed up around 7 a.m., right when the sun was crawling over the heart. horizon. It wasn't quite bright out yet. Those early hours kept shadows clinging to the trees,

especially in the thick woods near the stop. Most mornings were uneventful. I was the only kid who got picked up at that stop, so it was just me, standing alone at the edge of the woods with my backpack too heavy for my little shoulders, waiting. My mom or dad would drive me up there and drop me off about five minutes before the bus arrived. They'd wave to by, watch me for a quick second, speed off to make it to work by eight. It wasn't that they loved the idea of leaving me alone by the woods, but life was life. They had jobs, schedules, bills, and besides, we lived in what everyone considered a safe area. Ninety-nine percent of the time, the bus arrived like clockwork, which gave my parents enough peace of mind. Five minutes of waiting alone didn't seem dangerous.

At least that's what they told themselves. So there I was that morning, standing at the stop, in a jacket that still didn't quite keep the cold out, shifting from one foot to the other as I stared down the empty road. The sun was dragging itself up into the sky, coloring the horizon pink and orange, but the woods around me were still dark. Dark enough that if you stared too long, you could almost convince yourself that something was moving back there. I remember breathing out little clouds of fog, rubbing my hands together for warmth, and thinking about absolutely nothing except maybe how much I wish the bus would hurry up. Then, like always, I saw the faint glow of headlights in the distance. Relief instantly washed over me. The big yellow bus pulled up right in front of me,

brake squealing slightly. The doors swung open with that familiar creek, and my bus driver, Mrs. Teresa, leaned over, gave me her usual warm smile, and called out, Good morning. She was one of those drivers who somehow remembered every kid's name and treated us like her own. I climbed aboard, muttered a sleepy morning back, and trudged to my usual seat. Backpacked down, I expected the bus to lurch forward right away like it always did. But it didn't. Mrs. Teresa still had the door open, just slightly. She wasn't looking at the road ahead. Instead, she was leaning forward in her seat staring out toward the woods. Her face wasn't smiling anymore. It was serious, tense. I followed her gaze, but from where I was, all I saw were trees and shadows. I was

too short, too far back to notice whatever it was she was staring at. She stayed like that for maybe a full minute, long enough for my little kid brain to realize something was off. Finally, she closed the door with a firm hiss, shifted gears, and we pulled away. Nothing was said. The rest of the route continued as normal, picking up other kids along the way. But when we arrived at school, something unusual happened. Instead of letting us run inside on our own, Mrs. Teresa actually got out of her seat and escorted us into the building. She walked us straight in like she was making sure each one of us got safely inside.

That was weird. She never did that. I remember glancing back and seeing her slip into the office, leaning toward the secretary with a serious look on her face. I couldn't hear what she said, but it wasn't small talk. The rest of my school day was ordinary, math, spelling, recess, I didn't give much thought to that strange pause at the bus stop. That is, until my dad picked me up later that afternoon. Instead of the usual how was school, he immediately started asking me odd questions. Did the bus pick you up on time this morning? Did any car stop near you? Did anyone honk at you while you were waiting? I blinked at him, confused. He'd never asked anything like that before.

shrugged, said no, and told him the morning was normal. The next day, though, things changed. Instead of taking me to the bus stop, my mom drove me all the way to school. She dropped me off before heading to work. The day after that, it was my dad. Back and forth, alternating for the rest of the school year. I never waited at that stop again. I noticed, too, that the bus stop itself got changed. It wasn't by the woods at the top of the hill anymore. It was relocated right in front of our house. I could stay inside, watch for the bus, and walk out only when it pulled up. At the time, I just thought, cool, no more freezing outside alone. Years later, though, I learned the truth. That morning, when Mrs. Teresa opened the doors and greeted me, she hadn't just been smiling at me.

She had been looking past me, into the woods. She saw a man standing there. Hidden in the shadows just behind where I had been waiting, he was watching. The moment I boarded the bus, Mrs. Teresa kept her eyes on him, long enough to make sure he didn't try anything. That's why she lingered, why she didn't shut the doors right away. She wanted to see if he moved, if he'd step out. He didn't. But his presence was enough to send a chill down her spine. As soon as she dropped us off, she went into the office and reported what she'd seen. The secretary contacted the transportation office, who then contacted the police. When officers investigated, they found something deep in the woods, wrapped up in a t-shirt like some kind of twisted little kit.

Inside the bundle, a hunting knife, a length of rope, a rag, or washcloth, and a roll of tape. The police never caught the man. They never figured out who he was or what exactly he had planned. But to my bus driver, my parents, and the cops, the conclusion, was obvious. Those items weren't for anything good. Whoever left them there had dark intentions. And every time I let myself really think about it, I shiver. Because if the bus had been a couple minutes late, or if Mrs. Teresa hadn't noticed him lurking in the woods, that morning might have ended very differently. Instead of sitting in class doodling on my math homework, I might have been dragged into the trees. My life could have ended before it even really began.

That's why the district moved my bus stop, why my parents never again let me stand alone at the edge of those woods. I never saw the man, not once, but I still feel like he saw me. And I wonder, even now, who he was, and what exactly he had planned. To be continued.