Solved Murders - True Crime Stories - Dark Skating Tales Haunting Encounters and Chilling Dangers on the Rink PART1 #21

Episode Date: September 30, 2025

#horrorstories #reddithorrorstories #ScaryStories #creepypasta #horrortales #creepyencounters #truehorrorstories #nightmarefuel #skatinghorrorstories #unexplainedevents  Part 1 of Dark Skating Tales recounts chilling true experiences on roller and ice rinks. From eerie figures lurking in the shadows to close calls and unsettling encounters, these stories immerse readers in suspense and fear. Each tale highlights the unexpected dangers and haunting moments that can occur in what seems like an ordinary recreational setting.  horrorstories, reddithorrorstories, scarystories, horrorstory, creepypasta, horrortales, creepyencounters, truehorrorstories, nightmarefuel, skatinghorrorstories, unexplainedevents, scaryencounters, chillingtales, unsettlingmoments, realnightmares, disturbingstories, stalkerstories, urbanhorrorstories, survivalstories, truestoryhorror

I was about seven years old when something happened that stuck with me like a permanent tattoo on my brain. It started off as just another fun day, I'd been invited to a friend's birthday party. We all went to this little old school cinema in town, the kind that had just one screen, smelled faintly of stale popcorn, and was usually half-empty even on weekends. It wasn't anything like those giant multiplexes now where you've got neon lights, arcade games, and people everywhere. No, this place felt like stepping into a time warp where the carpets had been there since the 70s and the snack counter sold candy that might have been older than me. There were six other kids in the group, plus my friend and her mom. About halfway through the movie, I felt that familiar, oh no, Burge hit, I had to go to the

bathroom. I leaned over to my friend's mom and told her. I figured she'd come with me, because even at that age I knew wandering off alone wasn't the smartest move. But she just nodded and stayed in her seat. So, off I went. Alone. On my way down the dim hallway toward the bathroom, I noticed a man leaning against the concession counter. He wasn't buying anything, wasn't talking to anyone, just standing there with his arms folded, like he was waiting for, something. I remember thinking maybe he was waiting for his kid to come out of the restroom. Now, the bathroom in this place wasn't your typical theater set up with

separate entrances and long rows of stalls. Nope. It was literally one small room split in half, two stalls for men on one side, two for women on the other, with just a partition in between. I went into one of the stalls and sat down. A minute later, I saw it. A shadow. Moving under the crack of the door. Heavy footsteps. And then, he was walking back and forth, right outside my stall. My stomach nodded instantly. He was on the women's side. There was no one else in the restroom. My brain was screaming that something was wrong. I froze, barely breathing, just waiting. After what felt like forever, he finally left. I stayed in there another minute, trying to build up the courage to get out. When I did, I pushed

the stall door open, and there he was. Standing in the doorway. Arms out, legs spread wide, blocking the exit like he was just waiting to grab me. My heart took off like a rocket. He was huge compared to me, and my brain went into panic mode. I didn't even think, I just dropped low and dove right between his legs. My knees scraped the carpet and burned like crazy, but I scrambled up and bolted. I ran all the way back into the the theater, straight to our row, and didn't look back. You'd think that would be the end, but no. That night, I was so rattled I actually hid one of my dolls before bed, because for some reason I thought that man was going to come find me at home and I wanted to keep my dolls safe.

My mom noticed me acting weird and asked what was wrong. I blurted it out, told her a man had tried to grab me at the cinema. She didn't freak out in front of me. She sort of brushed it off, but I could see it in her eyes, she was scared. Later that night, I overheard her talking to my dad about it. She asked me more questions, did he have a black mustache? Messy hair. My stomach dropped because yes, he did. That's when she told me something that still makes my skin crawl. The man had been at our house earlier that day. He was there to replace a window. And he must have overheard me and my mom talking about the birthday party. I still don't know what exactly he had planned. Was he going to kidnap me? Hurt me? All I know is, I'm lucky I got away. My mom told me

later that the police never caught him. They figured he left town after the failed attempt. But I can't stop wondering if he found another kid who wasn't as lucky. Years later, when I was older, I had this conversation with my great-uncle. We were talking about creepy, bad memories, and I asked him what the worst one from his youth was. He didn't even hesitate. He told me it was the night he went to see Dirty Harry in 1971. He and his best friend had skipped school to go see it, they'd paid $1.50 each for tickets. The place was another small, one-screen theater, and they sat way in the back so they could smoke without getting caught. There were maybe four or five other people in there.

Halfway through the movie, he started smelling something awful. Like spoiled meat. The cigarettes weren't even masking it. His friend just wanted to leave, but my uncle, being curious, started looking under the seats to see where the smell was coming from. Two rows ahead, he spotted what looked like a hamburger patty on the floor. He walked over, crouched down, and then shot back up like he'd touched a live wire. It wasn't a patty.

It was a severed human hand. A left hand, grey and soggy with rot, lying in a dark puddle of blood. Flies buzzed lazily around it. Three fingers were missing and scattered a short distance away. There was only one theatre employee, a heavyset guy at the front, puffing on a cigar. When my uncle tried to tell him, the man didn't believe him. Until my uncle came back holding one of the missing fingers in his handkerchief. The employee looked more annoyed than horrified, grabbed a dustpan and broom, and started sweeping up like it was nothing.

Someone else ran to call the cops. My uncle's friend bailed immediately, but my uncle stayed to watch the police arrive. They questioned the employee and the guy who made the call, but never properly interviewed my uncle. They took the employee in after seeing all the blood, but nothing ever came of it. The theatre shut down months later. When I asked why that memory wasn't exciting, instead of, worst, he told me it was because whoever that hand belonged to was probably murdered, and whoever did it likely got away with it. He said he could still remember the smell of the flesh and the flies.

And then there's the one from the early 90s. My family used to go to this tiny drive-in theater in eastern Missouri, right along the border with Kentucky. We had this flatbed trailer we'd hooked to Dad's truck, load up with folding chairs, a cooler of beer, and just hang out while a movie played in the background. One night, there were only two other cars there. My brothers were half paying attention, my sister and I were sharing headphones from a cassette player, passing them back and forth. My oldest brother had an ice-packed to his jaw because he'd chipped a tooth the day before. That's when we heard it, a faint voice yelling from the tree line off to the left. My brother shined his flashlight over, and after a few seconds, a young Asian woman stumbled out of the shadows.

She was maybe 18 or 20, completely naked except for a plastic bag tied around her waist. A nylon cord dangled from one ankle. She was limping, crying, gasping for air. She collapsed onto her knees, bleeding from behind her ear, covered in bruises. My brother rushed to put his jacket around her while my sister handed her water. She kept looking over her shoulder toward the woods like she expected something, or someone, to come out. We all started talking over each other, we should carry her to the truck, call the cops, where did you come from? She didn't answer. Not at first.

Then, suddenly, she gasped one word, run, she tried to get up but stumbled again. My brother caught her. I glanced toward the trees, flashlight beam shaking, and felt my stomach turn as, to be continued.