Solved Murders - True Crime Stories - Dark Skating Tales Haunting Encounters and Chilling Dangers on the Rink PART4 #24

Episode Date: September 30, 2025

#horrorstories #reddithorrorstories #ScaryStories #creepypasta #horrortales #creepyencounters #truehorrorstories #nightmarefuel #skatinghorrorstories #unexplainedevents  Part 4 of Dark Skating Tales dives deeper into the unsettling experiences on the rink. From eerie presences and unnerving noises to tense close calls, these true stories capture the suspense and fear that can arise in seemingly safe recreational spaces. Each encounter amplifies the horror, leaving readers on edge and questioning what might lurk in the shadows.  horrorstories, reddithorrorstories, scarystories, horrorstory, creepypasta, horrortales, creepyencounters, truehorrorstories, nightmarefuel, skatinghorrorstories, unexplainedevents, scaryencounters, chillingtales, unsettlingmoments, realnightmares, disturbingstories, stalkerstories, urbanhorrorstories, survivalstories, truestoryhorror

I didn't even realize how fast my breathing had gotten until my ears started ringing. That kind of metallic buzz that makes you feel like you're underwater. My phone was still in my hand, my thumb hovering over the screen like it had forgotten how to move. Every logical part of me said I should call someone, anyone, but my brain was too busy replaying that face. Pale, almost gray skin. Lips that didn't match the rest of the color. And those eyes. I swear, they weren't just looking at me, they were inside me. It wasn't just fear, it was this cold

understanding that something had shifted. Like I'd crossed a line I didn't even know was there. The forest had always been my safe place. Now it felt like a mouth, wide open, waiting for me to step inside so it could swallow me whole. I backed toward the house, slow at first, then faster, until I was practically slamming the door behind me. The lock clicked, but it didn't make me feel safer. You know how in movies, the character always rests their back against the door like, "'Few, I'm safe now. Yeah, no.

I stayed frozen there, heart pounding against the wood, just waiting for a knock. Or worse, a scratch. Nothing happened. The silence was somehow louder than the sound of him running into the trees. I stood there for maybe a full minute before my knees gave out and I slid down to the floor. The cats were watching me from the couch, ears twitching like they could still hear something outside. And maybe they could. Eventually, I moved. Not because I wanted to, but because sitting there in the entryway made me feel like bait. I pulled all the curtains shut, turned off every

light except the one in the kitchen, and sat at the table with my phone in front of me like it was a weapon. My thumb kept hovering over the call button for 911, but what was I going to say? Hi, yes, there's a guy who looked at me weird. The minutes dragged. My coffee had gone cold, and I didn't dare make more because I didn't want the sound to cover up anything I might need to hear. I don't even know how long I stayed like that before I finally got up and went to bed, fully clothed, lights on. Sleep didn't happen. Every creak of the house, every groan of the wind, every faint sound of the forest shifting made me flinch. My brain kept telling me, he's still out there. He's watching. He knows where you live. By morning, I'd almost convinced myself it had been nothing.

Just some random guy passing through. But then I looked at the window. Right there, smudged it. against the glass, was a perfect greasy outline of a forehead, nose, and chin. He had been closer than I thought. I tried to tell myself I was overreacting, that I was just stressed and imagining things, but deep down I knew that was a lie. I'd lived here long enough to know what normal sounds were, and whatever had been moving around in my house lately, it wasn't normal. My cats, bless them, are clumsy little furballs who love to knock over random stuff, but they also have this instinct. When they're scared, they hide. Lately, they've been hiding a lot. One night, I came home late from work. It was one of those shifts where time feels like it's moving in slow

motion, and by the time you clock out you're basically a zombie. I unlocked my door, tossed my keys onto the counter, and called for the cats. No answer. Not even a tiny meow. Just silence. That's when I noticed something off. A faint smell. Not bad exactly, but, wrong. Like old wood that's been wet for too long. I followed it into the hallway and my stomach did this uncomfortable little flip. There were muddy footprints.

Not paw prints. Footprints. Bare ones. I froze. My brain scrambled for a logical explanation, maybe I tracked them in myself earlier. But no. I'd been at work all day. And these prints, they led from my bedroom to the back door.

My heart was pounding so hard I could feel it in my throat. I grabbed the nearest weapon I could find, a flashlight. Yeah, not exactly Rambo material, but it was better than nothing. I followed the trail, each step feeling heavier than the last. When I reached the back door, I saw it was unlocked. Not wide open, just, slightly ajar, like someone had closed it in a hurry but didn't latch it. I locked it immediately and checked every room in the house, calling out, hello, in that shaky voice people use in horror movies right before they die.

No answer. No movement. But when I finally found my cats, they were both under the bed, pupils huge, tails puffed like bottle brushes. That night, I barely slept. Every creak made my skin crawl. At one point, I swore I heard breathing in the hallway. By the next morning, I decided I had two options,

either pretend nothing happened and hope I wasn't losing my mind, or start taking this seriously. I chose the latter. I set up an old baby monitor I'd found in storage, putting the camera in my hallway and the receiver on my nightstand. For a few nights, nothing happened. just the usual cap chaos and my own restless tossing and turning. But then, on the fourth night, I woke up to the sound of static.

Not the kind that fades in and out, this was loud, sharp, almost like it was trying to cover something. I sat up, grabbed the monitor, and turned the volume all the way down before slowly bringing it back up. That's when I heard it. Whispering. Not words I could make out, just the low, deliberate sound of something. someone speaking very close to the microphone. And then, footsteps. I didn't sleep at all that night. Every single noise made my skin crawl,

the creak of the fridge door settling, the heater kicking on, the wind brushing against the siding, it all sounded like footsteps, like someone creeping just outside my bedroom. I lay there under the covers with my phone in my hand, screen glowing against my face, trying to convince myself to watch some mindless video to distract me.

But every time I glanced toward my door, I half expected it to open slowly with that same horrifying sound from earlier. The next morning, I woke up feeling like I'd been hit by a truck, eyes gritty, head pounding, muscles tense like I'd been curled into a ball all night. My coffee didn't even taste like coffee, it just tasted like survival fuel. I sat there staring out the kitchen window, watching the tree line like it was some sort of enemy. That's when I noticed something odd. In the dirt patch near the back fence, right between the grass and the start of the woods,

there were footprints. Not like normal hiking boots or sneakers, these looked, wrong. Too narrow at the heel, too long at the toe, almost like the shape of a foot but not quite human. I froze with my coffee halfway to my mouth. The prints were fresh, the rain from last night hadn't washed them away. And they were heading toward my house, not away from it. I don't know what part of my brain decided it was a good idea, but I set the mug down and grabbed my jacket. The closer I got to the prince, the more the air felt heavy, like the

atmosphere itself didn't want me out there. I crouched to take a closer look, and that's when I realized something that made my stomach twist, the tracks didn't start from the forest. They started in the middle of my backyard. No entry path, no sign of someone climbing over the fence. just, appearing, like whoever, or whatever, made them had just materialized out of thin air. My mind was racing. If these belonged to a person, they'd have to be, what? Wearing some weird costume. Walking barefoot in freezing weather.

But the shape didn't match anything I knew. And then there was the depth of the print, each one pressed deep into the dirt, like whoever made them was heavier than a normal human. I followed the trail as far as I dared, but it didn't go far. Just a few feet from where they started, the Prince stopped. No fading, no turning around, just, stopped. Like the thing had vanished again. That's when the wind picked up, and I swear I heard something in it.

Not just wind-whistling noise, but something like a whisper, so faint it was almost in my head. It sounded like my name. I bolted back inside, slammed the door, locked it, and yanked the curtains shut. For the rest of the day, I kept the TV on just for the noise. Every so often, I'd glanced toward the back door, half expecting to see a face staring through the glass. I didn't see anything, but I could feel it. That same prickling sensation at the back of my neck, like eyes boring into me from

somewhere I couldn't see. By the time the sun went down again, I knew I wasn't going to. to survive another night here without losing my mind. I called a friend and told them I needed to crash at their place, didn't say why, just that something was wrong. I packed a bag in record time and tried to convince myself I was just being paranoid. But deep down, I knew better. Something had come to my backyard. Something that wasn't human. And I didn't think it was done with me. I remember sitting in my friend's living room that night, clutching a mug of tea like it was some kind of life raft. Every noise outside the window made me jump, a car driving by, a branch scraping against the siding, even a distant dog barking.

But it was quieter there. Safer. At least that's what I told myself. But even in the safety of someone else's home, my mind wouldn't let me rest. I kept replaying everything I'd seen, the footprints that. that started in my yard but came from nowhere, the whispered voice in the wind calling my name, the shadow that had pressed itself against the back door like it was waiting for me to let it in. I knew I couldn't keep living like this, jumping at shadows and questioning my own sanity.

So, the next day, I started doing some research. Maybe there was a logical explanation. Maybe I'd missed something obvious. I dug through forums about strange footprints, weird noises, and creepy intrusions, everything from urban legends about forest spirits to reports of weird animal attacks. Nothing quite matched what I'd experienced, but a few people mentioned something called The Watcher, some kind of entity or person who follows you around silently, watching from the shadows, never revealing themselves fully.

They said if you notice it, you're lucky, because most people never see it until it's too late. Great. Just what I needed, a nickname for whatever nightmare was stalking me. That night, I set up more cameras, cheap motion-activated ones I'd ordered online, placing them around the back porch and near the cat flap. I told myself it was just precaution, but my hands shook as I adjusted the lenses, trying to catch whatever had been sneaking around outside. The next few days were a blur of false alarms, a raccoon knocking over the trash, a stray cat

wandering through the yard, but nothing that explained the footprints or the voice. Still, my anxiety only grew. Every night I'd check the footage, but the cameras didn't catch anything unusual. Then came the night I wish I could forget. I was half asleep when I heard the soft squeak of the cat flap moving. At first, I thought it was one of the cats coming in or out. But then I noticed the silence after, no pause, no tail thumping on the floor, nothing. Curious and more than a little nervous, I grabbed my phone and crept toward the back door.

Peeking around the corner, I saw the cat flap swinging gently, but the porch was empty. My eyes scanned every shadow, every corner, but no sign of anything alive. And then, out of nowhere, a balloon floated through the flap and drifted toward me. It was one of those bright red balloons, the kind you see at birthday parties or carnivals. It bobbed in the slight breeze, its string tangled in the mesh of the screen porch. I blinked, confused. Who would send a balloon through my cat door? And why?

I reached out and grabbed the string, pulling it inside. The balloon swayed, and then I noticed something taped to the knot, a small folded note. Hands shaking, I unfolded the paper and read the words written in messy, almost childish handwriting. Don't be afraid. I'm watching. That was it. The moment I read that, something inside me broke. Fear turned into something colder, anger, maybe, or pure shock. Who would do this? What kind of person watches a stranger's house and leaves creepy little gifts? I looked out the window again, half expecting to see a figure lurking just beyond the trees, but the yard was empty. Just the wind playing with the branches. That balloon became a symbol for me, proof that whatever was out there

wasn't going away anytime soon. You asked me about the ending, so here's how I want to finish this in my own voice, staying true to your original. Everyone always asked me what I thought the balloon was all about. If I had to guess, I think it was a gift. This guy must have seen me a few times outside the house, figured I was alone, and assumed I was way younger than I really was. I have no idea if the guy's still in prison, but wherever he is, I kind of hope he hears this and feels stupid. He got scared off by nothing more than a panicked girl with the strength of a malnourished gerbil. The end.