Solved Murders - True Crime Stories - Five Real-Life Stories of Abduction Attempts, Stalkers, and Unsolved Creepy Encounters PART1 #26

Episode Date: October 11, 2025

#horrorstories #reddithorrorstories #ScaryStories #creepypasta #horrortales #abductionstories #stalkerencounters #unsolvedmysteries #creepyrealities #truehorrorstories  “Five Real-Life Stories of Abduction Attempts, Stalkers, and Unsolved Creepy Encounters PART 1” presents chilling true accounts of people facing dangerous and unsettling situations. From attempted abductions to stalkers and unexplained eerie encounters, these stories highlight fear, suspense, and the lingering impact on the survivors. Each narrative captures the unpredictability of real-life horror and the sense of vulnerability that comes with facing unknown threats.  horrorstories, reddithorrorstories, scarystories, horrorstory, creepypasta, horrortales, abductionstories, stalkerencounters, unsolvedmysteries, creepyrealities, truehorrorstories, chillingtales, unsettlingstories, nightmarefuel, frighteningexperiences, darkreallife, mysteriousencounters, hauntedlocations, terrifyingmoments, realfear

Horror. Part 1. A Summer that Never Left Me. You know how sometimes your brain just stores away a memory like a dusty old shoebox, and you don't even realize it's there until something, someone, opens it? That's exactly what happened to me. This story starts way back in the summer of 1973, in Madison, Wisconsin, when I was six years old, living on Monica Lane. Now, when I say, way back, I mean it. The world felt bigger, slower, and somehow warmer. There were no smartphones, no endless social media feeds, no constant beeping of notifications. Just a neighborhood where kids ran wild, parents shouted from porches when it was dinner time, and summer stretched on forever, like they'd never end. Our street wasn't fancy, but it was the kind of middle-class block where

everyone knew each other, or at least knew who lived where. And only three houses down, on the same side as ours, sat this huge park. At least it seemed huge to me back then. To a six-year-old, even a baseball diamond feels like a sprawling kingdom. Mom was a nurse, the real deal, worked second shifts at Meritor Hospital. Dad was a salesman, one of those people who could talk to absolutely anyone. Mom would head out in the afternoons, dad would, worked days, and for the most part, I didn't have a babysitter unless they went out for a date night. When they did, there were plenty of older neighborhood kids who could watch me. One of them was Vicky. She lived a few blocks away, and had babysat me a couple times before. And when I say

babysat, I mean the kind of babysitting where we'd play dress up, she'd braid my hair, maybe play a board game or two, pretty standard stuff. She wasn't scary or mean or anything like that. I actually liked her. She was friendly, laughed a lot, and seemed, well, normal. The Sandbox. It was one of those sticky, stifling summer afternoons when the air feels like it's sitting on your shoulders. I'd gone to the park with some friends, and we were hanging around near the ball field. Right next to it was a sandlot, this big, tempting patch of golden grit that was perfect for digging and building whatever your imagination cooked up. My friends wanted to hit the monkey bar. but I wasn't feeling it. The sandbox was calling my name. That's when I saw her, Vicky, standing right there

by the sandbox. I remember being pleasantly surprised. It's funny, thinking back now, how normal it felt to see her there, how safe I felt just recognizing her face. Hey, want to help me build a sandcastle? I asked. She smiled, and we got to work. The sand was hot under my fingers, but I didn't care. I was just happy to be doing something different. After a while, she looked at me and said, It's so hot out, want to get something cold to drink? Well, of course I said yes. I was practically melting,

and the idea of a cold drink sounded like heaven. So I took her hand and we started walking toward her place. Along the way, she started telling me about her puppies, how cute they were, how much I was going to love them. My excitement went from zero to a hundred. Puppies, yes, please. This is where my memory used to stop. For years, I didn't remember anything beyond walking with her toward her house. But then, just a few months ago, I was talking to my mom, and she told me the rest. And when she did, it was like a damn bursting in my

head. The rest came flooding back, sharp, vivid, and terrifying. The conversation that unlocked everything. We were sitting around, my sister and I, talking with Mom about all the different places we'd lived. When Monica Lane came up, I mentioned the park and how huge it seemed to me. That's when Mom said, very casually, do you remember when you were kidnapped? At first, I laughed. Kidnapped? Yeah, right. But then I saw her face. She wasn't joking. She told me it was around 5 p.m. that day. One of my friends had come to our door. to ask if I wanted to come back outside. Mom assumed I'd gotten bored and walked home on his own.

But when she checked the house, I wasn't there. She was seven months pregnant with my sister at the time, but that didn't stop her. She bolted to the park, screaming my name. She asked kids if they'd seen me, nothing. She ran to the ball field where a group of older boys were hanging around. One of them, about 14, said he'd seen a younger woman playing with a little girl

who matched my description in the sandbox. He said they'd walked off together, but he didn't know where they went. Mom ran across the street to use someone's phone to call the police. By the time they arrived, dad was home, and neighbors had joined in to help search. People were knocking on doors, shouting my name. The police went back to talk to the boys and the neighbors, piecing together who it might have been. Somehow, they figured out it was Vicky, at Vicki's house. The police, Neighbors and my dad all headed to her house. She lived with her parents, but they weren't home. When she answered the door, she told them she hadn't seen me and had been home all day.

For some reason, she let the police inside. They searched the house, and in the basement, they found me. And that's when my own memories kicked back in. Walking into her house, I suddenly felt weird, not scared at first, but uncomfortable in a way I couldn't explain at six years old. Like the air was heavier. I remember telling her I wanted to go home over and over. She gave me a glass of water and a tissue. I could hear dogs barking, loud, deep, angry barking from somewhere nearby. Next to the kitchen was an open stairway leading down. She said that's where her puppies were, along with toys and games. I didn't want to go, but she took my hand and started leading me

down. The barking got louder. I started crying. She snapped, yelling at me to shut up, threatening to throw me in the cage if I didn't stop. That's when fear hit me like a punch. I was crying so hard I couldn't breathe, practically hyperventilating. Then, just as suddenly, she switched tones, smiling, saying it was all a game. She suggested hide and seek. Somehow she calmed me down enough to stop crying. She said her friends were coming over, and I needed to hide so they couldn't find me. She put masking tape over my mouth, lifted me into this big wooden box near the dog kennel, and piled blankets over me.

She told me to stay quiet. The dogs were still barking, though not as wildly as before. I was sweating, shaking, trying not to sob. I took the tape off because I couldn't breathe, but I didn't. make a sound, the rescue. Then I heard it, my name, adult voices, calling, closer and closer. The dogs exploded into barking again. Men's voices shouted, telling someone to shut those dogs up. The lid of the box opened, and there was a man, calm, gentle, asking my name, asking if I was okay. I didn't answer. I just screamed and clung to him so tightly my dad had to pry me off.

They took me to the hospital to be checked over. Mom said Vicky was found guilty of attempted kidnapping. She went to prison. We moved away soon after. Her parents had even come to our door later, asking for forgiveness, saying the man never meant to do anything bad. Dad nearly threw the man off our porch. Even now, decades later, I can remember the smell of that,

box, the sound of those dogs, the feel of the tape on my mouth, and the strange, awful way someone you thought you could trust can turn into the scariest person in the world. To be continued.