Solved Murders - True Crime Stories - Five Real-Life Stories of Abduction Attempts, Stalkers, and Unsolved Creepy Encounters PART2 #27

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 2” continues to explore terrifying true experiences of danger and the unknown. From stalking incidents to unexplained creepy encounters and near-abductions, these stories reveal the fear, suspense, and psychological impact on the survivors. Each account immerses readers in real-life terror and the chilling unpredictability of human and supernatural threats.  horrorstories, reddithorrorstories, scarystories, horrorstory, creepypasta, horrortales, abductionstories, stalkerencounters, unsolvedmysteries, creepyrealities, truehorrorstories, chillingtales, unsettlingstories, nightmarefuel, frighteningexperiences, darkreallife, mysteriousencounters, hauntedlocations, terrifyingmoments, realfear

Horror. Number two, a story I wish was fiction. I've got to warn you, this isn't the kind of story you read for fun. It's creepy, it's unsettling, and the worst part is, it's true. Before I get into the thick of it, let me back up a little. We've got to start with the basics, who I am, where I'm from, and how the whole bizarre situation began. Because trust me, if you don't get the background, none of the rest will feel quite as heavy. Back when it all started. So, picture this, it's the early 2000s. I'm in second or maybe third grade, so we're talking 2002 or 2003. And my life is just the regular routine of an elementary school kid in Canada. Back then, my biggest concerns were things like remembering to bring my lunch, convincing my mom to let me stay up late, and figuring

out whose turn it was to sit on the swings at recess. I had a tight little group of five or six girlfriends. We were inseparable, shared snacks at lunch, passed notes in class, and made up ridiculous games during recess. One of them was Jessica. She was one of those effortlessly fun kids, easy to laugh, easy to talk to, always coming up with ideas for games. Her parents were divorced, which didn't mean much to me at the time, beyond the fact that she was. lived with her dad part of the time. His name was Richard. He was a pilot, an actual pilot, like with the uniform and everything. And if there's one job that makes you assume a person's stable and responsible, it's probably pilot, right? You don't exactly imagine someone mentally unstable

steering a plane full of people. Jessica's dad's place was awesome to my seven-year-old brain. They had a trampoline in the backyard, a slide, and enough space for us to run around with adults hovering. I spent a lot of afternoons there after school. He always seemed like a totally normal dad. He'd pick Jessica up from my house sometimes, and he knew where I lived. It was just casual everyday stuff. Jessica disappears from the scene. Some time in second or third grade, Jessica moved away to live with her mom. I didn't get all the details. Back then, family issues wasn't something you pressed your friends about. She just stopped coming to school. with us. I didn't hear much from her for a while. Then, around her birthday the next year,

Richard got in touch with our little friend group. He invited us all over for a surprise birthday party for Jessica. We thought it was sweet. I mean, who doesn't love a surprise party? So we show up at his house, all giggling and excited, ready to yell surprise at Jessica when she walks in. But here's the thing, Jessica never showed up, not once. We were just, hanging out with her dad. At the time, none of us thought it was that weird. It was awkward, sure, but we were kids, we played, we chatted, we ate snacks. Then our parents came to pick us up, and we told them Jessica never came. That was the last time I saw Richard for years. The Strange Gifts

After that, some of the girls in our group started receiving presents from Richard at their homes. I never got one, but my mom told me about it years later. They were years. They were usually cheap jewelry with handwritten notes. I still don't know exactly what those notes said, and honestly, I'm not sure I want to. Not long after the gift thing started, Richard basically vanished from our lives. Mom told me later he'd been put in a mental institution. That was that. Or so I thought. 2013, Facebook opens the door again. Fast forward to winter 2013. I'm 18 now, away for a cheerleading competition. I'm lying on my hotel bed, scrolling through Facebook, when suddenly a new group chat pops up. It's got five girls in it, the same group from elementary

school. I hadn't kept in touch with most of them, so this was unexpected. The first message in the chat, one of them saying, uh, has anyone else been getting messages from Richard? My stomach dropped. I went into the other folder of my Facebook messages, you know, the way. The way, one where stuff from non-friends goes, and sure enough, there they were, dozens of messages from him. The messages. These weren't normal, hey, how are you type messages. Some were nonsensical, like random poems that read like word salad. Others? Others were graphic, sexually violent and threatening. I'm not going to repeat the worst ones here, but I'll share a couple of the less explicit examples, just so you get the idea.

Hi, little girl, from not long ago, pristine of pristinesness, I want you, I want you, I want you. We're going to have planets to go to someday, provided you don't melt them first. Oh my goodness, you're all my whipping cream containers. Yeah, creepy enough, right? When I clicked on his profile, it got worse. His entire Facebook page was dedicated to us five girls. saved old photos of us from our profiles and reposted them with captions ranging from love letters to

insults, stuff like, Emily, hopefully not too soon, I'm going to find out where your address is, and I'm going to show up and bite your bottom lip off before you can say a word. Melissa, can I paint your picture and lift you around to see how heavy you are? It was obsessive, and it was public. involving the RCMP. We were all freshly 18 and had no idea what to do. Our mom stepped in and contacted the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. They told us not to block Richard, not to respond. Everything we got from him could be used as evidence. The messages kept coming, every day, sometimes from accounts that were variations of his name, sometimes from a random one named Esteban.

One of the girls managed to get in touch with Jessica. She told us she only saw her dad during supervised visits, and she was mortified. We reassured her. It wasn't her fault. Eventually, Richard was charged with five counts of criminal harassment. He pled guilty, served about five months in jail, and was released under a no-contact order. He's back, and this time, it's just me. Summer 2015 rolls around, and guess what?

he's out. Messages start coming again, but only to me. Turns out, the no contact order didn't have my name on it. The police forgot, so he thought it was fine to reach out. This time it escalated. I had just started a new job, and stupidly, I'd listed my workplace on my public Facebook profile. One day I show up to work, and there's a package waiting for me. Inside, weed, and a disc with encryption software. I knew immediately it was him. My managers thought it was hilarious. I didn't. Security in the building got involved. They even walked me to the bus stop after my shifts. The packages keep coming. It didn't stop at weed. Over the next few weeks, I got more packages. Weed cookies, what looked like cocaine, a key to his apartment, random personal items, a USB stick full of audio recordings.

I never listened. One of his Facebook messages confirmed he'd sent me drugs and the key, plus his home address. That was enough for the police to charge him again. I got a subpoena to appear in court, but just like before, he pled guilty, and I never saw him face to face. The lingering fear. As far as I know, he's still locked up. The police won't tell me where or when he's getting out. I still get jumpy when someone knocks on my door at night. I check over my shoulder walking home. Every time I think this is over, it isn't. And the scariest part, this could have gone so much worse. To be continued.