Solved Murders - True Crime Stories - Five Real-Life Stories of Abduction Attempts, Stalkers, and Unsolved Creepy Encounters PART4 #29

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 4” continues the terrifying series, exploring additional chilling true events. These stories feature dangerous encounters with stalkers, near-abductions, and unexplained creepy incidents, emphasizing suspense, fear, and the lasting impact on the victims. Each account immerses readers in real-life horror and the unpredictable threats people face in everyday life.  horrorstories, reddithorrorstories, scarystories, horrorstory, creepypasta, horrortales, abductionstories, stalkerencounters, unsolvedmysteries, creepyrealities, truehorrorstories, chillingtales, unsettlingstories, nightmarefuel, frighteningexperiences, darkreallife, mysteriousencounters, hauntedlocations, terrifyingmoments, realfear

Number four. Yeah, I've mentioned this before, but it seems like every single time I talk about it, people have questions, tons of questions. So, I figured, why not just lay it all out here? It's one of those things that doesn't get any easier to talk about the more time passes. If anything, it just gets heavier in a way. Like a quiet, pressing weight that you carry in your chest and your thoughts, one you can't just shrug off or ignore. When I was a little kid, maybe six or seven, my father got diagnosed with schizophrenia. Honestly, at the time, I didn't know what that even meant. I just knew that my dad started to change in ways that made the world feel a little scarier,

a little stranger. He wasn't himself anymore. He went from being this warm, funny, slightly goofy man who could make the most mundane things feel like an adventure, to someone who seemed to be living in a completely different reality, a reality that didn't include us in any meaningful way. It escalated fast, like really fast. Before long, his paranoia was extreme. He became convinced the FBI, or some government agency, I never really knew exactly which one, was watching him, following him, trying to control him. It didn't matter if he was sitting at home, at work, or just out for a walk. Every shadow, every passing car, every random

stranger was a potential threat. And the weirdest thing was that the more he was convinced of this, the more isolated he became. He started cutting ties with people who actually cared about him, people who had been friends with him before the sickness took over. And instead, he gravitated toward others who were struggling in ways that were sometimes just as extreme. According to my mom, he ended up forming what she described as a crew of sorts. And it wasn't a crew like in the movies, you know. It was a collection of people who were, for lack of a better word, broken in their own ways. There were other severely mentally ill individuals, people addicted to drugs or alcohol, sex workers, homeless folks. It was this strange, chaotic circle that my dad somehow found himself at the center of.

It made him more distant from us, more unpredictable, and honestly, it made my mom constantly worried, stressed, exhausted. Then one day, he didn't come home from work. Now, I know this might not seem like a huge deal in 2025 terms, because everybody has cell phones and instant messaging, but this was before all of that. There was no way to just ping him or text him to see where he was. When my mom called his work, the responses were disturbingly normal. They said he had left, like nothing had happened. Everything seemed fine. So she called family members, old friends, anyone who might have had any clue about where he went. But no one knew anything. Nobody had seen him. No one had heard from him. By the time it was getting dark and he still hadn't returned

home, my mom called the police. She explained the situation as best she could. He'd laughed without any of his belongings except for his wallet and his car. He wasn't answering calls and no one had seen or heard from him. Eventually, they agreed to let her file a missing person's report. I remember bits and pieces of that time, though mostly through her stories later on. There's a haze over my earliest memories of that period. Two weeks later, his car was found, abandoned, out of state, 200 miles away in New Jersey, far from our home in Maryland. That was the last concrete trace anyone had of him. Nothing else. No activity on credit cards, no calls, no notes, no messages. For all intents and purposes, it was like he had vanished into thin air. The detective

handling the case suspected foul play, and because of the circumstances, my dad was officially considered an endangered missing person. Fast forward 15 years. I'm in college, six hours away from home, living in this rented house off campus with a few friends. I was trying to build a normal life for myself, to separate from the chaos and mystery that had swallowed up my family. But sometimes life has a funny way of reminding you that the past doesn't just disappear. One day, while I was in class, two men knocked on my door. They looked disheveled, middle-aged, and a little off. There was nothing overtly threatening about them at first. They seemed polite, almost overly polite, asking for me by my full name. They said they needed to speak with me and

claimed to be friends of my father. My roommate, who had been with me through various late-night adventures and awkward college situations, said they seemed friendly enough. But there was something about them that just didn't sit right. When I got home, they were still there. The conversation was weird from the start. Their answers were vague. dodgy and oddly deflective. Every question I asked, they somehow turned back on me. Where do you live? Can we have your cell number? Is that car outside yours? It felt like a game of cat and mouse, but there was no fun in it, just this creeping, uncomfortable sense that something was very wrong. My roommate felt it too. He later told me he got horrible vibes and decided to call the police

slamming the door in their faces. And then they bolted, gone, just. like that. Later, my roommate worked with a sketch artist connected to the detective who had originally handled my dad's case. Neither of us recognized the men. They disappeared as mysteriously as they arrived. We never saw or heard from them again. And that's where the story ends. For now. To be continued.