Solved Murders - True Crime Stories - Four Chilling True Encounters With Stalkers, Creeps, and Dangerous Strangers PART3 # 10

Episode Date: October 9, 2025

#horrorstories #reddithorrorstories #ScaryStories #creepypasta #horrortales #stalkerencounters #dangerousstrangers #creepystories #truehorrorstories #chillingencounters  “Four Chilling True Encounters With Stalkers, Creeps, and Dangerous Strangers PART 3” continues the series of harrowing real-life experiences. These accounts detail unsettling encounters with stalkers and threatening strangers that left lasting fear and anxiety. Each story highlights the dangers lurking in everyday life, emphasizing the unpredictable and chilling nature of human behavior.  horrorstories, reddithorrorstories, scarystories, horrorstory, creepypasta, horrortales, stalkerencounters, dangerousstrangers, creepyencounters, chillingencounters, truehorrorstories, realfear, unsettlingstories, terrifyingmoments, nightmarefuel, frighteningexperiences, unsafeencounters, truecrimehorrorstories, darkmoments, scaryexperiences

Horror. Number three. Hey, I'm Drew. Former Marine, infantry, battle-hardened, and all that. But honestly, nothing in the core could have prepared me for what I'm about to tell you. I live with my wife, Cheryl, and her son Tommy. He's not my biological kid, but he's been mine practically since the day I met him, so I call him my son. He was three years old back then, shy but ridiculously smart, the kind of kid who could read your face better than most adults. Now, he's seven, full of energy, terrible jokes, and a heart of gold. I live for that little guy. Cheryl and I live on the outskirts of town, quiet neighborhood, cute little house, you know the type, picket fences, squeaky floorboards, a backyard that's more weeds than grass,

but still charming. Most days, life is peaceful, calm, and honestly kind of boring. But it wouldn't be a story if trouble didn't find its way in, right? And trust me, trouble doesn't knock politely, It storms in, dripping chaos everywhere. This whole nightmare started with a guy named Joey. Joey is complicated, and by complicated, I mean a full-blown walking disaster. Picture a 37-year-old man living in his mother's basement in Ohio, unkempt, socially awkward to the point of scary, and with a weird sense of entitlement that made you want to lock your doors at night. Oh, and he had a son.

Tommy's biological father. Yep, that's right, the same little guy who calls me dad. I never met Joey properly until things went south, and even then, the first time I laid eyes on him, I knew something was off. He had this desperate, twitchy energy, like he was constantly calculating, always on edge. Turns out he had recently gotten into trouble trying to remove Tommy from school without anyone's permission. This is the guy who apparently thought he had some parental rights, despite being estranged from Cheryl and having a restraining order against him. One morning, I was getting ready for work when I got a call from Cheryl, panicked. Joey had shown up at Tommy's school, demanded the kid be handed over, and then stormed off when the staff explained he couldn't do that. I wish that

was the worst of it. He sped off in some beat-up old sedan, leaving everyone shaken. From that point on, it was clear. Joey had no boundaries, none, zero. Cheryl and I had some history with him, but only indirectly, through our mutual friend Chuck. If it weren't for Cheryl keeping pictures of Joey around so Tommy would recognize his biological dad, I might have forgotten him entirely, but then life has a way of throwing you curveballs you never see coming. A few months earlier, Tommy got really sick, hospital level sick, and I was stuck at work. Cheryl basically lived at the hospital those days, while I could only steal a couple of hours to sit with Tommy, watch him sleep, try to make him laugh. When I finally made it there one evening, exhausted from a 12-hour shift, I walked into his room, and Joey was sitting there.

Frozen. I stopped dead in my tracks. Joey jumped, wide-eyed, like a rabbit caught in headlights. He didn't even acknowledge me. He just got up and slinked out the door, muttering nothing, avoiding my game. I was furious, confused, and scared all at once. How did he even get there? Why was he allowed inside the hospital without any explanation? Cheryl arrived a few minutes later, carrying hospital cafeteria food, blissfully unaware of the visitor. For a moment, life seemed normal again after Tommy was released. We breathed easier, thinking maybe this was over. But Joey, Joey never goes quietly.

He started appearing around our apartment. complex constantly. At first, we tried to give him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he was lost, maybe he was confused. But quickly, it became clear. He had moved in with us mentally, even if not physically. He'd wear dirty, mismatched clothes, stumble around like he didn't know where he was, muttering under his breath. Yet when I tried talking to him, trying to figure out what was going on, he gave nothing but vague, bizarre answers. Days turned into weeks. Joey wasn't just showing up occasionally. He was at our door almost every day, asking to see Tommy's room, trying to make small talk, acting

like he had the right to be there. I tried reasoning with him. I tried being polite. Marines teach you a lot of patience, and I have patience in spades, but even I have limits. After two weeks of this, I told him firmly, no more unannounced visits. And that's when he got creative. He began parking his car illegally, just outside the gate, walked in like he owned the place. Cheryl would see him, ring the bell, watch him fidget impatiently in the driveway.

I told her to call the cops every time, and she did. They'd show up, politely escort him off the property, and he'd vanish for a day or two, only to come back, repeat the exact same routine. Wash, rinse, repeat. It was exhausting. Even worse, Cheryl didn't. want to believe he was dangerous. She said he was just confused, or maybe he's struggling. I tried explaining that you don't casually park outside your estranged wife's house and try to get into her kid's bedroom. She didn't see it my way. Then it got worse. One morning, I'm leaving for work,

buzzing myself in through the gate, and I spot him parked on the street. Different car this time, but the same vacant, twitchy look in his eyes. He wasn't looking at me. He was fixed. He was fixed. I exited on a spot just above my car roof, like he was imagining something. My gut told me this wasn't good. I called Chuck to vent. Chuck sighed and filled me in. Joey had been living on Chuck's couch for almost two months. He said he was only staying a few days, but he never left.

Worse, he borrowed a ladder from Chuck and never returned it. That ladder? My second floor apartment? Tommy's window? I didn't need a Marine's imagination to see where this was going. Next morning, 5.30 a.m., my phone buzzes, the front gate. I ignore it. Deep breath. Calm down. Then I go outside to confront him. He's not around, but he's there, lurking by the mailboxes, trying to pry one open with his fingernails, eyes wide when he notices me. Hey, what are you doing?

I ask. Just out for a walk, he says, Deadpan. Then, casually, just moved in with my new wife, names Cheryl, 25 years old, beautiful girl, really sweet. I felt the blood drained from my face. This guy thinks he's me. He believes in his head that he's living my life, married to my wife, raising my kid. I forced myself to stay calm, trying not to show the panic creeping up my spine. I walked him upstairs to my unit, hoping to snap him out of whatever delusion had taken over his mind. He pulled a key out, tried it on my door, and when it didn't work, he looked genuinely hurt, sad, confused, like reality itself had betrayed him. This is my house, he said quietly.

No, my house, I said firmly. Cheryl and I have been living here for two years. You need to leave. He mumbled some excuse about checking with the office tomorrow. I could barely comprehend the delusion. I called his mother, got the truth. Joey had been unemployed staying in her basement for years. He had nearly kidnapped his son from school.

I realized then we had no legal shield. Without a police report, restraining orders wouldn't stick. Panic set in. Every day could be the day Joey tried to snatch Tommy. Weeks passed. Police gave advice. Always get a report. Never engage.

My wife finally saw the danger. We started documenting every incident. Joey vanished occasionally, but always returned. No one knew where he was. Every day felt like waiting for a storm to hit. And that's where we are now. The house is quiet, Tommy plays, Cheryl tries to be cheerful, but the tension is always there. The fear that Joey could show up thinking he's living my life, thinking he has rights.

It's exhausting. I keep imagining the worst-case scenario, planning contingencies. Marine training doesn't cover delusions like this, but survival instincts kick in. I called Chuck, vent, try to stay sane. Joey hasn't returned in a few days, but that doesn't make me feel safe. Where is he? What is he planning? Every shadow outside the window, every car slowing by the street, triggers the memory of his twitchy stare, his vacant eyes,

the delusion that my life is his to take over. So Joey, the kidnapping stalker who thinks he's me, let's never meet again. To be continued.