Solved Murders - True Crime Stories - Four Creepy Fresno Stories Break-In, Stranger Danger, Stalker Neighbor, Unknown Calls PART2 #15

Episode Date: October 19, 2025

#horrorstories #reddithorrorstories #ScaryStories #creepypasta #horrortales #fresnostories #creepyencounters #strangerdanger #stalkerhorror #unknowncalls  Part 2 of Four Creepy Fresno Stories continues the chilling accounts. Unnerving encounters with strangers, break-ins, a stalker neighbor, and mysterious phone calls escalate the tension. These true-inspired stories emphasize that danger and fear can lurk in familiar surroundings, making everyday life unpredictable and unsettling.  horrorstories, reddithorrorstories, scarystories, horrorstory, creepypasta, horrortales, fresnostories, creepyencounters, strangerdanger, stalkerhorror, unknowncalls, chillingencounters, unsettlingneighborhood, nightmarefuel, urbanhorror, breakinhorror, realfearstories, late night terror, darkencounters, fearinthecity

Horror. It never seems to go away here in Fresno, the sense that something off, something sinister, is always lurking just beneath the surface. Every time I think life might calm down, that maybe things will finally be normal, some weirdness just creeps right back in. And it's not just my imagination either. Fresno is one of those cities where shadows feel thicker than they should, where quiet streets hide secrets, and where people can make you shiver without even speaking a word. So, let me paint you a picture of the next messed up situation I live through. Right across the cul-de-sac from me, there's this house that, at first glance, looks totally fine. Nice enough roof, paint not peeling too bad, lawn not totally dead.

If you were driving by, you wouldn't think twice. But what unsettled me wasn't the house. it was the guy who lived in it, or more accurately, the way he lived. His car never moved, always parked in the exact same spot, gathering dust. His windows and doors sealed tight, blinds always drawn. And the freakiest part? I never, not once, saw him step outside like a regular human being. One day, it was about 120 in the afternoon, hot as hell like most days here, and I was getting ready to practice driving with my dad. I was pumped too, finally learning the ropes, getting closer to independence.

We walked out of the garage together toward my grandpa's old Toyota Camry, and that's when I froze. Right there, like some horror movie jump scare, stood what I could only assume was the guy from that house. Except he wasn't moving. He was just there, frozen, statue-like, in his driveway, wearing this grimy black hoodie pulled up over his head even though it was blazing hot. His jeans were old, dirty, hanging off his legs like rags.

He stood facing his car, perfectly still, as if time around him had stopped. My brain immediately went into freak out mode. My freakometer, if you want to call it, was ringing off the charts. Everything in me screamed, this isn't right, this isn't normal. I tried to shake it off and walked toward my grandpa's car with my dad. My heart was pounding like I'd just run a marathon. As I slid into the driver's seat, I whispered in Spanish, asking my dad, Kianis Ese, is that the neighbor or is someone trying to start trouble?

My dad squinted and muttered back that he wasn't sure. Then he told me not to look at him, just to focus on driving. But curiosity got the best to me. As I turned the car in a U-shape around the cul-de-sac, I risk a glance. That's when it got worse. The dude's head tilted just enough, and through the shadow of the hood, I caught the faintest glimpse of his eyes. He was looking straight at me, no expression, just watching. His stare wasn't casual either. It felt heavy, deliberate, like he was staring through me, not at me. My dad snapped at me for not keeping my eyes on the

road, and I stammered that I couldn't help it, that the guy freaked me out. Dad brushed it off, but I couldn't. The image of those eyes burned into my brain. We were gone for a couple hours, practicing on the edge of town, but when we came back around 3.45, the creepy statue man was gone, back into his little cave, I guessed, like some hermit crab retreating into its shell. I felt a wave of relief, but it was temporary, because the truth was, just knowing he was a little cave. He was a across the street, that he existed at all, was enough to make my skin crawl. Later, I told my little brother about it. He nodded like, yeah, he already knew. He said he always felt uneasy playing outside with his friends, because sometimes he'd noticed the blinds

across the street shift open just slightly. Someone was watching. The thought made my stomach twist. That dude wasn't just weird. He was actively paying attention to us, watching us. I hated it. The more I thought about it, the angrier I got. How did this hermit even survive? How did he buy groceries if he never left? How did he pay his bills? I half joked, half admitted to my brother that I wanted to grab my bat and just smash his head in if he ever came near us. That's how bad he unsettled me. And then, just to make things worse, I saw him again. This time on a Monday when I was dragging the trash bins out. He was slouched on his front walkway. hunched over like some broken-down gargoyle.

The hoodie was still covering half his face, but I could feel him staring at me. Blank expression, no words, no movement, just staring. Every muscle in my body tightened. Hi, I'm Darren Marler. Host of the Weird Darkness podcast. I want to talk about the most important tool in my podcast belt. Sfreaker is the all-in-one platform that makes it easy to record,

host, and distribute your show everywhere, from Apple Podcasts to Spotify. But the real game. game changer for me was Spreeker's monetization. Spreaker offers dynamic ad insertion. That means you can automatically insert ads into your episodes, no editing required. And with Spreaker's programmatic ads, they'll bring the ads to you, and you get paid for every download. This turned my podcasting hobby into a full-time career.

Spreaker also has a premium subscription model where your most dedicated listeners can pay for bonus content or early access, adding another revenue stream to what you're already doing. And the best part, Spreaker grows with you. Whether you're just starting out or running a full-blown podcast network, Spreeker's powerful tools scale effortlessly as your show grows. So if you're ready to podcast like a pro and get paid while doing it, check out Spreaker.com. That's S-P-R-E-A-K-E-R.com.

I locked the backyard gate faster than I ever had in my life. Then Speed walked back to the garage and slammed it shut. My heart was racing. I just stood there, back pressed against the door, breathing heavy, wishing to God this man would just move away, go rot somewhere else, anywhere but across from me. But like always, Fresno wasn't done messing with me. It's like the creepy energy here just hops from one person to the next. This time it shifted over to my little brother, Isma. Isma had just gotten his first phone, a little iPhone 5S, and at first he was over the moon.

But then things got weird. He started getting these repetitive phone calls. calls from an unknown number. I'm talking two, sometimes five times a day. Always the same. No caller ID, no way to trace it. Just unknown. He came to me one day worried, and I immediately said, don't stress, I'll just block the number. But that's when I realized, yeah, you can't block an unknown number. My frustration hit the roof. So, I told Isma straight up, if that number ever calls again and I'm around, he'd better come get me, because I'd handle it myself. Three days later, we were picking him up from school, me and mom waiting in the car. Isma hopped in, and I gave him a hug and a kiss on the forehead, the way we do in our family. That's how we are. Mexican families don't shy away

from affection. I asked him how his day went, and at first he said it was good. But then I noticed his face, scared, nervous. His smile was shaky. Kepasa. I asked, did that number call again? He nodded. In a low, nervous voice, he explained the number had called three times that day, once during second period, again during fourth, and the last time right at lunch. My blood boiled. Before I could even react, though, his phone buzzed in his hands.

The unknown number, right there in front of us. I snatched the phone and answered, Hello? Who is this? All I heard was faint breathing. nothing else, just someone on the other end, listening. My stomach turned cold. I hung up immediately, telling Mom it wasn't just some glitch, it was a real person. Mom stiffened, gripping the wheel tighter. She said if that creep called again, either she or dad would answer. The next day,

Saturday, I was out back helping dad, when Isma leaned out his bedroom window, panic on his face, and yelled that the man was calling again. I bolted over. grabbed the phone and barked, Hello? Who the hell is this? This time a voice answered, a raspy, decrepit old man's voice, sounding like he was in his 50s.

He said, I'm trying to look for my kid. Have you seen him? All I want is my kid. He's a naughty little boy. Every hair on my body stood up. I looked around the backyard, at the gate, at the street,

half expecting to see some stranger staring at us. Nothing. No one. My chest filled with rage. Listen, you sick bastard, I snarled into the phone. There's no kid here, and you're not missing anyone. Don't you ever call this number again, or I'll make sure you regret it. Before I could spit more venom, the man started laughing. Not like a normal laugh. It was broken, jagged, almost like coughing. Then he hung up, just like that. Gone. I stood there, gripping the phone so tight, my knuckles turned white, my heart pounding so hard I thought it might crack a rib. The message was clear. He wasn't just some random wrong number. He wanted something. He wanted

Isma. Isma was only 12, just a kid. My protective instincts surged so strong, I wrapped him in a hug, swearing I'd kill anyone who tried to touch him. The thought that some creep could be stalking him, even at school, made me sick. The next day, Sunday, we all piled into the car, me, Isma, mom, and dad to grab some food at a nearby Wendy's, and right on cue, the phone buzzed again. The same unknown number. My rage boiled over.

I snapped at Dad in Spanish. Boppy, this Cabran has been calling Isma for weeks. Can you handle this pendejo? Dad's jaw tightened. He nodded and took the phone from me. He answered in his. his deep, commanding voice. Listen, pal, I don't know who you are, but you need to stop calling this number right now. The man tried to interrupt, stuttering, but dad cut him off hard. No, no, no,

listen, you stupid, cabron. Don't you ever call here again. If you do, you'll deal with me personally. Shut up and have a nice day. And then he spat the words that ended it. Chinga to Madre. That was it. The pedophile stopped calling. Just like that. Gone. Relief washed over us, but it didn't erase the paranoia that hung over me. Fresno always had this atmosphere, violent, creepy, sick-minded people crawling around the edges. Hi, I'm Darren Marler.

Host of the Weird Darkness podcast. I want to talk about the most important tool in my podcast belt. Spreaker is the all-in-one platform that makes it easy to record, host, and distribute your show everywhere. From Apple Podcasts to Spotify. But the real game changer for me was, Spreaker's monetization. Spreaker offers dynamic ad insert insertion. That means you can automatically insert ads into your episodes.

No editing required. And with Spreker's programmatic ads, they'll bring the ads to you, and you get paid for every download. This turned my podcasting hobby into a full-time career. Spreaker also has a premium subscription model where your most dedicated listeners can pay for bonus content or early access, adding another revenue stream to what you're already doing. And the best part, Spreaker grows with you.

Whether you're just starting out or running a full. blown podcast network. Spreeker's powerful tools scale effortlessly as your show grows. So if you're ready to podcast like a pro and get paid while doing it, check out spreeker.com. That's S-P-R-E-A-K-E-R.com. ...of society. It was like the city itself breathed it out, filling every alleyway and every cracked sidewalk with unease. And after those four incidents, I was done. I swore to myself, Once I graduated high school, I'd get out. I'd move back to San Francisco, the city I was born in, the place where, even with its chaos and crowds, I felt safer. Fresno could keep its shadows, its burglars, its creepy homeless men, its hermit crab neighbors,

and its stalkers. I didn't want to share air with them anymore.