Solved Murders - True Crime Stories - Halloween Nightmares Witchcraft, Stalkers, Haunted Houses, and Paranormal Encounters PART2 #66

Episode Date: September 26, 2025

#horrorstories #reddithorrorstories #ScaryStories #creepypasta #horrortales #witchcrafthorrors #stalkingstories #hauntedhouses #paranormalencounters #halloweenfear  "Halloween Nightmares: Witchcraft, Stalkers, Haunted Houses, and Paranormal Encounters – PART 2" continues the spooky series with more terrifying true stories. Survivors describe sinister witchcraft rituals, encounters with stalkers, haunted houses filled with dark secrets, and chilling paranormal activity. These tales remind us that Halloween is more than costumes and candy—it’s a night when darkness truly comes alive.  horrorstories, reddithorrorstories, scarystories, horrorstory, creepypasta, horrortales, witchcrafttales, stalkingencounters, hauntedhousehorrors, paranormalstories, halloweenhorrors, darkrituals, eerieencounters, spookytrueevents, nightterrors, chillingstories, ghostlytales, sinisterevents, hauntingmemories, supernaturalfear

There's so much rugby on Sports Extra from Sky. They've asked me to read the whole lad at the same speed I usually use for the legal bit at the end. Here goes. This winter Sports Extra is jam-packed with rugby. For the first time we've got every Champions Cup match exclusively live, plus action from the URC, the Challenge Cup, and much more. Thus the URC and all the best European rugby all in the same place.

Get more exclusively live tournaments than ever before on Sports Extra. Jampack with rugby. Phew, that is a lot of rugby. Get Sports Extra on Sky for 15 euro a month for 12 months. Search Sports Extra. New Sports Extra customers only. Standard Pressing applies after 12 months for the terms apply. I kept finding excuses to drop by the pub during my lunch breaks.

Grab something to eat, shoot the breeze with her, just say hi, you know, the usual. Okay, fine, I left out the part where I already wanted to marry her. Might have been too soon to lay that on her anyway. So, the third time I dropped by, she gave me this sly little grin and said, Are you just coming out here to see little old me? I laughed and shot back, ha, you know it. Then we just kind of locked eyes and cracked up like two school kids sneaking candy in class. That's when she pulled a slip of receipt paper from the register, scribbled something on it,

and handed it to me, her number. I get off at six, she said with a wink. I know there's that dumb unspoken rule that says you shouldn't call someone right after they give you their number, but rules are made to be broken. Instead of calling, I shot her a quick text asking if she'd be down to check out a haunted house with me. I told her my buddy Pete helped design the place and he was usually there every night until closing. If he saw us, odds were good he'd let us hang out with the actors, or better yet, maybe even give us a shot at working there ourselves for a few nights.

Her reply came in less than ten minutes, and it was the exact three words I was hoping for, it's a date. I swear, I grinned like a 15-year-old with a fresh love letter. She asked if we should go in costume. I told her, not necessary, but why the hell not? It was only the second weekend of October, but screw it, life's short, and Halloween's our favorite holiday. We decided to go all in. So the night of the haunt, I showed up looking like David from the Lost Boys, Mullet wig, red-tinted contacts, everything.

She came as Janine from the old Ghostbusters animated series. Short red wig, bright blue tube dress, beads, even nailed the New York accent. I'd heard her mention cosplay before, but seeing it live. Damn. She crushed it. We walked around the haunt for almost an hour. We were the only ones in costume, and people kept asking to take pictures with us. They thought we were part of the show.

It was hilarious. Eventually, we passed by this huge eight-foot, tall Wendigo Puppet. The detail on this thing was nuts. The puppeteer noticed us and held up a finger, like, wait here. When the crowd cleared out, a hand popped out from the puppet's guts and pulled back a flap of fake intestines, it was Pete. Dude had been working on that puppet for six months. He recognized us immediately and nailed our costumes without missing a beat. We chatted about everything he'd added to the haunt that year to pull and more visitors, especially now that post-COVID stuff was more relaxed. But then things took a sharp left. Some guy in a green hoodie

and gray skinny jeans came out of nowhere, brushed past us, and grabbed Dahlia's ass. She spun around, fire in her eyes, and shouted, What the hell do you think you're doing, you pervert? He responded in a creepy, muttered language I couldn't make out. Maybe Haitian Creole. Not sure, but he sounded off. He seemed like he wanted a fight because then he called over a buddy of his. This second guy showed up wearing a cheap old man mask, the kind you find in a dollar bin the week before Halloween. Then hoodie dude looked at Dahlia, made A-V with his fingers, stuck his tongue between them, and licked the air. Real classy. I felt my blood boil.

Before I could even react, Pete stepped in. I don't know what you're on, Pete said, calm but firm. But you're not welcome here. This is a family haunt. You've got five seconds to leave before I call the cops. Green hoodie turned and spit on Pete. Right on his chest. I could feel the tension spike.

Pete looked down at the mess on his shirt, clenched his fists, but held back. Old man-mask guy started sniffing his fingers, trying to be funny or edgy or whatever. It was beyond gross. Pete took a breath in motion for help. From behind the scene stepped a massive dude in a leatherface costume, chainsaw in hand, chain removed, of course. What's going on here? He asked under the mask. That was Bobby, Pete's brother. X-linebacker. Current powerlifter. Definition of gentle giant, unless you tick him off. Bobby, escort these jackasses out, Pete said. Make sure everyone sees it. Bobby nodded, stepped behind green hoodie, and in one smooth motion,

grabbed the guy by the hoodie between the shoulder blades. Gave the fabric a solid twist. Hoodie guy tried to slip out but nope, Bobby had him locked. He marched them out the front door. We followed, watching Bobby shout to the crowd, he knows what he did. We don't tolerate that garbage here. Everyone in the queue cracked up. It was obvious this wasn't part of the act. Hoodie guys screamed back, still ranting in whatever language that was, but no one cared. After that, the rest of the night was awesome. Pete gave us the full backstage tour, introduced us to the cast, and even offered us a spot toward the end of the month.

We were pumped, adjusted our schedules and everything to make it work. Around 1 a.m., we called it a night. The place had mostly emptied out. We walked back to the parking lot, still buzzing from the night, until we saw my car. Flat tires. All of them. Slashed. Out of every car in the lot, mine was the only one hit. As I stood there, trying to figure out how the hell we were going to get home, Dahlia suddenly got this weird look on her face. Do you hear that, she asked. Then I heard it too, a weird, clicky noise. Almost rhythmic.

Like metal snapping open and shut. We both turned toward the trees. Out from the shadows stepped green hoodie. He had a butterfly knife. Flicking it open and closed like he was auditioning for a martial arts flick. Quick side note, our local laundromat has a display case full of knives. It's sketchy. Doesn't matter that butterfly knives aren't technically legal here, if you've got 12 bucks,

they'll sell you one. Guess who shopped there? Green hoodie was walking toward us, flipping that knife around, mumbling something under his breath. Then, loud enough for us to hear, in broken English, you make me embarrass. No one do that. And then, he charged. Adrenaline kicked in. I flung open my car door.

Bam. It smacked him in the chest and knocked him backward. Get in. Lock the door. I yelled to Dahlia. She dove in and slammed the lock down. Now me? I'm not a fighter. I'm more the, make awkward jokes and buy coffee type. But something Primal kicked in. When he reached for the knife again, I stomped on his hand. Hard. I felt the crunch. He screamed, tried to switch the knife to his left hand. I went to stomp again, but he dodged. Fast. He swung.

The blade barely missed, slicing a two-inch gash into my pant leg. I jumped back, heart pounding. Behind me, I heard Dahlia screaming, and then the sound of an engine revving. To be continued.