Solved Murders - True Crime Stories - He Vanished to Study Magic, but Returned Just as I Embraced a Life of Crime #55

Episode Date: September 4, 2025

#horrorstories #reddithorrorstories #ScaryStories #creepypasta #horrortales #magicmystery #crimeandmagic #unexpectedreturn #darksecrets #supernaturalthriller  He disappeared without warning, chasing forbidden knowledge in the world of magic. Meanwhile, I spiraled into a dark life of crime. When he unexpectedly returned, our paths collided in a dangerous dance of power, secrets, and survival. This story blends supernatural intrigue with gritty reality, revealing how the past and present can clash in the most unpredictable ways.  horrorstories, reddithorrorstories, scarystories, horrorstory, creepypasta, horrortales, darkmagic, crimeandmystery, supernaturalthriller, forbiddenknowledge, unexpectedreturn, secretpast, magicalconflict, survivalstory, shadowworld, crimejourney, paranormalintrigue, mysticpower, darksecrets, fatecollision 

All right. I don't even know how to start this without sounding like I've lost my mind. But whatever. I'm just going to tell it how it went down because maybe getting it off my chest will make me stop thinking about it at 3 a.m. every damn night. So, he left when we were 23. Just, gone. Like he dropped off the face of the planet. No text. No call. Not even a post-it note with a smiley face or some cryptic movie quote he used to love leaving around. Nothing. He was there one day, laughing, eating chips, talking about how he'd totally survive the zombie apocalypse, and the next day, he just, wasn't. Now, let's be clear, we weren't dating or anything.

I thought we were just friends. Really good friends, actually. The kind of friends that know each other's favorite. cereal, biggest fears, and what time to text when you're crying in the bathroom at work. So when he disappeared, I freaked the hell out. At first, I thought something bad had happened. Like, really bad. Maybe he'd been kidnapped, mugged, or worse. The cops thought so too. We filed a missing person report. They turned the city upside down for weeks, scouring every inch of the places he loved. Cafes, comic book stores, that weird alleyway market where he'd buy knockoff

watches for fun, nobody had seen him. No one found plane tickets. No train tickets. No bus receipts. Nothing. It was like he'd just evaporated. And for a while, I really believed he was dead. But then, three months later, I got a letter. A real, actual paper letter like it was nice. The envelope was crumpled, postmarked from freaking Canada. And when I saw his handwriting, messy, slanted, unmistakably his, I swear my knees went weak. The letter said, Hey, sorry about disappearing like that. I know I scared you. I didn't mean to.

I just, had to get out. I'm learning some stuff. Weird stuff. Magic stuff. I'll explain someday. Hope you're okay. Don't try to find me. I'll be gone by the time you read this.

At first, I laughed because I thought he meant card tricks or pulling rabbits out of hats. But no, he meant real deal magic. Or at least what he thought was magic. He'd apparently been training with some so-called master escape artist in the Canadian wilderness for months. He learned how to pick locks, handcuffs, padlocks, sheds. shackles, you name it. He even threw in that he'd gotten pretty good at slight of-hand tricks, mainly pickpocketing. That's when my stomach turned. This wasn't the guy I knew. He wasn't a bad

kid, not at all. But suddenly I was imagining him dressed in black, sneaking through alleys, ripping wallets from unsuspecting tourists. He didn't sound like my goofy friend anymore. He sounded like, someone else. And by the time I got the the letter, he'd already moved on. That was the last I heard from him for six years. By the time another letter came, life had done a number on me. He'd been declared legally dead, and honestly, part of me had accepted it. I'd tried to move on, tried to live my own life. But, let's just say it didn't go great. See, I wasn't exactly living on the straight and narrow anymore. I'd made some bad choices. Small time stuff at first. A wallet here, a phone there. Nothing huge.

But when you're broke and desperate and the job market sucks, the temptation grows. And then one day you realize you're not just dipping your toes in the water, you're swimming in it. I told myself I was still a good person. I only stole what I needed. I never hurt anyone. But that's what they all say, isn't it? Anyway, I'd gotten good. Too good. I learned how to move quietly, how to get in and out of places without leaving a trace. I had this little black outfit that made me look like I'd just stepped out of a comic book.

Hell, I even made myself a whip, not for any practical reason at first, but because I grew up obsessed with Zorro and Indiana Jones. And surprisingly, that whip was a whip. actually came in handy more than once. Then one day, out of nowhere, I got another letter. This one was postmarked from Tibet. He apologized again. Said he'd been busy, bouncing around Asia. Apparently, block picking and escape tricks weren't enough for him. In Japan, he'd picked up karate, judo, and jiu-jitsu. In China, he learned Kung Fu. And in India? Meditation techniques. that helped him block out physical pain. But it was Tibet where things really got weird.

He wrote about monks who taught him how to, put it all together. Said he was a new, improved version of himself now. Honestly, I didn't know how to feel. Part of me was happy he wasn't dead. Another part was annoyed as hell. Six years without a word, and now he's sending me some eat pre-love nonsense about being reborn. Whatever. I tossed the letter aside and went back to planning my next job. A week later, I found myself crouched on the roof of the city museum. Below me, under the glass skylight, sat the third largest diamond in existence. Big, shiny. Worth more than I'd make in ten lifetimes. I took a deep breath. My gloves squeaked against the glass as I set down my cutting tool. The plan was simple, cut, drop in, snatch the diamond, and get out

before anyone knew I was there. But then, a shadow moved over me. At first, I thought it was a cloud. I froze, listening. Nothing. Not a sound. Then I heard a voice. Low. Gravelly. Calm. Ah, Ah. Bad kitty, my stomach dropped. I spun around, and there he was. It was him. But it wasn't. The boy I remembered had been tall and lanky, with messy hair and this dorky grin that could light up a room. The man standing behind me was something else entirely. He looked carved out of stone. His hair was cropped short, his eyes sharp and cold. He was dressed in black, no weapons, no gear, and yet. I knew he was dangerous. What the hell, I started. Miss me, he said, smirking. I wanted to yell. I wanted to punch him. But all I could do was whisper, where the hell have you

been? Training, he said simply. I told you in my letters, that's not an excuse for vanishing for six damn years. I didn't vanish. He stepped closer, and I instinctively backed away. I have evolved, evolved into what, into someone who can stop you from making a mistake. I glanced at my cutting tool. You're not here to stop me. I am, he said. And trust me, you don't want to fight me, try me, I snapped, though my hands were sweating inside my gloves. We stared each other down. For a moment, neither of us moved. Then, faster than I could blink, he struck. I didn't even see his hand move, but suddenly my whip was gone, yanked clean out of my holster. He tossed it aside like it was trash. Still think you can take me, he asked softly. I swallowed hard.

What do you want? I want you to stop, he said. Before it's too late, and that's where it all began, the night my best friend came back from the dead to ruin my criminal career. The end.