Solved Murders - True Crime Stories - Hell’s Church, Missing Bikes, and Shadows in the Trees Tales That Shouldn't Be Real PART3 #1

Episode Date: September 28, 2025

#horrorstories #reddithorrorstories #ScaryStories #creepypasta #horrortales #truehorrorstories #paranormalstories #creepyencounters #nightmarefuel #unexplainedevents  Part 3 of Hell’s Church, Missing Bikes, and Shadows in the Trees uncovers even more spine-chilling events that seem impossible yet happened. From eerie shadows moving in the woods to unexplained disappearances, and the unsettling aura of a haunted church, these stories immerse you in moments of real terror. Every tale captures fear, suspense, and the eerie feeling that something unseen is always watching.  horrorstories, reddithorrorstories, scarystories, horrorstory, creepypasta, horrortales, truehorrorstories, paranormalstories, creepyencounters, nightmarefuel, unexplainedevents, scaryencounters, chillingtales, unsettlingmoments, realnightmares, disturbingstories, supernaturalstories, urbanlegends, truestoryhorror, mysteriousoccurrences

It was just a regular evening. I was in the middle of a game, headset on, fully focused, adrenaline pumping. My friends and I were deep into a match, shouting strategies, laughing, talking smack, the usual online chaos. Then, in the middle of all the noise and virtual chaos, I heard this weird thump from downstairs. Now, normally, I wouldn't have thought twice about it. I've got two cats and they're total lunatics. They wrestle like they're in some kind of feline MMA league and knock things over constantly.

So yeah, a thump. No big deal, right? But something about it gave me pause. I turned the game volume down a bit, just enough so I could still hear the game but also keep an ear out. Just in case. Maybe I had that sixth sense thing going on. Two minutes later, b.m., another thump. and this time there was a grunt. That wasn't my cats. I froze. It was subtle, but it was

there, a grunt. Like someone straining or stumbling or, breathing heavily. I wasn't sure. My gut told me something was off. I said into my mic, hang on guys, I think I hear something downstairs. One of my buddies responded casually, go check it out, man. We'll be here when you get back. We'll be here when you get back. So I muted myself, got up from my chair, and started heading downstairs. I was fully expecting to see my cats knocking over a lamp or something. I was halfway down when I heard it. Whispers. Men. Whispering. I froze again. There it was, soft but clear. Whispers. Male voices. Coming from my living room. At that moment, I knew that, I knew that. I knew that, this was no cat brawl. I crouched down slowly, trying not to make a sound, and peeked around the

corner. I saw them. Three men, all dressed in black, wearing dark hoodies, backpacks, gloves, moving around my living room like they knew what they were doing. My heart dropped into my stomach. I backed up the stairs as quietly as I could. But then, as luck would have it, creak, the final step betrayed me. Everything went dead silent. They heard me. I scrambled back into my room and grabbed my headset. I unmuted my mic and tried not to panic. Guys, I need you to call 911. There are three men inside my house. What? I don't have time to explain. Just do it. Call the cops and send them here now. I tossed the headset onto the bed and stood there, heart pounding. I could hear footsteps, heavy boots stomping up the wooden stairs.

Multiple sets. They were coming for me. I thought about locking my door, but that'd be the first place they'd check. Instead, I made a split-second decision. I left my bedroom door wide open and tiptoed to my parents' room across the hall. I slipped inside, hoping they wouldn't think to check there. The logic was shaky, I know, but I had to act fast. Within seconds, they reached my room.

I heard a loud pound on the door. Open up, kid, before I take this door down, a deep voice growled. I panicked. I bolted for the window in my parents' room. Fumbling with the latch, I slid it open, but I wasn't quiet enough. One of the men heard me and ran over. I turned to see him, big, broad, wearing a black hoodie. He lunged at me just as I started climbing out the window.

He grabbed my ankle. I kicked frantically and managed to slip out of my shoe. I dropped down onto the little roof above the back porch. Hard landing. Twisted ankle. But I was out. The guy at the window jumped after me. All I remember was seeing his boots coming toward me.

I rolled off the edge just in time. Landed awkwardly in the grass below, ankle screaming in pain, but I was still moving. I tried to run or hobble. One of the men was already heading downstairs to cut me off. He saw me limping and sprinted. I made it to the backyard gate just as he caught up. He tackled me. I fell face first, gasping, trying to scream.

But he clamped his hand over my mouth. The other two men joined him and started dragging me back toward the house. I was kicking, struggling, doing everything I was. I could to get away. Then, sirens. Bright, blaring, glorious sirens. The guys froze. One of them muttered something I couldn't make out. Then they let go. They bolted. Jumped the back gate and disappeared into the night. I scrambled to my feet, limping like crazy, and ran to the front of the house just as the cops were pulling up. They're in the backyard. I yelled. Three officers officers raced past me. One stayed behind and helped me to a cruiser. I sat there, dazed, shaking,

but thankful. They caught one of the guys. The other two managed to get away. Turns out they broke in through the basement window. The one they caught was charged with burglary and attempted kidnapping. The cops took my statement. My online friends, blessed them, showed up on their bikes like some kind of nerdy cavalry. You okay, man, one of them asked. Yeah, I said. Thanks for calling the cops. All I got was a sprained ankle. Could have been worse. Could have been way, way worse. That night taught me something important, trust your gut. If you hear something weird, don't just brush it off. And maybe don't play loud video games when you're home alone at night. Now, that would have been scary enough for one lifetime, right?

But no, it didn't end there. This second part happened a few years later, during my time as a missionary. I was sent out to Northern Georgia, pretty rural area. Not even a real town, more like a scattered community with a few big houses tucked into the forest. You know, the kind of place that doesn't show up on Google Maps. Creepy already, right? So my buddies and I, five of us, all volunteer missionaries, got a call from the church. They asked us to go help out at someone's property.

Just some yard work. We were down for it. We drove for what felt like forever. Dirt roads, winding hills, barely any signs of civilization. Finally, we pull up to this place and meet a woman, let's call her Linda. She tells us we've got to drive up the hill a big. more to get to the actual property. So we go. And what we see up there? Insane. Trash. Everywhere. Old trailers. Broken furniture. Random appliances scattered around like a storm had ripped through the place.

It was like an episode of hoarders, but instead of one house, it was the entire property. An acre of pure chaos. Linda tells us her sister, Sherry, used to own the property. A known hoarder, serious drug issues, real bad shape. But Linda had bought the land back and needed us to help clean it up before she officially took over. The catch? Sherry didn't know. She was off somewhere, and Linda wanted everything cleared before she showed up. We felt weird about it. Cleaning someone else's property without their permission. Not great. But we were there to help. We figured Linda knew what she was doing.

Linda and her husband Brett took off, leaving us alone to work. There were three trailers all close together. We split up but kept within shouting distance. I'm the type of person who can't resist exploring abandoned stuff. You never know what weird junk you'll find. I wandered into one of the trailers. The smell hit me first. Musty, rotting, old food, mold,

gross. But the place was filled with random objects. Dulls with missing limbs, newspapers from twenty years ago, even an old wedding dress stuffed into a closet. And then, well, that's a story for another day. To be continued.