Solved Murders - True Crime Stories - Hell’s Church, Missing Bikes, and Shadows in the Trees Tales That Shouldn't Be Real PART5 #3

Episode Date: September 28, 2025

#horrorstories #reddithorrorstories #ScaryStories #creepypasta #horrortales #truehorrorstories #paranormalencounters #creepyexperiences #nightmarefuel #unexplainedevents  Part 5 of Hell’s Church, Missing Bikes, and Shadows in the Trees concludes this chilling series with more unnerving encounters. From mysterious shadows hiding among the trees to bikes that vanish without explanation, and the haunting presence of the church itself, these true stories keep you on edge. Each tale highlights the fear of the unknown and reminds readers that some horrors may be closer than they think.  horrorstories, reddithorrorstories, scarystories, horrorstory, creepypasta, horrortales, truehorrorstories, paranormalencounters, creepyexperiences, unexplainedevents, nightmarefuel, scaryencounters, chillingtales, unsettlingmoments, realnightmares, disturbingstories, supernaturalstories, urbanlegends, truestoryhorror, mysteriousoccurrences

That night, the masked man, so, this one time when I was a kid, I had a nightmare that wasn't a dream, it was real life knocking on my window at 2 a.m. Imagine being woken up by a sound you just can't place, like scratching, but quieter and creepier. You think it's probably just a branch brushing against the screen, right? Yeah, me too. But turns out, when you live in a house out in the middle of nowhere, things aren't always what they seem. I was about 11 years old, sleeping in my bedroom that looks exactly like the one I live in now, which is kind of surreal to think about. The nearest neighbor was, like, five miles away.

Nothing but forest and silence. The window in my room faced the backyard, which you couldn't even get to from the front of the house unless you climbed over a metal fence. So, when I woke up to the scratching noise, I was confused and a little scared. I kept hearing the noise over and over, about ten seconds apart, this soft, deliberate scratching sound that didn't fit the calm night. Finally, I had to know what it was. So, I pulled back the blinds real quick, heart pounding so hard I thought it might burst.

And there he was, a tall figure standing right outside, wearing a white hockey mask, the kind you see in those old horror movies. Yeah, Jason Voorhe's vibes for sure. The guy was holding a knife and was dragging it slowly across the screen on my window. I swear, time stopped. We just looked at each other. Me frozen in terror, him standing there like he belonged in a nightmare. Then, just as suddenly, he turned around and ran, disappearing into the thick forest like a ghost.

I screamed the loudest, most terrified scream you can imagine, and ran to get my dad. He grabbed his shotgun, jumped outside, and tried to find the guy, but the man was gone. Never came back. Never saw him again. To this day, I don't know if it was some crazy prank or a guy who lost his nerve when he saw me awake. But the idea that someone was out there, lurking in the woods around our house, still chills me. From Oregon to Florida, the nightmare begins. Fast forward a few years. I was 19, moved from Oregon to Florida because of a boyfriend, rookie mistake. by the way. I thought I was trading rain for beaches and Mickey Mouse Magic, but instead I got

swamp bugs, dirt roads, and small towns where nothing happened. We lived in Hawthorne, a tiny place near Gainesville, with one stoplight and four stores, Dollar General, Steve's Market, Eckerd's Pharmacy, and Sunny's Barbecue. Not exactly a party town. I got a job at Eckert's Pharmacy. It was right in the middle of town, next to the grocery. store, so everyone shopped there. After working for a few months, I went in one day and my manager pulled me into his office. On his desk, there were like 30 or 40 handwritten letters all addressed to me. Handwritten, people. I had no clue who was sending these. He asked, do you know who wrote these? I was clueless, but I picked up a bright yellow letter, opened it, and inside were two handwritten

letters and a magazine clipping of a blonde woman. The woman looked just like me. The letters? They were creepy, this person was writing about how they imagined spending time with me, lots of strange, sexual stuff about my hair, how it smelled, moonlight, stuff like that. Some sentences were highlighted, some underlined. I was flipping through trying to figure out what the hell was going on, while my manager just watched quietly. Then he asked, do you know a guy named David Elrod? I did, he was a regular customer, a tall, awkward dude with frizzy blonde hair and thick glasses. Socially weird, maybe a little challenged. He came in a few times a week for diet, coke and medicine for his mom. Sometimes he'd stare at me a little too long,

but I thought he was just shy or awkward. But then I remembered an incident about two weeks earlier when he came up behind me at work and ran his hands through my hair. I had to pull away and told my manager about it. The manager said David was banned, and I was sent home while they sorted it out. Two hours after I got home, I heard a knock at the door and looked out to see what looked like a SWAT team. Seriously, dudes in tactical gear with big guns, cops, and two men in suits. They showed me the letters and asked if they could come in and talk. Everyone in town is had read the letters. I was mortified, wanted to disappear. The cop said they confronted David at his house. He was combative and insisted I wanted to talk to him. Turns out, this guy had a past,

he killed and partially dismembered his mom when he was 12, released from a juvenile psychiatric facility less than four years ago, but apparently still obsessed with his dead mom, picking up her meds and diet Coke weekly. David was arrested for stalking the next day when he was found lurking in the parking lot of Eckerts. The last I heard, he was back in a psych hospital. The whole experience was terrifying. I moved back to Oregon a week later, didn't want to stick around where Norman Bates was fixated on me. Dad's close call with a serial killer. Here's a wild one. My dad used to work at gas stations in a small central Florida town. It was 1990, I had just gotten my learner's permit, and he'd let me drive him to

work for practice. One day, while I was reading by the window, I noticed a woman walking up from the interstate. That was weird because no one ever walked there. I figured she broke down and needed to call for help. She came inside, looked around, and asked my dad for a ride to the town north of us, Ocala. My dad said no, because I had only a learner's permit. She turned and looked at me, asked if I could take her. My dad said no. again and told her to leave because something felt off. She cursed, stormed out slamming the door, and walked back toward the highway. A year later, I saw her mugshot on TV, Eileen Warnos, a convicted serial killer who was eventually executed. Thinking about how close I came to giving

a ride to a serial killer still haunts me. The van at the rest stop. College days in South Florida. Thanksgiving break, I'm driving home seven hours to the Panhandle. At night, I stopped at a rest stop in a little town called Alatua. Used the pay phone to call my dad, no cell phones back then. Only person there was a tired woman who asked me for directions. She said she was with her husband and two kids and got lost trying to get to Disney. Alatua is 150 miles away from Disney, so I figured she was just confused. Walking back to my car, I noticed a beat-up, unmarked gray van parked real close.

close to my driver's door. Florida plates. I thought, oh, that's not good. I ran back to the rest area and ran into the woman's husband and kids. Told them about the van. The husband said he'd check it out. He went up to the van, stood there a minute, then shouted, excuse me gentlemen, we've already called the police, so you need to leave.

He grabbed his wife and kids, and we all bolted to the SUV. The van peeled out, tires squealing. When the cops showed up, they found that all the seats in the van but the driver's seat were removed. One guy sat behind the wheel, another hidden in the back under a tarp with weird stuff. They weren't reading a map or newspaper. Just waiting. The thought of what they were planning still makes me sick. Why I'm sharing this, all these stories. They might sound like isolated nightmares, but what ties them together is a lesson, trust your instincts, be cautious, and never underestimate the weird and scary people you might meet.

Life throws some wild stuff at you, and sometimes survival is all about those tiny moments when you listen to that little voice inside you saying, run. The end.