Solved Murders - True Crime Stories - Horrifying True Stories of Strangers Hiding Under Beds With Sinister Intentions PART2 #63

Episode Date: October 25, 2025

#horrorstories #reddithorrorstories #ScaryStories #creepypasta #horrortales #bedhidingstrangers #homeinvasion #truestoryfear #nightmareencounters #dangerathome  Horrifying True Stories of Strangers Hiding Under Beds With Sinister Intentions – Part 2 continues the terrifying accounts of people discovering intruders hiding in their homes. This installment highlights intense moments of fear, quick-thinking escapes, and the psychological trauma that comes from realizing someone with sinister intentions was so close, emphasizing the danger lurking in everyday spaces.  horrorstories, reddithorrorstories, scarystories, horrorstory, creepypasta, horrortales, bedhidingstrangers, homeinvasion, truestoryfear, nightmareencounters, dangerathome, chillingtruestory, realfearencounters, unsettlingtruestory, suspensefultruestory, terrifyingrealcrime, darkrealstories, frighteningtrueevents, survivalstories, creepystoryhorror

Under the bed, a close call. I had just let my hand dangle over the end of the bed, swinging it lazily while thinking about the test I had taken earlier that day. Honestly, I was still trying to process whether I had done well, because math has always had this way of sneaking up on you and knocking your confidence out of the park. I was half daydreaming, half exhausted for my long recovery months when something brushed against my hand.

At first, I thought it was my cat. Maybe she had finally wriggled under the bed while I was distracted. But the sensation felt odd, it was firm, yet soft, like a very closely shaved hairbrush. I frowned and poked it again, thinking maybe a stray sock or some old shoes had slipped under there. Except, no. It moved. I pinched at it lightly, and it recoiled. Something alive was under there. My heart immediately began pounding like a jackhammer.

I felt a wave of panic wash over me, threatening to make me faint. My mind jumped from one scenario to the next, a dog. A raccoon that somehow sneaked in through the window. Every thought was absurd, but none of them comforted me. Then, out of nowhere, a figure emerged, screaming in Spanish. No, despairum, know me despairs, or something I. along those lines. My Spanish isn't great, but the tone was unmistakably frantic. My mind went blank for a second. My hands shot up instinctively, and I yelled back, what the hell are you doing here?

Get out before I call the police. The man scrambled toward the door, shuffling awkwardly, looking completely dishevelled. Dirt clung to his clothes, his hair was matted, and he reeked of something unidentifiable, like a mix of alleyways and desperation. I slammed the door behind him and leaned against it, trying to catch my breath. It was only when I started inspecting the room that I realized just how badly violated I felt. Two of my watches were missing. My favorite gold rings, sentimental, irreplaceable, were gone. I was shaking with a mix of fear and anger. For the rest of the day, I was tense, hyper-aware, constantly checking the locks, imagining that he could come back any moment. But at least he hadn't harmed me physically. That was a small, cold comfort in the

chaos of my emotions. I was 23 at the time, a young woman who had spent the previous months recovering from major leg surgery. I had quit college because I couldn't manage my studies while on crutches and healing. Unemployment was boring, but safe, or at least I thought it was. I still limped around, adjusting to life without the crutches, gaining confidence in my balance. I lived in an old Victorian duplex, the kind of house with character and charm but also quirks that could turn inconvenient if you weren't careful. I occupied the ground floor. A middle-aged, reclusive woman lived upstairs, keeping mostly to herself. We had said, separate entrances, which felt safe enough.

My housemate, a guy a few years older than me, worked as a security guard at a local casino. He was reliable, calm and steady, a comforting presence in a neighborhood that wasn't exactly friendly. The street we lived on had a reputation, seedy, rough around the edges, but I had always felt safe. I'd grown used to the occasional noise or suspicious character, but nothing prepared me for that night. The night everything went down started like any other.

My boyfriend and I were hanging out in the living room, watching movies. My housemate's girlfriend came over with a drunk male friend. He immediately fell asleep on the couch, snoring obnoxiously. My housemate and his girlfriend went into his room at the back of the house, which is where things got ridiculous. Within minutes, the sounds coming from that room could only be described as obscene. They were unbelievably loud, enough to be heard from the street outside. I glanced at my boyfriend, trying to pretend I wasn't cringing.

Minutes later, we heard a crash from the back of the house. Something heavy had fallen, but we assumed it was just them being chaotic again. The movie ended, and the house went quiet. Finally, it was time for bed. My room was in the middle of the house, sharing a wall with my roommate's bedroom. The living room was on the opposite side. My bed was against the exterior wall, parallel to a window that slid up and down. I noticed something immediately when my boyfriend joined me, the screen on my window was missing.

My cat, who was strictly indoors, could have gotten out. 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 Spreeker's monetization. Spreaker offers dynamic ad insert 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, Sprinker'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. ...go itself have been pushed up far more than I thought possible. Fear crept into my chest. My first thought, check under the bed. Maybe my cat was hiding, terrified by all the noise.

What I saw under the bed froze me in my tracks. A black mass, larger than my cat, crouched there. My hand instinctively reached out and grabbed, an arm. Cold. Real. Alive. My first thought was relief, thinking it might be a friend playing a prank. I laughed nervously, hey, someone's under here.

I leaned in, only to come face to face with a stranger. Not a friend. Not a prank. Panic searched. My boyfriend, completely naked, yelled at me to grab my gun. He wasn't joking. I was closer to the closet, so I stayed put and yelled at the man under the bed to stay still. Somehow, he obeyed. I threw a robe to my boyfriend, who quickly put it on and joined me near the closet.

He took the gun, pointing it at the mass under the bed. I ran to wake my housemate, our backup, and together the three of us confronted the intruder. Slowly, a teenage boy in a black hoodie crawled out from under the bed. His eyes darted around, shaking violently. He looked like he was on something, or terrified. We questioned him, cautiously. He was surprisingly cooperative, quiet, and submissive. We emptied his pockets.

In them were condoms, lube, dirty porn ads, extra-strength ibuprofen he claimed was vicarin, and, disturbingly, my dirty underwear. My stomach churned with nausea and disbelief. We called the police, of course. They arrived swiftly, to me. taking him into custody. He was mentally unstable, high on something, and had likely been living on the streets. The violation was deeply unsettling, a violation of the sanctuary that my home was supposed to be. For days afterward, I felt the house was unsafe. Every creek, every shadow,

every small noise triggered panic. Sleep was impossible. I rechecked locks, checked under beds, and double-checked every window screen. The incident stayed with me, etched into my memory. Even now, years later, I recall the sensation of touching that arm under the bed, the instant recognition that this wasn't my world anymore, that an intruder had breached it completely. The violation, the fear, the adrenaline, it all became part of me, reshaping my awareness of personal safety.

I realized something crucial, the world looks safe until it isn't. Until someone sneaks in, unseen, while you're distracted. Until a moment of carelessness, a moment of trust, becomes an opportunity for danger. For my mom's near miss in Australia to my terrifying encounter under the bed, I understood something fundamental, vigilance isn't paranoia, its survival. The house itself became a psychological trap. Every window, every floorboard, every shadow reminded me that a single lapse could lead to disaster. I couldn't relax fully, couldn't let my guard down. But I survived. That mattered. And maybe that's the lesson, harsh as it sounds, safety isn't guaranteed. It's something you must actively protect, moment by moment,

decision by decision. Looking back, the experience changed me. It reshaped how I interact with spaces, with people, even with the idea of trust. The moments leading up to the discovery, the chaos of realization, the confrontation, and the aftermath became a blueprint for vigilance. A reminder... 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. Preaker 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,

Spreaker'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 dot com. That the world holds dangers in the places we least expect. And so, I live differently now. Hyper-aware, cautious, respectful of the invisible line between normalcy and chaos. That night, under my bed, wasn't just a close call. It was a lesson in survival, instinct, and the thin, fragile veil that's separate safety from threat. It's a lesson I carry with me, every day. To be continued.