Solved Murders - True Crime Stories - I Trusted the Wrong People—and It Nearly Got Me Killed More Than Once in My Life PART3 #67

Episode Date: September 16, 2025

#horrorstories #reddithorrorstories #ScaryStories #creepypasta #horrortales  #finalchapter #survivorstrength #darkpastrevealed #overcomingfear #truehorror  In this gripping conclusion, the narrator faces the final and most dangerous confrontation with those they once trusted. The story peels back the layers of trauma, betrayal, and survival to reveal a hard-earned strength born from terrifying experiences. This last part is a raw and emotional journey through fear, resilience, and the will to live, proving that even the darkest past can’t define the future. “I Trusted the Wrong People” ends on a haunting yet empowering note, reminding us how close danger can be—and how far courage can take you.  horrorstories, reddithorrorstories, scarystories, horrorstory, creepypasta, horrortales,part3finale, survivorstory, darktruthsrevealed, overcomingterror, finalconfrontation, emotionalstrength, truefear, survivaljourney, confrontingdarkness, nightmareends, braveryinfear, personalhorror, rawemotion, truehorrorstory

All right, here goes. I'm going to tell you about a bunch of crap that went down in my life that I wish I could forget. This story is long, messy, and if I'm being honest, still kind of haunts me, so buckle up. Let's start with the night that wrecked my childhood. I was just a kid, nine years old, living in Georgia. Just your average girl who liked Christmas and cartoons. My mom had just started seeing this guy she met at church. The place wasn't fancy, looked kind of like it hadn't been updated since the 80s, and it had one of those creepy old basements you only see in horror movies.

But the pastor was this ex-junky-turned preacher, real kind guy, always had a story and a warm smile. He was one of the only good things about that place. Anyway, it was a freezing Saturday night, and church had just wrapped up. My mom, her boyfriend, my future stepdad, and I were chilling in the place. parking lot, just talking about plans for the holidays. We were sitting in my mom's beat-up Pontiac vibe, the kind that doesn't have electric locks or windows. Every single door had to be locked and unlocked manually. It was a hassle. We were about to drive off when out of nowhere, this dude in a green hoodie yanked open the passenger door. He looked rough, dark skin, bloodshot eyes,

shaved head, wild expression. And he had a gun. Give me your wallet, he barked, shoving the weapon into my stepdad side. Now, my stepdad is Hispanic, and back then, he wasn't fluent in English. He just stared at the guy and went, no, bad move. My mom freaked. I was terrified, trying to scramble out of the car, sobbing and confused. My mom kept yelling for me to stay in, and the guy kept shouting. I said, give me your wallet.

Still, my stepdad refused. Just kept saying no, then the guy turned to my mom. Tell him to give it to me. She tried, but he still wouldn't. Meanwhile, I'm sitting there in my little pink and black dress, shaking, watching this psycho point a gun at the man next to me. Then he turned the gun on me. Ain't nobody giving me something, then she dies. My world froze.

I lost it. I jumped out of the car and spotted two more guys across the parking lot. They were walking our way, and yep, they had guns too. I screamed and dove back into the car. The guy with the gun was still losing it. You hear me, man. I'm going to shoot her right between the eyes. My mom grabbed her wallet and threw $75 at him.

Take it, please. He snatched the money, still looking like he wanted more. Then he pistol-wipped my stepdad, slammed the car door, and bang. Gun went off. The bullet went into the floor of the car. Thank God none of us were hit. The three guys ran off into the night, disappearing like shadows. We sat there crying, shaking, trying to piece ourselves back together. After half an hour, we made it to the police station. The cops were like, yeah, probably gang stuff. Doubt will find, M. No justice. No peace of mind. Just trauma. I ended up with PTSD from that night. I take meds now, try to sleep without reliving it. But those memories? They don't fade easy. All right, switching gears. Let's talk about when I moved into this apartment in Toronto. I was in my late 20s, moved in with a close friend. The area was decent.

low crime, lots of tourists, seemed safe enough. The building was old but well kept. We were told the locks had been changed before we moved in. Cool. I believed them. There was this maintenance guy, probably in his late 60s, who did repairs around the place. Kind of quiet, never really made eye contact. One morning, I was the last to leave. Locked the door at 8 a.m., nothing seemed off. My roommate got home at 4.30, changed clothes, went back out. We both came back around 6 p.m. First thing I did. Changed into yoga pants. Then I noticed my closet looked, off. Messy. Which was weird, because I'm the kind of person who organizes socks by color. Stuff was on the floor, boxes were moved, and someone had definitely gone through my dirty laundry. It was creepy. But what made it worse? Around 9.45, my roommate yelled my name from her room. I found the gift

you left me. What gift? She pointed to her bed. And there it was. A dildo. My dildo. I just stared, stunned. That's mine. What the hell's it doing in my bed? She asked. I didn't know what to say. That thing was supposed to be in a storage bin in my closet. We pieced it together, some creep had come into our apartment with a key, gone through my stuff, found my sex toy, and hid it in her pillowcase. Not funny. Not a prank. Straight up disturbing.

No signs of forced entry. The only way they got in was with a key. We went to the building managers, an old couple who lived in the same building. The wife looked concerned, but the husband brushed it off. Maybe it was a joke, he said. Then asked, did you give a key to anyone? What kind of question is that? We called the cops.

They showed up fast. Took our statements, but they didn't seem optimistic. Not much we can do, they basically said. I made sure to mention the maintenance guy, though. Something about him just didn't sit right. Never heard back from the cops. Not even once. Luckily, we haven't had another incident since then.

But man, that feeling of being violated? It doesn't go away. Now, let's rewind again to the summer of 2017. I was a teenager, hanging out with my best friend. We didn't live in the best neighborhood, but we made do. One night, we decided to walk to the local pond. It was close, just a few streets over. It was pitch black outside, but the streetlights gave us just enough visibility to make it there.

We found a bench under one of the lights and sat down to talk. Not smart, in hindsight. We were lit up like a stage. Any creeper walking by could see us perfectly. After a while I noticed movement in the distance. A bunch of shadows, slowly moving toward us. I pointed it out to my friend, and we had a choice to make, waded out and assume that they were harmless or get the hell out of there. My gut screamed run. We started speedwalking.

I kept looking back. The shadows. They were picking up speed. We bolted. Full sprint. My heart was pounding and I could hear footsteps closing in behind us. I couldn't see faces, just shapes. Figures. It was like a nightmare. We finally made it to my first. front yard and crouched behind some bushes, trying to catch our breath. We stayed there for a while before quietly slipping inside, locking every door and window. My friend said she never looked back, just ran. So we don't know if they actually chased us all the way. Could have been a prank, maybe. But with that area's reputation, we weren't about to risk it. All right, final story. This one's for my job.

I work nights as a telephone operator at a casino hotel. Been doing it for over a decade, and trust me, drunks, creeps, and weirdos are part of the package. I've been hit on, serenaded, even proposed to just because I sounded hot. I'm used to it. But this one call still gives me chills. It was a typical Saturday night. Some drunk guest called from his room. Hey, can I get two sets of towels up here, please?

No problem, sir. Anything else I can help you with? Yeah, you. That's where it cut off. To be continued. And yeah, that's only part of the mess I've lived through. But if you made it this far, thanks for sticking with me. Sometimes you just got to write it all out to make sense of the chaos.