Solved Murders - True Crime Stories - Midnight on Kelly Road Cloaked Rituals, Chased Headlights, and a Goat Horn 2025 PART2 #47

Episode Date: December 12, 2025

#horrorstories #reddithorrorstories #ScaryStories #creepypasta #horrortales #paranormal #truecrime #KellyRoadMystery #occultrituals #creepyevents  Part 2 continues the eerie events on Kelly Road, exploring the mysterious cloaked rituals and unsettling encounters reported by locals. Witnesses describe chased headlights, strange symbols, and ominous sounds, suggesting a sinister presence connected to occult practices. This section deepens the suspense, blending paranormal activity with real-world fear, and revealing more about the dark forces seemingly at work on the isolated road.  horrorstories, reddithorrorstories, scarystories, horrorstory, creepypasta, horrortales, KellyRoad, paranormal, occult, ritual, cloakedfigures, superstition, strangeevents, hauntedroad, creepyencounters, mysteriousoccurrences, darkrituals, supernatural, unexplainedphenomena, chillingevents

This Christmas on Sky, you can turn a silent night into stoppage time delights. And lots of that! Niggas and gold! An old mince pie... Ew. ...into a stunning try. It's stupendous, love lancaster. And a winter chill into an alley-pally thrill.

Luke the new Glitla. With over 50 Premier League games, exclusive Champions Cup and URC rugby, and all the darts, turn your Christmas into a sportsmust to remember. With Sky Sports and Sports Extra, Merry Sportsmas. On the many days of Christmas, the Guinness Storehouse brings to thee. A visit filled with festivity. Experience a story of Ireland's most iconic beer in a stunning Christmas setting at the Guinness Storehouse. Enjoy seven floors of interactive exhibitions and finish your visit with breathtaking views of Dublin City from the home of Guinness.

Live entertainment, great memories and the gravity bar. My goodness, it's Christmas at the Guinness Storehouse. Book now at Guinness Storehouse.com. Get the facts. Be drinkaware. Visit drinkaware.com. Strange memories, creepy nights, and things I'll never forget. So, here's a story that has stuck with me in the weirdest way. It's not something I personally remember completely because I was too young,

but my mom filled in the blanks when I got older. And honestly, every time I think about it, I get this heavy, uneasy feeling in my chest. I was about four years old, tiny and clueless about how strange the world can get. We were visiting my aunt's house back then, because whenever my mom's side of the family got together, that was the hub. They had a golden retriever, big, fluffy, slobbery, friendly, but I was hypersensitive to dogs. Don't get me wrong, I wasn't terrified of them. I could be around them for a short while, but my body didn't like it. If I got licked or touched too much, I'd break out in a rash. And, of course, that's exactly what happened.

This time, the rash spread down into an area you really don't want to have a rash. Yep, my lower half, my private parts. Fun times. My mom, being a doctor herself, wasn't panicking, but she was annoyed that it had gotten that bad. She told me later that it was probably because I wasn't washing my hands properly before going to the bathroom. I mean, I was four, handwashing wasn't exactly my top priority at the time. So, when we got back home, she decided it was time to take me to a dermatologist in Allentown. She hadn't used one before, neither had my dad, so they asked around and landed on this guy, Dr. Robert J. Thompson.

He came recommended. At the time, he had a good reputation. My mom, being cautious, and again, a doctor herself, looked into him before setting the appointment. Everything looked clean on paper, she went for it. The doctor's office. I actually remember parts of that day, which is wild, because I was so young. The waiting room smelled like disinfectant, the kind of sharp, sterile smell that clings to your nose. I was fidgeting with one of those bead-maze toys, sliding the wooden beads along the

colorful wires while my mom filled out paperwork. When we finally went in, the doctor seemed normal enough. He checked me over, looked at the rash, and said it was nothing to worry about. Pretty common, he told my mom. I'll prescribe a steroid cream, should clear it up in no time. I remember my mom nodding, relieved. But then, right at the end of the visit, he asked something weird. He wanted to take pictures of the rash, to document it for research.

Now, as a kid, I didn't think much of it. But my mom's face tightened. She didn't blow up on the spot, but later she told me what was going through her head. Here's the thing, my mom knows the value of medical research. She's been in the field for years. She even told me that when I had hip surgery as a kid, my case was used for a study. So she's not against doctors using patient data responsibly. If this rash had been some rare, unusual thing, she probably would have said yes.

Yes. But the doctor had literally just said it was a common rash. Nothing rare. Nothing remarkable. And if it's common, guess what? There's already plenty of research on it. Nobody needs a picture of my rash for science. That set off alarm bells in her head. She told him no. He didn't push. She left thinking it was weird, but she put it out of her mind. Until a couple years later. The news We were sitting in the living room one evening when the news came on. The anchor's voice was grave, serious.

And then the name dropped. Dr. Robert J. Thompson charged with possessing over 200 sexually explicit photos of children. Hundreds of them were stored on multiple home computers. The FBI had busted him after a two-year investigation into people trading child exploitation material over old AOL servers. And yeah, my mom froze. That was the doctor. My dermatologist.

The same guy who wanted to take pictures of me when I was four. I'll never forget my mom looking at me, then muttering, thank God I trusted my gut. If she hadn't, if she had just shrugged at it. off like, oh, maybe he really does want them for research, I would have ended up being one of those victims. My picture would have been on that hard drive. So yeah, big thanks to my mom for protecting me from that monster. This Christmas on Sky, you can turn a silent night into stoppage time to lice. An old mince pie into a stunning try. And a winter chill. It's a To an alley-pally thrill.

Luke the nuke! With over 50 Premier League games, exclusive Champions Cup and URC rugby, and all the darts, turn your Christmas into a sportsmust to remember. With Sky Sports and Sports Extra, Merry Sportsmas. On the many days of Christmas,

the Guinness Storehouse brings to thee, a visit filled with festivity. Experience the story of Ireland's most iconic beer in a stunning Christmas setting at the Guinness Storehouse. Enjoy seven floors of interactive exhibitions and finish your visit with Brett taken views of Dublin City from the home of Guinness.

Live entertainment, great memories and the gravity bar. My goodness, it's Christmas at the Guinness Storehouse. Book now at ginnestorehouse.com. Get the facts, be drinkaware. Visit drinkaware.e. Jumping forward, the camping trip. Fast forward to last summer. Totally different vibe, but still one of the creepiest nights of my life.

My boyfriend and I decided to go camping in a nature preserve somewhere in rural Pennsylvania. I wish I could remember the name, but honestly, the trip turned into such a blur that the details faded. It was primitive camping, no hookups, no fancy RVs, no showers. Just us, our tent, and the woods. In the entire preserve, we only saw two other people the whole time we were there. At first, I thought, cool, we basically have this whole place to ourselves. But my boyfriend wasn't so thrilled. He said right away that something about the people we did see felt, off.

The woman with the truck. The first was this woman with her truck pulled off the trail. Put up, like she was stranded. Normally, my boyfriend's the type who would at least offer to help, or maybe call someone for her if she was stuck. but he whispered to me that something didn't feel right. He said it looked more like she was waiting, like she wanted someone to pull over.

And it wasn't just the truck thing. He couldn't explain it exactly, but he said the vibe was wrong, like a trap. I trusted his instincts because usually he's the one rolling his eyes at me for being paranoid. The fact that he was weirded out. That was enough for me. The man in the car. The second person was a guy.

He didn't say a word to us. Just kept driving past our campsite. Slowly. Like, really slowly. He circled by while we were setting up our tent, then again while we were gathering wood, and at least one more time after that. I hadn't even noticed until my boyfriend leaned over and whispered, that's the third time. It creeped him out.

Me. I tried to brush it off. Maybe he's just lost, I said. But deep down, yeah, I was unsettled too. 3 a.m. The real nightmare started around 3 in the morning. We were asleep in our tent when this sound jolted me awake. It was loud, metallic, and ugly.

I can't even describe it properly. My boyfriend later said it sounded to him like a chain gun revving up, or maybe someone dragging some massive metal tool across gravel. It wasn't a clean sound. It was raw, mechanical, angry. He sat up instantly, unzipped the flap, and peered out. The sound came again. Then again.

Each time, closer. I was about to piss myself. My boyfriend leaned back in and whispered, it's probably a few miles away. Don't worry. And like an idiot, I believed him. Only later did he confess that he lied. He said it sounded like it was coming from right down the dirt road. Maybe even directly in front of our campsite at one point.

He didn't want to scare me, so he tried to downplay it. The only reason he didn't yell for me to run to the car right then was because he thought it could have been a setup. like someone trying to lure us out of the tent. So instead, he whispered for me to lie down and try to go back to sleep. As if every crunch outside, every leaf rustle, made my skin crawl. I was sure someone was circling our tent. Packing up. Finally, maybe 20 minutes after the noises started, he'd had enough.

He grabbed our machete, our only weapon, and told me to have him. help him pack. The sound had stopped by then, but the silence was almost worse. It was a full moon that night. The trees and our little clearing were all washed in pale silver light, almost bright as day. That should have been comforting. Instead, it made me feel exposed, like anything out there could see us crystal clear. As we packed, I noticed something that chilled me more than the noises, an empty beer can near our dead campfire. We hadn't brought beer, and it definitely hadn't been there when we went to sleep around 10, which meant someone else had been there, right next to us.

We got the hell out, drove off without looking back. For the rest of the trip, we camped only in crowded areas, or ditched the 10th. Inflation pushes up building costs, so it's important. important to review your home insurance cover to make sure you have the right cover for your needs. Underinsurance happens where there's a difference between the value of your cover and the cost of repairing damage or replacing contents. It's a risk you can avoid. Review your home insurance policy regularly. For more, visit understandinginsurance.i.4. Underinsurance, brought to you by Insurance Ireland.

Hunting Season Story Now, before I wrap this up, let me tell you another weird one. It's less sinister, maybe, but it still sticks with me. I go hunting every season. For me, it's not even about the kill. Half the time I don't get anything. I just like being out in the woods, having that sense of purpose, that goal. If you're not from Pennsylvania, here's the deal, rifle season in late

November is huge. Everyone's out there. That particular year, it was already the second week of the season and I still hadn't bagged a deer. I was determined, so I planned to wake up at 5 a.m. and head to my hunting spot. It's private land, owned by my grandfather. Only he and I hunt there. Normally, I'd call him to see if he wanted to tag along. But the weather was rough that morning, snow hammering down, wind howling like it wanted to tear the roof off. I figured he'd stay in, and honestly, part of me thought maybe I should too. But stubbornness won out. Out into the storm. So there I was, 5 a.m., staring at the window as the snow came down in sheets. The wind was howling like some wild animal. Most sane people would have looked at that and

gone, nah, I'll wait till tomorrow. But me? No, I was stubborn. I was already picturing that buck stepping into my scope, already thinking about the bragging rights I'd finally get after a dry spell. I layered up, thermal underwear, camel pants, thick socks, boots that felt like they weighed 20 pounds each, gloves, hat, the whole nine yards. Packed my rifle, my thermos of coffee, and some jerky. By the time I walked out the door, I felt like a soldier heading off to war. The drive out to my grandfather's land was brutal. Snow covered everything, including the road.

My wipers could barely keep up. At times, I thought about turning around, but I'd gone too far, both literally and mentally. I kept telling myself, you've done this before, Caleb. It's just weather. When I finally pulled into the gravel, drive that led back into the woods, the world was so quiet it almost hurt. You'd think the wind would have drowned everything, but no. Once I stepped out of the car, all I could hear was the crunch of my boots on snow and my own breath fogging up in front of me. Alone in the woods

Now, being alone in the woods can be peaceful. It can also be terrifying. And on that morning, with the snow falling heavy and the wind pushing at the trees, it leaned more toward terrifying. I hiked in about 20 minutes to one of my usual spots, a tree stand my grandfather had built years ago. It creaked under my weight as I climbed, which didn't exactly help my nerves. But once I settled in, rifle ready, I tried to relax. Except I couldn't. There was this feeling crawling all over me. That sensation you get when you know someone's watching you.

Every snap of a branch made me twitch. Every gust of wind that shook snow from the branches made me grip my rifle tighter. I told myself it was the weather playing tricks. But then I noticed something weird. There were tracks in the snow. Not deer tracks. Human tracks. The tracks.

They weren't mine. and they weren't my grandfathers either. These were fresh, leading from deeper in the woods right past the base of my stand. And the strangest part. They stopped. No turnaround, no fading. They just stopped under my tree like whoever it was had stood there for a long time. I froze.

My heart hammered so hard I thought it might echo. Who the hell was out here in this storm? Nobody in their right mind would be wandering around these woods unless they had a reason. And the fact that the tracks led straight to me? That was the part that didn't sit right. I stayed in that stand for hours, eyes darting to every tree, finger hovering over the trigger. I never saw anyone. No deer, no people, nothing.

Just the relentless snow. Finally, I couldn't take it anymore. I climbed down, heart pounding the whole way, and followed the tracks backwards. They went deeper into the woods, winding and weaving, until I lost them where the snow had piled too thick. I left after that. I didn't even bother trying to hunt. I just knew something was off. Connecting the dots.

Looking back, it all feels like these strange moments, my childhood with that shady dermatologist, the camping trip with my boyfriend, the thing in the woods during hunting season, they all add up to this weird theme in my life. Like the universe keeps reminding me that the world isn't as safe as we like to think. And sometimes, the scariest things aren't ghosts or monsters. They're people. People waiting with a truck hood popped open. People circling your campsite in the middle of nowhere. People asking to take research photos of a child's rash.

People walking through the woods during a snowstorm for no reason you can figure out. It's like all these little stories are puzzle pieces, and when you put them together, the picture that forms is ugly. It's danger. It's the unknown. It's the reminder that you can be living your normal, everyday life one second, and the next, you're face-to-face with something you can't explain. Reflections when I tell these stories people sometimes laugh nervously or brush them off oh you were just tired oh your boyfriend was exaggerating oh it was probably just some hunter but the thing is when you live through it when you feel that gut-level fear it doesn't leave you it sticks i still smell burning fur sometimes when i think about kelly road i still picture that empty beer can buy our dead fire when I hear noises at night. I still see those footprints under my tree stand when I dream about the woods. I guess the lesson is to always trust your gut.

My mom did when that doctor asked for photos, and it saved me from being a victim. My boyfriend did when he decided to pack up in the middle of the night instead of ignoring the sounds, and it probably saved us from whatever, or whoever, was out there. me i'm still learning but one thing i know for sure i'll never forget any of it to be continued