Solved Murders - True Crime Stories - My Father, the Town's Superhero, Is a Monster Who Killed My Family and Calls It Love #14

Episode Date: July 31, 2025

#horrorstories #reddithorrorstories #ScaryStories #creepypasta #horrortales #familyhorror #psychologicalterror #superherogonewrong #domesticnightmare #twistedlove  Everyone in town saw him as a savior. A man of strength, morals, and justice. But to me, he was something else entirely—something terrifying. My father, the town’s revered “superhero,” held a sinister secret. Behind closed doors, he ruled our home with manipulation, control, and violence disguised as love. As his public image grew, so did the private horrors we endured. And then one night, everything unraveled. He killed my family in the name of protecting us—from what, I still don’t know. This is the story of how a boy’s idol became his greatest nightmare. A tale of twisted love, family horror, and the terrifying truth that not all monsters hide in shadows—some wear capes.  horrorstories, reddithorrorstories, scarystories, horrorstory, creepypasta, horrortales, familyhorror, twistedhero, domesticterror, fakehero, psychologicalabuse, maskedmonster, superheroabuse, traumaandhorror, betrayalstory, horrorbehindcloseddoors, secretmonster, loveandviolence, terrifyingtruth, brokenhomehorror

Not many kids can say they have a superhero for a father. My dad was an amazing man. He was the coolest person in the world. Known as our town superhero, he used his newfound powers to bring down evil villains who threatened to take over. Nobody knew how he and a number of others acquired their abilities. There were rumors of a chemical explosion in the power plant. Some people even believed my dad was from a different planet, while others were convinced it was natural human ever. My dad could shoot lasers out of his eyes, and he was super strong.

When I was seven years old, he single-handedly stopped the cerebral drainer, a psychopath with a vacuum-like power who took the lives of ten innocent people, sucking out their brains in broad daylight. Dad saved a child live on local TV, swooping down from the sky and telling the panicking crowd everything is going to be okay. Then when I was 12, Dad took down rat face, a villain who filled the street. with disease-ridden rodents. My dad was our town superhero, and in exchange for keeping his secret from the rest of the world, he protected all of us. He was the best superhero, and father, by day, and family man and loving husband by night. I was Millie Myers,

a completely ordinary high school girl, and daughter of Starman. It wasn't out of the ordinary for the press to be swarming our door when I got home from school, pushing through the crowd of my dad's adoring fans, I flashed my perfect smile at the cameras. As Starman's daughter, I was yet to reveal my power to the town. I could tell they were gunning for it, their wide and frenzied eyes raking me up and down. The older I was getting, the less patient the town was. Dad told them in a press conference that I was just a late bloomer. Channel 7 News was waiting for me at our front door, immediately sticking a microphone in my face. I was told not to talk to the press. I was tired, and the cameras were hurting my eyes. The anchor woman,

Heather Carlyle, was already yelling in my face. Millie Myers. Is it true your father is currently interrogating the son of the infamous villain, Six Eyes? Six Eyes was the opposite of my father. Dad strived to protect our town and everyone in it. Six Eyes, who was famous for the mutation that came with his ability, sought to destroy it. It was almost a year since he had brainwashed the mayor and almost taken control of our tiny town. Dad did manage to apprehend him, only for six eyes to break out of prison two weeks later. His 18-year-old son, Cartwright, wanted nothing to do with him. He had even legally changed his name to get as far away from his father as possible. The boy was only in town for a few

weeks on vacation from college. However, over the last few days, my father had reasons to believe six eyes was in contact with his estranged son. So, he planned to question the kid on his dad's whereabouts. I twisted around, maintaining a wide smile. No comment. I told the cameras. The anchor woman nodded slowly, thrusting her microphone further into my face. I had to hold back a sneeze. But your father is interrogating him now, correct? Millie, can you tell us what techniques he is using? She demanded, her expression riddled with excitement. She was trying to get me to spill or trip over what I was saying so my words could be taken out of context.

But I was already heavily media trained not to say a thing. I couldn't say the same for when I was a little younger. I blindly told the press a lot of things I regret. Dad didn't get mad easily, but his smile did start to slightly falter when I told Channel 7 our family's business. Shutting the press down, I shook my head, making sure to stretch my lips into a big, cheesy grin. Just like my dad told me. I cleared my throat.

Rest assured, Cartwright is in good hands, I can promise you all that. I nodded at the crowd, making direct eye contact with each of them. Dad said if I wanted the crowd to believe my earnest words, I had to look into each and every eye and mean it. That's what I did. As we all know, the son of six eyes is not a bad person, and we should not blame him for his father's crimes. I cannot speak from my dad, but I can assure you, he will find the villain's six eyes. I held my breath, pausing for just enough time for the crowd to register my words, and bring him to justice. When I turned to open my door, the spell was broken, more questions thrown at me.

Millie, is it true you have not inherited your father's abilities? Someone else screamed in my face, and I choked down a yell. Millie Myers, can you tell us more about your father's interrogation? I shrugged. I don't know. He's just talking to him. Millie. A wide-eyed redhead followed me, stumbling over my mother's rose garden.

When he carelessly stamped on a blooming rose, I resisted the urge to shove him back. He looked like an amateur, a college kid, maybe, armed with just his iPhone and a dream. The guy got close. Too close for comfort, swiping at my jacket. His breath was just coffee and cigarettes. Are you aware of the photos floating around of you and Kai Hendricks, the son of Oculus? Can you confirm that you are in a relationship? A younger woman threw herself in front of him. Miss Myers, is there a reason why your brother does not come outside? Ignoring them, I opened the door, stepped inside our house, and slammed it behind me. Once inside, I let myself breathe, dropping my backpack and pulling off my jacket. There was a folded square of paper tucked into my pocket. I pulled it

out and ripped it into pieces. There were exactly 1,370 tally marks carved into our front door. With a rusty nail, I scratched another tally, crossing a group of four. 1,371 days. Kicking off my shoes, I strode into the downstairs living room. I'm home. I told my twin brother. Ethan Myers was born three minutes after me. We weren't classed as identical twins, but Mom was convinced we were.

Both of us had thick brown hair, bearing our mother's soft features. While I kept mine in a strict ponytail, Ethan's had grown out lighter and cullier than mine, hanging in dark eyes. Ethan was the Myers twin who was not in the town spotlight. My brother was in his usual place, sitting on the couch, knees pressed to his chest, half-litted eyes glued to the corpse of our TV. The screen had been hollowed out a long time ago. I skipped into the kitchen and filled a glass of orange juice, took a quick sip, and headed over to my brother, pressing the drink. to his lips. Ethan didn't respond for a moment, before his lazy eyes rolled to me, life erupting into his expression. He gulped it down, juice trickling down his chin. When I withdrew the glass,

he shot me a grateful smile. I winced when he straightened up, the sound of jingling metal sending me stumbling back. Thanks, Mills, he held up his right hand, just like when we were little kids. High five, I ignored his childlike grin, hollowed out eyes penetrating right through me. Ethan was never looking at me. He was always looking over my shoulder. But when I followed his gaze, there was nothing there. I ruffled his hair, resisting the urge to wrap my arms around him. But I had to keep my distance. I stepped back, my gaze trailing the ceiling. Where's dad? Ethan's eyes travel back to the TV, his his lips pricking into a smile.

Basement. He said, Daddy is interrogating the villain's son. I nodded, pulling my switch from my bag and dropping it into his lap. It used to be Ethan's. In fact, he had carved his initials into the back. You can play with this, you know. I forced out, trying to stop my hands from trembling.

You don't have to keep, I turned to the Shattered TV screen, my heart catapulting into my mouth. into my mouth. Ethan didn't look at me, his gaze boring into the TV. He didn't respond, so I headed towards the basement door. But not before my brother let out a hysterical giggle. When I turned to him, Ethan was 17 years old, laughing at invisible cartoons. Do you expect me to play with no fucking hands? I didn't, or couldn't, reply. Hey, Millie. Ethan hummed when I pulled open the basement door. The chill that followed set my nerve endings on fire. My brother's voice was deeper, no longer the childish giggle I'd gotten used to. In the corner of my eye, his head turned

towards me. Standing on the threshold for a fraction of a second, I think part of me wondered if Ethan's mind had pieced itself back together. Mom wants juice too. My twins' voice was suddenly so small. Can you get her some? I pretended not to hear him, skipping down to the basement, ignoring how cold each step was, the ingrained red dried into concrete. The best part of my day was visiting my father while he was working. I held my breath, easing my way down each step. Hey, Dad. I called, easing myself through the dark. I always made sure to announce my presence. Daddy! I pulled my lips into the biggest, cheesiest smile. I'm home, pumpkin. Dad's voice echoed from the bottom of the stairs.

How's my favorite girl doing? Moving further down the stairs, I could hear screaming, wailing, sobbing. There were specific rules I had to abide by when stepping inside the basement. I had to be extra quiet if my father was doing superhero business. Over the years, though, Dad had relaxed the rules a little. When I pushed through the plastic sheeting, Daddy had already opened up the boy's head. It's not like I was surprised. He'd moved away from the interrogation stage a long time ago.

Starman stood in a simple suit and tie, a white coat draped over. My father was young for his age, dark brown hair and pale features. Cartwright didn't look so good, lying on his back, his half-litted gaze glued to the ceiling. I could see sharp red spilled across the floor and the bed he was strapped to. Starman loomed over him, cradling the boy's jerking head between blood-slicked gloves. The closer I got, I could see the exposed meat of the boy's brain leaking from the pearly white of his skull. Closer. Cartwright's body was quaking, his wrist straining against Velcro straps. My father's fingers gently stroked across the pink of his brain, tiny sparks of electricity bleeding from his index.

Starman's grin widened, and I watched the villain's son writhing under his touch. I could see the tiny sparks of electricity running from Dad's fingers, forcing his victim into submission. The villain's son's eyes rolled back, a wet-sounding sob escaping his lips. He was still conscious, and could feel everything. Starman lifted his head, his eyes finding me. Sweetie! How was school? He let go of Cartwright's head, delicate.

changing his gloves for brand new clinical white ones. Your teacher called about a certain test you have been trying to avoid. Dad tutate, swiping his bloody hands on his coat. When Cartwright tried to wrench from the bed, he knocked the kid back down with a laugh. Millie, I did say, there will be consequences if you flunk your tests. He gestured for me to come closer with a blood-drenched glove, and I did. Starman prodded a single finger into the raw flesh of Cartwright's brain. and the boy screamed, writhing, blood running thick from his nose.

Do I need to take your phone away, hmm? How about the school trip to New York? Millie, I don't have to sign the permission slip. He turned back to the villain's son, hanging over the boy with a laugh. What do you think? He cleared his throat. When Dad nodded at me, I laughed too. Young Mr. Cartwright, the human brain does not have nerves, so I don't know why you're

screaming. It is quite embarrassing for a boy of your age. He slapped the boy's cheek playfully, and Cartwright wailed. One thousand four hundred days, I thought, watching my father torture the teenage boy. One thousand four hundred days since Starman walked into our house, burned down our door, and announced himself as our new father. I was 13 years old in middle school. Ethan and I were watching TV in the living room, and there he was. Starman, with his signature grin, standing between the melted remnants of our front door. Stella, our little sister, squeaked in delight. Star Man.

She jumped off of the couch. Ethan gently dragged her back, holding her to his chest. Hey, Mom. He yelled, his voice shaking. There's someone at the door, Starman chuckled, taking a step inside our hallway. Oh, no, I'm not here for your mother. Four hundred days since he murdered our mother, lasering her head cleanly from her shoulders when she threw herself in front of us and begged him to take her.

There was wet warmth running across the concrete floor. I barely noticed, hopping over it. 1,400 days since Starman burned our little sister alive in front of our eyes. Starman didn't want three children. He wanted two. 1,400 days since our father nailed wooden planks over the door, announcing, Ethan and I as his legacies. Ethan started to spiral. He tried to escape out his bedroom window, and then more dangerously, jumping off of the roof of our house, and that just made our

father angry. He burned a hole in the TV, and then hollowed out the screen. Starman just wanted a son and a daughter. That's what he told my brother. He could not procreate because of the mutation causing his ability. But he had always wanted children. Starman promised us he was going to be the best father anyone would ask for. And he was. 100 days after murdering our mother and sister, Ethan and I were plunged into the town spotlight. These are my children. Starman told a crowd of flashing cameras.

He wrapped his arms around the two of us, pulling us closer. Asterisk, ladies and gentlemen, I would like you to meet Millie and Ethan Myers from my first marriage. Starman addressed the crowd with earnest eyes. I know what you're thinking, and no, these two are little rascals, he ruffled our hair a little too hard, and I made sure to laugh and smile and not cry. Millie and Ethan do not share my abilities. His lips spread into a grin. Yet, that word had been hanging over me since the press conference. Yet. Presently, Dad was crawling in my head again. Smile, Millie. I did, smiling so much, blood pooled from my lips. Dad promised neither of us would be sad again. We wouldn't fear him or anything else.

In fact, we were going to be happy, smiling, perfect children forever, his shining legacies he would dangle in front of the town on our 18th birthday. It was his birthday present to us, and I was so excited. The closer I was getting to my father, I could sense him fashioning my smile, wider and wider, until I couldn't breathe. He didn't care that I was bleeding. That my eyes were stinging. All he cared about was that I loved him as my father. Come here, Millie, I forced myself forwards, swallowing vomit filling the back of my mouth. If I screamed, I would end up like my brother. Ethan was on a permanent timeout until his 18th birthday.

Starman was yet to forgive my twin trying to stab him at Thanksgiving dinner. Dad said Ethan's mental state was puberty, but I was more akin to believing it was a mixture of trauma, as well as our father's attempt to poison my brother with powers at 14 years old which almost killed him. Dad was smart enough to stop the procedure before he killed his only son. I blinked, my legs buckling, footsteps faltering. Sometimes I think I can pull away from his influence. Millie Myers Dad hummed, skimming his finger across a variety of scalpeles.

Cartwright watched him feverishly. Don't make me ask again, Pumpkin. Still, I felt my thoughts start to melt away, replaced with artificial happiness choking me. Our father was the best dad in the whole world. I wouldn't ask for any other father, and I didn't even miss my mother. With that thought slamming into me, I skipped over to my father with a grin. Around him were rejects, corpses piled to the ceiling, limbs and heads and tors contorted and merged into one mass of gore. Humans he attempted to turn into minions. But there were also successful villains. The cerebral drainer and rat face had been ripped apart and put back together

again. Dad was saving them for a quiet day. The Myers' basement was my father's workshop. When I joined his side, he ran his fingers over Cartwright's skull. I was surprised when the villain's son let out a sudden, hysterical giggle, his eyes rolling to pearly. whites. What are you doing to him? I asked, intrigued, running my hands over the boy's restraints. This time, Cartwright's body contorted into an arch, maniacal laughter escaping his lips. When his back slammed into metal, the ground rumbled. Now, what is funny, hmm? Starman asked in a low hum. The boy responded by spitting in his face, shrieking with giggles. Dad cleared his throat, swiping blood from his cheek.

That's not funny. I was keenly aware of several instruments dangling above my head. Cartwright's body jolted, and they hit the ground. Dad turned his attention to me. What is your nightmare of a brother doing, young lady? His words shattered part of his influence. I felt my breath start to quicken, my heart's starting to pound. Fear.

Ethan hadn't moved in days, weeks, months. glued to that one seat, caught inside his own delusion. Ethan was watching TV when mom's brains were splattered across the walls. He was watching TV when our little sisters' flesh bubbled into the living room carpet. Ethan is watching TV. I hummed, what are you doing to the villain's son? I pointed to the boys' contorting fingers. They turned clockwise, straining under harsh Velcro straps.

Cartwright was trying to twist off my hand. head like a bottle top. I was lucky to have my father's protection. Dad shot me a grin. Well, you see, Millie, he said, shoving the hysterical boy back onto the bed. Madness. I saw it in his eyes, igniting every part of his face, running through his nerve endings. That is what made a villain, what we all saw on the local news. It was the loss of humanity, logic quite literally burned from the brain stem. Complete, unbridled euphoria, accepting insanity. I had already seen this exact look.

The cerebral drainers psychotic grin. Rat faces all too familiar and horrific chittering laugh. Six eyes as Alice in Wonderland smile. Dad rocked the boy's head back and forth. Cartwright giggled along, his gaze finding nothing, penetrating nothing. His hands went limp, and he gave up trying to yank my brain from my skull. We can't have heroes without villains, can we? I reached out, poking the boy in the face.

So, he's like his father. Dad almost looked like a proud father. Oh, no, honey, he's better than his father. He's already setting an example. Starman nudged me playfully. Your father would not exist without the bad guys, he said, tracing a face. finger over the boy's cheek. We're just lucky we have a town full of naive fuckwits. Cartwright laughed harder. Hard enough to send him toppling off of the bed with a wet,

meaty-sounding smack. I was partially aware of my body reacting. My breaths quickened, a thick slime creeping up my throat. I think I stepped back. I think I almost screamed. I forgot his head was hanging open, half of his brains leaking out. But I don't think Cartwright needed a brain anymore. Whatever was left of it was blackened, thick, poison streaks running up down what had been healthy pink and grey. My dad scooped him up and plunked him back onto ice-cold steel. His evil laugh was fake, manufactured, programmed directly into his mind.

Part of me wondered if this was his father's fate too. Six Eyes Was he a result of my father's experiments? The crazy thing is, the more I want to scream, my chest heaving, fear starting to gnaw away at me, the stronger my father's influence is. The villain's son was stitched back up with not even a hair out of place and thrown into the back with the other finished minions. If he recovered well, Cartwright, son of six eyes, would be going on a town rampage very soon. Well, he was the villain's son after all.

Instead of screaming, I smiled. Dad taught me everything about cutting up humans. human brains were so easy to manipulate. Because humans were bad. The people like my dad were better. I grabbed a scalpel, sticking it into Cartwright's hand. His whimper of pain collapsing into hysterical laughter didn't give me hope. If he reacted positively to a blade going through his skin, he wasn't worth saving. Once that thought crossed my mind, however, I really loved my dad.

The mental declaration almost sent me to my knee. Go upstairs and do your homework. Dad said, wheeling cart right into the back room. I'll be upstairs to cook dinner in 10 minutes. Sure, Dad, his influence was like a wire wrapped around my throat. Squeezing. Oh, and Millie, I didn't turn around. Yes, chocolate or strawberry for your birthday cake.

I froze, my smile stretching right across my face. He knew my answer. Dad baked us a cake four hours after I trashed the slimy remnants of my little sister. Starman forced me to peel my sister from the carpet and dump her in a trash bag. I could still smell her charred flesh hanging in the air. Starman made a giant chocolate cake and frosting. He made us eat every single morsel. Every bite was agonizing.

Chocolate, Daddy. I said, swallowing my lunch. Dad chuckled, and somewhere in the back, Cartwright started laughing. Starting as quiet giggles, they became full on guffaws. Starman ignored him. That's right, Princess. I nodded, heading back up the stairs. Greeting my brother, I cranked the Alexa to full volume.

I always listen to music when I'm doing my homework. Filling a glass of water, I held it to Ethan's lips with three fingers. Ethan downed it in three gulps and then nodded in one single motion. Starman may be a highly intelligent psychopath, but he is yet to notice my brother is not as brain dead as he thinks. Yes, he still watches TV. But he's also thinking, Dad is under the impression my twin doesn't need to be under his control. But Ethan has been planning. And slowly, over days, weeks, months, he has been putting together our escape plan. It has been 1,400 days since Ethan and I tried to escape our father.

1,370 days since we started to scratch our days of captivity into the door. 10 days until we turn 18. For days until we get the fuck out of here. The end.