Solved Murders - True Crime Stories - My Mom Found a Man with a Knife Hiding in Our Bathroom—and We Were Just Kids Then #78

Episode Date: September 7, 2025

#horrorstories #reddithorrorstories #ScaryStories #creepypasta #horrortales#homeinvasion #childhoodtrauma #realhorror #familyfear #nightmareencounter  "My Mom Found a Man with a Knife Hiding in Our Bathroom—and We Were Just Kids Then" is a terrifying true account of a home invasion that shattered the safety of a family’s childhood. Told from the perspective of children caught in a nightmare, the story captures the raw fear and lasting trauma from discovering a dangerous stranger lurking inside their home. It’s a chilling reminder that horrors don’t always come from the supernatural—sometimes, the scariest moments happen in places we should feel safest.  horrorstories, reddithorrorstories, scarystories, horrorstory, creepypasta, horrortales, homeinvasionhorror, childhoodtrauma, familyfear, realhorrorstory, intruderstory, nightmareencounter, domesticterror, traumahealing, survivalstory, fearathome, rawemotion, unsettlingtruth, truecrimehorror, hauntingmemories

When I was eight years old, my family made what felt like the biggest move of my life at the time. We packed up all our stuff from the small two-bedroom apartment we'd been crammed into and moved into an actual house in a quiet neighborhood across town. To eight-year-old me, it felt like we were upgrading to a palace. There was a backyard, actual trees, and my brother and I even got our own rooms for the first time ever. It was the kind of place you'd think was perfect for raising kids. At that age, I didn't think too much about things like locks, neighborhoods, or safety. I just thought it was cool that I didn't have to share a bunk bed anymore.

But years later, after I was well into my teens, my parents sat me and my brother down and told us something about that house they had kept from us all those years. Even now, it still sends chills down my spine. So here's what happened. Back then, our daily routine was pretty predictable. Every weekday morning, my dad would pile us into the car and drop us off at school before heading to work. My mom worked two jobs, so she'd often be out of the house all day too.

Sometimes, though, she'd come home between jobs, she had this little window of a few hours in the afternoon before heading out again for her evening shift. Those were the days when she'd catch up on laundry or just relax for a bit before the next grind. Anyway, on one of those afternoons, she came back home around. around lunchtime. She pulled into the driveway, grabbed her purse and some groceries, and walked up to the front door. Right away, something felt off. The door wasn't fully shut. It was slightly ajar, the way it gets when the latch doesn't catch properly. Our front door was old, one of those wooden doors with a clunky brass knob and a latch that didn't

always line up unless you gave it an extra push. Mom swore she'd locked it that morning. Still, she figured maybe my dad had left in a rush and forgotten. She pushed it open and stepped inside. At first glance, nothing looked too weird. The living room was fine, the couch pillows were still perfectly in place, the TV was off. She set her bags down on the table and started heading to the kitchen. That's when she noticed the drawers. Several kitchen drawers were pulled out, and a few utensils and random junk were scattered

across the counter. A couple of cabinets were left hanging open, two. Mom's stomach knotted up. This wasn't normal. She stood frozen for a moment, listening. The house was dead quiet except for the faint hum of the fridge. Hello, she called out nervously. Is anyone here? No answer. Her heartbeat started pounding in her ears. Mom's first instinct was to grab the phone and call someone, but back then, our only phone was the cordless one in the kitchen. To get to it, she'd have to walk past the staircase that led upstairs. She debated for a second whether to run out and call from a neighbor's house or grab the phone first.

Against her better judgment, she decided to quickly check the downstairs first, maybe, just maybe, my dad had come home for something and left in a rush. She crept through the living room, glanced into the dining room, and peaked in the laundry room. Nothing. The downstairs was empty. But then came the stairs. At the top of the staircase was a narrow hallway. On either side were our bedrooms, mine and my brothers. At the far end of the hall, directly across from the landing, was the bathroom. Now, our bathroom door wasn't like a normal solid wood door. The top half had this big glass panel built into it. The glass wasn't clear, it was frosted with a textured etch to give it some privacy.

But if the lights were on inside, you could still make out faint shapes and shadows through the glass. Maughn started slowly climbing the stairs. Each creak of the old wooden steps sounded like a gunshot in the silence. When she got to the top, she looked straight ahead, and froze. There, through the frosted glass panel of the bathroom door was a silhouette. A large, human-shaped figure. Standing completely still, Mom's heart dropped into her stomach.

She didn't wait to see if the figure moved. She didn't call out again. She didn't care if the guy could hear her footsteps. She turned on her heel and bolted down the stairs so fast she nearly tripped. She flew out the front door, slammed it behind her, and ran barefoot down the street to the first house she saw with a car in the driveway. She pounded on the door, breathless and tipped. terrified. When the neighbor, a middle-aged woman who would later become one of Mom's closest friends,

answered, Mom begged to use her phone. Within minutes, two police cruisers screeched up to our house. For officers in full uniform got out, hands already hovering near their holsters. Mom and the neighbor watched from the window as the cops drew their weapons and entered the house. For what felt like forever, there was no sound. Then came the muffled shouts, police. Drop the weapon. A few minutes later, two of the officers came out escorting a man in handcuffs. This is the part that makes my skin crawl. The man they found in our bathroom was huge, over six feet tall, broad shoulders, long scraggly hair. And he was holding one of our kitchen knives. Not a little pairing knife either, but one of those big butcher knives. The cop said he

didn't seem drunk or high. He wasn't ranting or raving. He was just, quiet. When they asked him why he was in the house, he didn't have an answer. He had no connection to us. He didn't know the previous owners. It was completely random. He'd broken in, grabbed a knife from the kitchen, and was standing silently in the bathroom when Mom found him.

I can't stop thinking about how different things could have turned out. If Mom hadn't come home early that day, would he have stayed in the house until one of us kids came back from school. What would have happened if I had been the first one home and walked in on him? It's the kind of thought that makes your stomach twist. We moved out of that house almost nine years ago, and I still get goosebumps every time I visit that neighborhood. Even now, I catch myself glancing at the bathroom door whenever I visit my parents' current house, half expecting to see some shadowy figure waiting there. And every so often, late at night, I'll find myself wondering what that man's plan really was.

The end.