Solved Murders - True Crime Stories - My Wife’s Credit Card Trail Unlocked Memories That Revealed I’m a Wanted Criminal Nurse PART3 #41

Episode Date: September 3, 2025

#horrorstories #reddithorrorstories #ScaryStories #creepypasta #horrortales #darkconfession #buriedsecrets #identityhorror #spouseterror #nightmarefuel  In Part 3, the past finally catches up. A confrontation with my wife forces me to admit what I’ve started to remember—and what I might have done. Blood on my hands. A hospital no longer in operation. A name change. Everything I thought I escaped is clawing its way back into the present. But the worst part? I think my wife knew all along. Now, I don’t know if I’m the villain in this story—or just a pawn in something far more disturbing. The walls are closing in, and reality is fracturing.  horrorstories, reddithorrorstories, scarystories, horrorstory, creepypasta, horrortales, identitycrisis, spousalbetrayal, terrifyingtruth, darkpastresurfaces, criminalnurse, forgottenlife, twistedmarriage, psychologicalcollapse, chillingmemories, lawenforcementhorror, finalreveal, trappedbynightmares, darkdrama, terrifyingflashbacks

Thankfully, my wife has continued to use one of her credit cards. I track her spending, which seems really bizarre where she has used the card in Harrisonburg, Virginia and Aberdeen, Maryland. I have no idea why she's stopping at those places. As the days go on, I see that she's zigzagging across the East Coast in a manner that is hard to explain, where she has continued to use the card in Fayetteville, North Carolina and all the way up north to Bangor, Maine. If she's trying to hide, she's doing a terrible job, I think to myself as I look at a map.

I would think if she was trying to hide she would head in one direction, then at least ditch her credit cards, but she's doing the opposite of that, where she's leaving an unknown pattern, for reasons that I can't understand. I also don't understand why she just can't call me and tell me what she's doing. Regardless, of her true identity, we do have grace, who is reliant on us, so her actions really have me baffir. I try to piece things together and think if we have any links to those places where she's making purchases, but nothing remotely familiar is coming to mind. For the heck of it, I type Harrisonburg into Google Images and something really odd occurs in my head, whereas I look at photos of the downtown area, my brain lights up with a sort of familiar recognition. It's almost like my brain had a rough sketch of the buildings in Harrisonburg, like partially bombed out German buildings during

W.W2, then seeing the after pictures when Germany rebuilt its infrastructure, where some of its historical buildings regained its former glory. My mind too is able to reconstruct broken images in my head and piece them together. For the longest time, the brain damage, caused by the stroke, would cause me to have unidentifiable images in my head that I couldn't make sense of, however looking at pictures of Harrisonburg, is piecing those images back together. I spend hours looking at Google images to see what my brain unravels, then something really interesting occurs when I look at homes on some obscure street, where my mind pieces an image together of me wearing medical scrubs, as I'm leaving a building. I do the same thing and look through images of Fayetteville and

Bangor and the more images I look at, the more my brain pieces together images of me wearing medical scrubs, where I'm coming out of residential apartment buildings and of people's homes. I was a nurse. I blurred out, in my living room. This comes as a total surprise to me, where I had zero recollection of ever being a nurse until I saw photos of those towns and cities. But why did I travel to all of those places and why didn't Shannon just tell me who and what I was, rather than leave this encrypted trail? I want to find out more and more information about myself, before I had the stroke, so I type into Google, Mail Nurse Harrisonburg, and nothing really comes up other than employment agencies looking to hire nurses. With no relevant search results coming up, I enter Male Nurse Aid Harrisonburg 2009 as key words in Google. What the hell?

I say out loud, as I start to cringe as I look at what comes up on the screen. A traveling home health nurse aide who is suspected of harming and robbing his patients is on the run. The sense of denial, I was feeling quickly goes away, when I see more and more photographs of someone who clearly looks like me. Holy crap. I'm a total degenerate. My real name is Josiah Blanton, which now sounds vaguely familiar to me. If I'm caught, I will spend the rest of my life in prison or be sentenced to death, which scares me immensely. I've been hiding in plain sight for years because I had zero recollection of committing those crimes and I lived far enough away, where I wasn't recognizable to anyone. I feel really strange and disgusting that this body I've been lugging around as Mitchell Smith is really Josiah Blanton, who committed such unthinkable crimes. I now know why I have no contact

with my family, because if I did then they would turn me into the authorities, plus God knows what I have done to my family members in my past life. The weird part is that I really don't feel remorseful because of the mere fact that I can't recall harming anyone. All I have is vague images of me wearing nursing scrubs, but I can't recall providing any type of care or harming anyone. This is a really dark day for me, where I feel really ashamed to be myself. I always heard of convicted criminals saying, I don't recall doing that, or it wasn't me. And if the police had broken down my door last month, I would have responded in the same manner. My stroke must have been severe enough where it erased away my whole personality.

I work into the non-profit sector now, where I have no desire to rob or harm anyone. I feel like I'm the clone of Adolf Hitler, whereas the clone, I work in the non-profit sector to help people, but my DNA and face is still of evil. With that same analogy, I might look like my former self, Josiah Blanton, as Hitler would still look like Hitler, but like the clone, I too had those environmental factors that made me harm people, wiped clean from my brain. God knows what happened to me in my childhood to make me carry out such diabolical acts on defenseless people. Part of me wish is that I never found out that I am really Josiah Blanton, because now I'm

scared of leaving the house for fear that I will be identified. I will never garnish the sympathy from anyone for the crimes that I had committed and no one will believe me that I have no recollection of committing those crimes because of the brain damage that was done from having the stroke. I can picture myself now in prison doing an interview with some podcast reporter and myself denying that I had any involvement in harming those elderly people with the reporter looking at me with total skepticism. I can't believe that I walked into a police station asking them for help, where I literally walked into the lion's den, however both the police nor I knew at the time, that I had harmed elderly people in the past. I decide to look online again at Shannon's

credit card purchases and I see that my wife has made several purchases in Bangor, Maine and hasn't left that area, so logically it would make sense for me to drive up north to meet her. But is Grace, really Grace? If not, then who is she? Where did she come from? I keep asking myself. Being that I'm her father and Shannon or Kim is her mother, she might have the most evilest parents of all time.

I thought if Shannon is really Kimberly Greer, then her crimes would be unforgivable, if she was somehow involved in killing those three kids. However, I might have topped her with harming elderly people, while entrusted to be their caregiver. It's like she's four aces and I'm a royal straight flush, if poker hands would determine who's more vile. Grace really misses her mother, so I wait until she comes home from school and then we both head out to take the trip to go up north to Bangor, Maine. To be continued.