Solved Murders - True Crime Stories - Philosophy Lecture Turns Dark When a Student’s Obsession with Evil Becomes Real #63

Episode Date: August 16, 2025

#horrorstories #reddithorrorstories #ScaryStories #creepypasta #horrortales #obsessionturneddeadly #evilincarnate #psychologicalterror #studenthorror #darkphilosophy  A philosophy professor thought he’d heard every argument about the nature of good and evil—until one student’s disturbing theories began seeping into reality. What started as intellectual curiosity turns into a nightmarish game when evil itself seems to take form, and no one is safe from what he’s unleashed.  horrorstories, reddithorrorstories, scarystories, horrorstory, creepypasta, horrortales, studentgonewrong, obsessionwithdarkness, philosophyhorror, evilmanifested, classroomterror, intellectualhorror, supernaturalthriller, disturbingpsychology, mindbendinghorror, horrorlecture, academicnightmare, evilincarnate, dangerousideas, madnessunleashed

What is evil? Or, the darkest question of all, what is evil? The words echoed sharply off the cold, bare walls of the lecture hall, cutting through the low murmurs and the shuffle of papers. It was the kind of question you didn't expect from a philosophy class on a Monday morning, especially with students half awake and still clinging to their weekend sleep-ins. A few students glanced at each other, eyebrows raised, eyes darting like they wanted someone else to answer. Others muttered quietly to themselves. already off-topic, maybe wondering what they had for lunch or scrolling through their phones beneath the desks. The silence stretched, thick and uncomfortable, as the question lingered in the air like a heavy fog. Then, from near the back of the room, a pale student raised his hand. He had dark, wavy hair that looked almost like it belonged in a movie, and the eyes deep and shadowy enough to make you think he was hiding secrets. When I called on him, he stood up and spoke in a calm, flat voice that cut through the distractions. Evil is a consensus of ideas about the nature of immorality, he said plainly. The room seemed to quiet even more, as if his words were heavier than they

looked. I nodded slowly, the corners of my mouth twitching. So, I said, locking eyes with him, evil is subjective. In other words, it's something we make up to explain the things we don't understand. The students blinked at me, some confused, some intrigued. Throughout this philosophy course, I continued, I'm going to open your third eye to the fact that evil might not even exist. I wasn't trying to be dramatic or a skeptic. Honestly, I was just trying to explain the twists and turns of philosophy. But deep down, I thought, maybe this is a question we all dodge in real life. The class ended, papers shuffled, chairs scraped back. Students trickled out like water slipping through fingers, and I started packing my bag. The pale, dark hair,

student lingered in the hallway just outside, watching the classroom with this strange, almost longing look. I stopped and looked at him. Can I help you? He hesitated, then said softly, maybe, and walked away without another word. The next lecture came, and the topic shifted into nihilism, the belief that life has no inherent meaning or value. The class debated quietly until the same pale student raised his hand again. I caught my breath, unsure if I should call on him. After a pause, I nodded. He asked, if evil is subjective and therefore doesn't truly exist, does that mean morality is also a farce? I paused, feeling a strange curiosity about this kid. I suppose, I said carefully, you could say evil is the ugly offspring of morality. It's how we give a

name to what we fear or despise in our sense of right and wrong, the students face lit up. He was clearly fascinated, eager to untangle the threads of these complex ideas. That day, I kept seeing him at every lecture, always sitting at the back or near the door. Sometimes he'd slip away quietly when class ended but then reappear before the next one started. I guessed he didn't want to confront me face to face, so he lurked instead. I shrugged it off. Freshmen are strange creatures, too eager, too confused, hungry for meaning in this new world of open minds and endless possibilities. As the day wound down, I gathered my things,

ready to leave the lecture hall, my thoughts wandering to dinner plans or grading papers. But then I heard a faint whisper from just around the corner of the hallway doors. Hey, I kept walking, pretending I didn't hear. Please, stop moving. The voice was soft but persistent. I slowed. I'm curious about death. I froze. I assumed it was that pale, dark-haired student again. Well, I said cautiously, death's a common curiosity. Nothing to be afraid of, everyone's got their reasons for wondering about it. The voice spoke again, quieter this time.

I want to know how it feels. I didn't move, but I felt a twitch in my shoulder. Maybe we could discuss this, face-to-face, silence. When I glanced sideways, the student was gone. The next day, I made a little bit of a little bit of a little bit of. a point to do roll call, determined to learn his name. David Straith, a political science major from the West Coast. We kept this odd rhythm, I lectured, he listened, then disappeared. No questions, no interaction, just silent attendance. There was one moment I threw out the question to the class.

There can be no existence of an equal and just consensus of evil, I said, pacing slowly. We all draw the line of true evil differently, and those variations prove there is no absolute truth. I glanced directly at David. You there, where do you draw the line? What do you believe is true evil? Without hesitation, he answered, a life without purpose. A life that doesn't see its value. And for some, I added, its murder.

The room fell into an uneasy silence. That evening, after packing my stuff away, I noticed a folded note on my mind. my desk. No signature. It read, I agree with what you said. The values of some remain unchanging while others see the light of truth. I wondered who had left it. The next day was a break for me, but my phone rang at 207 a.m. I rarely answered calls outside my office hours, but this one was different. Hello, I know what I have to do to change them, said the voice. Change who, I like when they scream, the phone beeped. Call ended.

I sat frozen for a moment, heart pounding. The following day, I was nervous returning to class, expecting, something. But David didn't show. Relief. That evening, I stopped by my usual coffee shop, a boutique place tucked across from an abandoned office building. The night was cold and quiet. As I passed the shadowy alley beside the building,

I heard it again. Hey, it was faint but unmistakable. I followed the voice down the alley to an open door. No one was inside. I turned to leave when distant sounds reached me, the sound of morning. Whaling. I used to research genocides in Sudan, and the sound hit me like a punch to the gut. I climbed the stairs to the top floor. There, I stumbled over a body, bloodied, entrails exposed. I got carried away, said the dark-haired student, David, hair soaked with blood. He helped me up. Come look. I'm doing what we talked about. Inside the room was an unconscious, bloody student I recognized. There is no evil, David said, his voice cold. I know you see that. Stars exploded behind my eyes. I fought the urge to vomit. Yes, yes, I stammered, desperate to keep calm. I feel

different, David smiled proudly. His grin made me want to turn away forever. I try not to cut too much off, because I like the sound of life, he said. I backed away, calculating escape. She's like a newborn, full of life, he whispered, bending down to kiss her forehead. I bolted. Blurry eyes, heart hammering, I ran as fast as I ever had, downstairs, past desks, out the building. Once outside, I dialed the police. David Strath still hasn't been caught. The end.