Solved Murders - True Crime Stories - Real Encounters With Demonic Figures, Smiling Shadows, and Unknown Creatures at Night PART1 #53

Episode Date: September 24, 2025

#horrorstories #reddithorrorstories #ScaryStories #creepypasta #horrortales #demonicencounters #smilingshadows #nightcreatures #paranormalhorrors #darkfigures  "Real Encounters With Demonic Figures, Smiling Shadows, and Unknown Creatures at Night – PART 1" begins a terrifying journey into the darkest corners of the night where reality blurs with nightmare. Survivors recount chilling encounters with malevolent demonic entities, eerie smiling shadows, and mysterious creatures that lurk just beyond sight. These true stories bring to life the fear and confusion experienced when the supernatural crosses into the real world—leaving marks that never fade.  horrorstories, reddithorrorstories, scarystories, horrorstory, creepypasta, horrortales, demonicfigures, smilingghosts, nightcreatureencounters, paranormalhorror, shadowbeings, supernaturalterror, darkentitystories, chillingencounters, realparanormal, nightmarefigures, unexplainedevents, hauntednights, terrorintheshadows, eerietrueencounters

Man, my childhood. Calling it rough would be sugar-coating it. It was pure hell. These days, kids freak out if they don't get the newest iPhone or if someone says something mean on the internet. I grew up in a world where not having food for dinner was just another Tuesday, where I'd sit in a corner of a crack house watching people trade themselves for a little white powder. Yeah, that was my reality. My dad.

He was a junkie. Any money we made, mostly from power-washing houses together, went straight into his arm or up his nose. I wasn't his son, not really. I was more like an ATM that could swing a pressure washer. He didn't give a damn about me beyond what I could do for him. We lived in the nastiest part of the ghetto. You either grew up fast or you didn't grow up at all. I learned early how to walk fast, fight faster, and keep my eyes open. Once a week, minimum, I had to throw hands on the way home from school. Not because I wanted to, but because if you didn't, you'd be eaten alive. Still, I clawed my way out of that pit. Somehow, I put distance between me and that mess. I told myself I wasn't going to let

my pass to find me. I got a job on loading produce at the docks, hard work, cold nights, but it was honest. Then I met her. The woman who would become my wife. She had this steady way of speaking, this look in her eyes like she saw me, not the broken kid I was, but the man I could be. We built a life. A real one. Kids, a home, structure. Something I'd never had before. They anchored me. Gave me purpose. When those old memories came knocking, my wife and kids kept me from opening the door. Honestly, if it weren't for them, I'd probably be doing time, or six feet under. My rage used to sit right under the surface. I mean, I still have this unholy urge to bash in the heads of drug dealers and deadbeat dads, anyone who even smells like my

father did. After a while, I started thinking maybe, just maybe, I should try to make peace with him. As a father myself, I figured showing forgiveness might be a good lesson for my kids. I didn't want to carry that burning wildfire of hate anymore. So I reached out. We picked a weekend for him to visit. I wasn't thrilled. Honestly, I have expected to deck him the moment I saw his face. But I told myself, be the bigger man.

Be the example. So he came over. Now, my dad was still a convicted felon. Still garbage. I told him straight to his first. I said, you're a piece of shit, and the world would be better off if I choked you out right now and buried you in the woods. And you know what? He didn't argue. Just nodded like he agreed. I wasn't trying to reconnect. I just wanted closure. He said some things during that visit,

tried to be familiar, like we were pals or something. I had to remind him, real subtle-like, to knock it off. Later that night, after the kids were in bed, we went out to my workshop. Cracked open a few beers to dull the edge. To my surprise, we had a halfway civil conversation. Talked about old relatives, shared a few jabs and laughs. By 1 a.m., I'd had six or seven beers, not wasted, but buzzed. Then I got the bright idea to hit up my old buddy from the docks for some weed. I called him, and of course, he was still awake. My dad and I hopped in his junker of a car and drove about 15 minutes to my friend's trailer. The guy was old school, stingy with his stash. No discounts, no small talk. We made the deal,

rolled one up, and hung out a bit. On the way back, my dad was driving. I was in the passenger seat, reclined and a little disappointed in the low-grade weed. It was 2.30 a.m., roads empty, him doing 65 and a 35. Then we rounded a corner and bam, cop car right in the middle of the road. Not off to the side, not subtle. Smack dab in the center. My dad eased off the gas but didn't hit the brakes. We passed the cruiser at about 55. I glanced in the rearview. Sure enough, red and blues lit up. He's coming for us, I muttered. My dad nodded, pulled. into a gas station. I felt my stomach twist. We were toast. Speeding. Sure. But also, my dad's a felon. We both had weed in our pockets. And, oh yeah, I had a loaded gun under the seat. I turned to

him, fast. All right, listen. I'm drunk as hell, and I called you to pick me up. You were sleeping, you're pissed at me, but you're trying to be a responsible parent. Got it? He nodded. Solid. I added, if the cop pulls me out, I'm going to stumble around and throw up. Sell the performance. I was buzzed, paranoid, high. Not a good combo. But underneath that, something else was bubbling up. That old, primal feeling I used to live with all the time. The cop got out and yelled over. over the loudspeaker, driver, step out with your hands up. My dad complied. I caught a look at the cop,

young, maybe 21. Baby-faced. I kept my eyes on the dashboard, refused to make eye contact. Everything about us screamed trouble. My dad was shirtless, gold chain, I looked like a zombie, the car was a rust bucket. I heard the cop ask, sir, is that alcohol I smell on your breath? Dad didn't flinch. If it is, it's ancient. I haven't had a drink all day. Where are you headed? Driving my drunk son home, officer. Exactly as planned. Then I had an idea. I pulled out my phone, lit up the screen, and put it to my ear. Yes, honey, I know. I'm on my way home now. You told me not to drink. Yes, you were right. I know, I'm sorry. I made sure it was loud enough for the cop to hear.

I threw in a couple fake hiccups, slurred my words a little. The whole nine yards. Meanwhile, outside the car, the cop had my dad at the front of the cruiser. Then he walked up to my side. I rolled down the window, blinking like I'd just come out of a coma. Evenin, sir, he said. Can I see some ID? Oh man, I'm I think I left it at the bar, I said, dragging the words. I wasn't supposed to drink. My wife's going to kill me. He nodded slowly.

You mind stepping out of the car for a moment? If I stand up, I'm going to puke all over your shoes, officer. I swear to God. He chuckled. Chuckled. I was on to something. All right, all right. Just stay seated.

You're not drunk. driving, right? Not a chance. That's my old man's job tonight. He stood there for a second, looked at my dad, then back at me. I'm letting you off with a warning. Keep it under the speed limit, okay? And maybe cut your old man some slack. Yes, sir. Thank you, officer. He walked back to his cruiser, and just like that, we were free. The second we pulled away, I let out a breath I did, didn't realize I was holding. My dad started laughing. I did too. It was wild. For a moment there, we were just two guys who got lucky. That night didn't erase the past. It didn't make my father a better man. But it showed me something that no matter how much garbage you've waded through

in life, there's still room to breathe, to laugh, to survive. And yeah, we still had a long way to go. But for once, we weren't enemies. We were just, alive. To be continued.