Solved Murders - True Crime Stories - Running from Gunshots Facing Fear and Trauma While Jogging Through Echo Park #64

Episode Date: August 16, 2025

#horrorstories #reddithorrorstories #ScaryStories #creepypasta #horrortales #EchoPark #traumastory #runningfromdanger #realhorrorstory #fearandhealing  While jogging through Echo Park, a person unexpectedly runs into a dangerous situation marked by gunfire. Forced to face their deepest fears in real-time, the story captures not only the terror but also the emotional scars and the difficult path toward recovery after surviving such a violent encounter.  horrorstories, reddithorrorstories, scarystories, horrorstory, creepypasta, horrortales, realfear, traumajourney, urbanhorror, truecrime, survivalstory, gunshotencounter, parkterror, faceyourfears, rawemotion, healingaftertrauma, joggersurvival, near-deathexperience, personalhorror, urbantrauma

A few years back, I was living in Los Angeles, not too far from Echo Park. If you've never been, it's this beautiful little slice of nature in the middle of the city, with a lake, ducks, palm trees, and all that. It wasn't always like that, though. From what I've heard, Echo Park used to be kind of rough, cracked sidewalks, sketchy characters, trash floating in the water. But L.A. has this way of forcing change on neighborhoods whether they like it or not, and Echo Park was mid gentrification when I was living there.

Yoga moms, artisanal coffee spots, and overpriced taco stands were popping up like mushrooms after rain. That was my turf. My little escape from the chaos of the city. And I had this weird routine, jogging around the park at midnight. Yeah, I know, midnight doesn't scream safe in any big city, but for me, that was my time. I liked the stillness. No crowds, no screaming kids, no dudes on electric scooters blasting TikTok songs. It'd just be me, a couple of homeless folks curled up in their blankets, and the occasional

group of drunk college kids giggling and stumbling along. So there I was, jogging, earbuds in but not all the way in because I like to hear what's going on around me. That night I wasn't using earbuds at all, actually. I had my phone blasting music from the speakers. Not loudly, just enough to keep me company while letting me pick up on any weird sounds nearby. It's an LA thing. You stay alert even when you're relaxing.

I remember it like it happened yesterday. I was about halfway through my second lap when, about 20 feet to my left and slightly up this little grassy slope, I heard it. Bang! Bang! At first, my brain went straight to fireworks. It's L. We had fireworks going off for absolutely no reason half the year. Cinco de Mayo

Fireworks 4th of July Obviously fireworks Random Tuesday night in November Yep, fireworks But then I heard two cars peel out of there, tires screeching like they were in some bad fast and furious remake. That was when my stomach dropped. Could those have been gunshots?

I froze mid-step. My heart was thudding hard, and not from the jog. My mind started racing. Were those sounds gunshots, or was I overthinking it? Maybe it was just fireworks, and the cars were kids messing around. But there was this heavy feeling in my gut that said, no, man. That was real. Somebody just got shot. And you know what I did? I kept jogging. Yeah. I kept jogging like nothing happened. My legs felt stiff, robotic, but I told myself, nah, don't overreact. Don't go playing hero. It's probably nothing.

Fifteen seconds later, though, I slowed to a stop. I stood there on the path, hands on my hips, trying to decide what the hell I should do. Should I go back and check? What if someone really got shot? But then this flood of fear hit me. What if the people in those cars were the shooters? What if they were still hanging around, waiting for someone dumb enough to go investigate? I hated how scared I felt.

And on top of that, there was this other voice in my head whispering, What if you go back and it's nothing? How embarrassing would that be? What if some drunk kids lit a firecracker, and you run over there acting like some wannabe hero? So, I stood there, a few hundred feet away, staring back in the direction of the bangs. Nothing. No screams. No cries for help. No movement at all. I waited. And waited. It felt like hours, even though it was probably only a couple of minutes. Part of me kept thinking, the cops will show up soon.

If something happened, there'll be sirens, lights, people running around. Just wait here. And then I saw it, flashing lights cutting through the darkness. First a fire truck, then an ambulance. They didn't waste a second, they went straight up the slope to where I'd heard the sounds. My stomach flipped again. Oh shit. That was real. Somebody's hurt.

Without even thinking, I broke into a run toward them. By the time I got close enough to see what was going on, the paramedics were already loading someone into the back of the ambulance. I caught this awful glimpse, someone on a stretcher, chest exposed, and a paramedic pumping on their chest with both hands. CPR. They were trying to bring him back. As soon as they shut the doors, the ambulance sped off, lights flashing red and white, siren screaming into the night. I stood there, frozen, sweat running down my face, not from the jog anymore, but from something deeper. And then it hit me. Why didn't I help?

Why didn't I run back the second I heard those shots? That thought kept looping in my head like a broken record. Why didn't I help? At first, I told myself, you were scared. It's normal. Nobody runs toward gunshots. And my friends agreed when I told them later. Dude, of course you didn't run toward gunshots.

You're not Rambo. You're not trained for that shit. But here's the thing, They were wrong. I was trained for that shit. See, before I started jogging in Echo Park at midnight like a weirdo, I worked as an EMT. For years, I rode in ambulances, answered 911 calls, and dealt with all kinds of emergencies. Car accidents, heart attacks, overdoses, you name it.

I wore the uniform. I was the guy running towards danger while everyone else was running away. The only reason I wasn't still doing it was because my body betrayed me. I'd injured my back on the job, and then, because the universe has a sick sense of humor, I got Lyme disease on top of that. I had to quit. But back when I was an EMT, there was this weird part of me that wanted to get called to a shooting. Don't get me wrong, I didn't want people to get hurt.

But there was this adrenaline-fueled, bring it on, part of me that craved action. A shooting. A stabbing. Something big, you know. Not another call about a flu or some lady who sprained her ankle at the grocery store. But I never got that, cool, call. The closest I came was the time we were doing CPR on a homeless guy with elephantiasis. His chest was massive and swollen. I was in charge of the resuscitation bag, you know, keeping air going into his lungs. But I slipped for just a second. The second my partner compressed his chest, vomit shot out of the guy's mouth like a geyser and hit me square in the face. Some of it got in my eyes. That was my glamorous EMT moment.

And honestly, that job wasn't all heroics and high fives. It was rough. The alpha male culture was intense. You're not supposed to talk about your feelings or let calls get to you. I remember trying to talk to my partner once after a particularly bad call, and he just shut me down. Man, don't get soft on me. You want to last in this job. You got to toughen up, so, I bottled it all up.

But here's the thing, I didn't become an EMT for the adrenaline or the stories. I became an EMT because I wanted to help people. And yet, that night in the park, when it mattered most, I didn't help. I wasn't in uniform. I wasn't in an ambulance. I didn't have a partner or a bag of supplies. I was just some guy in running shoes and sweat-soaked gym shorts. Still, I couldn't stop thinking, what if I could have done something?

I was right there. What if I could have held pressure on an artery? What if I could have bought the guy a few more minutes until the paramedics got there? Whether or not I should have helped, I couldn't figure out why it was eating. me alive. Why did I care so much? I started asking myself hard questions. Was this really about the guy in the park? Or was it about me? Was this guilt, or was it ego? I'll admit it, part of me thought it would have been cool to come home with blood on my shirt, shocking my roommates. Yeah, I was out for a jog and ended up saving a guy's life. No big deal, that little voice in my

head whispered, you would have felt like a superhero. But then there was the other side of me, the quieter voice, saying, you were already in therapy for your own trauma. More trauma wasn't going to help you. And then there was my dad. When I was nine years old, my father was shot. He was driving home late from his office when a couple of cars boxed him in. The Italian mob. That's what we were told. They shot him because he refused to give up his business. He fought back, and they punished him for it. He tried to drive himself to the hospital but didn't make it. He crashed into a pole a couple miles away and died alone in his car. I remember the morning they told me like it's burned into my brain. I woke up, and the first thing I said was,

can I play roller coaster tycoon? I don't know if I was too young to process it or if my brain just shut down. Years later, I asked my mom about that morning. She's said I didn't ask to play a game. She said I ran away screaming. And now, all these years later, I can't stop wondering, what was my dad thinking in those final moments? Was he thinking about me and my brother? About my mom? Or was he thinking about the way he treated us when my mom left him? The truth is, he wasn't a good man. When my mom left, he became cruel, physical abuse, threats, manipulation to try and force her to come back. But still, in those final moments, was he sad? Did he realize he'd never get the chance to say sorry? Did he die wishing he could

make things right? That thought tears me up. And here's the kicker, I didn't even realize it for the longest time, but maybe I became an EMT because deep down, I wanted to save people like my dad. And that's why the guy in the park haunted me. Maybe he had kids. Maybe they're wondering right now what their dad was thinking as he bled out in the dark. Maybe I could have saved him, and maybe I didn't because I was too scared. I've thought about that night a million times since. And here's what I've decided. Next time, I'm running toward the gunshots. Maybe that was just first-time jitters. Maybe I'll freeze again. But I hope I won't. We'll see, won't we? The end.