Solved Murders - True Crime Stories - Stranger in the Woods, Vanished Friends, and That Man at My Door Horror Tales Retold PART3 #6

Episode Date: September 28, 2025

#horrorstories #reddithorrorstories #ScaryStories #creepypasta #horrortales #truehorrorstories #creepyencounters #paranormalstories #nightmarefuel #vanishingmysteries  Part 3 of Stranger in the Woods, Vanished Friends, and That Man at My Door continues the chilling true stories that blur the line between reality and nightmare. From mysterious strangers in the woods to friends who vanish without explanation, and menacing visitors at doors, these accounts keep readers on edge. Each story captures fear, suspense, and the unsettling feeling that danger may be closer than you think.  horrorstories, reddithorrorstories, scarystories, horrorstory, creepypasta, horrortales, truehorrorstories, creepyencounters, paranormalstories, nightmarefuel, vanishingmysteries, scaryencounters, chillingtales, unsettlingmoments, realnightmares, disturbingstories, stalkerstories, survivalstories, mysteriousoccurrences, truestoryhorror

My most vivid memory of the late 90s. Honestly, it's not something personal or even all that heartwarming, it's the whole Clinton-Lewinsky scandal. But let me be clear, it wasn't the scandal itself that stuck with me. It was the constant, never-ending, headache-inducing coverage of it that burned itself into my brain. I was just a kid then, but man, I still remember the look on my parents' faces every time the president's name came up. They were pissed.

Like truly, old school, red-faced pissed. My dad couldn't stop calling him the Deadbeat President, and my mom. She was swearing under her breath so often I learned more curse words that weak than I did in my entire time at middle school. The TV in our house in Maryland might as well have been permanently glued to news channels. CNN, MSNBC, you name it. It was wall-to-wall news, and no matter what I wanted to watch, I couldn't. I just wanted my cartoons, man. Rocco's modern life, specifically.

But nope, the grown-up drama had hijacked my childhood. What made it worse was that my dad worked for the Department of Defense. And he actually knew someone who knew Clinton personally. Yeah, that kind of connection. So every time some new twist in the story dropped, we weren't just watching it, we were getting updates. Like, real life, behind the scenes, classified kind of sounding updates. Apparently, if Clinton had been removed from office, there would have been a domino effect in the chain of command, and my dad's boss could have gotten

promoted. Big deal to them, sure. But me? I was like nine years old and just wanted to watch cartoons and eat cereal without hearing about political fallout and extramarital affairs. There was this one night during all this drama that still gives me the creeps. My parents had invited about ten people over to the house, some government folks, some neighbors, all adults, and they were having this loud, animated conversation downstairs about the whole Clinton mess. It was one of those gatherings where everyone brought some food and a bad attitude. Meanwhile, I was upstairs sulking in my room. Bitter, annoyed, and stuck with a cassette tape instead of cartoons.

I'd begged my parents to let me use the tiny black and white TV that was buried in our closet, but they wouldn't let me. Something about it not tuning in right or whatever. Honestly, they just didn't want me to distract myself from the adult nonsense happening downstairs. So I was lying in bed with my cassette player, trying to drown out their voices with music, when I happened to glance out my bedroom window.

And that's when I saw him. A man I didn't recognize was creeping through our backyard. Moving fast, but deliberately, like he knew where the light patches from the windows were and was avoiding them on purpose. He was tall, definitely taller than my dad, and bald. The image is still super clear in my mind. At first, I assumed he was just one of the guests who had gone outside to take a call or something. But then I kept watching. Mostly out of boredom. But what he did next set off every alarm in my little kid brain. He crept closer to the house and

started peering into the ground floor windows. I sat up. My music was still playing, but I was barely hearing it. Just as I was about to get up and flip the cassette, the man tossed something into our doghouse. It looked about the size of a VHS tape, yeah, remember those? And that's what made me mad. Like, genuinely mad. See, our dog Jim, sweet old mutt, had just passed away a few weeks earlier. He was old and sick, and it still hurt. So seeing some random weirdo mess with his doghouse, nah, I wasn't going to let that slide. So I stormed out of my room, marched out to the landing, and called downstairs. My voice had that tone. You know the one, when a kid is angry enough to demand justice. Everything went quiet for a beat longer than I liked. Then my mom called up,

confused, what man, suddenly, everything got very, very still. The only thing I could hear was the TV. No more chatter. No more clinking glasses. Just the low hum of breaking news. Next thing I knew, my dad was sprinting up the stairs. And I mean sprinting. He didn't ask questions. He just picked me up, rushed back downstairs, and we were out the door. The other adult, We all huddled up at the neighbor's house across the street. The police showed up fast. Then the bomb squad. They asked me all kinds of questions.

Wanted descriptions. All I could think to say was that the man looked like Captain Picard from Star Trek. Not the most helpful thing, but hey, I was a kid. We eventually got back into the house. The package? No idea. My parents never told me what it was. They never said if it was a bomb or just a threat.

But it was serious enough to evacuate the house and call in specialists. The cops came back later and showed me pictures of suspects, but I never saw that bald guy again. Never identified him. My dad passed away in 2005 from blood poisoning. My mom died a couple years later in 2007. Whatever it was, they took that secret with them. But that night has stayed with me. I live up in Vermont now, far from those Maryland days.

I don't talk to anyone from that part of my life anymore. But when I tell this story at parties, it always gets a reaction. And that's just one of the weird stories my family had. Let me tell you another one, this one's from decades earlier. My grandpa, back in the day, used to live in central Missouri. Had this property with a nice view, peaceful place, except for the neighbor. The guy who lived up on the ridge overlooking his house was a certified lunatic. A full-blown conspiracy theorist.

People called him Tanner. He didn't trust electronics, didn't pay taxes, didn't acknowledge the local police. Refused to even recognize the U.S. government. You've heard the term, sovereign citizen. Yeah, that was Tanner before that label even hit the mainstream. He lived off the land. Grew his own food, brood his own booze, hunted for meat, and apparently had a serious stash of weapons. Not like a few guns.

We're talking an arsenal. Traps in his yard, chains and shackles in his back room, like old school dungeon level stuff. cops would show up all the time. They were at my grandpa's house so often that the driveway basically had tire grooves permanently etched into the dirt. There was one standoff that lasted a full day. Cops had to rip Tanner's door off with a truck and a chain just to get him to come out. He'd spend a few days or weeks in jail for things like trespassing or illegal hunting, but he always ended up back home. Police warned my grandpa's family, do not engage.

If there's ever a problem, call us. Let us handle it. My grandpa had one unforgettable run-in with Tanner. One winter, he was out on his porch having a smoke when he heard a gunshot, loud and way too close. Before he could react, a short-tailed hawk dropped out of the sky, clipped the porch railing, and hit the ground hard. Thing was still twitching. From the ridge above, Tanner's voice rang out, Don't touch him, he's mine. my grandpa shouted back, warning him to stay off his property or the cops would be involved.

Then he went inside and locked every door. But the really wild story. That happened the next spring. Early 80s, rust-colored panel van broke down right near the dirt path that led to Tanner's place. Probably some out-of-towner who didn't even realize they were parked at the edge of a driveway. hours later there was a loud knock on my grandpa's front door he opened it and was met with three huge intimidating guys demanding to know if he'd broken into their van and stolen their stuff and that's where things started to spiral to be continued