Solved Murders - True Crime Stories - Terrifying Encounters at Home, Work and Night Security That Still Haunt the Victims PART1 #35

Episode Date: October 12, 2025

#horrorstories #reddithorrorstories #ScaryStories #creepypasta #horrortales #homesecurityhorror #nightshiftterror #creepystorytime #realhorrorstories #unsettlingencounters  This chilling account explores terrifying encounters that happened at home, in the workplace, and during lonely night security shifts. Victims share how these frightening experiences still haunt them, blending real-life fear with the unsettling presence of something sinister. This is only Part 1 of their horror.  horrorstories, reddithorrorstories, scarystories, horrorstory, creepypasta, horrortales, homesecurityhorror, nightshiftstories, workplacehorror, creepyencounters, realhorrorstories, terrifyingmoments, survivalstories, unsettlingevents, hauntednights, disturbingstories, stalkerencounters, paranormalencounters, strangehorrorstories, part1horrorstories

Horror. Number one, the man with the key. When I was about 13, my life felt like it was going through one of those big turning points that you only realize was huge years later. My parents and I had just moved into this old house, and when I say old, I mean old, it was at least 90 years on its bones, built way back in the early part of the 20th century. It was one of those houses that had character, the kind that made you feel like it had witnessed a thousand lives before yours, tall ceilings, creaky wooden stairs, windows that rattled when the wind hit just right. For its age, though, it was in surprisingly good condition. The kind of place you imagine is cozy and charming when you first walk through it. The house was big, bigger than we really needed.

I was an only child, so it was just me and my parents. Somehow, I scored the second biggest bedroom upstairs, and when I say bedroom, it was basically the size of a small studio apartment. As a kid, it made me feel pretty important. Sometimes, my parents would leave me home alone for a few hours. They trusted me. I liked that. It made me feel grown up, responsible. Whenever they said, we'll be gone for a while, don't burn the place down, I felt a little swell of pride in my chest. That trust was about to get tested in a way none of us could have expected. The night, and Everything changed. One evening, around 6 o'clock, my parents headed out to run some errands, and here's

something you should know about them. They loved bargain hunting. They could spend hours bouncing between stores, clipping coupons, comparing brands, chasing down the best deals. It was like a sport to them. Me? Not so much. That sounded like torture.

So I stayed home. The night started off normal. I hung out in my room, flipped on the TV, and let myself sink. into the comfort of being in this big house all alone. The quiet didn't bother me. In fact, I liked it. But then, around eight, I started to get hungry. The house had grown dark by then, pitch black in the hallways. Our upstairs hallway, for some reason, didn't even have a light fixture. So I grabbed my cell phone to use as a makeshift flashlight. This was before cell phones came with those handy LED flashlights built in. All I had was the faint glow of my screen, which barely lit

path in front of me. Still, I shuffled along until I reached the kitchen. Thankfully, the kitchen light had been left on by my parents. The warm glow spilled across the room like a safe haven. I set my phone down on the counter and started toward the pantry, already thinking about what snack I was going to grab. That's when I saw him. The man in the corner. In the far corner, near the back door, was a figure. A man. He was hunched down, dressed in dark clothing, black with streaks of red. His long, greasy hair fell forward, obscuring most of his face. I couldn't make out his features, but what I could see was the gleam of the knife he held in his hand. Time froze. He hadn't noticed me. His head was turned toward the wall, like he was waiting,

listening for something. My first instinct was to scream, but survival instincts kicked in before the sound could escape. I slapped my hand over my mouth, holding in every ounce of noise. My heart pounded so hard I thought it would echo in the room. Slowly, painfully slowly, I backed out of the kitchen, leaving my cell phone glowing faintly on the counter. There was no way I was going back for it. I crept upstairs, every step heavier than the last, like my legs were made of lead. Once inside my room, I locked the door, bolted to the closet, and curled up inside, trembling. And then the tears came. Silent, desperate tears. My brain spun with the worst-case scenarios. He was going to find me, drag me out, and kill me. I was only 13. My life couldn't end like this. The footsteps.

That's when I heard them. Footsteps. Heavy ones. They creaked up the stairs, slow and deliberate. My stomach lurched, my breath caught in my throat, every muscle in my body tensed, bracing for the moment my door would rattle under his hand. I heard him pause two rooms away, in my parents' bedroom. The door creaked open. Then the footsteps started toward my room. I thought I was done for. And then, like something out of a movie, sirens. Police sirens wailed outside, growing louder until they stopped right in front of the house. A pounding on the front door echoed through the house. Relief surged through me so fast it made me dizzy. I heard the man's footsteps change. He bolted back downstairs. I heard him fumbling at the back door trying to get out.

At the same time, the front door burst open and heavy boots thundered inside. Two sets of footsteps raced up the stairs. Knox on my bedroom door followed. Police, it's safe now. Shaking, I unlocked the door and stumbled out. The aftermath. Later, I found out what had happened. Our neighbors had seen the man unlocking our back door with a key. They also saw the knife.

Alarmed, they immediately called the police. By the time my parents came home, the house was swarming with officers. My mom burst into tears the second she saw me, wrapping me in the tightest hug I'd ever felt. Unfortunately, the man escaped. That night, none of us slept. We replaced the locks immediately, but the questions haunted me. How did he get a key to our house?

Why did he want to come inside? And the most chilling question of all, what would have happened if the police had been even a few minutes later? Eventually, we moved out of state. On 23 now, and though time has dulled the edges of that fear, those questions have never left me. Number two, the tooth fairy. Fast forward several years later, a completely different story, but one that still gives me chills.

This one happened about three years ago. My dad is a dentist in a small town. If you've ever lived in a small town, you know how it is. Everyone knows everyone, gossip spreads faster than wildfire, and eccentric people aren't exactly rare. My dad has dealt with his fair share of colorful patients over the decades. but nothing, nothing compared to what happened that Thursday night. Family practice. Our dental practice was a family affair.

My dad was the dentist, obviously. My mom handled sterilizing instruments and cleaning exam rooms. My brother, when he wasn't drowning in nursing school, helped with ironing uniforms. My other brother and I pitched in with cleaning, mopping floors, vacuuming, emptying trash. Even our family friend, who I'll call John, pitched in too. It was the kind of small operation where everyone wore multiple hats. The phone call. That night, around 5 in the evening, the staff had already left.

It was just us. Dad in his office, mom finishing up the last exam room, my brother hanging uniforms, and the rest of us cleaning. As I mopped, the phone rang. Normally, no one answered after hours, so the voicemail picked up, but for some reason I listened. And that's when I heard it. A voice.

Weird. off, like someone trying to disguise themselves. The man on the line said he was the tooth fairy, and he said he had lots of teeth for my dad. I froze mid-mop, my skin prickling. When I told Mom, she shrugged it off, laughing, probably just some nutty patient leaving a prank. She deleted the message, and we moved on. At least we tried to. The knock. About an hour later, as we were wrapping up, a loud bang rattled the front door. I walked over cautiously and called out, sorry, we're closed. Silence. Curious, I slid open the little mail slot to peek outside. And there he was. A man, skinny, stringy blonde hair hanging around his face, yellowed teeth, and those eyes,

wide and locked on mine. I slammed the slot shut, heart racing, and ran to tell my parents. Dad, calm as ever, picked up the phone and called the non-emergency police number. In a town like ours, he knew most of the officers personally. One of his patients even worked dispatch. She promised to send someone right away. Meanwhile, my brother peeked out the window. His voice shook when he said, he's got a bag. The cop arrives.

Five minutes later, headlights swept across the parking lot. A police car rolled up and an officer stepped out. We watched anxiously as he approached the man outside. They talked for a while, then the officer cuffed him and led him away. We all breathed a little easier. Until we found out what was in the bag. The bag. The officer told us later, inside the bag were teeth, dozens of them, children's teeth.

No one knew where he'd gotten them or why he was trying to give them to our dad. We never got answers. To this day, it remains one of the strangest, most unsettling things that's ever happened to our family. My dad recently retired after 39 years of dentistry, and whenever he tells stories from his career, this one always comes up. He laughs about it now, calling it the craziest patient story of his life. But even now, the memory of peering through that mail slot and locking eyes with the tooth fairy still makes my stomach churn. Reflection

Both of these stories, so different, yet both terrifying, still stick with me. One happened when I was a kid, trapped in a house with an intruder who somehow had a key. The other happened years later, in the supposed safety of my dad's office, where a man showed up with a bag of children's teeth. Life has a way of throwing the unexplainable at you, and sometimes the things that should feel safe, your home, your workplace, are the very places where fear finds you. I've learned one thing from all of this. Trust your gut, because sometimes danger isn't lurking in the shadows. Sometimes it's standing right in front of you, staring through a mail slot, or crouched in the corner of your kitchen.