Solved Murders - True Crime Stories - Terrifying Encounters in Haunted Houses and the Secrets They Desperately Hide PART1 #50

Episode Date: October 4, 2025

#horrorstories #reddithorrorstories #ScaryStories #creepypasta #horrortales #hauntedhouses #creepyencounters #darksecrets #supernaturalhorror #truestories  Part 1 explores terrifying encounters in haunted houses, where hidden secrets create an atmosphere of fear and suspense. From strange sounds to unexplained phenomena, these chilling true stories reveal the eerie mysteries that linger behind closed doors and the dark histories these houses desperately try to conceal.  horrorstories, reddithorrorstories, scarystories, horrorstory, creepypasta, horrortales, hauntedhouses, creepyencounters, darksecrets, supernaturalhorror, truestories, eeriephenomena, paranormalencounters, nightterrors, chillingtales, spinechilling, disturbingtruths, suspensefulmoments, mysterioushouses, shadowyfigures

Number one, my brother's creepy Japan story. All right, so this one's not actually my spooky adventure. It's my brothers. The guy had a downright unsettling run in with a certain house back when he was living in Japan. Instead of me trying to retell it in third person and probably mangling all the little details, I'm just going to pass it along in his own words. Why? Because, honestly, I'm lazy.

I'm copying and pasting his email here and letting you take it straight from him. But, before we dive in, he specifically told me, don't put his name anywhere in here. Don't put my name either. Definitely don't start talking about it in chat rooms or Skype. And, his words, not mine, stay away from chat roulette, I think he's stuck in 2010. Anyway, he says I'm still just a kid in his eyes, so whatever. Here's what he wrote, exactly how he sent it. I'll try to remember it as best as I can.

I think it all started with my friend Jess. He'd been dating this Japanese girl named Chi. One time we were talking about horror movies, specifically one about a haunted house, and she immediately said she didn't want to watch it. We laughed at first, thinking she was just not into scary stuff, but then she told us something that made me shut up real quick. She said she actually knew of a real haunted house. She started telling us about this place,

some old house built on the edge of a cliff in a dead forest. And before you start thinking, suicide forest, nope. She just meant literally dead. No animals. No birds. No life. Like the whole place was cursed. Of course, being idiots, Jess and I convinced her to take us there.

She was hesitant as hell, but eventually she agreed. Just me and Jess though, she wasn't place. planning to actually set foot near it. We drive out, and soon enough we're way out in the middle of nowhere. She stops by this narrow trail leading into the woods. There's this tiny chain between two trees, ankle height, like it's supposed to keep people out, but really it's more like a lazy suggestion than a barrier. We step right over it. She flat out refuses to go with us. She stays in a car. No amount of pleading or joking changes her mind. So, it's just me and Jess.

We walk for about ten minutes, nothing unusual at first, normal forest sounds, crickets, a few birds, distant insect buzzing. Then, like someone hit a mute button, everything stops. Total silence. That's when I realized she wasn't kidding about the dead forest part. No animals. Nothing moving. Just, dead air. I look at Jess.

Yes, he looks at me, and without a single word we both bolt. Like run for your life kind of bolt. I didn't hear anything chasing us, but I swear something was right on us. My heart was in my throat the whole way back. I beat Jess back to the road, almost at the car, when I hear him yell and then hit the ground. I turn around and see him flat on his back, clutching his stomach. That chain we stepped over. Somehow it caught him, right across his midsection, hard enough to leave a visible red mark.

The weird part. It had been way lower when we came in. I help him up, we get in a car, and leave. But, it didn't sit right. I wanted to know more. So we go back. This time we bring backup, for other guys, flashlights and a couple of guns, just in case. Nighttime.

Pitch black. Way scarier than before. But with six of us, we felt braver. We follow the trail all the way to the end this time. We start hearing waves crashing somewhere ahead, ocean, cliffside, exactly like Chi said. Sure enough, the trees break, and there it is, a little house that looks like no one's lived there in a decade. We go inside. It's weird, man. Like the family just up and vanished. Clothes, dishes, furniture, all still there. But it's a mess, like someone's ransacked the place. Could have been vandals, I guess. But here's the part that burned itself into my brain, the walls. Every single wall in every single room was covered, covered, in words written in ash. Not like someone painted the walls black. No. It looked like someone

dipped their finger in ash and painstakingly wrote out lines of text. Top to bottom, starting where the wall meets the ceiling and going all the way down to the floor, then moving to the next wall and starting again. I couldn't read it, but it looked like Latin. When I later asked she what she'd heard about the house, she told me the local legend, there was once a mother living there who snapped one day and murdered her husband and four children. She supposedly burned their bones, confessed to the police, and was lost.

walked away in an asylum for life. The bodies were never found. That's when I started thinking about all that ash on the walls. Five burned bodies. Would that even be enough ash to write that much text? I don't know, man. Just thinking about it makes me want to sleep with the lights on. Number two, the house I grew up in, aka the freezer basement creep zone, fast forward to me at 12 years old. My parents decide we're moving to a whole different state. The house they pick is, well, let's just say it's not exactly a kid-friendly kind of place. Built in the 1960s by some architect who must have been trying to win weirdest floor plan ever. The things shaped like a giant tea with the master bedroom making up the long stem and the top bar holding all the other rooms, including mine, way over on the far left.

To make it even weirder, the two living rooms are safe. separated by a kitchen. To get to the front door, you literally walk past this massive stained glass window that covers the entire east wall of my parents' bedroom. And then there's the basement. Oh boy, the basement. Down there, we've got, a deep freezer room, a small office. And, my personal favorite, a crawl space that opens into a giant dirt cavern. I mean huge. Just piles of dirt stretching out further than your flashlight can reach. The backyard? A giant slab of concrete that looked like it was dumped there to fill in an old swimming pool.

So yeah, 12-year-old me knew this place was trouble. Also, my bedroom was basically in the Arctic Circle section of the house, cold, far away, and isolated. You could scream from my room, and nobody in the rest of the house would hear you. Comforting, right? First night there, I hated it. I curled up in my little twin bed, listening to all the weird creaks and pops and rattles, wondering why I'd been banished to the creepiest corner. At one point, the wind rattled the screen on my window so hard I shot out of bed and bolted straight to my parents' room.

Slept there that night. This became a habit. After a few nights, my parents decided enough was enough. They gave me a stuffed dog to keep me company. I named him Sherlock. I joked about him discovering bones in the basement. Didn't matter, I still ended up in their bed every night. Eventually my mom got tired of it and came up with a compromise, I could sleep in the big chair in the room closest to theirs. This was an upgrade in my book, until I realized the chair was right next to both the back door and the basement door.

Still, I agreed. I piled about a thousand blankets on it, snuggled. in with Sherlock, and somehow managed to drift off. Sometime in the middle of the night, I woke up to the sound of footsteps, coming from the basement stairs. I glance over. The basement door is wide open. I scream. Loud. My dad rushes out, slams the basement door shut, and just stares at me. Why'd you open that? Trying to scare yourself, I'm shaking. I didn't open it. It was already open. By now my mom's out too, helping me untangle myself from my blanket fort. Her hands are shaking. She takes me to their bedroom, and eventually I fall asleep after a few of her, Everything's Fine, stories. But in the middle of the night, I wake again. This time it's the

sound of footsteps, on the carpet. They're slow, soft. And then, whispering, I freeze, hoping it'll stop. But the whispers keep going, just low enough that I can't make out the words. I nudge my mom. She just rolls over. I poke my dad, nothing. Then I lean in close and whisper, Mom, right in her ear. And that's when I hear it, someone whispering back at me from the dark. To be continued.