Solved Murders - True Crime Stories - Terrifying Encounters St. Louis Clown Attack, Bloodied Stranger, and Lake Stalker PART1 #60

Episode Date: November 4, 2025

#horrorstories #reddithorrorstories #ScaryStories #creepypasta #horrortales #truehorrorstories #clownencounter #stlouisstories #creepystrangers #lakestalker  Part 1 introduces three terrifying encounters in St. Louis: a clown attack that blurs the line between prank and predator, a disturbing run-in with a bloodied stranger, and a chilling encounter with a stalker near a lake. Each story captures the unsettling reality of how quickly safety can unravel, leaving fear, confusion, and a lasting sense of dread.  horrorstories, reddithorrorstories, scarystories, horrorstory, creepypasta, horrortales, truehorrorstories, clownattackstory, creepyencounters, bloodiedstranger, lakestalker, stlouishorror, realhorrorstories, survivalencounters, stalkerstories, chillingtales, unsettlingmoments, nightmarestories, creepyexperience, spookystories

The Summer of the Clown, a long story that still haunts me. It's wild how one night can completely rewrite the way you look at the world. Some moments stick with you like scars, even years later, refusing to fade. This story is one of those. It takes me back to St. Louis, in the summer of 2016, a time when everything felt a little, off. If you were in the U.S. back then, you probably remember the whole creepy clown phenomenon. Out of nowhere, people started showing up in clown costumes across random neighborhoods. Some just stood there silently, some carried knives or bats, some chased kids, and most were

doing it just for the scare factor. The thing is, when something like that becomes a trend, it attracts two types of people, the pranksters looking for attention and the darker kind who use it as cover for something way worse. Unfortunately for me and my friend Max, We ran straight into the second kind. The setting, cement land. Max and I were into what you'd probably call urban exploring. Basically, sneaking into abandoned places, checking out decaying buildings, crawling through forgotten tunnels.

For us, it wasn't about vandalism or tagging walls, it was about the thrill. The mystery. Exploring ruins felt like stepping into another world where time had just, stopped. That summer, Max kept bugging me to check out this spot known as Cement Land. If you've never heard of it, let me paint the picture. It was this unfinished playground-like structure built on the remains of an old cement factory, just north of St. Louis. The guy who started the project had a crazy creative vision, turning the remains into some sort of massive industrial art park, but he died before it was finished. So what was left behind was

part amusement park-looking ruins, part haunted construction site, and part crumbling death trap. For explorers like us, it was a dream. Giant open silos, tall skeletal buildings, winding staircases leading to nowhere, hallways echoing with every step, it was both creepy and mesmerizing. And best of all, or worst, depending on how you look at it, the place was ridiculously easy to sneak into. I'd been there before, so I thought I knew what's to expect. I was wrong. That night would change everything. The adventure begins. So it's a hot night in late July, the kind where the air feels sticky and heavy even after sunset. I'm about 5 feet 5 inches, female, and back then I weighed maybe 140 pounds. Max, on the other hand,

was taller and leaner, about 5 feet 10 inches and 160. He was the kind of guy who could act fearless even when he wasn't, which sometimes got us into trouble. We parked a little ways off and walked in. The place was huge and nearly silent except for the distant buzz of crickets and the occasional train horn. The night sky glowed faintly orange from the city lights, giving the whole place a surreal vibe. We decided to climb one of the taller structures, something like five levels up. Getting there meant scaling a rusted ladder bolted to concrete walls. Max went first, laughing and joking about how if the ladder broke, at least he'd make a cool pancake shape on the ground.

I rolled my eyes but followed. By the time we reached the fifth level, my arms were burning from the climb. The hallway stretched ahead of us, long and dark, echoing with the hollow sound of our footsteps. That's when we saw him. The clown appears. At the very end of the hallway, a figure stood. Tall, broad, motionless. The kind of tall where you just know this guy is way over six feet.

He wore a faded, frowning clown mask, the kind you'd see in old carnival posters, not the goofy balloon animal kind. He was holding something long and thick in his hand, which at first looked like a piece of wood. spotted him first. Hey buddy, he shouted, his voice echoing down the hallway. Nice costume. Halloween's still a few months away, you know. He started laughing, even picking up clumps of dirt and tossing them toward the guy,

like this was just another joke. But I didn't laugh. Something about the way the clown stood there, completely still, didn't feel like a joke. He wasn't moving, He wasn't reacting, just staring. And though his mask had no eyes I could see, I swear he was staring directly at me. My stomach sank. You know those old paintings of sad clowns people used to hang in living rooms?

The ones that just feel wrong somehow. Imagine one of those paintings suddenly stepping off the canvas and standing in front of you in an abandoned building. That's the vibe. passed. Max's laughter slowly faded. His joking tone turned serious. Uh, I don't have a good feeling about this, he muttered. Let's get the hell out of here. Finally, something sensible out of his mouth. I nodded quickly. Yeah. Let's go. Now. The Chase We turned and started heading back toward the ladder. We'd only made it halfway when a deep, rumbling voice cut through the silence.

Where do you think you're going, sweetheart? The sound stopped me cold. It wasn't just deep, it was unnaturally deep, like it came from somewhere in the floor and rose up through my chest. I spun around. The clown wasn't standing still anymore. He was running. Full sprint.

Straight at us. Run. Max screamed, and we bolted. My heart was pounding so hard it felt like it was going to break through my ribs. Max reached the ladder first, practically leaping onto it and scrambling down. I was just a few steps behind when it happened. A hand grabbed the back of my head. Not just grabbed, yanked, hard.

Fingers tangled in my hair, pulling me backward. I screamed, instinct taking over. I grabbed the side of the ladder with both hands and yanked forward with every ounce of strength I had. I felt strands of hair ripped from my scalp as I broke free. Without thinking, I started sliding down the ladder, my hands burning as the metal tore at my skin. Thankfully, I'd been wearing batting gloves, without them, my palms would have been shredded to bone. Even so, the speed was brutal. I lost control and slid down three whole floors, landing with a hard thud on the second level.

Pain exploded in my body. My thigh lit up with fire, my head rang like a bell. For a few seconds, everything went black. The escape When I came to, Max was beside me, yelling my name, trying to drag me to my feet. My leg was bleeding badly. I looked down and saw blood streaming from a gash. I didn't even have time to process how bad it was, adrenaline was the only thing keeping me upright.

Together, we stumbled toward the exit. The building spun around me as I staggered forward, Max practically carrying me. At one point, I was. I glanced up toward the fifth floor. Through a shattered window, I saw him. The clown. Standing there. Watching. His mask tilted just enough to make it clear he was locked onto me. That image is burned into my brain. Even now, if I close my eyes, I can see it. We somehow made it out, running to the car. I don't even remember the ride home clearly,

just flashes of headlights, Max's panicked voice, the sticky heat of blood down my leg. Aftermath At the hospital, I found out what had happened. When I'd jumped, I'd landed on a jagged piece of metal, tearing open my thigh. It took 23 stitches to close it. The bill was massive, but that wasn't what stuck with me. What stuck was the scar, and the memory. To this day,

that scar reminds me of how close I came to. I don't even want to finish that sentence. What if I hadn't broken free from his grip? What if Max hadn't been there to drag me out? What if we'd hesitated just a few seconds longer? I never went back to cement land. I refused to. For me, it stopped being an explorer's playground and became something else entirely, a nightmare stitched into concrete. The second story, blood on the stranger. Now, as terrifying as that night was, it wasn't the only time something like this happened to me. Fast forward about 14 years earlier, back when I lived in a small town in Missouri.

Our house sat a few miles outside of town on an old state highway. Quiet, isolated, surrounded by fields and woods. You'd see the occasional car or farm truck drive by, but most of the time, it felt like we were the only people for miles. One afternoon, I came home from an early shift, totally exhausted. My mom and stepdad were headed into town to visit a friend, so I had the house to myself. I dropped onto the couch, put on a movie, and quickly dozed off. I don't know how long I slept, but what woke me up still makes my skin crawl. The sound of the front door creaking open. I didn't think much of it at first, I figured my parents had come home early.

I stayed still, half asleep, waiting for them to say something. But instead of my mom's voice or my stepdad calling out, I heard a deep, unfamiliar male voice. Where is everybody? My eyes shot open. Standing over me was a man I'd never seen before. Tall, muscular, wearing a dirty white t-shirt with the sleeves cut off. And worse, he was covered in blood. To be continued.