Solved Murders - True Crime Stories - Terrifying Encounters Stalkers, Strangers, and Near-Kidnappings in North Carolina PART2 #58

Episode Date: November 4, 2025

#horrorstories #reddithorrorstories #ScaryStories #creepypasta #horrortales #truehorrorstories #stalkerexperience #kidnappingstories #realhorrorstories #NorthCarolinaEncounters  Part 2 continues the terrifying accounts of stalkers, strangers, and near-kidnappings in North Carolina. These unsettling experiences reveal how ordinary situations can quickly turn into real-life horror, where every shadow hides danger and survival depends on awareness and instinct. The tension builds as fear mixes with reality, creating chilling tales that could happen to anyone.  horrorstories, reddithorrorstories, scarystories, horrorstory, creepypasta, horrortales, truehorrorstories, creepystories, realhorrorstories, stalkerencounter, dangerousstrangers, abductionexperience, survivalstories, realnightmares, chillingencounters, NorthCarolinaTales, creepyexperiences, truecrimehorrorstories, terrifyingmoments, spookytales

There's so much rugby on Sports Extra from Sky. They've asked me to read the whole lad at the same speed I usually use for the legal bit at the end. Here goes. This winter Sports Extra is jam-packed with rugby. For the first time we've got every Champions Cup match exclusively live, plus action from the URC, the Challenge Cup, and much more. Thus the URC and all the best European rugby all in the same place.

Get more exclusively live tournaments than ever before on Sports Extra. Jampack with rugby. Phew, that is a lot of rugby. Get Sports Extra on Sky for 15 euro a month for 12 months. Search Sports Extra. New Sports Extra customers only. Standard Pressing applies after 12 months for the terms apply. I know what you're feeling and I was there too.

And I know you might think that there is nobody to talk to, but I promise that you're not alone. It was never your fault and you deserve support and healing in your own time. Whenever you're ready to talk, Dublin Rape Crisis Centre will be ready to listen. Call the 24-hour National Helpline on 1-800-77-8888. The story. It's wild how certain memories just stick with you forever, like they get burned into the back of your mind in neon colors that never fade.

This one is from years ago, but every detail is still sharp, so sharp that even now, if I close my eyes, I can feel the humidity, hear the engines, taste the cigarette smoke in my mouth. That particular day, I was hiding, literally hiding, from a car that had followed me into an apartment complex parking lot. I had scrambled down into a gully lined with rocks and trees, trying to make myself invisible. I found this perfect little spot where I could crouch low, pressed between two boulders and a wall of brush, completely out of sight unless somebody leaned way over the edge above and looked directly down. From that angle, I was safe. Hidden. A shadow in daylight.

The plan worked, but once the adrenaline started to ebb, I realized what I had done. I had basically wedged myself into a damp pocket of stone and dirt, like some wild animal waiting out a predator. My knees were shaking, my palms were slick, and my head kept whipping toward every single sound, birds in the trees, water gurgling nearby, the faraway hum of tires on pavement. My body was still convinced I was being hunted, even though the car had rolled off. I stayed there. Not for five minutes.

not for 10 for two and a half whole hours and what did I do during those long dragging hours smoked chain smoked actually I went through way more cigarettes than I should have lighting one after the other with trembling hands

sucking them down until my chest felt tight and my throat raw each inhale gave me this illusion of control a tiny piece of calm to wrap around myself The smoke curled upward into the trees, thin silver threads vanishing into green. I would have left sooner, I desperately wanted to. My stomach was gnawing at itself because I hadn't eaten all morning, and my water bottle was down to the last swallow. But there was this man mowing the grass at the apartment complex above me, the loud whir of his mower floating over the treetops every couple of minutes. and after the morning I'd had, the thought of passing near any man, even one who was just

landscaping, freaked me out. It sounds ridiculous, right? Being scared of some random guy just doing his job. But that's the thing about fear, it doesn't always follow logic. In my brain, all men had blurred together into one category, potential threat. The idea of climbing back up that slope and walking past him made my skin crawl. What if he looked at me too long? What if he said something?

Even something small, like, hey there, or smile, might have shattered me. I didn't want another ounce of creepiness. Not that day. So I stayed put, hungry, thirsty, paranoid, and chain-smoking, until finally the sound of the mower cut off and silence returned. That was my cue to move. But that's not the only one. memory I want to tell here. That day, crouched in a gully, sparked another one, like my brain was

unspulling a reel of every weird, uncomfortable encounter I'd ever had. And trust me, there are a lot. One of the sharpest came from when I was 15, just a few months shy of turning 16. I was living in this small North Carolina town back then, the kind where everyone knows everyone, or at least pretends to. My escape was a local bowling center. That place was like a second home. My dad was in a bowling league, so I spent a lot of evenings there, tagging along, hanging out with friends, sometimes sneaking French fries from the snack bar. That particular night was a Wednesday, the busiest league night of the week. The place was buzzing, packed with teams, families, laughter, the crash of pins echoing over the sound system.

The smell of shoe spray, nachos, and cheap beer hung in the air. My friend Haley was with me, one of my best friends at the time. She'd come by to work on a school project with me, and honestly, I was glad for the company. Haley was the opposite of me in a lot of ways, outgoing, fearless, the type of girl who could strike up a conversation with a stranger and have them laughing within five minutes. I was quieter, more cautious, but that balance is probably why we clicked. When we got there, all the tables near the lanes were taken, jammed with league players and their families. So Haley suggested we go into the back lounge area. It was this semi-hidden space off to the side,

kind of like a secret room. Not off-limits to the public, but not obvious either. Most out-of-towners didn't even know it existed. We slipped in, found a table, spread out our notebooks, and started half working, half chatting like teenagers do. That's when I noticed him. A guy sitting alone at the bar. He had a beer in front of him, eyes flicking between the TV overhead and the two of us at the table. I didn't recognize him. That was unusual because the bowling alley was one of those places where the regulars were always the same faces.

If someone new wandered in, you noticed. He looked young, maybe mid-twenties at most. His hair was a little messy, his clothes nothing remarkable. At first, I didn't think much of it. Maybe he was just killing time, watching the game. But then he turned his chair around and smiled. And spoke. Hey, he said casually.

How's it going? Polite enough. Haley, of course, jumped right into conversation because that was who she was. Within minutes, we were making small talk with this stranger. And then he asked the question that made my stomach tighten, so, how old are you girls? Without hesitation, Haley answered. I'm 16, she's 15, she said, pointing to me. The guys smile wide.

Oh yeah. So, do you drive yet? Yeah, I do, Haley said proudly. Then she teased me. She doesn't, she's still a baby. I rolled my eyes, pretending not to care, but inside I was cringing. I only had my learners permit at the time, and honestly, I didn't want this stranger knowing anything about me. The guy and Haley went back and forth about vehicles, and eventually discovered they both drove trucks. That's when things tilted into

weird. My truck's out in the parking lot, he said. It's brand new. You girls should come check it out. I'll even take you for a ride. Every alarm bell in my head went off at once. This man was in his 20s, sitting at a bar, drinking beer, and he knew very well we were literal teenagers. jail bait. His word choice was smooth, like he thought he was being friendly, but the undertone was wrong. Too wrong. I glanced at Haley, but she seemed caught between curiosity and politeness. I needed to get us out of there. Hey, uh, my dad told me to check in with him by nine, I lied, glancing at my watch for effect. Haley, can you come with me real quick? My dad trusted me.

He wasn't the kind of parent who made me check in every hour. But I needed an excuse, something to break this off and let the guy know we weren't unsupervised prey. The man must have sensed my shift, because he leaned back and said, Oh, I know that sounded weird. Sorry if I gave you the wrong idea. Relief almost washed over me, until he kept talking. I mean, it's not. not like you two would get in my truck, and then I'd lock the doors, and you'd wake up eight hours

later in Fayetteville. The words dropped into the air like lead waits. He wasn't smiling. He wasn't laughing. He said it flatly, seriously, like it was a fact, not a joke. The silence that followed was suffocating. You could have heard a pin hit the carpet. My skin prickled. My skin prickled. The brain screamed, this is wrong. This is dangerous. Haley's hand clamped on my arm, her face pale for once. Without a word, we stood up and left that lounge, moving fast, glancing over our shoulders every couple steps.

I went straight to my dad's table and blurted out what happened. He didn't hesitate. He got up and followed me back to the lounge, ready to confront the creep. when we opened the door, the guy was gone. Not five minutes had passed, and yet he'd vanished completely. The only evidence he'd been there was a half-finished beer sweating on the counter. We never saw him again. Not that night, not ever. And that wasn't the last creepy story floating around those years. See, our little town loved urban legends. Everyone knew the story of the girl with the dog, the one who always let her dog lick her hand from under the bed to calm her down,

only to discover later that it wasn't the dog licking her hand at all. The tale always ended with horror, always twisted. People whispered about it at sleepovers, passing it down like campfire fuel. But what if I told you there was a story in my school with a girl I actually knew, that came dangerously close to being one of those legends? Her name was Daphne. To be continued.