Solved Murders - True Crime Stories - Terrifying Encounters with Demons and Dark Entities True Stories from the Past #44

Episode Date: October 3, 2025

#horrorstories #reddithorrorstories #ScaryStories #creepypasta #horrortales #demonencounters #darkentities #paranormalhorror #truesupernatural #hauntingstories  These true stories delve into terrifying encounters with demons and dark entities from the past. Each tale reveals how ordinary people faced unimaginable horrors, confronting malevolent forces that left lasting marks on their lives. A chilling reminder that some nightmares are all too real.  horrorstories, reddithorrorstories, scarystories, horrorstory, creepypasta, horrortales, demonencounters, darkentities, supernaturalhorror, hauntingstories, truesupernatural, paranormalfear, eerieencounters, nightterrors, chillingtales, spinechilling, disturbingtruths, survivalhorror, mysteriousentities, shadowyfigures

It's been well over 20 years since all of this went down, and even now, writing it out makes my stomach twist. I didn't exactly jump at the chance to share this before, because honestly, who wants to spend their time arguing with people about whether you've lost your mind? I didn't feel like defending my sanity against the usual smirks, raised eyebrows, and, you probably dreamed it, comments. But here I am anyway, and I guess that says something about how much it still sits in my head, like an itch that won't go away. We're going way back, late 1980s. I was a teenager then,

with a brain that couldn't leave a question alone and a curiosity that would eventually take me places I should never have gone. See, I grew up in a very religious household, the kind where the Bible was as common as the salt shaker on the dinner table. You'd think that would have steered me away from anything, occult, but if anything, it did the opposite. The first, occult, stuff I ever encountered wasn't from a horror movie or some forbidden book, it was straight from scripture. Angels, demons, possessions, that whole invisible war thing. I learned that demons weren't just cartoon villains, they were supposedly fallen angels, kicked out of heaven, roaming the earth, and, this was the kicker for me, able to interact with humans. My teenage brain

made the leap, if demons exist, then God has to exist too. And to prove one, I feel. I feel figured I needed to meet the other. Of course, there was no internet to ask, how do I summon a demon? No shady forums, no YouTube tutorials. If I wanted answers, I had to dig. And dig I did, libraries, dusty little bookstores with owners who gave me side eyes when they saw what I was looking for. Over time, I built myself a small collection of books on witchcraft, demonology, and other things that sounded way cooler than they actually were. Now, from the safety of hindsight, I can say, I was a complete idiot. I didn't grasp the risk.

I didn't understand the careful what you wish for, part. But back then, I was determined. Those books are long gone now, destroyed after everything that happened. I started experimenting. I'd sit in my room and read out loud long strings of names from these books. harsh, strange syllables that tasted weird in my mouth. I'd draw symbols on my bedroom wall and floor with whatever I could find, chalk, charcoal, even pen. I'd try little spells. And for the longest time, nothing happened. Not even a flicker of candlelight or a spooky whisper.

A few strange dreams, sure, but nothing that made me think, yep, this is real. Then one day, I stumbled across a passage in one of my books that gave me a little DIY project. The instructions. Get a full clove of garlic and drive a large iron nail through it. Apparently, that would attract demonic power to a specific spot. I thought it was weirdly specific, garlic usually warded things off in folklore, not invited them, but I went along with it. I nailed the garlic, put it deep in my closet, and waited.

Here's the thing, they didn't come with it. a flash of lightning or in some dramatic, the air grows cold moment. They came gradually, like water seeping into cracks. I barely noticed at first. I started having more nightmares, the kind that make you sit up in bed listening hard because you're sure you heard someone laughing or whispering. Sometimes I'd wake up and couldn't move for a few seconds. Sleep paralysis, I told myself. Sometimes I'd wake up and all my sheets would be be on the floor, far from the bed. Sometimes I'd think my bed had shifted under me, just slightly, and I'd blame restless sleep. Then came the night thing stopped being dismissable.

I woke up to see my own arm shoot straight up from my side, grab my bedside lamp, and hurl it across the room with such force that my shoulder actually dislocated. I sat there in the dark, clutching my arm, my brain doing backflips trying to figure out how I could do something like that while asleep. A few nights later, same thing, new lamp, same arm. Then a week later, I ripped the sling off my neck in the middle of the night without even realizing I was doing it. I kept going, though. Still inviting. Still convinced I hadn't made contact yet. Looking back now, it's like watching a horror movie character walk into the basement after hearing a noise. I got meaner. More irritable. My family noticed.

My parents thought I was on drugs. I got sent to a psychologist and came back with a depression diagnosis. I didn't tell anyone what I was actually doing in my room at night. The weirdness ramped up. One night, I woke to the moonlight shining straight on my face. And this part. I almost didn't include it, because it sounds insane. But I started growling at the moon.

Not just a little grunt, a full-on, animalistic, foaming at the mouth growl, snapping my teeth at it like some rabid thing. My thoughts weren't my thoughts, they were stripped down to something primal. When I snapped out of it, I just sat there, panting, wondering what the hell was happening to me. The demons, and by now I'm sure that's what they were, decided I was ripe for the picking. They'd worn me down enough to try the big move, pulling me out. One night, I woke up feeling, wrong. Disjointed. Like my body and my self weren't fully glued together. Then I felt it, starting at my feet, moving upward, I was being peeled out of myself. Imagine pulling tape off glass, smooth, slow, inevitable. And then I was floating above my bed,

looking down at my own sleeping body. Before I could even try to swim in the air, something grabbed my feet and shook me like a rag doll. Violently. I felt like I was going to be snapped in half. Whatever it was, it was trying to rip me away from the invisible cord tethering me to my body. And I knew, without a doubt, if it succeeded, I'd be dead. The cord held. It gave up. I floated gently upward until my cheek was pressed against the ceiling. I stared at a tiny imperfection in the plaster, a little bump I'd seen countless times from my bed, now just inches from my face. Then, snap, I was back in bed, gasping for breath. No time to recover before round two started. My chest felt heavy. No specific pressure point, just as if a thick, invisible blanket was being

laid over me, growing heavier and heavier. I tried to breathe deeply, but it stayed. My brain screamed dream, but then I heard it, my bed creaking. The wood groaning as though more and more weight was pressing down. That was enough. I bolted, out of bed, down the hall, across the yard to my sister's house next door. I pounded on her door until she let me in. She found me wide-eyed, panting like I'd just outrun a fire. When she calmed me enough to ask questions, I lied, told her I saw a ghost. She laughed and told me to crash there. I didn't sleep a second. The next day, I knew what I had to do. I went home, straight to the closet, grabbed the garlic clove, now black and rotting, and took it outside. My parents' house had this big stone wall with no windows. I hurled that garlic against it,

and I swear to you, it exploded. Gone. Nothing left. I burned every occult book, every object, in the wood stove. Scrubbed the symbols off my walls. And I never, ever slept in that room again. Nothing like it has ever happened to me since. I think they had one shot, and they missed. Do I believe in God now? I'm still not sure. But I know for certain there are entities out there that will happily step into your life if you crack the door. And it wasn't the only weirdness I've seen. Not by a long shot. After that whole garlic fiasco, I stayed away from anything even remotely, summon why, for a long time. But here's the thing about the weird, once it finds you, it doesn't always leave you alone. Sometimes it just, changes shape. Fast forward a bunch of years.

I'm older, supposedly wiser, and I've chalked a lot of my teen insanity up to bad choices plus imagination. Then, last August, I went to spend the night at my grandparents' place. I don't see them much anymore, so it was one of those cozy evenings, dinner, TV, the usual grandparent jokes that are corny but comforting. Everyone else went to bed early, but I've always been a night owl. Around 2.30 a.m., I finally wandered into the guest room, the same one that used to be my room years back when we lived with them. I set up my laptop to play some music while I drifted off. Now, back when I lived there, I'd had a few supernatural moments in that room. Nothing scary, in fact, some of it almost felt protective. Like I'd sometimes wake up tucked in when I knew I'd gone to sleep with the blankets kicked off, or I'd find the window closed when I'd left it open. No big deal. But that night? Totally different vibe. There's this little corner in the room where the wall juts out before you hit the door, almost like a mini-hole. Around 3 a.m., I glanced

toward it, and froze. There was something there. Not quite solid, but not transparent either. More like the kind of image you get in your head when you picture something, except it was standing there in the real world. I couldn't even tell if it was male or female. The skin was this horrible white with a grayish tinge, stretched tight over a bony frame. Rinkled everywhere, like the leather of an old drum. Its arms were way too long, skinny and dangling, with fingers that seemed impossibly extended, like they were made to reach into places they shouldn't. I couldn't make out the eyes, just two deep black pits. No visible nose. The mouth. I saw. Lips barely there, expressionless, but something smeared across them, something dark,

gave the impression of a grotesque grin. My brain kept whispering, blood. It had wild, medium-length black hair sticking out in messy clumps, and here's the worst part, it was sticking sideways out of the wall, just watching me. Now, I've been told I have a naturally apathetic resting face, so maybe I didn't look as terrified as I felt. I forced myself to turn on my music, roll over, and pretend I was going to sleep. Nothing else happened that night, but the image burned into my brain. I might have convinced myself it was a one-off, except a couple months later I was crashing at a friend's apartment. It was late, about 3 a.m. again, and I I was lying on the floor trying to sleep.

I opened my eyes, and there it was. The same thing. Only this time, it was lying on its stomach, staring straight at me from across the room. I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping it would vanish. But no, even with my eyes closed, I could still see it. And it was crawling toward me. Fast. Each movement jerky, unnatural, until it was only inches from my face.

Like an idiot, I opened my eyes. Gone. Haven't seen it since, and it's never shown up at my house. And before anyone says, hallucination, no. I don't do drugs, I barely drink, I don't smoke, I don't even mess with rituals anymore. I've got no logical explanation. Just a mental snapshot of something I wish I'd never seen. Now, if you think that's unsettling, wait until you hear about the that's been passed down in my family like some creepy heirloom. This one's from my dad's side about his grandfather, my great-grandfather Pete. Pete was, let's just say, not a saint. A violent alcoholic, big guy, the type people crossed the street to avoid.

He beat my great-grandmother and their kids, and that's just the start. They lived in Ronda, North Carolina, in the 1940s, and one night Pete was stumbling home from a poker game, drunk as usual. It was late, maybe midnight, and he decided to cut through the meadows instead of sticking to the road. Picture it, wide open field, a hill to the left, and the moon so bright it turned the night's silver. He looks up toward the hill, and sees a dark silhouette of a man. Now, it's late, Pete's drunk, so he shrugs it off and keeps walking. But every time he moves, the figure matches his pace, keeping in line with him on that hill. The moonlight was strong enough for Pete to notice something strange,

the figure seemed to have a long, thin tail, and horns. Then it dropped to all fours. Pete's mind started racing, maybe he was imagining it, maybe the booze was playing tricks, but he felt too sober in that moment to be seeing things. And then the thing started moving toward him. Fast. Pete picked up his pace.

So did it. By the time he got home, he was breathing hard and furious. He let his two bulldogs out of their pen, figuring they'd tear after whatever this was. They bolted into the night and came back within seconds. They didn't just come back, they ran straight into the house and right up to the fireplace. My great-grandmother said they were so terrified they pressed themselves so close to the fire they burned patches of fur without even noticing. Pete, being Pete, got mad. He ripped a sheet of tin off the roof, marched to the gate, and spotted them, two huge, red, bulging eyes staring at him from

the road. He hurled the tin. The thing was gone. Just like that. Whether it ran or vanished, no one knows. My great-grandmother, who was deeply religious, told him flat out it was the devil himself, come for him, told him to change his ways. Of course, he didn't. But my dad swears that night put the fear of God into Pete like nothing else. Everyone in the family knows the story. They say they'd never seen Pete so pale. The idea that something that dark, something that real, could stalk a person. It makes you wonder who's watching you when you think you're alone. There's always a reason to be afraid. The end.