Solved Murders - True Crime Stories - Terrifying Encounters with Fake Cops and Stalkers That Could Have Ended in Murder PART1 #73

Episode Date: October 27, 2025

#horrorstories #reddithorrorstories #ScaryStories #creepypasta #horrortales #fakecops #stalkers #truecrimehorror #dangerousencounters #nightmarescometrue  Part 1 of this chilling series recounts terrifying true encounters with fake police officers and stalkers. Victims narrowly escape dangerous situations that could have ended in murder. The story highlights the fear, tension, and paranoia that arise when trust is betrayed, and danger hides behind authority figures and familiar faces.  horrorstories, reddithorrorstories, scarystories, horrorstory, creepypasta, horrortales, fakepolice, stalkerstories, truecrimehorror, nearfatalencounters, dangeroussituations, survivalstories, terrifyingencounters, crimehorror, nightterror, realhorrorstories, chillingtruecrime, victimstories, fearinthedark, survivalagainstodds

The Fake Cop Stories This is not something that happened to me directly, but it's a story I heard from a close friend of mine. She swears up and down that it's true, and honestly, after hearing all the details and seeing how shaken she was when she told it, I believe her. It actually happened to her older sister, and it's one of those stories that makes you double-check your locks at night.

So, her sister goes to this big private religious university in Utah. You know the type, super strict, kind of in the middle of nowhere, lots of rules about what you can or can't do, but at the same time full of young people trying to figure life out. Anyway, she was living in an apartment not too far from campus. The apartment itself was small, nothing fancy, just one of those places college kids rent because it's close enough to walk to class but cheap enough to split with roommates. She shared it with three other girls, all of them around the same age, all still adjusting to a new semester. Now, the semester had literally just started, so everyone was still in that weird stage of trying to get along, figure out chores, and learn each other's quirks. That night, two of the three roommates had already gone to bed early. My friend's sister wasn't ready to sleep, though.

She was the type who liked to scroll on her phone late at night, watching her. TikToks, checking Instagram, that kind of thing. So she stayed out in the living room, just minding her own business, when she heard something. At first it sounded like footsteps, slow, deliberate, just outside the window behind her. She froze for a second, listening. The apartment wasn't in a terrible neighborhood, but it wasn't the safest either. Still, she tried to brush it off. She told herself it was probably just a stray camera. cat or a dog. Utah has plenty of both. But then, a few minutes later, she heard a loud thud. It came from the direction of the dining room wall, like someone had thrown their shoulder against

it from outside. Right after that, there was this weird muffled whispering, the kind where you can't really make out words but you can tell its voices. Now, here's something important about my friend's sister, she's an excellent shot. She grew up her. She grew up her. around guns, trained at shooting ranges, and wasn't afraid to use one if she had to. She wasn't reckless about it, but she knew how to defend herself. So instead of panicking, she decided she was going to scare off whoever was outside. She snapped into action. She yanked the blinds open, flipped on the living room lights, and reached up to the mantle where she kept her shotgun. Then she pointed it right at the window and shouted at the top of her lungs,

telling the other girls to wake up. And that's when she saw him. There was a short man outside, dressed head to toe in black. Ski mask, gloves, the whole thing. The second she pulled the blinds, he froze for half a second and then bolted, ran like his life depended on it. She saw him sprint off into the shadows. The real police came not too long after.

She filed a report. gave them the description, and they promised to keep an eye on the area. She tried to move on, tried to convince herself that it was just some weirdo messing around, nothing more. But then a few weeks passed, and things got even stranger. She started noticing a small white truck around town. At first, she thought nothing of it, white trucks aren't exactly rare in Utah. But this one had tinted windows, and no matter where she went,

grocery store, gas station, even church, she kept spotting it. Sometimes it was parked across the street. Sometimes it was a few cars back while she was driving. She kept telling herself it was her imagination, but deep down, it gave her a bad feeling. Fast forward to one weekend. Her roommates decided to go out of town for a little trip, leaving her completely alone in the apartment. She didn't mind, she figured she'd enjoy the peace and quiet, maybe catch up on homework, maybe binge some Netflix. Everything was fine until that night, when she was just about to fall asleep. Suddenly, there was this pounding at the door. Not a polite knock.

A pounding. She jumped up and ran to the door, heart racing, and looked through the people. Standing there was a man in a police uniform. Who are you? asked through the door. I'm a cop, the guy said. His voice was low, rough, almost aggressive. Then he barked, open up.

It's the law. Now, imagine being her in that moment. She's alone, in the middle of the night, and there's a supposed cop yelling at her to open the door. She thought about calling 911 right then and there, but the thing that scared her was the possibility that he really was a cop. What if she ignored him and got in trouble?

Why are you here so late, she asked, trying to sound calm? Remember a few weeks ago when that guy tried to break into your house, the man replied. I have an update on him. That made her blood run cold. Because, yes, she had filed a police report. But why would a cop show up alone, in the middle of the night, without calling first, to talk about the case. And worse, she remembered that this man wasn't even the same officer who had taken her report. Suspicion kicked in. Show me your badge, she demanded. The guy shoved

something against the people. It looked like a badge. She felt a tiny wave of relief, started unlocking the door, and then she noticed something. She looked down. His legs looked weird. He was wearing platform boots, ridiculously tall, almost cartoonish. And worse, hanging from his belt was a machete. Not exactly standard police gear. Then she saw the name stitched on his uniform. It didn't match the name on the badge he'd flashed. You're not a cop, she screamed.

The fake cop immediately dropped the act and started slamming on the door, yelling, I'm an officer of the law. You will obey me. Open up. She grabbed her shotgun, pressed her back against the door, and dialed 911 with shaking hands. She stayed there, clutching the weapon, heart pounding, until the real police finally arrived. By then, of course, the fake cop was gone. All he left behind was a cheap hat, the kind you buy at a party store for a costume. The very next day, she packed up her things, broke her lease, and moved to a different city. She even transferred schools. And just to make sure she'd never feel that helpless again, she got herself a big, intimidating Doberman. That was one story. But there's another one,

this one hits even closer to home, because it didn't happen to my friend or her sister. It happened to my mom. About four years ago, when I was around 12, I went on this three-day field trip with my school. I left on a Wednesday and came back on a Friday. When I got home, my mom and brother sat me down and told me what had happened while I was gone. It started like a normal evening. My mom, my brother, and my sister were driving back from my brother's wrestling practice. Practice ran from 7 to 8.30, half an hour from our house. Not too bad of a drive, but long enough that it was already dark by the time they were heading home. About ten minutes into the drive, my mom noticed a gray car behind her. She didn't think much of it at first. It was a busy street, after all. But the longer she drove,

the more she realized the car wasn't just behind her, it was following her. Every turn she took, it took two. When she got off the main road and onto a quieter one, it was still there. By now, the uneasy feeling in her stomach was getting stronger. But she didn't say anything to my brother, who was ten at the time, or my sister, who was only eight. She didn't want to scare them. Instead, she kept glancing at the rearview mirror, trying to convince herself it was nothing. But when she finally turned on to our street, our dark, nearly pitch-black street with no street lamps except one way down at the end, the car followed her still. She pulled into our driveway. And to her horror, the gray car pulled over right in front of our house and stopped.

Now, my mom isn't someone who scares easily. She's one of the strongest people I know. So instead of panicking, she told my brother and sister to stay inside the car while she got out to confront the man. The driver's side door of the gray car opened and out stepped a skinny white man. He walked right up to my mom and said, I'm with the police. I need you to come down to the station with me. We need to ask you some questions about your reckless driving. My mom stared at him, stunned. First of all, she is not a reckless driver. She doesn't drink, she doesn't smoke, and she's always been one of the most careful people behind the wheel. So she knew immediately something wasn't right. I don't recall driving recklessly, she told him. Can I see some

proof you're really a cop? But the man just kept insisting, Come with me. Bring your children too. That last part made my mom's blood run cold. She hadn't said anything about her kids being in the car. He shouldn't have even known they were there. That's when she knew for certain, this guy was not a cop. She told him firmly to leave, but instead of backing off, he started walking toward her. Fast.

For a moment, she froze. Then, right as he was closing the distance, the front door of our house o'clock, opened. My dad stepped outside. Now, my dad is not a small man. Back in the day, he wrestled, boxed, lifted weights, you name it. He's broad-shouldered, strong, and he has that kind of presence that makes people think twice before messing with him. The man stopped in his tracks the second he saw my dad. They locked eyes, and it was like a silent standoff. Then the the man squinted, muttered something, and slowly backed away. I'll let you off with a warning, he said, before retreating to his car. And just like that, he was gone. But here's the thing,

my mom swears she'll never forget the look in his eyes. It wasn't the look of a cop doing his job. It was something darker. Something predatory. And the worst part. We never found out who who he really was. To be continued.