Solved Murders - True Crime Stories - Terrifying Maryland Encounters Stalkers, Abductions, Murder, and Close Escapes PART1 #78

Episode Date: November 6, 2025

#horrorstories #reddithorrorstories #ScaryStories #creepypasta #horrortales #Marylandhorror #stalkerencounters #abductionstories #truecrimestories #closeescapeshorror  Part 1 recounts terrifying real-life encounters in Maryland, including stalking, abductions, murder, and near escapes. These chilling stories show how quickly everyday situations can turn dangerous, emphasizing fear, suspense, and the instincts needed to survive life-threatening encounters.  horrorstories, reddithorrorstories, scarystories, horrorstory, creepypasta, horrortales, truehorrorstories, Marylandencounters, stalkerstories, abductionhorror, murderencounters, closeescapestories, creepyexperiences, chillingencounters, terrifyingmoments, unsettlingmoments, survivalstories, realhorrorstories, spookytales, nightmarestories  

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If your test is due today, you can book it today or hsseccd. I. Only Starnapurasing applies after 12 months further terms apply. The story Back in the early 90s, man, that feels like a lifetime ago, I was 19, still figuring out who I was, and definitely not as street smart as I liked to pretend. At that time, my older brother had just gotten married, and he and his wife were living in

Baltimore. To give you some context, I grew up in Maryland too, but mostly in the suburbs, in one of those neighborhoods where people left their doors unlocked and thought crime meant some teenager stealing a bike or breaking into a car for loose change. Baltimore was close, but in my head it was kind of like another world, louder, busier, rougher. I hadn't really spent any time in the city on my own before. I knew Baltimore had a reputation. Everyone did. People would always say things like, don't go down that street at night, or, keep your doors locked when you're driving through. But when you're 19, you have this weird mix of overconfidence and cluelessness.

I figured, hey, I'm just going straight to my brother's place. How hard can it be? Well, turns out I was wrong. Lost in the wrong part of Baltimore. So I'm driving into the city, trying to follow the directions I had written down. This is before GPS, before Waze, before Google Maps telling you, turn left in 200 feet. We had paper maps, scribbled notes, and payphones. If you missed a turn, you were basically screwed.

At some point, I made a wrong turn and ended up on MLK Boulevard. Now, if you know Baltimore, you know that area in the early 90s was not the kind of place you wanted to get lost in. The boulevard back then was depressing, boarded up houses with graffiti everywhere, old gas stations abandoned and falling apart, bars that looked like they hadn't had a liquor license in years. It looked like a movie set for one of those gritty crime dramas, except this was real life, and I was stuck in the middle of it. I started noticing people. A few guys were just hanging out in the street, literally walking down the middle like they owned it. They had brown paper bags in their hands, which obviously weren't filled with soda. They gave me that kind of look that makes your stomach drop, like they were already trying to figure out what I was doing there. My brain immediately screamed, you messed up big time.

The payphone and the strangers. Instead of panicking and driving in circles, I decided I'd better call my brother for help. Remember, this was almost 30 years ago. No cell phones. If you were lost, you had to physically find a payphone, hope it worked, and pray you had some quarters in your pocket. So I pulled into this abandoned gas station. The place was empty, weeds growing through the cracks in the pavement, but luckily there was a row of payphones. I parked about 10 feet away, grabbed my notes, and hopped out.

I got my brother on the line, and he was impatient right away. He knew the city inside and out, so in his mind, I should have been fine. Meanwhile, I'm trying to balance the phone, hold a pen, and scribble down his directions on a crumpled piece of paper. While he's talking, I glance back at my car. My stomach nearly flipped. Those three guys I'd seen earlier. They were now leaning on my car. Two on the passenger side, one right against the driver's door. Arms crossed. Staring. Not moving. Not smiling. Just, watching me.

I froze. Tears welled up instantly, but thankfully I had sunglasses on. I didn't want to let them see how scared I was. My brother, still on the line, hears me sniffling and goes, what's wrong with you? I'm just giving you directions. He had no idea what was happening. I couldn't tell him. The men were close enough to hear every word I said. If I said, three guys are surrounding my car, I had no clue how they'd react. So I kept quiet, wrote down the last of the directions, slipped the paper in my pocket,

and forced myself to start walking back to my car. The scariest walk of my life. That short walk felt like a mile. My legs were jelly, my palms sweaty, and I could hear my own heartbeat louder than the city noise. When I got close, the guy leaning on my door suddenly reached out and wiped a tear off my cheek. The touch made my skin crawl. Then he looked at me and said, in this creepy calm voice, why are you crying, hon? Nothing bad has happened yet.

The, yet, in that sentence hit me like a punch. I don't know where it came from, call it guardian angels, call it survival instinct, call it divine intervention, but without even thinking, I blurted out, I just shot my boyfriend. The cops are. I didn't even finish the sentence. The moment the words left my mouth, those guys bolted. Full sprint. Each in a different direction. Gone.

I stood there shaking, barely able to breathe. That lie, pulled out of thin air, probably saved me from something horrible that day. Growing up in Maryland To understand how surreal that moment was, you have to know where I came from. Like I said, I grew up in a quiet neighborhood in Maryland, maybe 15 minutes from the Washington, D.C. border. Our neighborhood was the kind of place where the biggest drama was someone forgetting to lock their car and finding their stereo missing the next morning. We had block parties, kids riding bikes until the streetlights came on, moms yelling from porches. Serious crime just wasn't part of our world, which made the moments in Baltimore, standing there in front of those men, even more jarring.

And believe it or not, that wasn't the only close call in my childhood. A few years earlier, something happened that still makes me shiver when I think about it. Flashback, October 1993. It was a chilly Saturday in October, 1993. I was eight years old, and my brother James was 12. The air had that crisp, gloomy feeling, the kind that makes you want to stay inside with hot chocolate. But we were kids, so of course we were outside. We had just finished playing street hockey in a friend's driveway and were heading home.

It was about 5.30, and the sun was starting to set. My friend's house was only a couple blocks from the elementary school. Across the street from that school was a big park, the kind of place that felt safe during the day but a little eerie at night. So James and I are walking, chatting away. I was talking his ear off about the Washington Redskins and how we should write to Art Monk. for an autograph. I thought it was the coolest idea ever. James, though, wasn't really responding. At first, I thought he was just tired or ignoring me, but then he whispered, keep talking. Act normal. Don't look back. That made my blood run cold.

The White Camry Apparently, James had noticed something I hadn't, a white 1990 Toyota Camry had been sitting at the four-way stop, and now it was slowly creeping behind us. I wanted to turn around so badly, but I trusted him. I kept rambling about football, pretending nothing was wrong. My heart was pounding, and I had no idea what was going on. Eventually, I risked a glance. That's when I saw it, the driver was a woman with messy brunette hair, staring straight ahead. No blinking, no looking at us, Just this blank, zoned out stare.

Almost like she was drugged. The passenger, though, that's the one who scared me. He was a redhead with long hair and this intense, angry expression. He looked like an evil version of carrot top. And he was staring at us like we were prey. A terrifying chase. We kept walking, trying not to panic. But then the Camry started merging into the commie started merging into.

to the other lane, like they were going to block us off. James didn't hesitate. He grabbed my arm and whispered, on the count of three, run. He counted down, three, two, one, and we bolted. I sprinted harder than I ever had in my life, my little legs trying to keep up with James. The Camry accelerated. James darted across the street, and the car missed me by inches. I could feel the whoosh of air as it sped past.

We tore down the block, and James led us toward a friend's house. The Camry whipped around and came after us again. We reached the doorstep and started pounding on the door, yelling and ringing the bell like our lives depended on it, because they probably did. The passenger started getting out of the car, but just then, our friend's dad flung the door open. We shoved our way inside. The Redhead froze, then jumped back in the Camry, and they sped off. Our friend's dad ran outside, yelling, trying to catch their license plate as they disappeared.

James and I were shaking, barely able to talk. Even though our house was just a block away, we called our dad to come pick us up. We told the police, and they took a report, but nothing ever really came of it. Looking back Those two moments, Baltimore when I was 19 and that chase when I was 8, still stick with me. They're the kind of experiences that leave fingerprints on your memory. Growing up, I thought danger was something you saw in movies. Then, in the span of a few years, I learned the world had teeth.

And honestly, if it weren't for instinct, luck, and maybe a little help. from above, I might not be here to tell the story. To be continued.