Solved Murders - True Crime Stories - Terrifying True Encounters with Stalkers, Intruders and Creepy Strangers at Night PART1 #76

Episode Date: October 17, 2025

#horrorstories #reddithorrorstories #ScaryStories #creepypasta #horrortales #stalkerencounters #intruderstories #creepystrangers #nightterror #truehorrorstories  Part 1 of Terrifying True Encounters dives into real-life nighttime horrors. From stalkers lurking in the shadows, to home intrusions that shatter safety, and eerie encounters with strangers that leave lasting fear, these stories reveal how danger can appear when least expected. A chilling start to a series that explores the vulnerability and terror of nighttime encounters.  horrorstories, reddithorrorstories, scarystories, horrorstory, creepypasta, horrortales, stalkerencounters, intruderstories, creepystrangers, nightterror, truehorrorstories, chillingencounters, terrifyingnight, unsettlingstories, homeinvasion, realfearstories, scarytrueevents, dangeratnight, nightmarefuel, darkencounters

Horror. I never really thought my old childhood home would turn into the stage for the scariest nights of my life. Honestly, that house was supposed to be safe, familiar. It was where I grew up, where I rode my bike up and down the cracked driveway, where birthdays and family dinners happened. But when I inherited it a few years back, I swear the house carried a different kind of weight. The air felt heavier, the shadows seemed thicker, and the nights, well, the nights felt longer than they should have been. At that time, I had just moved back in with my husband, and to save money, my cousin decided to crash with us while she was going to a nearby college. On paper, it sounded nice, family close by, people in and out, the house full again. But our schedules didn't

line up. I worked mornings at a Lego store, while my cousin and my husband worked night. That meant plenty of evenings where I was the only one rattling around in that big, dim house. And let me tell you, when you're already the type who gets creeped out being alone, an empty house becomes its own kind of monster. Still, I told myself I was fine. I'd keep the kitchen lights blazing since it was the brightest room, and I'd hunker down there with my laptop. That became my routine. Netflix or YouTube, maybe a bowl of popcorn, trying not to let the creaks and groans of the house get to me. But two weeks before things went fully sideways, I got my first taste of the nightmare that was about to take root. It started with a van.

I was outside unloading some boxes from my car one evening, the sun already dipping low, painting the street in that weird in-between light where everything looks softer, but also kind of unsettling. That's when I noticed it. A beat-up brown van parked across the street. The kind of van that immediately gives you bad vibes. No back windows, faded paint, like the kind of thing parents warn kids about when they talk about stranger danger. At first, I didn't think much of it. People park on the street all the time, right? But as I was bent over the trunk, shoving stuff inside, I heard something. This weird noise. Not a whistle exactly, not words either. Just noises. The kind that makes your stomach twist because it's not natural.

I froze, then slowly turned, hoping to get a look at the driver. All I could see was a man in a black San Francisco Giants cap pulled low over his face. Creepy? Yeah, but I'm the kind of person who reacts with attitude when I feel cornered. So instead of showing fear, I shot him the finger, muttered something under my breath, and marched back into the house. I figured that would be the end of it, just a random weirdo trying to get a rise out of me. Two hours later, I headed out again. car keys in hand. The street was quiet. The van was still there. That little alarm bell went off in the back of my head,

but I ignored it. I had somewhere to be, and I wasn't about to let paranoia keep me home. But the second I pulled onto the main road, I glanced at my rearview mirror and felt my blood run cold. The van was behind me. At first, I told myself it was a coincidence. He just happened to be going the same way. But when I turned onto side streets, he turned too. I looped through a neighborhood I knew well, doubling back, weaving like I was trying to lose a tail in some action movie. And still, every time I checked the mirror, there he was. That brown van sticking to me like gum on a shoe. By the time I pulled onto the street where my father-in-law lived, my hands were shaking on the wheel.

I figured if the guy really wanted to try something, at least I'd have backup here. I pulled over, parking in front of the house. The van rolled by slowly. The driver turned his head just enough that I could see the shadow of his face under the cap. Then he lifted his hand, shaped his fingers into a gun, pointed straight at me, and mouthed a single word. Bang. It wasn't quiet either. He actually said it, loud enough I heard it through my car window. Then he laughed, a short, sharp bark, and floored it down the street. I sat froze. for what felt like forever, my heart pounding so hard it hurt. That wasn't just creepy. That was a threat. After that, staying home alone wasn't just uncomfortable. It was unbearable. Every sound made me

jump. Every shadow felt like someone watching me. I kept the kitchen light on longer than ever, sometimes falling asleep at the table because I couldn't bring myself to move through the darkened hallways. Then one night, around 10, I heard banging on the front. front door. Not a polite knock, banging, hard enough to rattle the glass in the small window next to it. The handle jiggled like someone was really trying to get in. My first instinct was to calm down. My cousin usually got home from her night shifts around then. I figured it was her, maybe her hands full of books or food, trying to get me to open up. I checked the time, yep, right on schedule. So I got up, muttering about her forgetting her keys again and swung the door open.

The porch was empty. Hello? I called, stepping out, peering into the darkness. Nothing. A chill crept up my neck. I pulled my phone from my pocket and called her. She answered cheerfully on the second ring. Oh, hey, I'm still at work. Just leaving now.

Be there in like 15 minutes. My throat went dry. I didn't even have time to explain before three thunderous bangs shook the door connecting the kitchen to the garage. This time, the knob rattled violently. like someone was about to rip it off the frame. I screamed, shoved the door shut, locked it, slid the chain into place, and bolted down the hallway.

I ended up curled under my blankets in my bedroom, phone clutched in my hands while my cousin called the police. By the time she got home, I was shaking so badly I couldn't even explain what had happened. The cops were already there, flashlights sweeping the property. One of them motioned me back as they approached the side of the house. The gate creaked open.

And that's when they saw it. The garage door was wide open. We always kept that thing locked, always. But there it was, yawning like an invitation. The officers drew their guns, moved inside. Minutes passed like hours before they came back out shaking their heads. No one was in there. Probably just some kids messing around.

One of them told me, like that was supposed to make me feel better. Still, if you ever feel unsafe, don't hesitate to call us. but I didn't believe it was kids. And a week later, I knew for sure. I was in the living room with my husband and cousin, just a normal night. We were watching something dumb on TV, laughing, trying to shake off that other night. I walked past the front window and out of habit glanced outside. My stomach dropped.

A man was standing on the sidewalk, just standing there, staring directly at the house. Same cap, same posture, and when he saw me watching, smiled. Not a friendly smile, not even a mocking one. This was something darker, a stretched, deliberate grin that made my skin crawl. I shouted for my husband, spun back toward the window. The man was gone. Three days later, I was alone again. Of course, because the universe has a sick sense of humor. I tried to convince myself I'd be fine. I'd baked cookies to distract myself, letting the smell of sugar and butter fill the kitchen. It was working for, a little while. Until I heard it. A knock, soft, on the sliding glass door at the back of the house.

Every nerve in my body went rigid. The kitchen lights glared against the glass, making it impossible to see outside. I squinted, but all I saw was my own pale reflections standing back at me. For a moment, silence. I almost convinced myself it was nothing. Then the knock came again, louder. I screamed, stumbling backward, hard slamming. Before I could do anything else, footsteps thundered across the deck. Whoever it was pounded on the living room windows, circling, knocking, trying to rattle every inch of glass. Then they came back to the sliding door, jiggling the handle, trying to force it open. That broke the spell. I grabbed my keys, bolted for the front door, and sprinted to my car. I locked myself inside, shaking hands,

fumbling for my phone and dialed 911. That was the breaking point. We sold the house not long after, packed up, left California behind. I live two states away now, but even so, I don't stay home alone without every door bolted, every curtain drawn. Because sometimes, late at night, I swear I can still see him, the man in the cap, standing just beyond the glass, smiling. Walter sat there on the floor, feeling the damp seeping through his janes, staring at the dying embers in the little pit he had made. Every flicker of orange felt like it was mocking him, whispering, you thought you could handle this place, but you don't belong here. He rubbed his hands together, half for warmth, half for comfort. His body was sore from the hike, his mind fried from the paranoia, and still, still, there was

something pulling at him, deeper in these woods. He glanced at hope. She was a short. She was curled in her sleeping bag facing away from him. She looked peaceful in the dim light, her chest rising and falling slowly. Walter envied her ability to sleep through this nightmare. He couldn't close his eyes without seeing that figure again. The broad shoulders, the black leather coat, the slow, deliberate steps in the dark, the leather man. The name echoed in his skull. He hated that it had power over him, that some ridiculous nickname he'd heard online was now the thing wrapping cold fingers around his spine. He shook his head, muttering under his breath. Just a story, man, just a damn story. But his voice didn't convince him. Walter stood, stretched his legs,

and walked a few feet from the fire. The woods were impossibly quiet. No owls, no rustle of wind, nothing but the distant drip of melting ice. It was like the forest was holding its breath. He whispered, You out here? Silence. His eyes scanned the shadow. between the trees, shapes shifting with the faintest movement of the firelight behind him. Every stump, every rock, looked like a crouched figure ready to pounce. Then...