Solved Murders - True Crime Stories - Terrifying True Halloween and Home Invasion Stories That Will Haunt You Forever PART1 #77

Episode Date: September 17, 2025

#horrorstories #reddithorrorstories #ScaryStories #creepypasta #horrortales  #halloweenhorror #homeinvasion #truestoryterror #nightmareonhalloween #fearathome  Part 1 dives into a collection of terrifying true stories centered around Halloween nights and chilling home invasions. From eerie encounters on spooky October evenings to frightening intrusions that shattered the safety of homes, these accounts will haunt you long after the last pumpkin is carved. The narrator shares raw, bone-chilling experiences that blend the holiday's dark atmosphere with real-life terror, making this a must-read for horror fans.  horrorstories, reddithorrorstories, scarystories, horrorstory, creepypasta, horrortales,halloweenterror, homeinvasionstories, truehorror, spookyseason, hauntedhomes, nightmaresreal, fearanddarkness, chillingencounters, terrifyingtrueevents, holidayhorror, ghoststories, realfear, darknights, suspensehorror

I used to live with my dad in Georgia, kinda in the middle of nowhere. Not out in the woods living off the land level of nowhere, but enough that if you screened in the night, nobody outside your family would hear you. I was 13, awkward, bored, and totally obsessed with paranormal TV shows. My dad owned about five acres of land, and most of our relatives had homes scattered across the property. We were like this weird little family cluster out there in the sticks. There was a single long driveway that forked into these bumpy little gravel and mud paths, each one leading to someone's house. Most weeknights, my routine was pretty chill, finish homework, maybe listen to my cheap stereo, or curl up to watch ghost hunting shows. That particular night, it was around 9 p.m., and I was already in my little routine, sweatpants, lights dimmed, getting ready to zone out, when this tiny, sharp tap hit my bedroom window.

Now, I should mention, my bedroom was on the second floor. No porch roof below it, no big trees to climb up. Just open space. My first thought was, nope. Absolutely not. This is how horror movies start. Most of my family wasn't even home that night. It was just me, a second floor window, and a noise that should not have been possible.

My window view was kind of blocked by a big TV stand, so I couldn't immediately see out. My heart was already hammering, but curiosity one. I crept downstairs to check if maybe my dad had come home early and somehow needed me. He usually worked late and parked right by the front door. I peeked through the little side window, no car. That's when I got this cold, tight feeling in my stomach. I started toward the sliding glass door in the back of the living room. That door had these long, vertical blinds, and the back porch light was on.

I froze. Clear as day, I saw the silhouette of a person just, standing there. Still as a statue. I didn't know what to do. My brain went through a fast checklist. Dad? Nope. Too tall.

Neighbor? Nope. They don't just stand silently like some slasher villain. Murderer? Probably. I panicked. My first thought was, oh God, is the door even locked? Because if I just stood there like an idiot and the door was open, that figure could stroll in.

I bolted across the room and shoved my hands through the blinds to check the handle, locked. Thank God. I sprinted into the kitchen and grabbed the biggest knife I could find. The thing was longer than my forearm and wobbly in my hand, but it was the only thing that made me feel like I wasn't totally helpless. I ran back upstairs to my room, turned off the lights, and pressed myself against the wall, breathing so shallow I thought I'd pass out. Then, bang.

Something slammed against my window. Loud enough that the glass rattled. I jumped so hard I nearly dropped the knife. My survival instincts finally screamed closet. it, now. I wedged myself into the corner behind some hanging jackets and called my dad with shaking hands. I whispered what was happening. He told me nobody was supposed to be there and that he was on his way immediately. Then he hung up, and I called 911. The dispatcher said the nearest unit was about 25 minutes out. 25 minutes feels like an eternity when you're 13 and convinced

you're about to become the next unsolved mystery. While I hid, the banging started moving. It wasn't just the window anymore, it was like footsteps circling the house, pounding on walls and doors. It sounded like there was more than one person out there. Every horror story I'd ever heard was suddenly very real, and I was rehearsing in my head how I'd swing this kitchen knife if anyone busted in.

By the time my dad and the cops arrived, basically at the same time, the noise had stopped. Whoever was out there vanished into the dark. The officers searched the property and found multiple sets of muddy footprints around the house. I don't know which part was worse, seeing that shadowy figure, or realizing there were several people creeping around out there. We never figured out why. Never found out who they were.

Sometimes, I still imagine them grinning in the dark, inches from the glass, watching me. Flash forward a few years, different city, different nightmare. It was spring 2012, and I was in Los Angeles for school. I'd grown up in a safe, quiet Indiana suburb, so moving to a big city with all its chaos and crime was like switching from a gentle rom-com to a full-on thriller. I was living in a cramped apartment with four other girls. Our place was weird, it was on top of someone's house, tucked down a long alleyway. To get inside, you had to walk the alley, go up some sketchy stairs, and then into our door.

Basically, it was perfect for someone who wanted to trap you. One afternoon, I ran home to grab some music before choir practice. I figured I'd only be inside a couple minutes, so I didn't even lock the door. Rookie mistake. As I was sorting my stuff at the kitchen table, there was a light knock on the screen door. I looked up and saw this young Hispanic guy standing on the porch. Medium height, T-shirt, jeans. Totally average looking.

Uh, hello. I said, assuming he was dropping off a package. He didn't respond. He just slowly reached down, opened the screen door, and stepped inside. At first, I didn't panic. My brain was still catching up, like, oh maybe he's delivering something. something inside. But then I noticed his hand. No package. Just a box cutter. My chest went cold. Before I could even react, he had the blade at my neck and told me to walk into my roommate's

bedroom. I obeyed because what else could I do? He locked the door, shoved me onto the bed, and started scanning the room. My thoughts were spinning, he just wants money, he just wants stuff, stay calm. Then he grabbed some telephone cables from the floor and tried to tie my wrists. He fumbled with it, and for a second, he wasn't paying full attention. That's when it hit me, if he ties me up, this will get worse. Much worse. I screamed and started fighting, thrashing like a wild animal. He tried to hold me down, but I kicked, scratched, even headbutt him in panic. Finally, he bolted, sprinting. out of the apartment. I chased him out the door, screaming bloody murder. My downstairs neighbor

burst out of his house, saw the guy, and immediately ran after him. The attacker vanished down the street, but not for long. Cops came fast this time. I went to the station, gave a full statement, and even worked with a sketch artist. Within a week, they caught him. One of the responding officers told me something I'll never forget, a local gang was initiating members by having them cut off women's nipples and bring them as proof. That guy hadn't just been there to rob me. He had a task. After that, I started locking doors obsessively, even if I was just running inside for two minutes. I still get chills thinking about that moment his blade touched my neck. The next story is the darkest. Back in 1987, I was 12 and living.

in a small African village. Life was simple, quiet, until the day everything ended. There were these massive rock formations outside the village where all the kids liked to play hide-and-seek. It was our favorite game, and everyone knew the rules, you could only hide in the rocks. One afternoon, we organized the biggest hide-and-seek game ever. I was one of the seekers. We counted to 50 behind the marketplace and then ran off to search. Fifteen minutes went by, and we couldn't find a single kid. It was eerie. Then one of us noticed shapes on the horizon, past the rocks, out in the desert.

Small, unmoving, like scarecrow's on sticks. That's the last innocent moment I remember. Chaos erupted in the village soon after. Men with guns came. Huts burned. My father shoved me onto a truck, and then, he was shot right in front of me. Nearly everyone I knew died that day. My name is Samuel O'Brien. I am from Somalia. That day became part of what history calls the Isaac Genocide. For me, it was just the day my childhood ended.

And then there's the Halloween story. 2019. I was 14, out with my three friends, Dennis, Eddie, and Adam, doing what teenagers do, hitting every house for candy, then planning some harmless pranks. We started at the bowling alley, all of us in costumes. My friends were in dark skeleton outfits and a creepy Michael Jackson mask. Me? Bright red Spider-Man suit. I might as well have worn a target on my chest. We wandered into a neighborhood to prank some kids we knew. I crouched near a fence while the others waited to jump out. A car pulled up across from me. Two men inside, one skinny, one huge, watched me.

I gave a nervous little wave and slid my mask on. Nobody answered the door, and the car didn't leave. We walked away, and the car slowly followed. We cut through a pitch-black alley uphill, and halfway through, I looked back. The big man was coming after. us. We ran. Or, they ran. My cheap shoes kept slipping off. I tried hopping, even tried piggybacking on a friend, but it was useless. By the time we hit the street, the car cut us off. The big guy got out, screaming for us to get our friends. The skinny one chased the others.

I stood there, hands up, thinking, well, this is it. Turns out, they thought we were some other kids who'd been throwing eggs at their car. After a tense standoff, they let us go. But that night, I learned just how fast a normal Halloween can turn into a nightmare. For stories. For moments where normal life cracked open and pure fear came pouring in. And I can tell you one thing, the world is full of shadows waiting for their chance T.O.B. continued.