Solved Murders - True Crime Stories - Terrifying True Stories of Stalkers, Strangers, and Kidnapping Attempts That Still Haunt PART3 #47

Episode Date: September 23, 2025

#horrorstories #reddithorrorstories #ScaryStories #creepypasta #horrortales #stalkersurvivor #truecrimeencounters #creepystrangers #realfearstories #almosttaken  "Terrifying True Stories of Stalkers, Strangers, and Kidnapping Attempts That Still Haunt – PART 3" continues this intense, real-life horror saga with even more disturbing testimonies. This time, the fear is closer, more personal—unmarked vans, fake delivery drivers, and persistent stalkers blend into everyday life until it’s nearly too late. These aren’t stories with jump scares. They’re raw, unsettling, and deeply human. The kind of terror that lingers long after the story ends—because it really happened.  horrorstories, reddithorrorstories, scarystories, horrorstory, creepypasta, horrortales, realstalkerexperiences, truecrimehorrors, kidnappingattemptsurvivor, strangerdangerstories, realencountershorror, almostabducted, darkrealities, terrifyingclosecalls, survivedthestalker, escapedinseconds, eyesintheshadows, unnervingtruths, personalhorrorstories, abductionhorrors

I couldn't shake the feeling that my skin was buzzing. It was like my body knew something was off before my brain fully processed it. You know when your gut screams at you, but you try to reason it away because you don't want to seem paranoid? Yeah, that's where I was at that moment. My surroundings were eerily quiet, the only sounds being distant birds and the faint hum of the engine behind me. And that minivan. God, that van. This wasn't just some random car that's something.

slowed down to admire the lake. It wasn't like he was stopping to enjoy the view. I'd seen plenty of tourists do that over the years, pulling up to take pictures or eat lunch in their cars. But this guy, he wasn't interested in the lake. He was interested in me. I took a quick, casual glance over my shoulder, trying not to make it too obvious that I was checking him out. It was an older red Ford Windstar, the kind of van that soccer moms drove back in the late 90s, but this one had seen better days. Fated paint. Slight dense. Tinted windows that made it hard to see inside. What hit me the hardest, though, wasn't the way he looked at me. It was the license plate. I swear to you, I am not making this up. The front plate said, in bold letters,

Skinner. I actually froze for a second, like my brain needed a moment to reboot. Who in their right mind drives around with a plate like that? Was it his last name? Was it some sick joke? Because in that moment, standing there with my heart doing somersaults, it felt less like a coincidence and more like some serial killer trying to get inside my head. I forced myself to give the van a good once over, the kind of look that said, yeah, I see you. You're not sneaky. I wanted him to know I wasn't completely oblivious, even though my insides were screaming to run. I also made a point of standing a little taller, straightening my posture like I wasn't afraid, even though my knees were threatening to give out. I moved down the sidewalk, deliberately slow, like I wasn't in any rush. But then I heard it,

that low crunch of tires on pavement. He was following me. He was following me. keeping his distance, sure, but following. Ten feet. Maybe less. My mind started spinning with what if scenarios. What if he gets out? What if he's armed? What if he just plows forward and pins me to the tree line? The thing is, I'd always thought of abductions as something that happened to kids or women, people more vulnerable than me. I'm a bigger guy, not exactly prime target material, or so I thought. But now. Now I wasn't so sure. I scanned the area, but it was dead quiet. No other walkers. No families. Just me, the lake, and a man in a creepy minivan with a license plate that screamed, bad news. I veered off the sidewalk, pretending I just

wanted a closer look at the water. There was this massive tree nearby, the kind that had been standing there for probably a hundred years. I slipped behind it, out of his line of sight, and listened. The van didn't leave. I could still hear the engine idling, the faint rumble vibrating through the air. He wasn't going anywhere. So I waited. And waited. Ten minutes felt like an eternity. My mind was all over the place, planning escape routes, wondering if I should call the cops, wondering if I was overreacting. My phone. Oh, yeah.

I'd left it at home. Smart, right? Finally, I saw movement. Not from the van, but from the beach path. An older man, probably in his late 70s, shuffling his way toward me. Now, I'm not going to lie, my first instinct wasn't exactly noble. I figured this old guy could be my ticket out of this mess. If Mr. Skinner wanted to try something, he'd have to do it with a witness present.

And if he didn't want to get caught, maybe he'd finally take off. I slipped my hand into my pocket and gripped my small folding knife. I always carried it, never really thought I'd need it, but it gave me a weird sense of security. As the old man got closer, I could tell he noticed both me and the van. He kept glancing between us like he could sense something wasn't right. I stepped out from behind the tree, making myself visible again, and waved a little, trying to seem friendly. When we were close enough, I made small talk. Nice day for a walk, huh?

My voice came out a little too chipper, like I was trying to convince myself this was normal. That's when I heard the van again. Tires on pavement. It pulled away. Just like that. The old guy half turned, watching it creep off. toward the main road. That fellow was just sitting there, he muttered, almost to himself. Staring at you, I forced a laugh. Yeah, that's why I was hiding behind the tree. We chatted for a

minute, and then he went on his way. I stood there, processing everything. What the hell was that? Why was he watching me? Why Skinner? I glanced toward the park entrance. My car wasn't far, parked just off the main intersection. I thought about heading straight back to it and calling it a day. And that's when I saw it. The same red wind star, turning on to the main street. Heading right toward me. This time, I didn't play it cool. I took out my knife, flipped it open, and made a show of picking at my fingernails with the blade like it was no big deal. I wanted him to see it. He slowed way down as he passed. Didn't he even be. Didn't he even pretend to hide it. He just stared. Unblinking. I stared right back. Then he accelerated and

disappeared down the road. I waited. Ten minutes. Fifteen. Thirty. No sign of him. Eventually, I decided enough was enough. I was done playing this game of cat and mouse. I cut through the tree line and walked toward my car, checking over my shoulder every few steps. He never came back. I never saw that van again. To this day, I think about him. About that van. About what could have happened if the old man hadn't shown up when he did. And I wonder if he's done it to someone else. Wisconsin plates. A van nobody in town recognized. And a driver with the audacity to have Skinner on his license plate. Wisconsin, the state that gave us Ed Gain.

Jeffrey Dahmer. It still makes me shiver. But I walked away that day. And for that, I'm thankful, I can't really explain the kind of dread that sits in your stomach when you realize you might actually be in danger. It isn't like in movies where your fight or flight kicks in and you suddenly become this brave action hero.

No, it's way worse than that. It's this deep, feeling that crawls into your chest and just sits there. Makes your breathing shallow. Makes your brain scream at you to run while your legs feel like they're stuck in concrete. That's exactly how I felt standing there by the lake with that red minivan creeping behind me like some kind of predator stalking its prey. It's funny, because that morning I had no plans for any of this. I just wanted some fresh air, maybe walk off some stress. It was supposed to be an easy afternoon. My hometown isn't exactly exciting, I mean, it's the kind of place where people gossip about whose lawn looks overgrown or who didn't return their shopping cart at the grocery store.

Stuff like this, like someone potentially stalking you in broad daylight, doesn't happen here. And yet, there I was. I kept telling myself, maybe you're overthinking this. Maybe he's just waiting for someone. Maybe he's just lost. But my gut wasn't buying it. Something about the way he stared felt deliberate, like I wasn't just some random bystander he happened to notice. I grew up hearing my dad talk about trusting your instincts.

He used to tell me, your brain can talk you out of fear, but your gut never lies. That advice had always sounded like one of those cliche dad sayings, the kind of thing you nod along to but don't really think about. But right then, I felt every word of it. My gut was practically yelling at me to get out of there. Still, I didn't want to look like some panicked idiot. So I tried to act casual. Tried to make it seem like I wasn't rattled. That's why I stepped off the sidewalk and pretended I was just going to enjoy the view by the water.

The truth? I was trying to break his line of sight so I could think. I moved behind that big old tree, and the second I was out of his view, I crouched down a little and listened. No doors opening. No footsteps. Just that low hum of the engine. It's crazy how something as simple as an idling car can sound so threatening when you're

alone. And I stayed there. Ten minutes, maybe more. I kept expecting him to get out. To come looking for me. My mind spiraled through all the possibilities. What if he had a gun? What if he had rope in the back of that van?

What if I was seconds away from becoming some headline nobody ever wants to read? And then, like a blessing, I saw him, this old man shuffling down the path. He was hunched over a little, wearing one of those fishing hats that older folks always seem to own. Late 70s, maybe early 80s. And immediately, I thought, this guy is my ticket out. because even Psychos hate witnesses. I gripped the little folding knife in my pocket. It wasn't much, just a cheap thing I carried out of habit, but in that moment, it felt like my only lifeline.

I figured, if Mr. Skinner made a move, at least I wouldn't go down without a fight. The old man glanced at me, then at the van. Even from a distance, I could tell he sensed the weirdness in the air. People can read situations like that, they can just feel when something's off. I stepped out from behind the tree, giving him a big friendly wave like I didn't have a care in the world. Nice day for a walk, huh? I called out, trying to sound breezy, even though my voice cracked a little. And then it happened. The van moved. That low roll of tires on pavement. He was leaving. Just like that.

The old man half turned, watching it crawl toward the main road. That fellow was just sitting there, he muttered, almost to himself, shaking his head. I laughed. I had to. Yeah, that's why I was hiding behind that tree, I said, forcing some humor into my voice. He chuckled politely, but I could tell he thought it was strange too. We talked for a minute, small talk, nothing important. But the whole time, my ears were tuned to the sound of that van.

And when it was gone, really gone, I felt my shoulders loosen a little. After he left, I stood there alone again, trying to process everything. What the hell was that? Was this some random creep? Someone who just gets his kick staring people down. Or something worse? And why that plate? Skinner.

Who even does that? Was it his name? Was it a twisted joke? Or was it a message? I turned toward the parking lot. My car wasn't far. I thought about just going home. And that's when I saw it. The Red Wind Star. Again. Coming down the main street. This time, I didn't play games. I reached for my knife, flipped it open, and made sure he saw me holding it. I started picking at my thumbnail with the blade like I didn't care, but every muscle in my body was coiled tight, ready to run or fight if I had to. He slowed down. Rolled past me, staring. No smile. No wave. Just that cold, unblinking stare. And then he sped up. Gone again.

This time, I didn't wait. I moved. I cut through the tree line, staying low. eyes darting everywhere. I wasn't about to give him a third chance. When I finally got to my car, my hands were shaking so bad I almost dropped the keys. I locked the doors the second I was inside. And then, nothing. No van. No driver. It was over. Or at least, I wanted it to be. But here's the thing, it doesn't feel over. Not really. To this day, I think about him, about what his plan was, about what could have happened if the old man hadn't shown up when he did. And I can't help but wonder, did he find someone else? Because guys like that, they don't just stop. And that's what chills me the most, to be continued.