Solved Murders - True Crime Stories - Terrifying True Stories of Stalkers, Strangers, and Kidnapping Attempts That Still Haunt PART4 #48

Episode Date: September 23, 2025

#horrorstories #reddithorrorstories #ScaryStories #creepypasta #horrortales #realstalkerhorror #truecrimefear #abductionstories #strangerthreats #survivorfear  "Terrifying True Stories of Stalkers, Strangers, and Kidnapping Attempts That Still Haunt – PART 4" turns up the tension with more harrowing tales of near-abductions and chilling encounters. These are the moments that change lives forever—being followed home, waking up to someone at the window, or narrowly escaping a stranger’s grasp. Each story reveals how horror hides in plain sight and how split-second decisions can mean the difference between survival and disappearance. The fear is real. The danger was closer than anyone realized.  horrorstories, reddithorrorstories, scarystories, horrorstory, creepypasta, horrortales, truestalkeraccounts, survivedabductionattempts, nearfatalencounters, strangeronmyporch, realworldhorror, unmaskingevil, tensionandterror, truecrimefearfiles, nighttimehorrors, escapedtheunknown, creepsinthedark, stalkedandrecalled, shadowedfates, hauntingmemories

Don't come back. I don't know what possessed me to agree to go inside that building. Honestly, I should have known better. It had that bad idea, feeling from the start, the kind of place you only see in urban exploration videos where people say, we shouldn't be here, right before something terrible happens. But peer pressure is a hell of a thing. Come on, it'll be fun, Tim had said earlier that evening, practically bouncing in place. It's just an old factory. people go there all the time fun i repeated dragging out the word like it tasted sour charlie our other friend was quiet but i knew him well enough to see that he was just as hesitant as i was He fiddled with his hoodie sleeves, avoiding eye contact.

He didn't want to be the one to chicken out either. So, there we were, standing outside this decaying brick building at midnight, armed with nothing but a couple of cheap flashlights and a strong desire not to look like cowards. The air smelled like rust and stagnant water, mixed with something else, something sharp and chemical that burned my nostrils. You know, I said, trying to keep my voice steady, people die in places like this. Tim smirked. People die everywhere. Now come on. And with that, he shoved the heavy bay door open, its rusty hinges screaming like a wounded animal. Inside, it was worse than I expected.

The air was damp and heavy, clinging to my skin like a second layer. Our flashlight beams cut through the darkness, revealing walls covered in graffiti. Layers of it, like the building itself had been tattooed by years of trespassers. Most of it was what you'd expect, tags, crude drawings, random words. But one piece stopped me in my tracks. It was painted in metallic silver, so fresh it almost glistened under my light. And the words weren't like the others. They weren't playful or artistic. They were blunt. Don't come back. It looked like a warning, but it also felt personal, like whoever wrote it meant it for us. Hey, guys, I called out, my voice trembling a little despite my attempt to sound casual.

Come check this out, I turned to see where Tim and Charlie were. That's when I heard it. Not their footsteps. Someone else is. Fast. Heavy. Coming straight at me. My flashlight jerked toward the sound, and that's when I saw him.

At first, my brain couldn't process what I was looking at. He was tall, unnaturally tall, and painfully skinny, like his bones were barely holding his skin together. His clothes were shredded and filthy, hanging off his frame like he'd been crawling through the dirt for days. And his hair, God, his hair, long, greasy, and sticking out in wild, wiry tufts like he hadn't seen a shower or a mirror in years. But it was his face that froze me in place. His eyes were open so wide I thought they might pop out of his head. His pupils looked too big, swallowing the color around them. And his mouth, Jesus, his mouth stretched into a massive, toothy grin, like he'd been waiting for us.

My entire body locked up. I couldn't move. Couldn't scream. Couldn't even breathe. Then he tilted his head back and let out this sound, half laugh, half scream, that made every hair on my body stooped. up. That's when Tim's voice cut through the fog in my head. Run, it was like someone snapped their fingers in front of my face. My legs finally worked. I bolted. The bay door was my only target. My only escape. Behind me, I could hear his footsteps, loud, fast, closing in. He wasn't

just walking. He was chasing me. My chest burned as I pushed myself harder than I. ever had in my life. My sneakers slipped on the dusty concrete, but I didn't care. The bay door loomed closer. I dove for it like I was sliding into home base, scraping my palms and knees on the way out. I scrambled to my feet and didn't even look back. We ran. All of us. We didn't stop until the building was nothing but a dark shape in the distance. And that's when we heard it. A voice Deep Echoing

Coming from inside the building Come back It wasn't a plea It wasn't even a request It was a command We ran faster We didn't talk much on the way back to the car Tim kept panting

What the hell was that Like saying it out loud would make it make sense Charlie didn't say a word And me I couldn't stop thinking about one thing. How long had he been in there? Was he waiting for us? Had he been watching us before we even stepped inside? That thought still keeps me up at night. The campus creep. If that had been the end of my weird encounters with scary strangers, I'd probably just laugh about it now.

But life doesn't work that way. Because that same semester, I met Connor. I was a freshman at the time, just trying to adjust to life on campus. I'd chosen to live in the dorms because I wanted the full college experience, but mostly it just meant feeling lonely in a room I shared with a stranger who snored like a chainsaw. It was the first time I'd been truly on my own. And I hated it. Being a twin didn't help.

I'd always had a built-in best friend, someone to sit with at lunch or study with late at night. But she'd gone to a different college, and suddenly, I was alone. My classes were full of quiet, nervous kids like me, shuffling around campus like we didn't know what to do with ourselves. And then there was Connor. He stood out, not in a good way. He always wore the same dirty baseball cap, cargo pants that looked like they hadn't been washed in months, and oversized t-shirts that clung to him in all the wrong places. He wasn't big, but his chubby cheeks made him look younger than he was. His glasses were always slipping down his nose, and he never seemed to stop talking, to anyone, about anything, usually nonsense. At first, I didn't care. He sat far from me in our history class, and as long as he kept his

distance, he wasn't my problem. Until he wasn't. It started after class one day. I was packing up my stuff when I looked up to find him standing there, right next to my desk. Hovering. I forced a smile, trying to mask how uncomfortable I was. Hi, he said. His voice was quiet and flat, like he was reading from a script. I'm Connor. Ah, hi. Nice to meet you, I replied.

That was it. He didn't say anything else. Just stood there for a few seconds before walking away. Weird, but harmless. Or so I thought. The next class, he upped the ante. I was the last one packing up my things, and when I looked toward the door, there he was again, standing there, waiting. For me.

I walked past him quickly, but he fell into step beside me like we were old friends. I got a 91 on the test, he said out of nowhere. No big deal. What about you, uh? 85. It was so easy, he said, his tone smug and disson. I clenched my jaw. I hate people who brag, especially when they try to make you feel small in the process. We reached the stairs, for flights down, and he started mumbling about sweatpants

for some reason. I couldn't even make out what he was saying. Then he did something that made my blood run cold. He pulled out a condom, held it up, and smiled. I think you know what I'm talking about, he said. I froze, my face burning, my brain screaming what the hell. I nodded awkwardly, said nothing, and walked faster. When we reached the bottom, I veered off toward the quad without saying goodbye. After that, I avoided him as much as possible. But Connor didn't get the hint. He kept waiting for me after class. Kept trying to make conversation. Kept staring at me in class, moving his seat closer every week until he was only a few desks away. And then he asked me to the homecoming dance. I lied, told him I'd be visiting my parents. His response,

Well, I'm not going to stop you from visiting your parents, who even says that? Things got worse. One day, I finished a test late, almost an hour after class started. When I opened the door, my friend texted me, Connor's waiting for you, my heart dropped. I peeked into the hallway. There he was. Sitting on a bench. Still there.

Forty-five minutes later. Waiting for me. I don't know what scares me more, what he's done, or what he might do next. The administration basically told me they couldn't do anything unless he touched me or threatened me. So now, every time I walk across campus, I keep looking over my shoulder.

Because if there's one thing I've learned this year, it's that danger doesn't always announce itself. Sometimes, it waits for you. Sometimes, it smiles. And sometimes, it just says, Don't come back. To be continued.