Solved Murders - True Crime Stories - Terrifying True Stories of Stalkers, Strangers, and Kidnapping Attempts That Still Haunt PART6 #50

Episode Date: September 24, 2025

#horrorstories #reddithorrorstories #ScaryStories #creepypasta #horrortales #truecrimehorror #stalkingnightmares #nearabduction #survivorstories #creepynightencounters  "Terrifying True Stories of Stalkers, Strangers, and Kidnapping Attempts That Still Haunt – PART 6" brings the haunting series to a chilling close with more intense, real-life accounts of close calls with danger. From unmarked vehicles trailing victims to strangers lurking just beyond sight, these stories reveal the raw terror and lasting scars of those who escaped. This final part serves as a stark reminder: sometimes the most terrifying monsters wear a human face, and survival can depend on split-second decisions.  horrorstories, reddithorrorstories, scarystories, horrorstory, creepypasta, horrortales, realstalkeraccounts, kidnappingattempts, closecallstories, truecrimeencounters, survivinghorrorstories, strangerdanger, unexplainedevents, nightmaresreallife, fearandparanoia, darkstreetencounters, escapefromdanger, hauntingmemories, nearmisshorrors, truefearstories

Something I've never really talked about. I've been sitting on this story for a long time. Like, years. Maybe too long. Part of me feels like writing it down is going to make it worse, like I'm feeding into something I don't fully understand. But another part of me knows I need to get it off my chest. Sometimes when you carry something dark around for so long,

you start to wonder if maybe that's why it follows you, because you never told anyone. I guess that's why I'm finally putting it. this out there. I've read my fair share of books on ghosts, hauntings, and all things paranormal. It's a weird interest of mine, one of those things you pick up when you've seen too much that you can't explain. Over time, I've come to this conclusion, the spirit I encountered back then wasn't at peace. It wasn't some random cold spot in the air or creaky floorboard. It was a presence, one that wanted to be acknowledged. And it found ways to make sure I knew it was

still around. The house I could never fully leave. The house I'm talking about isn't even my main home. My parents eventually sold it to me when they moved, and I only use it as a summer place now. It's quiet, kind of tucked away in this little pocket that's more trees than people, which sounds peaceful on paper but, there's history in those woods. I've never once gone back to the property next to it, the one where it all started. That was Mr. Fisher's place. I don't know how to explain this without sounding crazy, but sometimes I feel like I don't need to set foot there for him to make his presence known. He's done it several times, in ways that I couldn't write off as my imagination. Little reminders that he's still around. The first time I really knew he wasn't gone was a few years

back. I was jump-starting my car in the driveway, crouched under the hood, when suddenly four rats came shooting out from under the axle like tiny bullets, racing between my legs. I jumped about ten feet in the air and cursed like hell, but what made my blood run cold was where they ran. Straight toward Mr. Fisher's house. It sounds small, insignificant. But I knew. Then there was the knock. I was sitting in my living room one night, just scrolling on my phone, when I heard it, three slow, deliberate knocks on the window behind me. Not the door. The window. I froze. I wanted to be. I wanted to be. A little. I wanted to be. A little. I believe it was just a tree branch, but I knew better. And then came the worst one. A few months ago,

I woke up in the dead of night because I swore I heard screaming outside. Not playful yelling, not kids being dumb, real, agonized, blood-chilling screams. My biggest fear, even as an adult, is being alone and in pain, calling for help, and having no one come. I think that's what really gets me about Mr. Fisher. If what I've read is true, if spirits linger when they've suffered or left something unfinished, maybe that's why he's still here. My plan, this summer, I've made up my mind, I'm going back. I plan on returning to Mr. Fisher's house, walking into that ruin of a place, and trying, really trying, to apologize. I don't know what good it'll do. But I can't keep living with this weight on my shoulders. How it all started, but to understand why I feel this way.

I need to tell you what happened. I was 19 when all of this started. At the time, I was living in Littleton, Colorado. I didn't stay there long, just a brief chapter in my life, but man, those months were packed with things I'll never forget. This story is just one of them. And yeah, it helps to know what I looked like back then. The way I looked and why it mattered. Picture this, 5 feet 7 inches, about 130 pounds, bright red hair that I dyed myself, half a dozen piercings on my face, tattoos on my arms and chest. I was the kind of person you'd notice walking down the street, whether you liked me or not. It was one of those warm Colorado days, so I dressed for comfort, shorts, a tank top, flip-flops, and a big sun hat. I wasn't trying to stand out, I was just trying

to stay cool. But standing out is exactly what I did. I didn't know it yet, but that look. It would make me a target later that day. Broadway to Colfax. I had the day off work, which was rare, so I decided to surprise my boyfriend. He'd taken my truck to work that morning, but I figured I could walk and meet him at the shop when his shift ended, then take him out for dinner. It sounded like a cute idea at the time. So, I started my little adventure, walking up Broadway toward Colfax. Now, here's the thing, if you've lived in the Denver area, you know about Colfax Avenue. People warn you about it. Sketchy stuff happens there. I didn't know that yet. My oh so helpful roommates didn't bother to mention it either.

Maybe they figured I'd learn on my own. And I did. Like walking into another world, as soon as I turned on to Colfax, it was like stepping into another dimension. There was a bus stop full of people who clearly weren't just waiting for a bus. I saw a guy pressed against a building, snorting something off his hand. There were clusters of homeless folks sitting on the sidewalk, arguing or just staring blank. into the air. Two women were screaming at each other about something I didn't care enough to figure out. It was loud. It was chaotic. It was overwhelming. My heart was in my throat, and I wasn't even

three blocks in. I'm not cut out for this kind of scene. I kept my head down, staring at my flip-flops, trying not to make eye contact with anyone. But, of course, I messed that up. The eye contact. Somewhere around the fourth block, I accidentally locked eyes with a dirty-looking man who was half hidden in an alley. My stomach dropped. I quickly averted my gaze and kept walking, but I could feel him watching me. The van, after a few blocks, the crowd started to thin, and I finally began to relax a little. For a moment, I even started enjoying the walk. That's when I saw it. A white van parked across the street, trying a little too hard to look inconspicuous. The driver was slouched low in his seat like he didn't want to be seen, but I caught a glimpse of him,

an older man with a dark complexion in short black hair. No company logo. Tinted windows. No front license plate. My brain was throwing up red flags, but I told myself I was overreacting. Big mistake. The van that followed me. After I passed the van, trying not to look suspicious, I kept walking.

I was shaking off the uneasy feeling, telling myself this was normal, maybe the guy was just parked there, waiting for someone. But no. A couple of blocks later, I spotted the same white van creeping up a side street parallel to mine. My stomach flipped. The hairs on my arm stood up. I wanted to look away, but I couldn't.

I kept walking, faster than that. now, but the van pulled out from that side street and rolled up beside me again, windows still tinted, no sign of anyone else in it. My heart pounded louder than the traffic noise around me. This wasn't just coincidence. Facing the creeper, I wasn't about to run, well, not yet. Something inside me told me to stand my ground, stare this guy down, see what he wanted. So, I stopped walking, turned around, and looked him straight in the face through the tinted wind The driver noticed. The man's head jerked toward me like I was a bug on the windshield.

Then he slammed the door, got out, and started crossing the street toward me. He was short, maybe five feet tall, stocky, definitely bigger than me, which wasn't hard since I'm not very tall either. His skin was dark, his hair short and black. I don't think I was prepared for what he said next. The offer that made my blood run cold. He spoke in broken English, complimenting my hair, my piercings, even my freckles. Then came the worst part, he asked me for sex.

Yeah. Right there on the sidewalk, in the middle of the day. I froze for a second, unsure if I'd heard him correctly. Then, to my horror, he pulled out $200 and waved it at me. Like I was some kind of business deal. I stepped back fast, voice sharp, telling him, no. I'm not that kind of girl. You're barking up the wrong tree, but before I could turn away, he reached out and grabbed my ass.

That was the moment I switched into panic mode. Running for safety, I started walking fast, then practically sprinting, trying to stay calm and not look terrified. He followed me, waving the money like it was going to change my mind. I ran to the nearest door I could find, yanked it open, and practically threw myself inside. There, standing like a guardian angel, was a massive bouncer. Rescue at the pub, I tripped over my own feet and landed on my ass with a yelp. The bouncer helped me up and asked why I was in such a hurry. I was shaking, barely able to get the words out.

I told him what had happened, barely keeping tears back. I told him I was only 19 and that this man was following me outside. He took my ID, asked for a description of the creep, and then disappeared out the door to deal with him. I sat at the bar, gulping down a glass of water, heart still racing, terrified but safe for the moment. The aftermath. After what felt like forever, the bouncer came back. He told me the man wouldn't be bothering me anymore. He even offered to walk me the remaining two blocks to my boyfriend's job.

I grabbed his arm, grateful beyond words. He laughed and told me to never walk down Colfax alone again. I promised I wouldn't. When I got to my boyfriend, I explained what happened. He laughed at me. Maybe I deserve that. Maybe I should have known better. But nobody warned me about Colfax.

I never took him to dinner that night, and I never walked that street alone again. To the man in the creeper van, if you're reading this somehow, here's a message, stay the hell away from me. Keep your 200 bucks for something less creepy. Shifting scenes, New Orleans nightmare. All right, switching gears here. I'm 23 now, in grad school in the Midwest. But earlier this year, I had a trip to New Orleans for a research conference with four other grad

students. We were trying to save money, so instead of a hotel, we rented an Airbnb, a cute little studio apartment about a mile from downtown. Small place, with two queen beds and a futon. Our group, four girls and one guy. I shared a bed with my friend Anna. Megan and Katie shared the other, and the guy, Ari, had the futon. The night that changed everything, after settling in and hitting a few bars downtown,

we came back exhausted and went to bed early. A few hours later, I woke up to a creaking sound. At first, I thought it was the apartment's house. settling or maybe one of my roommates moving around. Then the door creaked open. A man in a black hoodie walked inside. My heart stopped. Frozen in fear, I shook Anna awake, whispering frantically about the man. He was moving toward Megan and Katie's bed. Both girls were still asleep. Then he climbed on top of them. I was paralyzed, frozen in place. Megan groaned, Mary, why are you in our bed? Katie woke up, screaming, get the fuck off us. I told them, that's not Ari, calling for help.

Ana woke Ari up, shaking him and yelling, there's a man in Megan and Katie's bed. He was half asleep and confused. I grabbed my phone and dialed 911, barely able to speak as my hands shook. Lights flicked on as Ari jumped up and pulled the man off the girls. The intruder revealed, The guy was bald, with a thick beard and missing several teeth. He started laughing hysterically when he hit the floor. Megan and Katie huddled in a corner, terrified. Anna stood behind Ari, both of them shaken but safe. Police and aftermath. When the police arrived, they took statements and escorted the man out.

Needless to say, the rest of our trip was ruined. That night, and many nights since, I've had nightmares. If you ever find yourself in a strange place, please lock your doors. You never know who might come knocking. Wrapping it up. These stories might sound like separate incidents, but for me, they all blur together into this long, exhausting feeling of vulnerability, fear, and surviving when no one expects you to. That's why I'm telling you this now, because I want people to hear it, to know what it's like,

and maybe to be a little more careful than I was. and maybe, just maybe, for Mr. Fisher's spirit to finally rest. The long shadow of fear, after that night in New Orleans, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was constantly looking over my shoulder. Even though the man was caught and taken away by the police, it was like the fear stuck to me like a shadow that just wouldn't quit. Every creek in my apartment made me jump. Every unknown noise outside my window set my heart racing. I became that person who triple locked her doors and checked the windows at least five times before going to bed. I started sleeping with my phone on my chest, just in case. I knew logically that I was safe,

but emotionally. The trauma dug deep. How trauma changes you, you know how some people say, what doesn't kill you makes you stronger. I'm not sure I buy that completely. Some things don't make you stronger, they just change you, sometimes in ways you don't want. I became hyper-aware. I noticed the smallest details about people around me, like that creepy van on Colfax, or a shadow moving near a window. My trust shrunk. I found myself questioning everyone's intentions. Friends started asking why I seemed so anxious all the time, and I hated that I couldn't explain it without sounding crazy or paranoid. But it wasn't paranoia. It was experience.

Why I'm sharing this. I never thought I'd tell these stories out loud, but I'm doing it because I want other people, especially young women, to be careful, to be alert. I want people to understand what it's like to be in my shoes, and how quickly a normal day can turn dangerous. I want people to know it's okay to be scared, and it's okay to ask for help. The weight of the past. And then there's Mr. Fisher. The old man whose house I now own, but barely visit. I've told myself a hundred times that I'll go back there and try to make peace with whatever

unsettled energy hangs in the air. I want to apologize for disturbing him, for all the times I might have ignored the signs or walked away too quickly. I don't know if spirits are real. Maybe they are, maybe they're not. But I do know that sometimes places hold memories, pain, fear, regret, and those feelings and those feelings don't always fade. Preparing to return.

This summer, I'm going back. I'm going to walk up to that house, stand on that porch, and speak to whatever is left behind. I'm going to say I'm sorry, and that I hope it's finally okay to rest. Maybe it's silly, but it feels important. Like closing a chapter that's been left open for far too long. What it's like to be alone and afraid. One thing that keeps me awake at night is this, the worst fear I have, even now as an adult, is being alone and in pain.

Not just physically hurt, but emotionally raw and broken, calling out for help, and hearing nothing but silence in response. That fear makes me hold on to every chance I get to be with someone, to stay safe, and to be alert. It's a fear that's shaped my entire perspective on life. Moving forward, bit by bit, despite everything, I'm trying. I'm learning to trust again, I'm learning to let people in. I'm still cautious, but I'm slowly reclaiming my sense of freedom, like I'm untangling myself from the web of fear that once held me tight. The power of telling your story.

So here I am, telling you all this, not because I want pity or attention, but because maybe, just maybe, my story could help someone else. Maybe it'll make someone think twice before walking alone on a dark street, or remind them to keep their doors locked tight. Maybe it'll give someone courage to speak up when they feel unsafe. Or maybe it's just a way for me to finally breathe out all the fear that's been trapped inside for too long. What I've learned. If there's one thing I've learned through all of this, it's that danger can show up in the most unexpected ways and places,

whether it's a creepy van in a busy city street or a stranger breaking into your Airbnb in the middle of the night. And sometimes, the people who seem like strangers are the ones who can help the most, like that bouncer who saved me on Colfax or the police who responded so quickly in New Orleans. Final thoughts before I go. Life's messy. It's scary. It's unpredictable. But sharing your truth, no matter how dark or frightening, can be a step toward healing. And maybe, just maybe, it helped someone else feel a little less alone in the world. The end.