Solved Murders - True Crime Stories - Terrifying True Stories of Survival and Deception in the Dark Streets of Los Angeles PART3 #37

Episode Date: November 1, 2025

#horrorstories #reddithorrorstories #ScaryStories #creepypasta #horrortales #LAtruecrime #urbanhorrortales #survivalstoriesLA #darkcitytales #streetterror  “Terrifying True Stories of Survival and Deception in the Dark Streets of Los Angeles – PART 3” concludes the gripping series of survival stories in LA. This final part reveals the climax of deception, danger, and life-threatening encounters, showcasing the resilience and courage of those who faced the city’s darkest corners. The narrative exposes the harsh realities of survival in a city where danger can strike at any moment.  horrorstories, reddithorrorstories, scarystories, horrorstory, creepypasta, horrortales, urbannightmareLA, survivalordeal, streetdeception, huntedinLA, truecrimeencounters, darkurbanstories, survivalinstories, fearanddanger, chillingstreettales, nightcityterror, urbanfear, realcityhorrors, survivingLA, urbanchaos

The Craigslist Nightmare, a Los Angeles story. I was 24 when all of this happened, and now, at 27, I can finally sit down and unpack it in a way that doesn't send me spiraling into panic. For context, I've lived in Los Angeles my whole life. The city has been both a comfort and a curse, and anyone who has lived here for years knows exactly what I mean. You love it and hate it at the same time. You get sunshine and opportunity, but you get sunshine and opportunity, but but also crime, scams, fake smiles, and dangerous people lurking in places you wouldn't expect. That day started with something pretty simple, loneliness.

I was bored, restless, and felt like I needed some kind of human interaction. Not necessarily romance, not necessarily sex, just, someone to talk to, maybe grab a coffee with, maybe laugh about dumb things. At the time, I was in one of those free spirit phases. where I believed in saying yes to life, trying new things, and not overthinking stuff. And like a total genius, sarcasm very much intended, I thought, hey, why not check Craigslist? Now, if you're reading this right now, you're probably already shaking your head. I know. Trust me, I know. Looking for people to hang out with on Craigslist is like

actively walking into a sketchy alley and saying, let's see what happens. But at the time, I didn't think of it that way. I thought of Craigslist like some kind of underground way to meet new people outside of apps like Tinder or Bumble. Like, maybe there's some interesting human who doesn't want to deal with swiping and just wants to meet up for a chat. That was my dumb reasoning. So I opened up the Personals section and started scrolling. Some ads were exactly what you'd expect. people looking for hookups, posts that seemed like spam bots. But a few seemed, normal. I exchanged a couple of emails with different guys.

Out of those, one particular dude stood out. He wasn't movie star attractive, but he looked decent enough in the pictures he sent. Normal haircut, casual clothes, not trying too hard, not flexing shirtless in a bathroom mirror. His emails seemed polite, short but not aggressive. Nothing about him screamed dangerous creep, which, looking back, is exactly the kind of thing that can lure you in. Eventually, he asked if I wanted to grab a cup of coffee. Seemed harmless, right? Coffee in public, easy exit if things got weird.

I said yes. That was mistake number one. The pickup. He offered to pick me up, and against every grain of better judgment, I agreed. At the time, I told myself it was easier than driving, parking, or trying to figure out directions. I rationalized it as convenience. What I didn't admit to myself was that it was also laziness, and maybe a bit of wanting to believe in some spontaneous movie-style meet-cute.

Spoiler alert, this was not a rom-com. He took forever to arrive. Like, way longer than he said he would. That should have been the first red flag, but instead I brushed it off like, Traffic, it's L.A., everyone's late here. When he finally pulled up, I got this immediate sinking feeling in my stomach. He didn't look bad per se, but something about the vibe was off. His eyes had that kind of restless, darting energy, like he was on edge.

His smile seemed forced. My gut was screaming, but my politeness gagged it. I didn't want to be rude, so I got in the car. CVS detour. Instead of heading to Starbucks like we planned, he said, I just got a stop at CVS real quick. A what? I was sitting there like, this is not how coffee dates work. I asked, why are we stopping here?

He casually said, I need to return some stuff, then I'll have cash for the drinks. Instantly I was uncomfortable. Who makes a pit stop on a first meet-up? But again, instead of saying, this is sketchy, let me out, I sat there awkwardly and waited. My shyness was like a prison cell. I hated confrontation, hated conflict, and I thought being polite was safer than speaking up. I was wrong. When he came back to the car, I noticed something was different about him.

His energy felt jitterier, more off-balance. He then said, I forgot something at my apartment, got a swing by real quick. At that point, every instinct in me was screaming to leave, but I stayed. What's the worst that could happen? I thought, well, let me tell you. The apartment garage. We pulled into this underground parking garage. Cold fluorescent lights, shadows everywhere, that weird echo of tires on concrete.

He told me to, hang tight and disappeared upstairs. I sat there in the car, frozen, thinking, run. Just get out. Walk away. But my body didn't listen. I stayed, gripping my bag like it was going to protect me from whatever came next. When he came back, it was obvious, like slap in the face obvious, that he was high on something.

His pupils, his erratic movements, the way he spoke just a little too fast. I knew the signs because I'd been to rehab myself in the past. I recognized that wired, twitchy, unpredictable look. And that's when my fear really kicked in. I told him, hey, I actually just just. got an emergency call when you were upstairs. I'm really sorry, but I need you to drop me off. You can just take me to the nearest train station.

I thought keeping it casual would make him comply. He nodded without much reaction, which gave me a tiny bit of hope. But as soon as we got on the freeway, he blew right past the exit I told him to take. Hey, you just passed the exit, I said, trying to keep my voice calm. He ignored me completely. Then, instead of moving toward the right lanes, he kept drifting left until we were stuck in the far lane. My stomach dropped. What are you doing?

I asked. That's when he finally looked at me with this cold little smirk and said something like, I'm not dropping you off. We're going to have some fun together. Why do you think I did all this? I swear my jaw nearly hit the floor. The panic sets in. It took me half a second to realize what he meant.

He wasn't taking me home. He wasn't taking me to coffee. He was taking me, somewhere else. Somewhere I didn't want to go. My first thought was to grab my phone and call the cops. I pulled it out, but before I could even dial, he swung his arm and hit me across the face so hard that the phone flew out of my hands and slid somewhere under his seat. I was stunned. Shock froze me for a second, but then panic kicked in

full force. My brain was screaming at me, do something. Do anything. Don't let him take you farther away from the city. We were approaching an interchange where the freeway split off, and something about that felt like a point of no return. If he got on to that next highway, I might never make it back. I couldn't jump out, not at that speed, not in the far left lane. So I did the only insane thing that popped into my head. The crash. I grabbed the steering wheel.

With everything in me, I yanked it as hard as I could to the right. The car swerved violently, smashing into another vehicle, then another. Screeching tires, horns blaring, chaos everywhere. Finally, we slammed into the concrete barrier. The impact rattled every bone in my body. He started screaming, cussing, and hitting me again, fists flying. I curled up, blocking the blows with my legs, adrenaline making me stronger than I thought I could be. The car was half crushed against the barrier, but somehow he managed to pull it away just enough to keep driving.

That's when I realized I had one shot left. I yanked the door handle, shoved it open, and fell backward out of the moving car. I hit the ground hard, pain shooting through my side, but I was alive. The escape I scrambled to my feet and ran to one of the cars we'd side-swiped. A man was sitting inside, phone in his hand, clearly calling the cops. I banged on his window, screaming, help me. He tried to kidnap me.

You know what he did? He rolled his window up all the way. Like I was the threat. I couldn't believe it. When I looked back, the guy, let's just call him Mr. Psycho, was coming toward me. fast. My blood turned to ice. If nobody was going to help me, then I had no choice but to help myself. Beyond the barrier was a fence. I ran toward it, used all my weight to bend it enough, and threw myself over. I landed badly on the other side, bruised and sore, but free. When I looked back, he wasn't

chasing me anymore. He'd turned around and disappeared. The long walk. On the other side of the fence, I realized where I was, horse trails. Miles of them, weaving through the hills. I used to work at an equestrian center nearby, so I knew the trails well enough to navigate. I walked for what felt like forever, shaky and terrified, but also laser-focused on one goal, get to safety. Finally, I reached Burbank. I went into a bowling alley, of all places, and used their phone to call the cops.

The aftermath. I filed a report. Told them everything. They took notes, nodded, and promised follow-ups. But nothing ever came of it. I never heard what happened to him. I never got my phone back. For all I know, he's still out there, cruising around, looking for another victim.

I think about it sometimes, the what ifs. What if I hadn't grabbed the steering wheel? What if I hadn't jumped? What if I've been too scared to run? My life could have ended on that freeway. There's always a reason to be afraid in this city. That's not paranoia, it's survival. The end.