Solved Murders - True Crime Stories - Terrors in the Woods Cabin Intruders, Serial Killers, and the Keddie Resort Massacre PART2 #72

Episode Date: November 5, 2025

#horrorstories #reddithorrorstories #ScaryStories #creepypasta #horrortales #cabinhorror #woodscreepystories #serialkillerhorror #KeddieMassacre #truecrimestories  Part 2 continues the chilling woods encounters, expanding on cabin intrusions, encounters with serial killers, and the notorious Keddie Resort Massacre. The isolation of the forest amplifies fear as these real-life horrors unfold, showing how danger can lurk in the most remote and unsuspecting places. Each story blends suspense, terror, and grim reality into a haunting narrative.  horrorstories, reddithorrorstories, scarystories, horrorstory, creepypasta, horrortales, truehorrorstories, cabinintruders, woodscreepystories, serialkillerencounters, KeddieResortMassacre, chillingencounters, creepyexperiences, terrifyingmoments, realhorrorstories, nightmarestories, spookytales, darkwoods, unsettlingstories, survivalstories

Shadows in the Pines I swear to you, by the time this night hit its peak, I wasn't even sure I was in my right mind. I mean, the thing that happened was really getting under my skin, and it wasn't just me. Midnight, my dog, black as the void, was acting just as jumpy, if not more. He ran straight to the balcony screen door, tail stiff, ears up, eyes darting to me as if saying, let me out. now. And you know what? At that moment, I decided, screw it. I'm a tough guy, right? Or at least I like to think I was. I wasn't some weakling. I worked out a bit, kept myself in decent shape. I told myself I could handle whatever the hell was out there. So I grabbed my coat, threw on my boots, grabbed my flashlight,

and yes, a pack of cigarettes because apparently I was fancy enough to try to look cool while walking into a potentially dangerous forest situation. I stepped out onto the balcony. Cold air slammed into my face like a wall. Snowflakes swirled around, landing on my eyelashes, on my scarf, on the brim of my jacket. I lit my cigarette and started scanning the roof with my flashlight. Bean cut through the dark like a knife. I looked up, down, around, trying to catch any movement.

Nothing. Snow on the roof looked perfectly untouched. Just my imagination, I muttered under my breath. That had to be it, right? But then I glanced at midnight. He wasn't lying down, wasn't relaxing. He was tense. Alert.

Could a dog really feed off a human's paranoia? Maybe. But it was weird. Too weird. I shook my head, trying to calm myself, flicked the flashlight off, and let my eyes adjust to the darkness. I was staring at the forest that bordered our cabin. Just snow and trees. Nothing else, until I saw it. At first, I thought my eyes were tricking me. But no, it was there. squatting in a tree about 20 feet from the balcony. Taller than our cabin, maybe eight or nine feet high, unnaturally thin, limbs stretched weirdly. Its arms, white, long, hung above its head, gripping another branch.

Its mouth was open, wide, expressionless. I froze. My cigarette nearly fell from my fingers. I whispered aloud, what the hell is that? Midnight stiffened behind me, pacing, low growl starting in his throat. The thing didn't move. Didn't even blink. I considered shining the flashlight at it, but my gut screamed, don't.

So I backed inside carefully, coaxed midnight in, shut the door. Heart hammering, I clicked the flashlight toward where I had seen it. Nothing. Curtains shut, I tried to pretend it was all in my head and crawled into bed. Hours later, tapping. Light, methodical. On the screen door. Not heavy, not random.

It was consistent. Like someone playing a tune on glass. Midnight sat rigid, staring at it, unwilling to go near. That's when I realized it wasn't just a noise. It was an invitation. Something was trying to lure me outside. And inside my head, I could hear my dad's voice. Not literally, but like a memory pushed through all this fear,

stay put. Don't go outside. I listened. I didn't move. Eventually, exhaustion won, and I passed out. Next morning. Hacked everything, didn't look back. My bones ached from tension, my mind replaying every moment. I left the cabin behind, and I told myself I'd never go back. But then I start thinking back, and that's when I remember other strange things. I was eight years old, living in Allens Town, New Hampshire. Our house sat at the end of a dirt road near Bear Brook State Park. In front of our house was an open field dotted with small tree patches. About 50 yards out, the forest started, thick and imposing, calling to anyone foolish enough to wander too far. One afternoon, my friend, and I got curious. We wanted to explore farther than we ever had before.

We knew the first acre or two like the backs of our hands, the usual climbing spots, the hollow tree stumps, the little creeks. But past that. Unknown territory. Exciting, terrifying, perfect for kids, with too much imagination. We followed a dirt ridge, beyond which we stumbled upon a clearing. Four cabins. Perfectly lined up. The area had a shallow pond, dense trees on each side, bushes haphazardly scattered between the cabins.

A few cars were there too, charred and rusting, like some previous disaster had visited and left its mark. The cabins were wooden, flat rooftops. They didn't look a band-de-a-banned. exactly, though there was no sign of life. Curiosity was crawling up my spine. We peaked through the windows. Furniture, beds, curtains, everything intact, but no people.

Something was off. The air had a stillness, like it was holding its breath. My friend shivered. I shivered too. Behind one cabin, dirt was disturbed. bones, half-buried, poking out of the earth. Animal, probably. Maybe pets.

But the idea lingered that it could be something else. A warning, maybe, that we were trespassing. My mom always said, stay away from dead things. You don't know what disease they carry. We left that first day, hearts still racing, minds buzzing. But curiosity is a nasty thing. A week later, we were back. The place was just as odd.

No roads leading there, no signs of ownership, no markers. That strange feeling of being watched crawled over me, crawled into my bones. And then, as we were preparing to leave, a man appeared. Tall, dark jacket, rifle slung over his shoulder. A hundred meters away, sprinting toward us, shouting. Hey, what are you doing here? We bolted. Ran as fast as eight-year-olds could, dirt flying, hearts thudding, adrenaline screaming.

The man followed. Rifle unslung, shouldered. We didn't look back. Dirt Ridge, Fields, finally safety near home. We never told anyone. Parents would have restricted all future adventures. A year later, hunters found a metal drum in the forest near that clearing. Inside.

Bodies of a woman and a young girl. Fifteen years later, another drum was discovered, just a hundred yards away, containing two more girls, one only 11 months old. DNA later tied it all to a serial killer named Terry Rasmussen. I never saw the man chasing us clearly enough to say for sure it was him, but thinking back, I can't shake the feeling that those bones we saw, scattered and half-buried, were among his victims. And the thing is, I don't think eight-year-old me could even tell human bones from animal bones. But somewhere deep down, I knew. I felt it. Back to the cabin.

That balcony, the snow, the thing in the tree. Midnight's fear, my own. The tapping at the door, the forest, breathing around me. It all ties together. The terror, the instinct that told me to leave, that told me there's more out there than we can explain. It's why I never went back to that cabin, why I still flinch when I hear tapping on glass, why I never go into isolated forests without thinking a dozen times first. Because some things, some things are real, and some things are watching. To be continued.