Solved Murders - True Crime Stories - The Camcorder, the Black Stag, and the Night Kiwi Learned Some Stories Hunt Back PART2 #68

Episode Date: July 8, 2025

#horrorstories #reddithorrorstories #ScaryStories #creepypasta #horrortales #blackstagencounter #nightkiwihorror #foundfootagefear #supernaturalhunt #darkforest  Part 2 reveals chilling footage of the Black Stag’s elusive presence and Kiwi’s escalating struggle to escape the supernatural forces closing in. Strange phenomena escalate—unseen watchers, eerie sounds, and a growing realization that the forest and its legends are alive and malevolent. The boundary between hunter and hunted blurs in a nightmarish game of survival.  horrorstories, reddithorrorstories, scarystories, horrorstory, creepypasta, horrortales, blackstaglegend, cursedcamcorder, supernaturalencounter, hauntedwoods, foundfootagestory, nightkiwihorror, darkforest, paranormalactivity, eeriefootage, folklorehorror, horrorinthenight, terrifyingencounter, survivalhorror, mythicalcreatures

That night, I dreamt of her being taken, by the stag. Not a normal stag, but something ancient, unnatural, and completely evil. In the dream, it did unspeakable things to her, tore her apart, consumed her piece by piece, physically and mentally. And through all of it, she screamed my name. Over and over. Like she thought I could save her. Like I could actually do something to stop it.

The police decided it had to be a case. kidnapping. No evidence left behind. No signs of struggle. She had simply vanished one night, as if swallowed whole by the forest near our house. For a year, we tried to go on with life, but those woods, those damned woods were always looming, like they were hiding something just behind the trees. My parents couldn't take it anymore. The darkness, the weight of it all. They split up, sold the house, and we moved away. You'd think that would be the end of it, right? New house, new town, new start.

But it wasn't. Not for me. Here's where things get real complicated. I get how it sounds, I really do. But before you dismiss everything I'm about to say, know this, for doctors, licensed professionals in the mental health field, all say I'm sane. Totally clean bill of mental health. No disorders, no delusional. Two MRI scans. No tumors, no weird abnormalities in the brain. Physically and mentally, I check out. But that doesn't change what I know. The black stag isn't some dream. It isn't a hallucination or some psychological scar. It's real. I've seen it. With my own two eyes. Fully awake. Sober. Clear as day.

The dreams never stopped. Even years after moving. Always the same house. Always the same bedroom. I'd be back there in my sleep, frozen in bed, watching that thing emerge from the trees. Sometimes I was a child again, sometimes an adult, but it didn't matter. It always found me. I learned to fake normal.

Smiles at work, casual conversations, going out with friends. But inside, I was always carrying that terror. I couldn't sleep most nights. When I did, I'd wake up shouting, soaked in cold sweat, heart pounding like a jackhammer. That did wonders for my relationships. My last girlfriend, Laura, we were together for three years. She tried, I'll give her that. But how do you explain to someone that you dream about a monster every night?

That you're afraid to sleep, not because of night. but because you believe something from those nightmares is following you in real life. She left, eventually. I don't blame her. Honestly, I still love her. And if you're watching this, Laura, thank you. Thank you for trying to understand. I'm sorry I couldn't be better.

I was 21 the first time I saw it while awake. I was in Florida. Beach party. Bonfire. Some college. friends, loud music, too much beer. I had stopped drinking early that night because I was the designated driver. The sky was clear and the moon was out, full, massive. It lit up the beach like a stage. One of the girls pointed toward the cliff and said, hey, is someone up there watching us?

We all turned to look. Silhouetted against the moon was something massive. Some people joked it looked like a dude on a horse. Others said it was just a weirdly large deer. I knew exactly what it was. I couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. Panic hit me like a truck. It didn't stay long. Just watched for a few seconds before slipping back into the darkness. Nobody believed me the next morning when I tried to talk about it. Everyone else treated it like a joke or a half-remembered drunken story. I knew better. It showed up again when I was 25. I had just spent the night at my girlfriend's place. Early morning, pink sky, soft light. I was leaving her apartment, and across the street, just inside the tree line, there it was. Bigger than before. Holding something, some mangled animal.

A dog, I think. My girlfriend came to the door to say goodbye and pointed at it. What the hell is that, she asked. I grabbed her, yanked her back inside, slammed the door, and locked it. She thought I was crazy, until she tried to get her camera. But of course, by the time she turned it on, it was gone. It kept happening. Not constantly, but enough to ruin any chance of peace. A glimpse here.

A sound there. Eyes in the dark. Antlers catching moonlight. It was never gone for long. The last time I saw it. I was 40. Late night. Parking garage.

I was alone, trying to find my car. The overhead lights were mostly busted, so I used my phone's flashlight. That's when I saw it. Pale eyes, glowing. Huge frame in the dark. It started galloping. Hooves smashing concrete like thunder. It was coming for me.

I ran. I made it to the stairwell. Behind me, it slammed into a parked car with enough force to twist the frame and send it skidding sideways. One person witnessed the crash. Retired cop. Swore to detectives that something like a giant buffalo had hit the car. No cameras. No evidence.

They ruled at a hit and run. That night, in my dream, I watched that same old man being taken, screaming, dragged into the woods, torn apart. I tried to research it for years. Nothing. No folklore, no crypted logs, nothing in mythology or demonology. I searched every weird forum, every occult book I could find. The only thing I know for sure. I'm not the only one who can see it. Others have seen it, even if they don't understand what they saw. This year, I was done being afraid. I contacted Deborah Berrish, called herself a spiritual medium. Her website seemed legit. Not flashy, not cheesy. Just a woman trying to help.

She didn't laugh at me. Didn't try to sell me magic rocks or read my palm. She listened. She asked about my family, my upbringing. I told her about my great-uncle, someone I barely knew. Apparently, he was deep into some real dark stuff. Old Southern cult practices. Stuff I'd always assumed was just family rumor. She believed that was the origin. A demon summoned by accident, or on purpose.

Maybe bound to our family. Maybe bound to me. She tried to leave, said the stag was beyond her, told me to wear a cross, get the house blessed. But none of that would be permanent. She said I could keep it at bay, but never be free. I broke down. I begged her to stay. To help me try anything.

She agreed. We set up a seance. Candles, chants, old books, like something out of a horror movie. I was skeptical, but desperate. I followed every instruction. When the floor started to shake, we knew it had come. It appeared behind her. No door.

No entry. Just materialized from the dark. Antlers scraping the ceiling. It looked more human now. Almost. But wrong. So wrong. She told me not to look.

told me to focus on her voice. I couldn't. I panicked. I let go of her hands. The stag impaled her with its antlers. Lifted her. She screamed. Blood poured like rain. Then it ate her. Not like an animal. Like a god. With its hands. Hands with fangs in the palms. It devoured her screaming. I ran. I didn't look back. Now I sit here, making this recording. My name is Dr. Hudson. I don't expect to live through the night. To Deborah's family, I'm sorry. Truly. I rewrote my will this morning. Everything I have goes to her kids or to charity. Whatever they want. I'm going to confront it. I have a gun. Maybe it won't. Maybe it won't. work. Maybe nothing will. But I need to try. This, this will be my legacy. My warning. Humans think we're so smart, so advanced. We think we understand the universe. We don't. We know nothing. Some things live in the cracks of our world. Things we can't name. Things science will never touch. The black stag is real. And I'm done running. If you find this camera, I'm likely dead.

Take this seriously. Leave. Get out. Don't stay in this house. The video ended. Kiwi sat in silence. Frozen. Her skin cold. Her hands trembling. This had to be fake. A prank. Some twisted art. project. But in her gut, she knew it wasn't. Nobody could have planned for her to find this. Nobody knew she'd be in this house tonight. She needed to leave. Wipe her prints off the camera and go. Forget any of this ever happened. She slid out from under the desk, legs weak. She put the camera back on the chair, wiped it with her shirt. Then she turned to grab her switchblade. Gone. She panicked. It was gone. She checked the floor. Her pockets. Nothing. Someone had been in the room. While she watched the video. And they took her knife. Her breath caught. Her heart pounded. What now? Hide. Run. Barricade the room? No. She couldn't be trapped here.

She needed her skateboard. She could be out in seconds if she had it. She walked carefully down the hallway. No sounds. No movement. In the kitchen, she saw it. Her board. Right where she left it.

She grabbed it and went to open the back door. It didn't budge. She pulled harder. Still nothing. Behind her, something scraped the floor. A hoof. She didn't turn around. She ran. The end.