Solved Murders - True Crime Stories - The Legend of the Headless Woman Who Haunts the Park Demanding Money from Hikers PART5 #5

Episode Date: October 28, 2025

#horrorstories #reddithorrorstories #ScaryStories #creepypasta #horrortales #headlesswoman #hauntedpark #ghosthorror #urbanlegend #paranormalencounters  Part 5 concludes the haunting saga of the headless woman who terrorizes hikers in the park. Witnesses recount their most intense and frightening encounters yet, cementing the legend’s status as a terrifying urban myth. This final part highlights the lingering suspense, supernatural elements, and fear that continue to haunt anyone who ventures too close to her territory.  horrorstories, reddithorrorstories, scarystories, horrorstory, creepypasta, horrortales, headlesswoman, hauntedpark, ghostencounters, urbanlegend, supernaturalhorror, chillinglegend, paranormalactivity, eerieencounters, fearinthepark, creepyhiking, hauntedplaces, unexplainedphenomena, scaryfolklore, terrifyinglegend

The first chords. If I had a chance again, man, I keep thinking about that. If I had known back then what I know now, I would have done things differently. I would have run the other way, packed up my guitar, told Brad and Steve, Nope, we're out, forget the song. But back then, I thought it was just another night. Another jam session in that heat-soaked Sacramento house we were renting, three broke guys chasing the dream of being musicians.

Brad had been out late on a date, like always. The guy was smooth in a way I never could be, hair slicked back, shirt ironed, always smelling like cologne instead of sweat and guitar strings. It was a little after 1 a.m. when he finally stumbled through the front door. I was waiting for him, practically buzzing, because something had happened while he was gone. Dude, you gotta hear this, I blurted before he even shut the door. I wrote a new song.

Like, you're not even gonna believe this one. Brad gave me that tired, half-amused look. Bro, can I at least get out of these clothes first? I'm not about to sit in these jeans another minute. Fine, fine, I said, bouncing on the stool next to my amp like a kid who couldn't wait to unwrap a present. The living room was dim except for the bluish glow of the TV. Steve was on the couch, hunched forward, staring at some late-night rerun like it was the

most important thing in the world. That was Steve for you, never really with us, but never completely gone either. Brad came back out in gym shorts and a T-shirt, dragging another stool over so we could sit side by side. All right, he said, clapping his hands once. Show me what you got. I strapped on my guitar, fingers automatically forming an E minor chord on the fretboard. My pick hovered over the low E string, and that's when it happened.

The second the plastic touched the metal, a whisper crawled out of my amp. Don't touch me. It was faint, almost impossible to catch, but I swear I heard it. My hand jerked back so fast I nearly dropped the pick. Brad frowned. What's wrong? You didn't hear that? My voice cracked a little.

Hear what? My aunt just, it just said something. Like, it literally said, don't touch me. Brad laughed, shaking his head. Yeah, right. You're hearing. things. I glanced at Steve, but he was still glued to the TV, oblivious. For a second, I wondered if maybe Brad was right. Maybe I'd imagined it. Maybe it was just the hum of the tubes heating up, playing tricks on my brain. So I tried again. E minor. Deep breath. Pick to the string. This time, the voice came back louder. Sharper.

Don't touch me. Brad's eyes went wide. He jumped up from his stool so fast it nearly tipped over. Holy S-H- asterisk T. I heard it. Steve finally turned around, blinking at us like we were disturbing his peace. What's going on? Brad shouted, the amps talking.

My stomach dropped. This wasn't a joke anymore. Something was happening, something that made the air heavy, like the whole room was waiting for me to try again. And of course, I did. I don't know why, I guess some part of me needed to prove it, even though every instinct in my body screamed not to. I raised my pick, lowered it toward the string.

I didn't even touch it this time. Half an inch away and the voice tore out of the amp, loud and guttural, vibrating through the floor. Don't touch me. Steve's face went pale. He bolted upright, backing away from the couch. Brad took off running through the kitchen. My hands were frozen on the guitar neck, my whole body locked in place.

It felt like a mountain of bricks had dropped on my shoulders, crushing me. My chest tightened, while rising in my throat. The room was alive with something angry, something that wanted us gone. The presence. Brad sprinted back into the living room, out of breath. We need to pray, he gasped, like that was the only thing he could think of. Without waiting, he started speaking out loud, fumbling through words that barely made sense, his voice cracking with panic.

But nothing changed. The weight pressing down on me didn't lift. The nausea churned deeper. My knees buckled, and for a second, I was sure I was going to black out right there on the carpet. Get outside. I finally managed to shout. My voice sounded weak, but it was enough. I yanked the guitar strap off my shoulder, dropped it to the floor, and staggered toward the door.

All three of us spilled out onto the porch, gasping like we'd just. just escaped a burning building. The night air hit my face like a blessing. I'm not going back in there, I said immediately, clutching the railing like it was the only solid thing in the world. I don't care what's in that house, I'm done. Brad and Steve didn't argue. None of us wanted to step foot inside again. But after a few minutes, once the initial terror faded just enough to think straight, we realized we couldn't just sleep outside like stray dogs. Reluctantly, I called my parents. When they answered grogily, I told them we needed to stay the night, no, I didn't explain why, not yet. They agreed, though not exactly thrilled

about three half-grown guys crashing in their house at 2 a.m. We went back inside together, strength in numbers, and I grabbed the phone, dialing as fast as my shaking hands would let me. The house felt different now, like it was holding its breath, waiting for us to let our guard down. We didn't. We packed up what we could and drove straight to my parents. That night, I lay awake on their couch, staring at the ceiling, replaying every sound, every word that amp had whispered. Don't touch me. Why us? Why that night? Why that song? I didn't sleep. None of U.S. did. The aftermath. The next morning, my parents sat us down at the kitchen table. They were sympathetic, but blunt. There's not enough room here for all three of you, my mom said gently. Tony, you can stay, of course, but Brad and Steve need to figure something else out.

I felt guilty, but also relieved. Going back to that house was out of the question for me. The three of us returned in broad daylight to collect our things. The place looked normal again, too normal. Sunlight streamed through the curtains, dust floated lazily in the air, and for a moment I almost doubted everything that had happened. But when I saw my guitar still lying where I dropped it, strapped twisted on the carpet, A chill ran through me.

We packed fast and didn't talk much. Steve moved back in with his parents. I stayed with mine. Brad didn't have family in Sacramento, his folks were in Oklahoma, so he was stuck. For three more weeks, he lived in that house alone. Later, he told me it was hell. Nightmares every night.

Whispers in the walls. Cold spots that have been. followed him from room to room. He begged his girlfriend to let him crash at her place, but her parents said no. So he endured, barely sleeping, until he finally found a way out. When he did, he called me one afternoon, voice shaking, to tell me about a dream he'd had right before moving. He said he was driving to American River College, winding down a foggy road beside a creek lined with willow trees. He couldn't see more than a few. He couldn't see more than a few feet ahead. Suddenly, out of the mist, that same voice, the one from the amp, spoke again.

I know you, Tony. My blood turned to ice. That voice knew my voice knew my name. To be continued.