Solved Murders - True Crime Stories - The Night Evil Followed Me Home and Changed My Life Forever in a Summer Encounter PART6 #16

Episode Date: September 29, 2025

#horrorstories #reddithorrorstories #ScaryStories #creepypasta #horrortales #truehorrorstories #creepyencounters #nightmarefuel #paranormalexperiences #summereveninghorror  Part 6 of The Night Evil Followed Me Home continues the terrifying account of being pursued by an unknown malevolent force. This installment reveals more close calls, tense moments, and unnerving encounters that showcase the fear and adrenaline of surviving such a night. Each story highlights the haunting reality that danger can lurk when you least expect it.  horrorstories, reddithorrorstories, scarystories, horrorstory, creepypasta, horrortales, truehorrorstories, creepyencounters, nightmarefuel, paranormalexperiences, summereveninghorror, scaryencounters, chillingtales, unsettlingmoments, realnightmares, disturbingstories, stalkerstories, survivalstories, mysteriousoccurrences, truestoryhorror

It's funny how your body sometimes decides for you before your brain has even caught up. That's exactly what happened that night. One second we were walking, the next my brain hit the big red flight mode button and my legs were already moving. We swung a sharp right onto the sidewalk without even exchanging a real plan. My friend just blurted out, run to the park. We'll lose them in there. And that was enough for me.

I didn't even have time to argue or think about whether a park, dark, empty, with plenty of hiding spots, was actually a good place to run toward. My body didn't care about logic. It just knew, away. Now, we threw a glance over our shoulders, and that's when my stomach flipped. They weren't just walking. They weren't just following. They were sprinting.

All three of them. Right at us. Adrenaline is such a weird thing. It's like some of it. Someone plugs a charger straight into your nervous system. My vision sharpened, my hearing went haywire, I could hear every slap of their shoes against the pavement, every rush of blood in my ears, every one of my own desperate breaths. The park swallowed us up quick, but not quick enough.

Another glance back, and they were closer. I mean close. Like, if one of them had decided to throw something, it would have hit. We aimed for the thickest patch of trees on the west side of the park, the kind of place where daylight barely makes it through the branches. My friend's idea was probably that if they couldn't see us, they couldn't catch us. But all I could think was how hard it was to see my own feet. I was terrified that one of us would trip over a route or a rock or a bench hidden in shadow,

and then that would be it. They'd have us. And from the look in their eyes earlier. I did not want to know what they wanted to do. Somewhere behind us, one of them let out a sharp, frustrated yell and the unmistakable thud of someone hitting the ground. He'd tripped. Good.

Stay down. We caught a break, the dark opened up just enough to see a pale stretch of pavement up ahead. We darted left onto it, hearts punching holes in our ribs. More shouting. Male voices, angry. One of them cursed loud. enough for it to echo in the trees, they got away. Not yet, buddy. The woman's voice cut through right after, split up. Searched the park. That one scared me more than anything. Because it meant

they weren't done. We bolted toward the public bathrooms. Thank God they were open. We dove inside, locked ourselves in one of the stalls, and collapsed on the cold tile floor. My lungs were burning like I'd inhaled fire. My friend was gasping too, eyes wide, both of us sweating like we'd just run a marathon. Looking back now, yeah, calling the cops from right there would have been smart. Hiding until someone with a badge and maybe a weapon showed up would have been smart. But at the time, all I could think about was getting further away. We gave ourselves maybe two minutes to breathe, maybe less. Then, without even really discussing it, we made a break for the nearest park exit. It was almost cinematic, the second we were inside of the exit, we heard it. One of the guys,

somewhere behind us, yelling, I found M. They're getting away, we didn't even look at each other. We just ran. I risked a glance back, he was far enough away that I couldn't make out his expression, but I could tell from the way his shoulders were pumping that he was giving it everything. We hit my street. My heart felt like it was trying to break free from my chest. I fumbled the keys, cursed under my breath, finally got the door open, and we practically fell inside. We just sat there in silence, hunched forward, gulping air, sweat soaking into our shirts. My ears were ringing so bad it felt like someone had left a TV on static somewhere in my skull.

I kept expecting to hear footsteps outside or see a shadow at the window. Every minute I got up, peaked out, and every minute there was nothing. Ten minutes passed. Still nothing. Eventually we both let ourselves believe we were safe. We started trying to make sense of it. Were they trying to rob us? Kill us?

Kidnap us? Or, and this thought still makes my stomach twist, something worse. He stayed another 30 minutes, probably as much for his own nerves as for mine. When he finally said he had to get home, I wanted to argue, but I could tell he'd made up his mind. The house felt too quiet after he left. I went to bed, but every time I closed my eyes, I saw them. Those three shapes closing in, faster and faster. Morning didn't make it feel any less real. I told my parents over breakfast. They were relieved we were safe and angry that we decided to walk instead of accepting a ride.

They made their point clear, next time, call. Don't try to be brave. We filed a police report. I gave them every scrap of detail I could remember, height, clothing, voices, everything. Never heard a single thing back. Sometimes, late at night, I still wonder what those people are doing now. and I really, really hope it's not finding someone else to chase. That night made me sharper, more cautious. I avoid walking after dark whenever I can, even with friends. And I know for a fact I never want to see those people again. Fast forward to last year. Whole different situation.

Whole different kind of fear. I was driving my Nissan Ultima, two-door coupe, nothing fancy, from Prescott, Arizona to New Orleans. About 20, 22 hours on the road, straight shot along Route 40 East. Why? My ex. She's a tattoo artist, and some guy was suing her. Claimed she'd tattooed over an injury, made it worse. I'd been there the night in question, so she wanted me as a witness. Fine.

Whatever. Road trip. I threw my bag in the past. seat, popped in my earbuds, yeah, I know, driving with headphones isn't exactly by the book, but it's how I zone in and hit the road before the newspaper guy had even done his morning deliveries. The back seat in that car? Basically decorative. You had to fold the front seats forward to even get in there. I never used it. Half the time I forgot it existed. The first leg was easy. Light traffic, clear skies, and my playlist doing its job. First stop, San John, New Mexico.

Refuel, quick bite. When I got back in the car, I noticed the air smelled a little, stale. Like leftover smoke. Weird, but I figured it was just the diner I'd been in. Drove another hour. Pulled over on a nothing stretch of Texas desert for a quick bathroom break, which, in my my case, meant picking a bush and hoping no one drove by slow enough to notice. I called my ex to update her, left a voicemail for my boss, paced around a bit. There were cars every 30 seconds or so, but nobody stopping. Got back in. Earbuds in. AC on. Shifted into drive, and that's when my passenger door slammed shut. My stomach shot into my throat. I yanked my earbuds out, spun to look, the front seat was folded forward. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught someone

walking away from my car. Short guy. Messy hair. Gene jacket, no shirt. Maybe 50 years old. Moving like he'd just chugged a bottle of cheap whiskey. I hit the locks instantly. Watched him in the rearview as he staggered into the middle of the road, bent over, and vomited. Corderoi pants Blue Crocs Missing Teeth I dialed 9-1-1 with shaking fingers Told the dispatcher where I was

That some guy had just tried to get in my car And then I noticed the leather pouch on his belt The kind store employees used to carry box cutters Yeah No thanks I drove off Didn't stop until my gas light was screaming at me My hands were still tight on

the wheel, my mind replaying every second. And then it hit me. I don't smoke. But there was an empty cigarette pack on my backseat floor. That stale smell. He'd been in my car. Since San John. He hadn't been trying to get in when the door slammed. He'd been getting out. He could have done anything. And I never would have heard it over my music. Thank God or luck that he didn't decide to. I didn't pull over again until Amarillo. Even then, it wasn't because I wanted to, it was because my car was practically begging me for gas. I still had that knot in my stomach, that skin-prickling feeling you get when your brain hasn't decided whether you're safe yet. I slid out of the driver's seat and glanced into the back before shutting the door.

Empty. Of course it was. Still, I locked the car before I even made it to the pump. I kept scanning the lot, every person, every car, every shadow. Normally I'm not that jumpy, but my brain was playing, worst case scenario on repeat. I filled up, bought a bottle of water inside, and sat in my car for a solid five minutes before pulling back onto the highway. The thing about driving long distances is, your brain wanders. Even if something insane just happened, the rhythm of the road eventually pulls you into that hypnotic, half-focused state. Somewhere in Oklahoma, I caught myself thinking about the guy again.

Not just that he'd been in my car, but how he'd managed it. Did he wait until I was inside paying for gas in San John? Or was he already lurking nearby before I even pulled in? And then there was the worst thought, the one that made me shiver even though it was 90 degrees outside. What if he hadn't gotten out when he did? What if I'd driven another 10 hours with him behind me, just sitting. there, deciding what to do. By the time I crossed into Arkansas, it was pushing midnight. My eyelids were heavy, but the idea of sleeping at a rest stop made my skin crawl. I figured I'd just pushed through the last few hours. Then I saw it. Up ahead, on the shoulder, a car with its hazard lights blinking. Normally, I'm the kind of person who stops. But that

night? Nope. Not a chance. I eased into the other lane and kept going. Still, I couldn't help glancing in the rearview as I passed, and that's when my chest tightened. There was someone standing beside the car. Facing the road. Not waving for help. Just, watching. I cranked the music to drown out the unease.

Kept my eyes forward. But every few miles after that, I saw something. A car parked just far enough into the shadows to be hard to. to make out. A figure on an overpass, motionless as I passed underneath. The kind of things you want to dismiss as nothing, but your body remembers the short guy in the jean jacket and decides, nah, we're not playing this game again. When I finally rolled into New Orleans, it was like stepping into a completely different reality. Humid air, bright street lights, people laughing outside bars. My ex met me outside her apartment, hugged me like we were still close,

and immediately started in on the lawsuit drama. I wanted to tell her about the guy. About how close I'd come to God knows what on the way there. But I didn't. Because as soon as I pictured the words coming out of my mouth, they sounded fake. Hey, so I drove across the country with a stranger hiding in my back seat and didn't notice until he got out to puke in the road. Yeah.

That was going to sound real believable. Over the next couple of days, I noticed something strange. Every time I went to my car, I checked the backseat first. Even in broad daylight. Even when it was locked. It became a reflex. And once you develop a reflex like that, you start realizing it's connected to other moments, little threads that pull you back to other times you didn't feel safe.

Like the bearded man in my yard. Like the shadow outside my girlfriend's window. Like the three people chasing us through the park. It's weird how deep. danger teaches you habits you didn't ask for. That's the thing nobody tells you, the incident itself. That's over in minutes. But the aftershocks? They can stretch for years. I didn't know it yet, but I was about to learn that all over again. Part two, the bearded man in my yard, a few months after the cross-country drive, I was back home. The house was quiet, but it didn't

feel safe. Not because anything was actually wrong. Because sometimes, when your brain gets shook up by something like that, it rewires itself, every creek in the walls, every rustle outside, suddenly becomes a warning siren. One evening, around dusk, I was out watering the garden. The sun was dipping low, golden light spilling over the fence and through the trees. I remember thinking it was peaceful, almost too peaceful. Then I saw him. He wasn't lurking behind the bushes or hiding in shadows. He was standing just beyond the fence, right in the corner of my yard. A big guy, tall and solid with a thick, scraggly beard that looked like he hadn't shaved in months. His clothes were ragged, like he'd been living outside for a while. I froze. The hose slipped from my hand and

water sprayed in an uneven arc onto the grass. He didn't say a word. Just looked at me. Cold eyes, hard stare. I wanted to call out, but my throat went dry. Instead, I slowly backed inside, locking the door behind me. That night, I couldn't sleep. Every noise, a creak, a bump, felt amplified. I checked the locks on every window and door at least five times. My phone was on, close enough to reach in case I needed help. I tried to tell myself it was nothing. Maybe a neighbor. Maybe a homeless guy just passing through. But the look in his eyes, that wasn't casual. The next day, I told a friend what happened. She suggested calling the cops. I hesitated, partly because I didn't want to make a big deal if it was nothing. Mostly because I

felt stupid, like I was overreacting. But a few days later, I saw him again. Same spot. Same silent stare. This time, I snapped a quick photo with my phone. I sent it to the police and filed a report. They said they'd keep an eye on the area. After that, I started carrying pepper spray in my pocket. I walked with my keys between my fingers when I went outside at night. And I stopped watering the garden altogether. It was a small victory when the bearded man stopped showing up. But the fear didn't go away. Looking back, I realized this was the moment I learned a hard truth. Sometimes, the danger isn't just in the moment. It sticks with you. Creeps into your everyday life. You become hyper-aware, always watching, always waiting. Part 3. Shadows at my girlfriend's window. A couple of years after

the bearded man showed up in my yard, I was living with my girlfriend, Jess. We'd moved into this little townhouse on the edge of a sleepy neighborhood, the kind where everyone says, nothing ever happens here. But you know how that goes. One night, I was crashing on the couch, Jess was upstairs in bed. The room was dim, only a faint streetlight flickering through the curtains. Out of nowhere, Jess texts me, hey, do you hear something outside? I paused my show and listened. All I could hear was the quiet hum of the fridge and the occasional car passing by. Not really, I replied, but I got up to check the windows anyway.

Jess's bedroom window looked out onto a thin alleyway behind the houses, just enough space for someone to sneak around. I pulled back the curtain a little and scanned the shadows. At first, nothing. Then, out of the corner of my eye, a flicker. Movement. There, just barely visible, was a dark shape. A figure crouched low, like they were trying to stay hidden but still watching. I froze, heart racing. I didn't want to scare Jess, but I also didn't want to ignore it.

I grabbed my phone and dialed 911. I whispered the address, described the figure. The dispatcher said officers were nearby and would say, send someone out. I kept watching the window. The figure didn't move for what felt like forever. Then slowly, it stood up and disappeared into the night. When the police arrived, they searched around but found nothing. No footprints, no one lurking. Just that creeping feeling that something wasn't right. Jess never wanted to sleep near that window again. And I stopped taking our safety for granted. It's strange how these little moments stick with

you, how they pile up until you can't ignore the truth. There's danger in the quiet, lurking just beneath the surface. The end.