Solved Murders - True Crime Stories - Three Terrifying Encounters with Predators That Turned Ordinary Nights into Horror PART3 #77

Episode Date: October 27, 2025

#horrorstories #reddithorrorstories #ScaryStories #creepypasta #horrortales #predatorhorror #truehorrorstories #nightterrors #survivorstories #realencounters  Part 3 concludes the harrowing series of encounters with predators. The final accounts reveal terrifying confrontations and the critical moments of survival. Readers witness the full extent of danger, fear, and human cunning, as ordinary nights are forever transformed into life-altering horror. These true stories emphasize resilience, vigilance, and the lasting impact of close calls with predators.  horrorstories, reddithorrorstories, scarystories, horrorstory, creepypasta, horrortales, predatorencounters, nightterror, dangeroussituations, survivalhorrorstories, chillingencounters, nearfatalencounters, realhorrorstories, suspenseandterror, fearinthedark, survivalagainstodds, horrifyingtrueevents, scaryencounters, lifeordeathmoments, predatorhorror 

Number one, the night on the bus. I'm 29 years old, born and raised in Brazil, and by profession, I'm a university teacher. That's the clean, short description of me, the one you'd probably find if you looked me up somewhere professional. But the part that usually surprises people is that outside the classroom, when I'm not buried in lesson plans and student papers, I practice kung fu. Yeah, old school martial arts, the kind you see in those classic movies where they're the hero always seems to know a secret technique just in time. For me, it's not about showing off or trying to be some action movie tough guy. Kung Fu has always been a way to balance my life, to burn off the stress of work, to keep my body and mind sharp. I've been doing it for more than

10 years, so it's become part of who I am. Now, if you've been paying any attention to Brazil in the last decade or so, you'll know that our political scene has been, well, let's just say, insane. And I don't use that word lightly. It feels like people are constantly on edge, ready to snap at each other over political beliefs. There have even been stories, real, verified stories, about people getting attacked on the streets just for wearing certain colors. Red, for example, became dangerous because it was associated with President Dilma's political party. Imagine that, you put on a shirt in the morning, thinking it's just a color, and the by nightfall, you're a target. That's the Brazil I was living in. Just another night.

A few days before this story happened, I had stayed late at the university. Papers needed grading, students had questions, meetings dragged on, and by the time I finally gathered my things and headed home, it was already around 11 p.m. normally, that wouldn't be too much of an issue. Late buses are still running. The city doesn't sleep, but something in the air felt heavy. heavier than usual that night. I caught my usual bus, and as expected, it was packed enough that there weren't any free seats. I didn't care. I was used to standing, and I preferred being near the exit door anyway. Quicker to hop off, easier to keep some personal space. So, I grabbed one of the metal poles near the door, shifted my backpack onto one shoulder,

and settled in for the ride. Like I usually did, I reached into my bag, pulled out my trusty MP3 player, yeah, I still carried one of those relics in the age of smartphones, and popped in my headphones. Something about the old school ritual of scrolling through a playlist on a tiny screen felt comforting. I queued up some black Dahlia murder and let the music drown out the noise of the bus, the chatter of strangers, the rumble of the engine. I wasn't bothering anyone. Just a tired guy after a long day, singing along silently to the music in my head. The stare Then I noticed him.

A man sitting in the back of the bus, eyes locked on me. At first, I thought maybe it was a coincidence. You know how sometimes your gaze just happens to line up with someone else's, and it feels like they're staring, but really they're. lost in their own thoughts. That's what I assumed at first. But seconds passed. Then minutes. And his eyes never wavered. He wasn't blinking normally, wasn't distracted by anything else. He was just, staring. At first, I found it almost funny. Like, okay, buddy, what's your problem? Never seen a guy with a beard listening to metal before.

But as the seconds dragged on, the humor faded. This wasn't casual glancing. This was focused, deliberate. I shifted slightly, moved toward the other exit door, and turned my head just enough to check again. And there he was, still staring, completely locked in on me like I was the only person on that bus. That's when I started really paying attention to him. Even sitting down, the guy looked enormous. His arms were massive, thick like tree trunks, hell, they were about the same size as my legs.

His shoulders stretched his shirt tight, and his posture screamed power. He reminded me of the Hulk from those old movies, the kind of guy you wouldn't want to meet in a dark alley. And guess what? That's exactly what was about. about to happen. The stop. I was tired. Exhausted, actually.

My brain was running through the possibilities. Maybe I was just being paranoid, maybe he was harmless. Maybe he was jealous of my beard. Who knows? But my energy was so low that I tried to brush it off. When my stop approached, I did what I always did, reached up and tugged on the little string that runs along the ceiling. of the bus. That's how we signal the driver to stop, old-fashioned but effective. A bell dinged,

and a few seconds later, the bus slowed to a halt. I slung my backpack onto both shoulders, stepped off the bus, and started walking. The night air hit me, cooler than I expected, and for a moment, I thought maybe I'd been overthinking the whole thing. Then I heard it. Footsteps Heavy ones I glanced back And there he was The Hulk from the bus

Climbing down the steps after me The chase He wasn't even pretending Not like someone just coincidentally going the same direction His eyes were locked on me His stride steady and purposeful He was tailing me and he wanted me to know it. My heart sped up. I tried to stay calm, but adrenaline was already flooding my system. I quickened my

pace, and sure enough, his footsteps matched mine. Faster, heavier, louder. The street ahead of me was dark, lit only by the occasional flickering lamp. My turn was coming up soon, a left into a side Street that led toward my neighborhood. I knew the area well, and I also knew it wasn't the kind of place you wanted to be chased in. Too dark. Too quiet. Too isolated. I realized quickly that if I didn't act, I'd be cornered. The guy was bigger, stronger, and if he caught me in one of those shadowy stretches, I didn't stand a chance. So I made a decision. As soon as I turned the corner, I ran. Fight or flight. I sprinted like my life depended on it, because it did. My backpack bounced against me, my lungs burned, and behind me, I could hear his pace pick up too. The thundering of his

shoes against the sidewalk grew closer. There was no way I could outrun him. My house was still blocks away, too far to make it before he caught me. I knew I had to change the plan. I knew I had to change the plan. So I stopped. I turned. I ripped my backpack off, gripped it tight in my hand, and faced him head on. My stance shifted without me even thinking, years of Kung Fu training kicking in, instincts taking over. He slowed for a moment, surprised maybe, then yelled something at me. His words were slurred with rage, but I caught enough, I'll kill you, you call me, expletive. That's when it clicked. The red shirt. The beard. In his twisted mind, I wasn't just some random guy, I was an enemy. Then he lunged. The strike. As he closed the distance,

I threw my backpack straight at his face. It wasn't a perfect weapon, but it was something. He dodged it with surprising speed, his lips curling into a smile like he thought this was fun, like I was giving him exactly what he wanted, a fight. But that smile was the opening I needed. The moment he shifted, the moment his head tilted to avoid the backpack, my right leg snapped up.

Ten years of training focused into one strike. My foot connected with his jaw, a perfect, clean hit. For the briefest second, I saw his expression change. That smug grin twisted into shock, confusion, pain. His eyes rolled back, his body went slack, and then, thud. He dropped to the sidewalk, unconscious. The aftermath. My chest was heaving, my heart pounding so hard at hurt.

I grabbed my backpack off the ground, ready to run again, and that's when I noticed something glinting from his pocket. A knife Cold metal catching the streetlight. The realization hit me harder than the fight itself, if I hadn't acted, if I hadn't trained for years, if I hadn't stopped running and chosen to fight, he would have killed me. All because of a shirt. A beard. A stupid political association I didn't even think about when I got dressed that morning. Home

By the time I reached my house, my legs were shaking so badly I could barely climb the steps. My wife saw me stumble through the door and rushed over, helping me into a chair. She asked what happened, panic in her eyes, and I told her everything. Every detail. We called the police. of course, but by the time they arrived, the man was gone. No sign of him on the streets. No unconscious body. Nothing but the echo of what had just happened. That scared me even more. He knew where I lived now. He had followed me to my street. And if he woke up before the police

got there, he could come back any time. So we made a decision, we would move. Find another place, start fresh, somewhere safer for me, my wife, and our kids. A Silver Lining Here's the one good thing that came out of it, my wife, who had always nagged me about spending so much time on Kung Fu, finally admitted it saved my life. After that night, she actually encouraged me to keep practicing, even suggested she and the kids might join me in training. It became more than just a hobby,

it became a family thing, a way to protect ourselves, to prepare for whatever craziness the world throws at us. I won't lie and say I wasn't terrified that night. I was. Absolutely. I've never felt fear like that before, and I hope I never feel it again. But I also know that fear didn't control me. Training, discipline, instinct, that's what saved me. And that's the lesson I carry with me.

no matter how normal your day starts, danger can appear out of nowhere. And when it does, you'd better be ready. Because sometimes, there really is a reason to be afraid. The end.