Solved Murders - True Crime Stories - Three Terrifying Late-Night Encounters That Changed Lives Forever PART2 #12

Episode Date: October 9, 2025

#horrorstories #reddithorrorstories #ScaryStories #creepypasta #horrortales #latenightencounters #realhorrorstories #creepyexperiences #chillingmoments #unsettlingevents  “Three Terrifying Late-Night Encounters That Changed Lives Forever PART 2” continues to reveal real-life frightening experiences that happened in the dead of night. From eerie noises to unexplainable presences, these stories show how ordinary people can face extraordinary fear. Each encounter leaves a lingering sense of unease and demonstrates how late-night experiences can alter lives forever.  horrorstories, reddithorrorstories, scarystories, horrorstory, creepypasta, horrortales, latenightencounters, realhorrorstories, creepyexperiences, chillingmoments, unsettlingevents, nightterrorstories, frighteningencounters, realfear, nightmarefuel, darkmoments, scaryexperiences, mysteriousencounters, hauntingmoments, truehorrorstories

Horror. Number two, my story. I guess before I get into the meat of it, I should tell you a little about me. I've lived in rural Kentucky my whole life, 52 years of dirt roads, tree-lined horizons, and the kind of silent city people find unsettling. I'm semi-retired these days, used to work full-time as a contractor until about eight years ago when I took a nasty fall off a roof. My left hips never been the same. Feels like it's made of rusty hinges and bad memories. That injury ended my full-time career, but I'm not the type to sit around and rot.

So I keep myself busy with odd jobs in town. I do a little bit of everything. Fix a port trailing here, patch a leaky roof there, sometimes help the younger contractors figure out how to do things the right way. I've been at this long enough that they respect me, even if I'm limping around like an old hound dog. I hunt too. Deer mostly. Venison fills up the freezer and honestly there's nothing quite like cooking up your own meat after tracking it yourself. Family-wise, I've got two grown kids with my ex-wife. They're both in their late 20s now, living their own lives, and one boy with my current wife.

My youngest turns eight next month, which is wild because it feels like I was just holding him for the first time yesterday. My wife's Spanish, which means my boys got her dark eyes, her olive skin, and her thick black hair. Even though he's half Caucasian, everyone says he looks just like her. In our little town, everybody knows us. We've always had a good reputation as a humble, decent family. I personally built the house we live in now, piece by piece, plank by plank. It's tucked deep into the woods, far enough away that the nearest neighbor is a good thing. three miles out. That seclusion has always been something I love, or at least I used to.

Out here, you can walk outside at night and hear nothing but the crickets and the owls and the soft sigh of the wind through the pines. No traffic noise, no neighbors fighting through thin walls, just nature. But last weekend changed how I see that silence. It was somewhere around two in the morning when my wife and I woke up to our boy shaking us. Jake's a sensitive kid, the kind that jumps if the fridge hums a little louder than usual. So when he wakes us in the middle of the night, it's usually because he's heard a raccoon in the trash or the wind's knocking a loose branch against the siding. But this time, his voice was shaking. There's a fire outside, he whispered, eyes wide. That got me sitting up fast, still half asleep,

I dragged myself over to the bedroom window and pulled back the curtain. Sure enough, in the distance, maybe 500 yards out, the night sky glowed orange. There was smoke, too. My stomach clenched. Behind me, my wife gasped. Oh my God, call the fire department. She was fumbling for her phone with shaking hands when I took it from her. No, I told her, maybe a little too sharply.

I knew right away it wasn't a wildfire. Wildfires in woods as dense as ours don't stay in one spot. They spread fast, way faster than that. This glow was from one tight contained source, which meant someone had built that fire on purpose, a controlled fire. And in some ways, that was worse. Go downstairs, I told her, already pulling on my hunting gear. She opened Jake's colors widely.

What's going on? Just do it, I said. Call your brother. Tell him to come over. Don't open the door for anyone but him or me. I handed her my phone, shut the basement door behind them, and locked it. Then I went and retrieved my bolt-action rifle. I wasn't looking to kill anyone, but I wasn't walking out there unarmed either. I deadbolted the front door behind me and stepped out into the darkness. My wife's brother lives about 20 minutes away, even driving fast, so I knew I'd be on my own for a while.

The air was cold enough to bite, but the smell of smoke was strong and getting stronger. The orange light flickered faintly against the branches overhead. My boots crunched on the frosty ground as I made my way across my property, every step echoing in my ears. I could hear faint voices now, too. A chant. As I got closer, the words became clear, hateful words, wrapped in a fake preacher's voice. By the time I reached the tree, line overlooking one of the clearings, I knew exactly what I was going to see. Seven men in white robes stood in a rough circle, arms raised, while a smooth-talking man in front of them preached about purity and God's will in that oily way people use when they

want their poison to sound holy. In front of them, a makeshift wooden cross burned, crackling and spitting embers into the night air. The Ku Klux Klan. I'd had run-ins with them before. Out here with my property so isolated, they sometimes like to hold their little sermons in the surrounding woods. It only happened once or twice a year, but every time I'd chase them off the same way by firing a warning shot into the sky. This night was going to be no different. The preacher paused in his speech for the others to shout their amends and white power slogans, and that's when I raised my rifle and sent a bullet crackling into the air. The sound echoed through the clearing. All of them jumped like they'd been shocked.

You must be new, I called out, stepping forward. This is my property, and I don't appreciate these little get-togethers near my family. I reloaded, keeping the barrel angled toward the ground, but my posture firm. I wasn't aiming, but I was ready. Most of the robe men shuffled back, but the preacher, tall with that slow Kentucky drawl stepped toward me. This year land, well, I apologize. We scouted earlier today and didn't see a single house nearby. Mind telling us where you live so we can, well, meet further away. I stared at him. His silver tongue might work on his followers, but I wasn't

about to hand over my address to a man who literally just lit a cross on fire. One of his men piped up. I know this guy. He's married to a... He spat a slur so hard I could hear the hate dripping off it. And he's got a half-breed kid. The others murmured, taking a step closer. I jerked my rifle upward just enough to make them stop. The preacher chuckled. So that's why you won't tell us where you live. Think we'll come for your family? He shook his head like I was being ridiculous. We may hate your wife and your boy, but we ain't savages. I don't try. I don't try. I don't trust your friends, I said flatly. You can't choose who you love. Tell you what. You have my word, we'll never lay a hand on your family. How about we make a deal? My grip on the rifle tightened.

You don't tell law enforcement. You don't mention this to anyone and we'll move our meetings farther out. That clearing? He gestured vaguely past me, 700 yards deeper in. You leave us be, we'll leave you be. I stared at him, forcing my voice to stay steady. Fine, but if you come near me again, I'll bring more than this rifle. He raised a gloved hand like he wanted to shake on it. I didn't move. Suit yourself, he said lightly. We'll check out the new spot.

You head home, tuck little Jake in, poor boy must be scared half to death. The sound of my son's name coming from his mouth chilled me in a way the cold air couldn't. If he knew Jake's name, he knew exactly where we lived. They'd come here deliberately. This wasn't random. This was a warning. I didn't move until their white robes disappeared into the trees. Then I turned and made my way back toward the house.

Every rustle in the dark made me glance over my shoulder. When I got inside, I told my wife's brother what happened, but not my wife. She'd never sleep again in this house if she knew. We took turns keeping watch that night. They didn't come back. But now, even in the daylight, I'm on edge. And tonight, as I write this, I see that familiar orange glow far off through the trees, the smoke's rising, but it's in that other clearing, the one I told them about. They kept their word. I just wish they weren't there at all to be continued.