Solved Murders - True Crime Stories - Three Terrifying Late-Night Encounters That Changed Lives Forever PART3 #13

Episode Date: October 9, 2025

#horrorstories #reddithorrorstories #ScaryStories #creepypasta #horrortales #latenightencounters #creepyexperiences #realhorrorstories #chillingmoments #unsettlingevents  “Three Terrifying Late-Night Encounters That Changed Lives Forever PART 3” concludes this chilling series, revealing the final set of real-life late-night encounters that left lasting fear. From unexplainable phenomena to frightening human encounters, these stories show how darkness can amplify terror and uncertainty. Each account underscores the vulnerability and unease that can arise when ordinary life is interrupted by the unknown.  horrorstories, reddithorrorstories, scarystories, horrorstory, creepypasta, horrortales, latenightencounters, creepyexperiences, realhorrorstories, chillingmoments, unsettlingevents, nightterrorstories, frighteningencounters, realfear, nightmarefuel, darkmoments, scaryexperiences, mysteriousencounters, hauntingmoments, truehorrorstories

Horror. Number three, extended version. A year ago, I was 28 years old, living in a small but cozy condo in southern Arizona. I was a single parent with three kids, two girls and one boy, and our fourth family member, a big, loyal, ridiculously smart Belgian shepherd named Loki. He wasn't just a pet. Loki was more like my shadow, my security system, and sometimes even my babysitter. If you've ever met a Belgian Shepherd, you know. They're smart enough to outthink you, and loyal enough to never let you forget they're watching out for you. The neighborhood we lived in was quiet, the kind of place where people left their doors unlocked in the daytime, and where the biggest local drama was whether someone's lawn was a little too overgrown. It was a family-friendly

spot. Kids could play outside without a parent having to hover over them every second. On any given day, my kids would be running around with the neighbor kids, riding bikes, playing tag, or inventing some game only they understood. I didn't have to stress much. Plus, my next door neighbor, Dave, spent half his life in his garage working on cars. His garage door was always up, and he was always tinkering with something, so I knew there was an extra set of eyes on the street. That fall night, I was doing what I always did when I had the house to myself, cleaning like a madwoman. The kids were at their grandparents' house, which meant I had a precious window of time to get the place in order without little tornadoes undoing my work two seconds later. The vacuum was running, laundry was going, dishes were done.

My goal was simple. Do as much as I could before they came home the next morning. My bedroom had a sliding glass door that led straight into our small backyard and from there to the detached garage. That sliding door was my shortcut for laundry runs. Most of the time I left it open halfway. It saved me from walking all the way around the house, and Loki loved it too. For him, it was a private doggy highway to run in and out, sniff the air, and patrol his territory. At one point, I stepped through the sliding glass door toward the garage to swap the laundry. I lifted the washer lid, tossed the wet clothes into the dryer,

and was just setting the lid back down when Loki's low growl froze me mid-movement. His ears were forward, eyes locked on the roof line of the garage. I followed his gaze upward, expecting to see, well, nothing special, maybe a stray cat or a bird, but there was nothing there, just the dim glow of the security light and the stillness of the night. Probably just a cat, I muttered to myself. I turned to head back inside, planning to slide the door shut behind me. But Loki wasn't moving.

He was still outside, sitting perfectly still, eyes fixed upward, like he was on sniper duty. Loki, come on, I called. Nothing. He didn't even flick an ear at me. Then, out of nowhere, he sprang to his feet, snarling and barking like I'd never heard before. Sharp, guttural, vicious. His hackle stood straight up, and his entire body was tense.

And then I heard it. Heavy thumps, one after another, moving across the roof. Not the light scamper of a cat. This was heavier, slower. Someone walking. My heart jumped into my throat. Loki's reaction made it worse. The only other time I'd seen him act like that was years earlier, back in Washington, when I nearly got robbed. He'd gone from a sweet tail-wagging dog to a full-on predator in seconds. I yanked Loki inside, slammed the sliding door shut, and locked it. My hands were shaking. and I was pacing without realizing it, breathing too fast. My mind was racing. Did I imagine it? Was I overreacting? I grabbed my phone and texted Dave. Hey, are you busy? Can you swing by real quick?

He didn't ask questions. Two minutes later, he was outside, flashlight in hand. He actually climbed onto the roof to CHEP. Nothing. No footprints, no scratches, no signs that anyone, or anything, had been up there. Probably a cat, he said, or maybe a raccoon. But in my gut, I knew those footsteps were too heavy. For the next couple of days, nothing happened. The quiet returned, and I almost convinced myself it had just been an animal. Life went on as usual, work, school runs, making sure the kids brush their teeth without turning the bathroom into a war zone. I even stopped glancing up at the roof every time I went outside. Then, one early morning, just before sunrise, I was brushing my daughter's hair before school. The house was still dim, the only life coming from the bathroom

bulb, and the faint orange glow creeping in from the horizon. That's when I heard it again. This time, there was no mistaking it. Heavy, deliberate footsteps right over my head, moving fast. I froze mid-brush. My daughter's eyes widened in the mirror. Mom, that's not a cat, she whispered. I didn't say anything. I set the brush down, walked into my bedroom, and reached under my bed for my old military machete. My pulse was already pounding in my ears,

but the training I had years ago kicked in, slow breathing, steady movements. I slid the glass door open and stepped outside with Loki at my side. He didn't hesitate. His ears shot forward, tail stiff, nose in the air. We circled the back, then the side of the house. Nothing. No one.

I told myself, again, it was probably just a cat. I didn't want my daughter terrified before school. But the look on her face told me she wasn't buying it. Later that day, when I came home from work, the street was in its usual calm. Two police cars were parked down by Colleen's house, An ambulance was in the driveway, lights flashing silently. Colleen was one of those sweet, gentle older ladies everyone loved. She baked cookies for the kids and always watered her plants in a big floppy hat.

She wasn't the type to have trouble with anyone. I walked over and found out the news. Someone had broken into her home while she was napping. She'd startled the intruder and he'd shoved her into the wall so hard she broke her hip. She'd lain there for hours. until her daughter came by and found her. The thought made my stomach twist. The police started questioning neighbors,

asking if anyone had seen or heard anything unusual lately. I told them about the footsteps on my roof and how Loki had reacted, twice. One officer jotted everything down and assured me they'd have patrol cars in the area for the next week. That night, I sat my kids down and explained they couldn't play outside alone for a while. They weren't happy about it,

but they could see the seriousness in my face. Two weeks later, the neighborhood was back to pretending things were fine. People get used to fear faster than you'd think. It was late, the kids were in bed, and I had one last load of laundry to do. I told myself I wasn't going to let paranoia stop me. I slid the door open, laundry basket in hand, and stepped out toward the garage. Halfway there, I heard it, a faint creek above me. I froze.

Another creak. Slowly, I tilted my head up. The sound was directly above me. My stomach dropped, and suddenly every instinct in me screamed that I wasn't alone. Loki appeared at my side out of nowhere, snarling so fiercely that spit flew from his mouth. His muscles were bunched ready to leap. I dropped the basket and bolted for the door. I yelled for Loki, who dashed inside just as I slammed it shut. I turned the lock, heart racing, and that's when I saw him. A shadowy figure dropped down from the roof into my backyard. He didn't run. He didn't even flinch.

He just stood there, staring at me. My oldest daughter ran into the room. I told her, get your phone, take your brother and sister into your room, lock the door, and call 911. Loki was going insane, barking, foaming, lunging at the glass. The man began walking toward me, slow and deliberate, like he had all the time in the world. He was wearing a hooded sweatshirt. In his hand, a crowbar. He stepped right up to the glass and glared at me, like I just personally wronged him.

His eyes were full of something I can only describe as hate. He jiggled the handle, locked. Then he started smashing the glass with the crowbar. The sound was deafening. My kids were screaming in the car. the other room. Loki was throwing himself against the door. The blows came harder and faster. And in that moment, I knew, this man wasn't here to steal. He was here to hurt us. I grabbed the machete, stepped forward and shouted, come on, you pisa. His eyes widened for just a second.

And then, salvation. A police officer jumped over my fence, weapon drawn, shouted at him to drop the crowbar. He didn't. The officer tased him, the man went down hard. Within seconds, he was cuffed. I ran to get my kids. They came out of the bedroom and clung to me, crying into my shirt. The man was taken away. He was charged and sent to prison. We were safe, for now. My kids still go to therapy. I'd do everything I can to help them cope. Loki's still with us, my furry hero, and we love him more than Never. People tell me I'm lucky. I agree. But I always add, that guy was even luckier, because if he'd gotten through that glass, he wouldn't have left my house alive. There's always a reason to be afraid. The end.