Solved Murders - True Crime Stories - Trapped in Faith and Fear A Woman’s Harrowing Journey from Abuse to Liberation PART5 #49

Episode Date: October 4, 2025

#horrorstories #reddithorrorstories #ScaryStories #creepypasta #horrortales #harrowingjourney #faithandfear #abuseandhealing #survivorstories #truestories  Part 5 concludes the woman’s intense journey from abuse to liberation. It highlights the emotional victories, ongoing healing, and the courage required to break free from fear and oppressive circumstances. These true experiences serve as a powerful testament to resilience, empowerment, and the transformative strength of surviving trauma.  horrorstories, reddithorrorstories, scarystories, horrorstory, creepypasta, horrortales, harrowingjourney, faithandfear, abuseandhealing, survivorsjourney, empowermentstories, psychologicaltrauma, emotionalhealing, overcomingfear, darkrealities, realhorrorstories, spinechilling, resiliencejourney, strengthandcourage, personalhorrorstories

There's so much rugby on Sports Extra from Sky. They've asked me to read the whole lad at the same speed I usually use for the legal bit at the end. Here goes. This winter Sports Extra is jam-packed with rugby. For the first time we've got every Champions Cup match exclusively live, plus action from the URC, the Challenge Cup, and much more. Thus the URC and all the best European rugby all in the same place.

Get more exclusively live tournaments than ever before on Sports Extra. Jampack with rugby. Phew, that is a lot of rugby. Get Sports Extra on Sky for 15 euro a month for 12 months. Search Sports Extra. New Sports Extra customers only. Standard Pressing applies after 12 months for the terms apply. The latter explanation, however, didn't help me shake that creeping sense of dread that had been gnawing at the back of my mind.

It clung to me like damp clothes in cold weather, and no matter how I tried to distract myself, it stayed there, persistent, whispering in the background of my thoughts. By the time the evening settled in, that unease had grown roots. I couldn't relax. I couldn't even enjoy the mindless comfort of TV static in the background. Something in the air felt, wrong. I didn't know it yet, but that night was about to become one of those moments that burn themselves into your memory like a brand, sharp, vivid, and impossible to forget. I woke up suddenly, eyes snapping open without any conscious decision. My gaze instinctively darted to the glowing red numbers on my alarm clock.

2.34 a.m. That detail alone was weird enough for me. I've always been a deep sleeper, the kind who could snooze through thunderstorms, barking dogs, or even a neighbor's obnoxious late-night vacuuming. I almost never wake up in the middle of the night, and certainly not at that hour. My mind was groggy but alert in a strange way, like it was telling me, hey, something's up. And then I heard it. At first, I thought I might have imagined it, a faint, irregular scratching sound.

It filled the otherwise heavy silence of my bedroom. I lay there frozen, ears straining, heart already starting to beat a little faster. Scritch. Scritch. Pause. Scritch-scritch. I tried to brush it off. Old buildings make noises.

Wood settles. Pipes grown. There's always some rational explanation if you're willing to accept it. But this wasn't random. it had a deliberate rhythm. And it wasn't stopping. If anything, the sound was getting louder and closer. My pulse spiked, a slow rise of adrenaline that made my chest feel tight. What the hell is making that noise? The pitch-black darkness of my room wasn't helping. Shadows seemed to be heavier than usual, clinging to every corner. Every instinct told me

don't move, but some stubborn part of me wanted to see. I slowly pushed myself up, muscles tense. My fingers found the lamp switch on the nightstand. I hesitated for a second, like flicking it on might reveal something I didn't actually want to see, and then clicked it. The bulb flared to life, casting its pale yellow glow around the room. That's when it happened. A crash, loud enough to feel in my bones, exploded in the air. It was a little. It was a little bit of the same. It was a little bit of the room. It was It was so sudden and sharp that I actually jumped off the bed, my feet hitting the cold floor with a thud. The anxiety I'd been trying to keep in check skyrocketed when I realized where the noise had come from.

The closet. I stood there, frozen for a second. My eyes locked on the closed door. My brain scrambled for a plan. What could I use as a weapon? My gaze landed on the lamp I just switched on. thinking too hard about it, I yanked the cord from the wall and gripped it by the bass. Not exactly a baseball bat, but better than nothing. One careful step at a time, I approached the closet door.

Every sound felt amplified, the creak of the floor under my weight, the rustle of my own breathing, the faint hum of the lamps unplugged cord dragging against the carpet. I reached out and wrapped my free hand around the doorknob. Slowly, I pulled it open. Darkness. A heavy, suffocating darkness that seemed to swallow the faint light from the room. With my free hand, I groped for the pull string to the closet's light. My fingers finally found it and gave a tug. Click. Light flooded in, and I wished to God it hadn't.

I dropped the lamp instantly. It hit the floor and shattered, sending shards across the carpet. Standing there, in my closet, was the doll. Not the harmless little thing I'd seen before, this time, it was life-sized. Its painted red smile stretched across its face in a grotesque curve. Beattie, lifeless eyes locked onto mine. My gaze dropped to its stomach. A silver pin gleamed in the closet light.

And behind the doll. My mind almost couldn't process it, a rough, crude tunnel board straight through the wall. It connected my closet to what had to be the apartment. next door. Before I could move, the doll stepped forward. Its wooden hand stretched out toward me. That fixed, crimson grin seemed to widen. I backed up, one step, then another. My knees hit the edge of the bed, and I toppled backward. The doll kept coming. And then, a hand clamped down on my shoulder. I twisted, heart exploding in my chest, and found myself face to face with Timmy's. She was crouched beside my bed, her eyes glinting unnaturally.

Now you see what he's done, she whispered, her tone eerily calm. No matter. He's smiling now. He's smiling, my eyes flew open. The alarm clock was blaring. For a few disoriented seconds, I couldn't tell if I was still in the dream. My skin was cold and damp with sweat, my breathing ragged. It was just a dream, I told myself.

over and over. But I knew better. There was something too vivid, too visceral about the whole thing. And there was one fact I couldn't talk myself out of, the fresh cut on my foot from stepping on the broken lamp. That morning, I headed to the hospital. My shift. My regular life. Or at least, that's what I told myself. When I saw my schedule, my stomach dropped. I'd be seeing Timmy's again that. I'd be seeing Timmy's again that. morning. The excitement I'd felt during previous visits was gone, replaced by a nausea that curled in my gut. Still, I forced myself to her room. She greeted me with a smile even brighter than usual. Her lips stretched wide, her eyes locked on mine like she was looking straight through me. How did you sleep last night, chow? She asked, ending the question with a wink.

Something in me snapped. I didn't respond. I just turned to you. and walked, no, ran, out of the room. You'll see, you'll see, her voice echoed down the hallway, that sing-song tone making my skin crawl. I didn't stop until I was in my car. My hands shook as I started the engine. I called the hospital, told them I was violently ill, and hung up before they could ask questions. I just sat there for a while, my mind a mess of fear and disbelief. But the more I thought about it, the clearer it became, I needed answers. I had memorized Timmy's address from her file. I was going to confront her neighbor. I pulled up outside the grimy brick building where Timmy's neighbor lived. The kind of place that looked like it hadn't seen a

decent paint job in decades, windows grimy with dust and smudges. I wasn't sure what I expected, but this wasn't it? The whole neighborhood gave off a vibe, like it was holding its breath and waiting for something to happen. I pressed the buzzer for the superintendent. After a long pause, a gruff voice answered. What do you want? I swallowed the lump in my throat and tried to sound professional. Hi, I'm one of the psychiatrists assigned to Timmy's. I have some questions about her dispute with her neighbor. The door buzzed open, and I walked into a dim hallway smelling faintly of stale cigarette smoke and damp concrete. Moments later, I was face-to-face with the super, a man who looked like he'd been carved from a block of sour granite.

Late 50s, tired eyes, mouth set in a permanent scowl. Why do you want to know, he grunted. I just need a moment, I said, trying to keep my voice steady. It's about the conflict Timmy's had with her neighbor, Mr. Cadwell. His face twisted with something between disdain and bitterness. That crazy voodoo shit? They locked her up, didn't they? Not my problem anymore, I frowned.

Do you know what happened between them? He scoffed. What do you want me to say? The dude's an insufferable prick, sure, but that ain't a crime. Something about the way he said it made me wary, but I pressed on. Was there a reason for their dispute? He leaned in, eyes narrowing. The guy wants to expand his apartment, take over hers too.

She wouldn't have it. board's probably gonna approve it now that she's gone, I blinked. You're telling me that's what they were fighting about. Real estate, he shrugged. Yup. She wouldn't sell, wouldn't leave. Made a hell of a fuss, I swallowed hard. Did you ever tell the police about this?

About the harassment, no one asked me, he said sharply. And frankly, that voodoo crap she was into? Crazy. That's where she belongs, locked up with the rest of the nuts. The way he dismissed her like that sent a chill down my spine. In our sessions, Timmy's talked about tunnels, that her neighbor was literally digging into her apartment through the walls. At the time, I'd chalked it up to psychosis. But now, hearing this, I wondered if there might be some truth to it. Did she ever mention tunnels to you? I asked cautiously. He shook his head. Nope. Not once. But I couldn't stand her, all that voodoo nonsense and those creepy-ass dolls. I pressed further, heart-pounding. You think it's worth investigating? What if the neighbor really did harass her? The superintendent's face darkened. Not my problem. With that, he slammed his door in my face. I stood there, stunned. The answers I'd hoped for weren't coming.

But I wasn't ready to give up. I pulled out my phone and checked the address I'd memorized. I needed to see Cadwell's apartment for myself. The staircase smelled of mildew and garbage. Each step creaked underfoot as I climbed, the dim light flickering overhead. When I reached Cadwell's door, I hesitated. My heart was racing, adrenaline making my hands clammy. I knocked.

No answer. I pressed my ear against the door, but all I heard was silence. I rattled the handle, expecting it to be locked, but surprisingly, it turned. The door creaked open. Inside was a dump. Empty pizza boxes and crumpled soda cans littered the entryway. The air was thick with the stench of rot and neglect. My stomach churned. I could barely breathe.

The living room was no better, piles of dirty dish. sat on a coffee table, stained and crusted. I gagged. I moved cautiously toward the kitchen, the smell growing worse by the second. It was unmistakable, something dead, rotting in the darkness. I forced myself forward, muscles tensed. At the back of the apartment was a closed door. I figured it had to be the wall shared with Timmy's unit. I knocked lightly. Nothing. summoning every ounce of courage, I twisted the knob. The door swung open to reveal a room thick with an unbearable stench. My stomach flipped. I gagged, covering my mouth with my shirt. But I was too close now. I stepped inside. Against the far wall was a dresser, oddly angled at 45

degrees. The floor around it was stained and grimy. My breath caught when I noticed a dark hole, roughly the size of a shoebox, bored into the wall behind the dresser. My phone's flashlight beam penetrated the darkness of the tunnel. I wanted to turn away, to leave this nightmare behind, but curiosity had me frozen. I peered inside. What I saw next is burned into my brain. Sitting in the tiny hollow, staring at me with dead, glassy eyes, was Cadwell. His face was twisted in a grotesque grimace. His stomach was ripped open, a jagged knife plunged deep into his gut. His intestines spilled out, clutched tightly in his hands. They were pulled up over his lips, stretched wide into a sickening imitation of a smile, a red, beaming smile. The horror

was almost unbearable. And then I remembered the doll. There's always a reason to be afraid. The end.