Solved Murders - True Crime Stories - Visions, Nightmares, and the Pale Thing Tales of Darkness That Feel Too Real PART2 #62

Episode Date: September 25, 2025

#horrorstories #reddithorrorstories #ScaryStories #creepypasta #horrortales #nightmaretales #visionsofdarkness #paleentity #supernaturalfear #darkencounters  "Visions, Nightmares, and the Pale Thing: Tales of Darkness That Feel Too Real – PART 2" continues this unsettling series with more firsthand accounts of terrifying visions and night terrors. Witnesses describe encounters with a pale, shadowy figure that haunts their dreams and waking moments alike. These true stories blur the boundaries between reality and nightmare, exploring the deep fears that persist long after the darkness fades.  horrorstories, reddithorrorstories, scarystories, horrorstory, creepypasta, horrortales, nightmareencounters, supernaturalvisions, paleentityencounters, darknightmares, hauntingtales, eerievisions, terrifyingrealities, paranormalfear, shadowyfigures, unsettlingdreams, realnightterrors, mysteriousentities, chillingaccounts, darknesswithin

My story didn't end at the train, in fact, that's where things started getting even weirder. So there we were, somewhere deep inside the school. Sam and Simon were still beside me, but a bunch of other people I didn't recognize had also joined our circle. The wind held faintly outside, just enough to keep you uneasy. I glanced up at this digital clock on the wall. 3 a.m. I swear, something about that number just sent a chill down my spine. That gut feeling you get right before something awful goes down.

That was me. I looked to my left and spotted a kid, probably no older than 12, completely out of place. The rest of us were in our school uniforms, polos and khakis, but this kid? Jeans and a black leather jacket, like he'd just stepped out of a 90s action flick. He was whispering to someone on his left, though I couldn't see who. Whatever was being said had him breaking down fast. He started off just looking upset, but that quickly escalated to tears, then full-blown maniacal laughter. Like, cartoon villain level crazy.

Out of nowhere, the school's intercom crackled to life. Bear witness, children. His mind is breaking. He will have to return. The rest of you must continue this journey. In the corner stood a man I hadn't know. before, maybe the boy's father. He looked furious, arms crossed, head bowed. The boy laughed harder, collapsing off his chair and pointing at the man like it was the funniest thing he'd

ever seen. The voice boomed again, you must not blame him. He is simply not designed for this place. Just then, the double doors burst open. Two guys in black jumpsuits entered, faces covered by porcelain masks locked in an expression of surprise. Super creepy. They started handing out more masks to the other students. Everyone took one, except me. Even Sam and Simon didn't hesitate. They slipped theirs on and immediately started speaking in some weird, garbled language I couldn't

understand. Meanwhile, Leather Jacket Kid was still rolling around on the floor, laughing like a lunatic. After about 30 seconds of this insanity, the angry man came storming back through the doors. And then, everyone, every single person, stopped talking and slowly turned to face him in perfect unison. Total silence. The man went straight for the boy on the ground and just lost it. He was screaming, shouting, face beat red, veins bulging.

Nobody moved. Nobody flinched. They just stared, dead silent, threw the holes in their masks. Then, the man pulled out a gun. Bang. Bang. Bang. He fired wildly into the room, bullets flying past heads and embedding in walls.

Still, nobody took off their masks. Nobody screamed or moved from their seats. They just cried out in these haunting, distorted sobs. That was my breaking point. I bolted. I shoved through the double doors and tore down the hallway, my footsteps echoing like thunder. Behind me, the intercom voice chanted. Yes.

Very good. Cleanse the filth. Cleanse the filth. Cleanse the, I ran until the gunshots faded into nothing. I didn't think about Simon. I didn't think about Sam. I just ran. Eventually, I ended up outside the source.

school across the street from a train station. But this wasn't normal. A tornado, a massive, spiraling monster, was zigzagging straight toward the station. The voice echoed one last time, better hurry and run along. When I entered the train station, it was completely transformed. Not a single bench or schedule board in sight. It looked like a supermarket. Isles of shelf stretched out, and at the end of each aisle was a train-cold. car, just waiting. I sprinted down a random aisle and leapt into the first car I saw. Inside, sitting calmly in a school uniform, was my buddy Robert. Robert. Where's this train going? I shouted. He turned, slow and eerie, and stared out the window. Nowhere. I followed his gaze.

The tornado was now bearing down on us, filling the sky with its monstrous fury. The train began to shake, then rise, lifted off the ground like a toy. The wind screamed in my ears as we were hurled into the sky. I remember seeing the ground disappear beneath us. Then I woke up. I was literally falling out of my bed, drenched in cold sweat. That morning, when sunlight finally poured through the blinds, I texted Robert, asked if he wanted to hang out. He said, sure, told me to meet him at the soccer field near school. When we met up, I spilled the entire dream, every bizarre detail. Whoa, that sounds like some fever dream, he said. Hey, look, who's that over there? We turned to see Sam on the far side of the field, kicking a soccer ball with Simon. Right then, we heard it,

the unmistakable scream of the town's tornado sirens. And it didn't stop there. The weirdness only deep You know that quote. Those who dream by day are cognizant of many things that escape those who dream only at night. Edgar Allan Poe said that. I didn't get it before. I think I do now. Because what happened next is the kind of thing that changes you. It began with a simple phrase.

Something James said to his son Daniel before bed, go to bed and wait for the Sandman. It felt off. Like, as the words left his mouth, even James was surprised he'd said them. But it worked. Daniel snuggled under the covers, content. James went to bed too. Next morning, while James was scrambling eggs, Daniel sat at the table, feet swinging. What does the sandman look like?

James paused. It's just an expression. Doesn't mean anything. But what does it mean? It's just something people say, he mumbled, ruffling Daniel's hair and placing a plate of eggs in front of him. He figured that would be the end of it. But that night, James saw the sandman himself. He peeked into Daniel's room, just a normal dad check. But this night was not normal. There, sitting on the edge of the bed, was a pale, naked man. Rocking back and forth. James froze. At first, his brain, didn't register the danger. Routine. He walked in, ready to yell. But then the figure turned its head. It wasn't a man. It was something else entirely. Pale, slithery, warped. Its joints bent wrong, like a puppet designed by a madman. It moved like a glitch in reality, jerky, unnatural.

James pissed himself. The thing stared right at him, then turned to Daniel, still sleeping just a foot away. That snapped James out of it. He ran, scooped Daniel up, and bolted down the hallway. He looked back. The thing hadn't followed. Instead, it crawled, stop-motion style, to the window, and leapt out. Just the curtain swaying in its wake. James couldn't explain it to the cops. He said it was a break-in. What else could he say? A skinless marionette with reverse joints visited my son. The cops didn't find anything. No sign of forced entry.

Daniel's version of events didn't help either. He described a regular burglar. A man in a mask. James questioned himself. Had it been a mask? A costume? Could explain the look, but not the movement. In the end, he echoed Daniel's version.

A burglar. Nothing more. They stayed at a motel a few nights. When they returned, James had bars installed on Daniel's window. It felt wrong, but necessary. First night back, James couldn't sleep. Daniel, though, slept like a rock. James kept hearing creaks, shadows shifting.

Even if it was just imagination, he couldn't stop picturing it. The pale skin. That twisted face. He couldn't stop wondering, why us? Why are home? Two weeks later, Daniel stopped speaking. At first, James thought it was just a quiet phase. Kids do that.

But it dragged on. Doctor visits brought no answers. No trauma. No physical issues. Maybe psychological. They couldn't have. afford a psychologist. Hell, they could barely afford groceries. Daniel started writing yes or no answers to questions. Nothing else. No explanations. When asked if something scared him,

he just stared, amused, almost mischievous. James missed his son's voice so much it physically hurt. But Daniel wouldn't speak again. Not until he was ready. And James knew in his gut. The thing, whatever it was, wasn't done. To be continued.