Solved Murders - True Crime Stories - Visions, Nightmares, and the Pale Thing Tales of Darkness That Feel Too Real PART3 #63

Episode Date: September 25, 2025

#horrorstories #reddithorrorstories #ScaryStories #creepypasta #horrortales #nightmareencounters #visionsofdarkness #paleentity #creepyvisions #darknightmares  "Visions, Nightmares, and the Pale Thing: Tales of Darkness That Feel Too Real – PART 3" delves deeper into chilling stories of haunting visions and night terrors. Survivors recount encounters with the mysterious pale entity whose presence blurs the line between sleep and wakefulness, leaving lasting fear and confusion. These true accounts reveal how darkness can invade the mind, making nightmares feel frighteningly real.  horrorstories, reddithorrorstories, scarystories, horrorstory, creepypasta, horrortales, nightmareencounters, paleentityencounters, supernaturalvisions, darknightmares, hauntingtales, eerieexperiences, terrifyingrealities, shadowyfigures, unsettlingdreams, paranormalfear, mysteriousentities, chillingaccounts, dreamhorrors, darknesswithin

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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. Don't let foot pain or discomfort hold you back.

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It didn't matter that the alarm hadn't been tripped, or that the doors and windows were all locked. Deep down, he knew something had been there. Maybe it still was. It wasn't a normal noise he'd heard. that night. Not a thud or a creek. It was slithering. That's the only way he could describe it, like a massive snake dragging its belly across the hardwood floors. It slithered through the house as if it belonged there. As if it lived there. Every time James thought back to it, his imagination ran wild, twisted forms, pale limbs, something monstrous with claws or worse.

Whenever he worked up the courage to investigate, he found nothing. No sign of anyone, no broken locks, no open windows. And yet, just as he'd turn to walk away, he'd catch a glimpse, something just at the edge of his vision. A pale foot. A warped shadow. Something not right. But the moment he looked directly at it, it was gone. Vanished. He barely slept anymore.

When he did, it wasn't restful, his dreams were haunted, strange, disturbing. And then he realized, he hadn't left the house in weeks. Not really. Just to the bank and grocery store. The rest of his time was spent pacing inside that place. A prisoner in his own home. Even Daniel, who hadn't said a word since the break-in, seemed to be watching him. Waiting.

The silence was eating at James. He hadn't had a proper conversation in ages. Desperate, he called his mom. The connection was terrible. Her voice sounded like it was barely there, like it was being drowned out by static or dragged down a long tunnel. I guess I'm okay, Mom, he said, wiping sweat from his hands. He listened for Daniel in the next room.

He heard him playing. That was a relief. We had a break in. It shook me up. Oh, how awful. his mom replied. Did they take anything? No. They just ran off. But something about it felt off. I haven't felt right since. Are you still at the hospital? She asked. No, Mom, I left last year. Remember, oh, well, have you been seeing anyone? That woman who played piano, she seemed nice.

James clenched his jaw. She always brought that up. Like he had time. He had time. He had time to date. Like being a single dad was easy. But something else caught his attention. Ma, he said slowly. Is there someone else on the line? I don't think so. He was sure he heard it, a quiet gasp. Like someone trying to hold their breath. Failing. Something cold slid down his spine. You're sure, Ma. Nobody's listening from another phone. There's no other phone, dear. on my cell. That's why the service is so bad. Then what was that sound? He hung up, ran to the hallway. The house phone was still on the hook, untouched. Heart pounding, he bolted into the garage. The spare phone was sitting on the workbench, right where it should be. No one was there. But, could someone

have been? Could they still be? That night, James ripped out every phone extension in the house. and patched the holes with rubber cement. Daniel watched silently, his eyes full of questions, but James didn't offer any answers. Then came the exams. James started giving Daniel a weekly physical checkup. His CNA training was rusty, sure, but it made him feel like he was doing something. Even if it was pointless. He knew how ridiculous it was. If there was something physically wrong with Daniel, he wouldn't be able to find it with basic vitals. But still, it helped him feel a bit more in control. One morning, he placed the cold diaphragm of the stethoscope against Daniel's chest. No heartbeat. He frowned. Moved it. Tried again. Nothing. He placed

it against his own chest. Boom, boom. Steady as ever. Back to Daniel. Silence. A wave of nausea hit him. The image of the tin man from the Wizard of Oz floated into his head, an empty chest, hollow like a drum. He yanked the stethoscope off and looked Daniel in the eyes. Daniel just smiled. A small, shy smile that nearly broke James apart.

He scooped him up into a hug, squeezing him tightly. Daniel hugged back. The stethoscope was broken. That's what James told himself. He tossed it in the trash. But things got worse. The dread didn't just come at night anymore. It was everywhere.

Every corner of the house felt wrong. Too big. Too quiet. Too dark. Too many places for something else to be hiding. Rooms he wasn't in. Closets he hadn't opened. Spaces between the walls.

He imagined creatures creeping through the vents, slipping under the floorboards. Every time he turned on a light or opened the door, he wondered if he was interrupting something. If something had just vanished to avoid being seen. When he walked up the stairs, he imagined something crouched beneath them. When he walked down the hallway, he pictured a thing crawling behind the drywall. He never sat in the same chair for too long. He could almost feel its breath on his neck. And yet, every time he turned to look, there was nothing.

Which only made it worse. Because if it wasn't there, then it had moved again. Silently. Swiftly. Wherever he wasn't looking, that's where it was. He knew he was losing it. Absolutely spiraling. But the one thing that kept him grounded was Daniel.

The boy never seemed afraid, never startled. He didn't speak, but he smiled, hugged, gave his father little glimmers of comfort in a world quickly unraveling. Sometimes, after Daniel left the room, James would cry. One night, just after two in the morning, James decided he was done being hunted. If the thing had started creeping around in the daytime, then he'd face it in its element. The night wasn't any worse than day now, they both carried the same weight. So he walked the house barefoot, lights off, creeping slowly. He checked the guest rooms. The closets. The bathrooms. Listened for the faintest noise. If it was in there, it was careful. But not perfect. Sometimes it slipped. Sometimes he heard its oddly shaped limbs

scraping or bumping into things. He had a theory, it was nesting. There was one room that always felt wrong. The spare room, too small to be a bedroom, too big to ignore. It had no paint, no carpet, no purpose. Just a hollow, cold space that felt more like a tomb than a room. He rarely entered it. It gave him the creeps. But that night, he opened the door. Nothing. Of course. But that didn't mean it wasn't there. He stepped inside. The floor creaked beneath his weight. He checked the corners, practically pressing his face to the baseboards. Then the light bulb flickered. He froze. Oh God. It's on the ceiling. That's how it moves, he thought. It climbs. It sticks to walls. It hides right above me. Every time

I think I've cornered it, it's just scuttled up the wall and clung to the ceiling, waiting. He imagined it now, hanging upside down like a bat. Or worse, like a spider, its pale face just inches from the back of his head. He didn't want to turn around. But he had to. The door was behind him. It could be between him and the only way out. His breath caught in his throat. Slowly, he turned. To be continued. Thank you.