Solved Murders - True Crime Stories - White Vans and Cold Shivers Terrifying True Encounters That Still Haunt Survivors PART1 #39

Episode Date: September 22, 2025

#horrorstories #reddithorrorstories #ScaryStories #creepypasta #horrortales  #truehorror #strangerdanger #creepyencounters #vanstories #unexplained  In this chilling first part, survivors recount terrifying encounters involving mysterious white vans and unexplainable cold shivers that linger long after the events. These true stories dive into the unnerving moments when strangers appear unexpectedly, leaving lasting fear and unanswered questions. Brace yourself for eerie accounts that still haunt those who lived through them.  horrorstories, reddithorrorstories, scarystories, horrorstory, creepypasta, horrortales,  truehorror, strangerdanger, creepyencounters, vanstories, unexplained, paranormal, terror, fear, suspense, nightmare, urbanlegend, scaryexperience, mysterious, chilling, survival

My name's Sophia, and the story I'm about to share takes me all the way back to 2015. I was just 13 at the time, a curious mix of too old to be totally naive and too young to fully grasp the dangers in the world. We were living in Italy then, tucked deep in a quiet, forest surrounded part of the country. It was me, my dad, my brother, and my sister. My mom. She had left us years earlier, mental illness just consumed her, and, and my mother. and she couldn't stay. In 2008, we had moved back into my dad's childhood home, a big, three-story house that looked like something out of a forgotten fairy tale. It stood tall,

hugged by the thick woods like a secret nobody talked about. We stayed up on the third floor. That December evening was cold and colorless. One of those moody Italian winter nights were the sky just sulks and gray. My sister and dad had gone away for a few days, and my brother decided to spend the night at a friend's house in the next town over. That left me alone, or so I thought. My aunt Rosa picked me up from school. We ate dinner, washed dishes together, and went on one of our usual evening walks. Despite the cold, there was something magical about strolling through the leafless wilderness, the bare trees whispering in the breeze. You don't get that kind of vibe in the States. She left around 3 p.m., promising to check in on me in the morning.

With the sun dipping low and no one else around, the big house grew awfully quiet. I wasn't scared, just a little spooked, maybe. I curled up on the couch, flicked on the TV, and let the soft glow low me into sleep. Then I heard it. A sound. Something mechanical. Not loud, but not right. It was like a drill.

A weird buzzing, scraping sound. I sat up, instant. wide awake, and padded over to my dad's room to check the window. That's when I saw them, two men dressed in black, down below on the second floor. One of them was using a drill to work on the bars of the window. For a second, I actually wondered if they were workers. Thirteen-year-old me was slow to put it together. But they weren't wearing uniforms, and my dad hadn't said anything about repairs. That's when panic hit. I ran to my room to grab my old phone, the kind of brick you couldn't even call a calculator. I tried to call my aunt. She picked up, but all I heard was

static, maybe my panicked breathing, or maybe just the bad signal. Either way, I couldn't hear her, and I didn't even know if she could hear me. I felt like my lungs were collapsing from the fear. I wanted to bolt. My instinct said, run into the woods. But then my brain kicked in. What if they didn't know I was there? What if I made noise and they noticed me trying to escape? What if they caught me? Or worse? So I hid. I stuffed my bag quickly, threw on a jacket, but instead of making a break for it, I slid into the bathroom, locked the door, and crouched beside the tub. Downstairs, I could hear them. Breaking Glass Smashing things

Footsteps The kind of chaos you see in crime movies Only this wasn't a movie Then I heard a car pull up Someone shouted my name Then just outside the bathroom door One of the men snarled S-H asterisk T someone's here

Let's go They ran It was my uncle He busted through the door Calling for me I flew out of the bathroom and into his arms, shaking. Turns out, even though I couldn't hear her, my aunt had heard everything over the phone. Every crash, every panicked breath.

She called my uncle, and they flew over. When the cops arrived, they confirmed it wasn't just a break-in. These guys were pros. They'd hit another house nearby a few days later and were finally caught, five of them, armed to the teeth. That night changed me. I mean, I'm in Australia now, and I've trained in self-defense and awareness, but that moment, 13, alone, hiding from real monsters. It left a scar. A lesson. Fast forward to the fall of 2017. Another story. Different girl. My name's Nadia. I was 27, living with my two best friends, Nicole and Christina, in Drexel Hill, Pennsylvania. We were tight like sisters,

and we even shared a car, a slightly beat-up 2009 Lexus. One day, we decided on a spontaneous road trip to Butler, Pennsylvania. Just for the heck of it. Nothing serious, just three girls, music blasting, windows down, autumn wind whipping our hair like we were in a shampoo commercial. The ride was beautiful. Golden leaves, crisp air, little roadside stops to take selfies and pretend we were influencers. But our fun came screeching to a halt when the gas light came on. So we pulled into the only gas station for miles. It looked like it hadn't seen a customer since 1999.

Dingy, flickering sign. Deserted. Creepy as hell. Christina, of course, had to pee. This place looks like a horror movie, I'm sorry. said. It's an emergency. Chill, I'll be quick, she replied. Yeah, well don't get kidnapped while scrolling through TikTok.

She laughed and disappeared into the store. Right as she did, a beat-up white van rolled in. Tinted windows. Creepy slow stop. The moment I saw it, my gut screamed, nope. The driver, some guy in a flannel jacket and boots that looked like they'd walk through nightmares, got out and followed her inside. I grabbed my pocket knife. Yeah, I carried one. Don't judge me. As soon as I walked into the store, I heard screaming. Christina's screaming.

That man had her by the arm and was dragging her toward a back door like some low-budget abduction movie. I didn't even think, I ran and stabbed him. Right in the back. He howled. dropped her. Staggered. We didn't wait around. I yanked Christina's hand, and we ran. He tried to chase us, pulling the knife out like some deranged villain, but we got to the car first. I floored it. That van tried to follow us, but the Lexus, God bless that gas-guzzling V8, left it in the dust. We went straight to the cops, filed a report, told them everything. But you know how it goes, no cameras, no witnesses, and who knows if that place even had a working phone line. Still, we were lucky.

Terrified, shaken, but lucky. Then there's my third story, different city, different girl. I was only ten, growing up in a Phoenix suburb. We lived in the third house off the main road, a modest home with a porch, a bike rack, and a basketball hoop. It was around 4 p.m., and I decided to go to the park alone. Our neighborhood was still being built, so it wasn't unusual to go a few blocks without seeing anyone. It was quiet. Maybe too quiet. At school, they used to show us those videos, Stranger Danger, suspicious vans, all that. So when I saw a white van cruising slowly down the road, I froze for a second.

Then I brushed it off. Probably a construction guy. I hopped on my bike and took the back route to the park, avoiding the main road like I always did. Parker, a kid I sometimes played with, was there in the field. We kicked around a ball, made jokes, and time slipped by. Then I remembered my prized possession, a metal Spider-Man water bottle I'd left behind. I turned back to get it, 30 seconds, tops. When I got back to the park, Parker was gone.

And that white van parked right at the edge of the playground. To be continued.