Horror Stories - 4 Disturbing Road Trip Horror Stories | Creepy True Tales

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Starting point is 00:00:56 Please gamble responsibly. Monopoly is a trademark of Hasbro. Hasbro is not a sponsor of this promotion. Hello everyone and welcome back to horror stories. I know many of you use these episodes to fall asleep so before you drift off, I'd love it if you could leave a comment letting me know where you're listening from around the world. Also, don't forget to like and subscribe if you're enjoying the episodes. Story 1

Starting point is 00:01:27 I graduated from college in May 2022, and like many people my age, with no responsibilities yet and too much caffeine in my veins, I decided that a solo road trip would be a good idea. One last taste of freedom before the reality of full-time work settled into my life. I planned the route from Portland to Yellowstone, cutting through northern Idaho, because why not? There were tourists, plenty of nature, and honestly I've always been drawn to the idea of going a little off the beaten path. That night I found myself somewhere between Cordellin and Wallace, long dark stretches of two-lane highway, almost no transit. traffic, just my Honda Civic humming steadily, an old playlist on shuffle, and an open bag of sunflower seeds keeping me awake. I kept the windows cracked just enough for the cool night air

Starting point is 00:02:18 to flow in, and everything felt suspended in that unsettling, calm, lonely highways have after midnight. I hadn't planned on stopping, but the gas light blinked on. I passed one closed station, then another that gave me a bad vibe. Finally, a little before midnight, I saw a glowing sign in the distance. It said pro stop in flickering red letters. The parking lot was cracked and empty. Everything had that wooden panel, dust-blind, faded color vibe nobody uses anymore. It felt like a time capsule from the late 80s. But the lights were on, and that was enough. I figured it would be a quick stop, fill the tank, grab a snack, keep moving. Inside it was eerily silent. No music, not even a radio behind the counter,

Starting point is 00:03:05 just the annoying buzz of a light bulb above the register. The place smelled of stale coffee and oil with that musty scent of somewhere abandoned in time. Shelves held dusty snacks and a half-lit fridge displayed a few sad sodas. Ceiling panels were stained and the linoleum floor worn thin. The man behind the counter looked about 60. Thin pale gray hair slicked back, a frayed red cap with a petro stop logo.

Starting point is 00:03:33 He didn't say a word when I walked in. Just watched me. Not rude exactly, but far too closely. Like he was studying me in slow motion. Hey, I said. Do the pumps outside still work? He nodded slowly, then asked. Headed somewhere?

Starting point is 00:03:51 Yeah, just passing through, going east. He blinked slowly, then said. Traveling alone? That was the moment I felt it. That strange shift when casual small talk turns into something else, like the mask slipping just a little. Yeah, just me, I answered, trying to sound relaxed. He gave me a strange smile.

Starting point is 00:04:13 The world's a big place to be out there alone. I laughed awkwardly. That's kind of the point. He nodded again, leaning on the counter. Do you call your parents often? Let them know where you are. That one hit harder. I tried to deflect.

Starting point is 00:04:30 Yeah, I usually stay in touch. Good, he said. It's always important someone knows where you are, just in case. I didn't respond. Just forced a tight smile and turned toward the door. Thanks, I'll go fill up. You should check your tires, he called as I pushed the door. The road gets rough ahead. I nodded with no intention of doing so. I just wanted gas and distance. But when I went back to my car, he followed me outside. Want me to take a quick look? I used to be a mechanic. I shook my head. I'm fine, thanks. Still, he lingered, watching as I slid my card and started pumping gas. Your car looks well kept. Organ plates? Yeah, just moved from there.

Starting point is 00:05:19 He nodded, still not stepping away. You staying nearby tonight? There's a motel up the road. Haven't booked anything yet, I said. Another long smile. Smart. You should. You should I didn't sleep in your car. People disappear like that. I didn't reply. Just finished fueling, muttered a quick, thanks, and got in. He stood there, frozen by the pumps, staring at me as I pulled away. In the rear view mirror, his silhouette stayed still until it vanished in the distance. Ten minutes later, I pulled into a small roadside motel, the kind with a bell in the front desk and an ice machine older than you are. I didn't care. I was tired, roused. battled, and all I wanted was a locked door. The clerk barely looked up, took my cash,

Starting point is 00:06:09 and handed me a key with a huge plastic tag that read Room 6. The parking lot was empty, like I was the only guest, which was both comforting and unsettling. I parked, went in, locked the door, and double-checked the window. That's when I remembered the dash cam I kept running, mostly for insurance. It had recorded everything from the road, including the gas stop. I rewound it, And there he was, following me to the car standing next to it. And about ten seconds before I pulled away, he turned toward the side of the building fiddling with something. I told myself it was odd, but not necessarily dangerous. Maybe he was just lonely, maybe just strange.

Starting point is 00:06:51 I tried to sleep. Somewhere after 2 a.m., I woke to the sound of the doorknob turning. Not loud, not rattling. Just slow, soft, like someone gently tested. it, as if checking whether I'd forgotten to lock up. I sat upright frozen, not making a sound until it stopped. I waited five minutes before creeping to the window and peeking through the curtain. Nothing. But then my heart skipped. I remembered the dash cam. I'd left it plugged into a portable charger in the car. I went to the other window, the one facing the lot, and used my phone's zoom.

Starting point is 00:07:30 The little red light was still blinking. The next morning, morning I checked the footage. Around 2.14 a.m., the camera caught movement by the driver's side. A figure. The gas station attendant. Same cap. Same odd smile. He lingered by the car for a few seconds, then walked out a frame toward the motel door. His reflection flickered across the hood. A minute later he came back, looked straight into the camera and walked away. I went outside. My tires were fine. Nothing cut. visible damage. But under the wiper blade I found a slip of paper, not really a note, just a single phrase written in square, careful handwriting. You're lucky your lights were on. That was it. I went back inside, called the police, and showed them the video. They drove to the gas station,

Starting point is 00:08:22 but it was locked, chained up, with no one inside. One officer mentioned the place had changed owners recently and kept irregular hours. No phone line, no proper record. The man didn't match any IDs in their system. It was like he'd slipped right through the cracks. I never finished the trip. The next day I drove home, eyes locked on the mirrors the whole way. And that slip of paper? I still keep it.

Starting point is 00:08:50 It's in my glove box, just in case I ever come across another pro stop, or that peculiar red cap. Story 2. I had just spent the last seven days at a spiritual retreat in Talos. One of those places where silence rains, no phones are allowed, designed to help you reconnect with yourself. You wake with the sun, drink ginger tea and write in your journal more than anyone could imagine. And honestly, it worked. I felt lighter. I hadn't felt that way in years. So when I packed my things, said goodbye to everyone and started the long drive back to Kansas,

Starting point is 00:09:30 my mind was at peace. Windows barely cracked, soft folk music playing. No rush. to get home, no stress. No deadlines, just miles of road and whatever wandered through my thoughts. It was barely 10 p.m. when I found myself on a long deserted stretch of road just outside Selena, one of those roads that feels forgotten by the rest of the world. Only darkness, wheat fields, and a two-lane highway cutting through it all. My high beams illuminated barely a kilometer of asphalt at a time. I wasn't tired, just in a sort of trance. reflecting on what I'd learned at the retreat, mindfulness, presence, stillness. That kind of state where suddenly everything seems to make sense.

Starting point is 00:10:16 Yeah, I was there, and then I saw her. Standing on the shoulder, a girl of about ten or eleven, long dark hair, a faded white dress, no jacket, no bag, no shoes, nothing around her, no car, no broken bicycle, no reason. Just her. lit by my headlights as if placed there on purpose. I instinctively slowed down, my brain struggling to process what the hell I was seeing. I thought maybe it was a trick of the light, maybe a scarecrow or some roadside memorial.

Starting point is 00:10:49 But the closer I got, the more I realized she was real, and she didn't move. I stopped about six meters in front of her, rolled down the passenger side window halfway, leaned over and shouted, Hi there, are you okay? Do you need help? Nothing. She didn't move or speak, just stared. Not exactly at me, but through me. With the engine running in my hand near my phone, I felt instinct gnawing at me, but I didn't want to just drive off. What if she was hurt, lost, or running from something? I tried again. Are your parents nearby? Did your car break down? Still no response. The silence grew heavier. Just as I lifted my hand to dial 911, I saw movement behind her in the cornfield. A man emerged from among the stalks, tall, thin, wearing something like overalls or maybe a work jacket.

Starting point is 00:11:46 Hard to make out in the dark. He held something in his hand. I couldn't tell exactly what. Long, maybe heavy. A wrench, a crowbar, some tool. He didn't speak, just stared. Then he took a small. Step forward.

Starting point is 00:12:03 I put the car in drive and sped off, gravel kicking up against the door. I didn't look back. Didn't want to know if he was following. Just drove. My breathing turned shallow. My whole body tense not sure whether to cry, scream, or both. I think I drove almost five kilometers before I remembered to breathe. I found a gas station at the next exit, pulled into the lot, and just sat there, hands shaking on the wheel.

Starting point is 00:12:31 The peace I'd carried before seemed like a distant memory. The spiritual stillness had been replaced by a very real terror. I called the police, told them exactly where I was and where I had seen the girl. They assured me someone would check it out. An officer called back about 40 minutes later. They hadn't found anything. No girl, no man. Nothing.

Starting point is 00:12:55 Not even footprints. Only the marks of my tires on the shoulder. He asked if I was sure it hadn't been a hallucination that maybe I'd dozed off or been too exhausted. It wasn't. I knew what I'd seen. As surely as I know my own name. I didn't tell him, but I couldn't stop thinking about the girl's expression. It wasn't just blank. It was empty. Like no one was inside. Like she wasn't even scared, just waiting. The officer thanked me for calling and hung up. That was it. I didn't sleep all night, kept the lights on in the motel room and the TV running, every car passing outside maybe jump.

Starting point is 00:13:37 I checked the door lock five times before taking off my shoes. The next morning I thought about turning back, helping in the search, but the officer had said no search was underway. No open case, no missing child report. To them nothing had happened. I went home, but I think about her often more than I should. How long had she been standing there? How many others had driven past without stopping?

Starting point is 00:14:03 And the man behind her, what was he doing in the field? What did he carry? Was he waiting for me? Or was I just the next one? Sometimes I wonder if I should have stopped. If it was a trap, if she was bait meant to disarm me, to make me vulnerable. Other times I wonder what would have happened if I'd gotten out of the car, or worse if I hadn't seen the man in.

Starting point is 00:14:27 until it was too late. You know what hits me hardest, that no one believes me, not my sister, not my coworkers. They just smile and nod. That look people give when they think you're exaggerating. I don't blame them. I probably wouldn't believe me either. But I know what I saw. And I know there's something out there on that road near Selena, something that leaves no footprints,

Starting point is 00:14:54 no evidence, something waiting in the dark with a girl who does. doesn't blink. I avoid that stretch of road like my life depends on it. And honestly, maybe it does. I take the long way now. Adds two hours to the drive, but I don't care, because what I saw that night wasn't just a girl in trouble. It was something entirely different. Story 3. I hadn't thought about that trip in months until last week when I saw a white van parked outside the cafe I was in. It had the same broken taillight. I didn't even finish my coffee. I just slipped out the back door.

Starting point is 00:15:36 Anyway, here's what happened. We were five days into a road trip across the southeast. Just four college guys trying to make the most of that strange little window between final exams and internships. Me, Rob Elijah, and Matt. The car was cramped. Our supplies had dwindled to gas station trail mix and warm Gatorade. The vibe was mostly chaotic.

Starting point is 00:15:58 bursts of deep conversation and off-key karaoke. The kind of trip where everything feels like a story you'll tell later, where you think you'll remember the color of the sky and the dumbest inside jokes. We'd even made a Discord server so our friends could follow along. Silly photos, voice notes, little updates about the road. It was public because, well, who would care? Most were people from our campus and a few strangers from road trip subredits we'd posted in. The server was called four idiots, one car.

Starting point is 00:16:30 That night we were leaving Savannah, heading west on backroads through Georgia. It was late, maybe around midnight, and we were aiming for a cheap motel outside Mon, Elijah, was half asleep in the back seat when he tried to send his location to his girlfriend. Half mumbling and fumbling with his phone, like an idiot, he posted our exact live location to the public chat instead of to her privately. We saw it pop up a few minutes later. live location shared.

Starting point is 00:16:59 Bro, seriously. In the public chat, Rob teased. Crap, sorry, Elijah muttered, sitting up and deleting it. He took it down quickly. We laughed and kept going. No big deal. About 40 minutes later, we stopped at a 24-hour gas station to use the bathroom and switch drivers. I remember the lights.

Starting point is 00:17:21 They had that flickering yellow glow that makes everything look like a scene from a horror movie. The lot was almost empty. That's when I got the first message. Nice hat, by the way. It came through Discord. No profile picture. The username was just numbers and a dash. I was wearing a stupid trucker cap we'd bought at a tourist shop in Charleston.

Starting point is 00:17:43 Only someone nearby could know that. I showed it to Rob. You think it's a joke? He asked with a nervous laugh. Maybe. Then the second message came. Hope you brought snacks. That's when it stopped being funny.

Starting point is 00:18:00 Elijah checked his phone. The location wasn't in the chat anymore. Whoever sent the messages had seen it before it was deleted. We all looked around the parking lot. There was a white van parked two spaces away, unmarked, engine running, lights off. We need to go now, Matt whispered. We didn't buy anything. Just jump back in the car and sped off.

Starting point is 00:18:23 I kept glancing at the rearview mirror. The van didn't follow. Not at first. To distract ourselves, we started talking. Bad idea. The tension started turning inward. Elijah stayed quiet. Matt snapped at him for the slip-up.

Starting point is 00:18:41 Rob tried to lighten the mood, but it didn't work. We were all feeling the cracks. An hour later, at a fast-food drive-thrued near Millageville, the van showed up again, parked across the street. We weren't totally sure at first, but when we left, it pulled out a minute after us. Same shape. Same broken taillight. That's when the panic really set in.

Starting point is 00:19:04 We killed the lights and took a random left turn onto a narrow, tree-lined road. Elijah shut off his phone's Bluetooth, GPS, everything. We all did. Paranoia had us thinking our phones were giving us away. I think I'm going to throw up, Matt muttered. The road twisted tighter and, and narrower. No lights, no houses, just dense trees and darkness. We drove in silence, straining to hear anything behind us. At one point Rob flipped on the high beams and we caught

Starting point is 00:19:35 deer eyes glinting in the trees. Everything felt like a nightmare you couldn't wake up from. We passed a rusted gate, a dry creek, what looked like a burned out barn. Everything around us seemed forgotten. At one point we thought we saw someone walking along the tree line, but when we turned around there was no one. Eventually we found a church parking lot dark and empty and cut the engine. We didn't speak. We just sat there barely breathing, windows cracked, ears straining. We waited. Ten minutes. Then twenty. Nothing. We started to believe we'd lost them. We kept our phones off a while longer, but curiosity eventually won. One by one we powered them back on. Weak signal, but it returned. Messages fluttered in from friends on the Discord, people asking what had happened

Starting point is 00:20:27 at the live stream. Then a final message came from the same anonymous user. You're no fun. That was it. No follow-up. No threats. Just that. We left the server immediately. Elijah deleted the app entirely. We found a motel about 20 kilometers away, paid in cash, left no digital trace, even parked the car out back. That night I kept waking up, couldn't relax. Any creaker engine outside had me sitting upright. I could have sworn I saw the same van the next morning parked outside a restaurant across the street, but maybe it was just a similar one. When I got home, I did a full digital detox, deleted everything, changed passwords, changed my number. I didn't talk about it for months. I stayed up nights wondering if they'd followed us the whole trip. If the van had always been there, blending in.

Starting point is 00:21:25 Now I catch myself scanning rooftops for cameras or checking mirrors for repeating cars. I don't post where I am anymore. I don't even use ride apps, and I don't let anyone tag me in photos without asking. Some nights I still think about that message, not the words, but the tone. Like we'd disappointed someone, like they'd been watching us for fun and we ruined the game. We never found out who it was. Maybe someone local who saw the post. Maybe someone who'd been watching long before we realized it. Story 4. I was driving back to university after spending the weekend with my parents. It was supposed to be a simple six-hour drive from their house just outside Des Moines to Springfield, Illinois, where I had an apartment near campus. I left later than plans. I left later than

Starting point is 00:22:17 planned around 9.30 p.m. because my mom had made dinner and then guilt trip me into staying for dessert. Before I left, my dad leaned through the window and half joking said, don't stop at any of those creepy rest areas. I laughed, assured him I'd be fine. I've thought about that moment more times than I can count. By the time I reached Peoria, I was nodding off. I thought about stopping to sleep for an hour or two before finishing the trip. The rest area I found was dimly lit. Only a couple of lights in a shelter with vending machines. There were two other cars parked apart, engines off. I parked near the building, locked the doors, and cracked the windows just a bit to let in some air. It was one of those early spring nights that still held winter's chill, and the silence felt unusually heavy.

Starting point is 00:23:07 I reclined the seat and pulled my hoodie over my face to block the light. My phone had 13% battery. I plugged it in and kept the screen off. Just before falling asleep, I remember glancing at the clock. 2.41 a.m. A tapping woke me, not loud or aggressive, just slow and unnerving. Tap, tap, tap on the driver's side window. I sat upright, the hoodie sliding to my lap. A man was standing there, tall, maybe in his early 40s, clean-shaven. He wore what looked like a Navy-style uniform jacket and black pants. Not exactly a police uniform, but close enough to make me hesitate. He tapped again in motion for me to roll the window down. In his other hand, he held a badge. Something felt off. I couldn't place it at first. Maybe it was the calm he carried, like he knew

Starting point is 00:24:00 I'd open the window. I leaned slightly forward. The badge hung upside down on a lanyard around his neck, and the shirt underneath had the word police scrawled unevenly, blurry like someone had drawn it with a marker. The badge didn't shine, it looked like plastic. He tapped again and said through the glass, Ma'am, you can't sleep here. This area isn't safe. I didn't move.

Starting point is 00:24:25 I smiled trying to stay calm. Are you okay? Want to step out so we can talk? Every instinct inside me screamed no. That smile didn't match the situation. That voice wasn't someone doing their job. It was someone trying to sound like they were. I shook my head and mouthed.

Starting point is 00:24:44 I'm fine. He straightened, looked around the parking lot, then leaned closer again. Look, I'm just trying to help. You're not in any trouble. My hand found the keys. I started the engine and turned on the lights. That changed everything. His smile vanished.

Starting point is 00:25:03 He stepped back. I put the car in reverse and left that. that lot so fast I nearly hit the curb. In the rear view, I still saw him standing there, watching. I drove for a long while without stopping, hands trembling on the wheel, mouth dry. I didn't even know exactly what I was running from, only that I needed distance. When I finally reached a 24-hour restaurant closer to Springfield, I parked in front, fully visible through the windows, and stayed inside until sunrise. I ordered a coffee I didn't drink and sat at a table by the window, trying to calm myself. At one point I thought I saw someone

Starting point is 00:25:41 walk past the window twice, but maybe it was just paranoia. I used the pay phone near the restrooms to call the local sheriff's office and explain what had happened. The officer on the line asked a few questions and then said, we didn't have anyone patrolling that rest area last night, and we don't wear uniforms like that. I gave the best description I could. He said they would send someone to check, but I never heard more. Maybe they found something, maybe not. I wasn't eager to find out. That same week, I started looking for self-defense classes. I turned off all location-sharing features. My roommate asked if anything happened on the drive back. I told her I ran into traffic. It was easier than explaining the fear that followed me home. And that fear didn't fade quickly.

Starting point is 00:26:29 I caught myself checking the locks three times. Any sudden noise made me just. jump. Even grocery shopping became stressful because the idea that someone could approach me again twisted my stomach. I couldn't shake the feeling that someone had chosen me as a target. It wasn't just a random stranger. It was someone who knew how to seem trustworthy enough. For days I replated in my head, the fake badge, the marker-stained shirt, that too familiar smile, like he knew exactly what he was doing and how close I'd been. I didn't tell my parents. They were already worried I was driving so late. And of course, I never stopped alone at a rest area again.

Starting point is 00:27:10 Even now, years later, I avoid driving alone at night unless absolutely necessary. And if I do, I make sure never to nod off at the wheel again. Because out there someone pretends to be the person you should trust. Someone approaches your window in the middle of the night knowing you're tired, alone, and too disoriented to think clearly. And I still don't know what would have happened. if I'd rolled that window down a little more. What hits me the most is how silent it all was.

Starting point is 00:27:40 No yelling, no struggle, just a soft tap and a false smile. Sometimes I think the scariest part isn't that I encountered him, but that he didn't seem to be in a hurry. Like he had time. Like maybe I wasn't his first stop that night. And most unsettling. Maybe I wasn't his last. That thought keeps me keeping the doors locked even during the day.

Starting point is 00:28:04 Makes me look twice at anyone in uniform. And that's why I still keep pepper spray in my lap when I drive long distances, just in case someone else decides to knock. If you thought the gas station guy was weird, you're going to hate what comes next. Hit like, subscribe, and share your most paranoid road trip moment. We've all had one. Stay alert. Stay safe.

Starting point is 00:28:29 And I'll see you in the next nightmare.

Horror Stories - 4 Disturbing Road Trip Horror Stories | Creepy True Tales

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