Solved Murders - True Crime Stories - Creepy Encounters at Gas Stations Predatory Strangers, Amber Alert, and a Ghost Stop PART3 #69

Episode Date: October 16, 2025

#horrorstories #reddithorrorstories #ScaryStories #creepypasta #horrortales #gasstationhorror #creepystrangers #amberalertnightmare #ghostlyencounters #truefearstories  Part 3 brings the most chilling turn in the series of creepy gas station encounters. The tension escalates with more sinister strangers lurking in the dark, the Amber Alert situation taking a disturbing twist, and an eerie ghost stop that feels more real than imagined. These tales reveal how danger and the paranormal can intersect at the most unexpected places.  horrorstories, reddithorrorstories, scarystories, horrorstory, creepypasta, horrortales, gasstationhorror, creepystrangers, amberalertnightmare, ghostlyencounters, roadsidefear, chillingencounters, hauntedroads, supernaturalterror, scarytrueevents, nightmarestories, paranormalencounters, unsettlingstories, truehorrorstories, darkmysteries

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Horror. Number 3. The Gas Station Nightmare on the Road to LA. All right, buckle up because this story is one of those that sticks in your brain like gum on your shoe. You can't quite scrape it off no matter how much time passes. Every time I think about it, I get that uncomfortable crawl on the back of my neck, like the universe itself is whispering, Hey, remember that time you almost ended up in a horror movie? So here's how it all went down. The setup. A big move, two big dogs, and a bigger favor.

A couple years ago, one of my closest friends, let's just call him Mike, decided he was done with Chicago winters, potholes, and deep dish pizza debates. He landed this killer job opportunity in Los Angeles, and honestly, I couldn't even be mad about it. Sunshine, palm trees, ocean views, what's not to like? Plus, his girlfriend was game for the Big Leap, so they were packing their whole lives into a moving truck and heading west. But there was a catch. Mike had two massive dogs. Not the kind of purse-sized yappy little fluff balls you can shove in a carry-on bag.

I'm talking full-blown, heavy-breathing, car-filling fur monsters. These dogs drooled like broken faucets and took up more space than two humans combined. Now flying them was off the table. Mike was convinced that shoving them into the belly of a plane would traumatize them for life. And honestly, fair point. Airplanes stress me out, and I don't even have to spend the flight locked in a crate with strangers throwing my luggage around. So his brilliant solution? Hey guys, and by guys, he meant me, his sister, will call her Jess, and another mutual friend, let's call him Rob. How about you drive the dogs? from Chicago to L.A. for me. It'll be fun. Now, when someone says, it'll be fun before asking you for a

favor, that's your cue to run. But apparently, none of us had the sense God gave a doorknod, because we agreed. I mean, how bad could it be? Chicago to L.A.? Sure, it's about 30 hours behind the wheel, but with three of us taking shifts, it sounded doable. Plus, the words road trip always trigger some kind of nostalgic, rose-colored vision of blasting music, munching gas station snacks and laughing your way through state lines. Spoiler alert, the reality wasn't quite so cheerful. The journey begins, optimism, snacks, and the first red flag. We left bright and early, car packed to the ceiling with luggage, dog food, snacks, and two very confused canines who had no idea that,

they were about to spend the better part of two days trapped in a moving box on wheels. The vibe at first? Pretty great. We had road trip playlists queued up, way too much caffeine on hand, and the kind of optimism that only lasts about the first four or five hours of a marathon drive. We made a pact. Mike and I would handle most of the driving, since Jess wasn't big on highways, and Rob would chip in if we hit zombie-level exhaustion. Everything was going according to plan. Until Utah. Here's the thing about Utah. Apparently, driving in the left lane for too long is basically a crime. I kid you not, we got pulled over for cruising in the passing lane of an empty highway. I tried to explain to the cop that, hey, the road was deserted,

and I wasn't exactly blocking traffic, but he looked at me like I'd just confess to murdering his goldfish. That ticket was. was the first sign that the road trip gods weren't on our side. But fine, we laughed it off, grumbled a little, and kept rolling. Through Utah, Arizona, Nevada, everything blurred into desert landscapes, rest stops that all looked identical, and a steady rotation of gas station coffee and beef jerky. And then, California happened. The wrong gas station.

By the time we crossed the state line, our collective brain cells were running on fumes. The car itself wasn't much better, needle hovering dangerously close to E, and we knew we couldn't push it much further. I was manning the GPS in the passenger seat while Mike drove. That's when I spotted a sign for a little place, Yermo, Yarmo, something like that. The name was forgettable, but the sign promised gas, which was exactly what was. needed. We rolled off the highway and coasted into the lot, relieved we hadn't ended up stranded on the side of the road with two restless dogs. At first glance, the place seemed normal enough, a few junky cars at the pumps, a couple more parked by the convenience store. Nothing unusual for a

pit stop in the... My daughter, Ellie, had this ankle pain and we went to see VHI orthopedics. They actually picked up on her fatigue issues. So they brought in a rheumatology. and just a few small tests, they realized that Ellie was sediac. So what was brilliant was that VHI had a pediatric dietation ready to help manage her diet. Really felt seamless. VHI, because your health means everything. Middle of nowhere. But you know when your gut just whispers at you, that subtle tug, that little, hey, something's off.

Yeah, that feeling was about to crank up to 11. Inside the store. Routine was simple. Fill the tank, grab snacks, stretch our legs. The dogs had just been out, so we let them keep snoozing in the back. Mike pulled up to the pump next to this beat-up green sedan, and its driver, a short heavyset guy, was waddling toward the store just as we arrived. I volunteered to run in and pay, since my card was already out.

First swipe at the pump, declined. Weird. Second swipe? The machine blinked, see attendant. Great. Just what you want when you're half delirious in the middle of nowhere. So I told Mike I'd head inside, asked if anyone wanted drinks, and started walking. The moment I stepped through those glass doors, my entire body screamed, nope. The store looked wrong, like time had hiccpped. Shelf's half-stocked. cardboard boxes of chips sitting in the middle of the aisle like someone had dropped them and just walked away. No sound, no chatter, no hum of fridges or music over cheap speakers, just silence. And emptiness, not a single person inside. Now let me remind you, there were cars outside, at least half a dozen, and I'd literally just seen the chubby sedan guy walk in before me. but inside nothing where the hell did everybody go the grin i tried to play it cool but inside panic was clawing at me i scanned every corner of that store waiting for someone to pop up from behind the counter or out of an aisle nobody the air felt heavy like the walls were leaning in my stomach turned and my instinct screamed leave now so i did or at least I tried to do it without looking like I was bolting in terror. I pushed through the doors back into the California sun, and that's when things went from unsettling to downright nightmare fuel.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw movement. A man stepped out from around the side of the building, not the plump guy from earlier. This was someone else, tall, broad, and grinning. Not a no normal smile. This was wrong. Too wide, too deliberate. The kind of grin that makes your bones ache just looking at it. Think Nicholas Cage if he'd gone full psycho cartoon villain. And he was walking straight at me. Panic at the pump. I speedwalk towards our car like my life depended on it, because it might have. Of course, when I reached the car, Mike had the doors locked. I banged on like a maniac yelling for him to unlock it. Instead, he cracked the window halfway like we were having some casual conversation. The dogs in your seat, we didn't want her to jump out. Are you

kidding me? I practically shoved my entire upper body through the window, grabbed the 95-pound golden retriever like she was a sack of flour and hurled her into the back. That's when Mike saw my face, saw the guy still strying towards us, grin plastered on like some demonic mask, and his survival instincts finally kicked in. He slammed the car into gear, and we tore out of that lot like bats out of hell. I glanced back just once. The man had stopped at the pump, still grinning, still watching. Frozen in time. We eventually found another gas station down the road. This one was alive, buzzing with people, exactly the kind of normal chaos you want. We filled up, grabbed snacks, and I spilled the whole story. Mike and Jess looked rattled. Rob tried to laugh it off,

but even he couldn't hide how pale he'd gone. But the horror wasn't done with us yet. To get back on the highway, we had to pass the first station again, and when we did, 15 minutes later, the scene hadn't changed. The same cars, same spots, same arrangement. Not a single vehicle had moved. It was like we'd left that place trapped in some kind of time loop. And then, as if to twist the knife, my phone rang. Credit card company. They'd flagged a hundred dollar charge at, you guessed it, that same creepy gas station. The lady on the phone was polite, canceled it right of away, but even she said, wow, that sounds really strange. Strange doesn't even begin to cover it. The Aftermath. We made it to L.A. Dog safe, mission accomplished, Trip filed under, stories to tell

over beers. But here's the thing. I still think about that gas station. Who was the grinning man? Why was the store empty? Why were the cars frozen in time like mannequins in a parking lot? I'll never know. Maybe that's the scariest part. Because sometimes there isn't a neat explanation. Sometimes...