Solved Murders - True Crime Stories - He Pointed and They Died My Night Driving a Passenger Who Sees the Marks of Souls #51

Episode Date: July 16, 2025

#horrorstories #reddithorrorstories #ScaryStories #creepypasta #horrortales #taxihorrorstory #deathpremonition #soulsight #paranormalpassenger #supernaturalride   During what seemed like a routine night shift, a rideshare driver picks up a strange passenger with a chilling gift—he sees the marks of those about to die. Each time he points, someone dies within minutes. As the night spirals into dread, the driver realizes he's part of something far darker than he imagined. “He Pointed and They Died” is a nerve-rattling tale of fate, fear, and a glimpse into death’s waiting room.  horrorstories, reddithorrorstories, scarystories, horrorstory, creepypasta, horrortales, deathvision, doomedpassengers, supernaturalencounter, ghostpassenger, nightdrivehorror, chillingpremonitions, cursedride, taxihaunting, darkfate, deathiswatching, creepyfare, paranormaldriver, eerieabilities, seeingdeath

I'm writing this and my hands are shaking, and I don't know where or how to start. I'm not an internet guy or into posts, I'm a taxi driver just getting by, living day by day, and making a living isn't easy. But what happened to me? I don't know how to describe it. Something stranger than fiction, and more terrifying than any movie I've ever seen in my life. I'm telling this here because I honestly don't know why. Maybe to warn someone, maybe to warn someone, maybe so someone will believe me, maybe so my conscience can rest a little before, before I don't know what might happen. I won't say my name or where I am now, because I'm scared. Truly scared. The story began a few days ago, maybe a week, maybe 10 days, time has blurred for me. It was an ordinary night like any other. Few customers, hot weather, and you're just struggling

to make enough for gas and the car rental. I was parked in a somewhat deserted spot. I was parked in a somewhat deserted spot, waiting for any fare to break the boredom. It was nearing one in the morning. Suddenly, I saw someone waving at me from a distance. He looked a bit strange. Tall and thin, wearing ordinary clothes but they looked like they weren't his, a bit loose on him, and his eyes, his eyes were frighteningly empty. Like he was looking through you, not at you. I thought, come on, any fair will do. I stopped for him. He opened the door next to me and sat down. He didn't even return my greeting.

He was quiet for a moment, and I waited for him to tell me where he wanted to go. Nothing. I looked at him in the rearview mirror, found him staring straight ahead, completely zoned out. I said to him, sir. Where to? He looked at me slowly, as if turning his neck required immense effort. His voice was low and strange, like someone who hadn't spoken in. in a long time, drive. I was surprised. Drive, drive where? I need a destination, boss. His eyes went

back to staring straight ahead. Just drive. Anywhere. I thought to myself, this guy looks like he's high on something, or crazy. But still, money is money. And the customer looked like he'd pay well, maybe he wasn't from around here or was lost. I decided to drive him around a bit until he made up his mind, or maybe he was waiting for a phone call or something. I turned on the meter and drove. I entered a quiet side street. The car moved slowly, and silence filled the space.

I'm used to this silence, but with this customer, the silence was heavy. Very heavy. I felt like there was a mountain sitting next to me, not a human being. Every now and then, I'd glance in the mirror and find him in the same state, staring ahead coldly, his eyes unblinking, like a statue. After about ten minutes, while we were on another side street, a bit narrower and brighter than the last one, I suddenly saw him slowly raise his right hand and point at a man walking on the opposite sidewalk. The man looked completely ordinary, maybe heading home from work, walking with a bag in his hand. The passenger pointed at him with his index finger without uttering a word. And suddenly, the man on the sidewalk fell.

Fell flat on his face all at once, like a stage prop. The bag in his hand burst open and its contents scattered on the ground. I slammed on the brakes out of shock. The car shuddered to a halt. I looked at the passenger in disbelief, what was that? That man fell. Did you see? He was completely unfazed. Didn't take his eyes off the fallen man. Soon, I saw people gathering around the man, and the sound of screaming started to rise.

Someone yelled, ambulance. Someone call an ambulance. My heart was pounding like a drum. I looked at the passenger again, and saw him lower his hand with utmost calm, then look straight ahead again as if nothing had happened. Sir, do you know that man? I asked him in a shaky voice. He didn't answer. Sir, I'm talking to you. He cut me off with the same low, terrifying voice, drive. I felt a chill run down my entire body. This wasn't normal. What was wrong with this man? And what was this bizarre coincidence? He points at someone, and they fall. No, this wasn't a coincidence. My mind refused to believe there was a connection, but my gut told me no, something was wrong. Very wrong. I told myself, man, calm down, maybe the man was sick, maybe he fainted, it's a coincidence, man. I tried hard to convince myself.

I stepped on the gas and drove off, my eyes glued to the rearview mirror, watching the spot where the man fell and the crowd gathering around him. We continued driving in an even heavier silence. This time, I couldn't take my eyes off him in the mirror. I watched his every move with fear. He remained perfectly still. Another ten minutes, fifteen minutes. I don't remember. I entered a slightly busy main street.

Cars were moving slowly, side by side. Suddenly, he made the same gesture again. He raised his right hand. but this time he pointed at the driver of a transport truck driving next to us. The driver was a young guy, playing loud music and singing along. The passenger pointed at him. A second, two, the truck next to us suddenly swerved sharply to the right, as if the driver had lost consciousness and crashed into a car parked on the side of the road.

The sound of the crash was incredibly loud, and the whole street came to a standstill. My entire body jolted. I looked at the truck, saw the driver's head slunked over the steering wheel, motionless. People started shouting and running towards the accident. I turned to the passenger, feeling the blood drained from my face. You, what did you do? What are you doing? My voice was loud this time, and I couldn't control it.

He looked at me with the same coldness. That deadly coldness. And said one sentence, he chose. chose what? What are you talking about? Do you have something to do with what's happening? He looked straight ahead again. Drive. This time, I was truly scared. Not just anxious or bewildered. This was real fear. This man wasn't a normal human being. There was something demonic about him. Coincidence doesn't repeat itself twice in exactly the same way. He points, and people fall or have terrible accidents. No. Not fall. I saw the first man and I saw this driver.

They looked dead. I thought about opening the door, throwing myself out of the car, and running. I thought about stopping the car, yelling, and drawing people's attention to him. But fear paralyzed me. Fear of the unknown. Fear of him. If he could do that to people on the street with a gesture, the street with a gesture, what would he do to me if I disobeyed his command? I kept driving, my

hands trembling on the steering wheel. I didn't know where I was going. I entered streets I didn't recognize, lost like a ship without a sail. And he sat silently beside me. His silence now had a sound. A threatening sound. A sound that said every second passing with him in this car was bringing me closer to disaster. After a while, I had a don't know how long, maybe half an hour, maybe more, we were in a dimly lit, working-class neighborhood, the houses packed tightly together. The streets barely wide enough for one car. There was an old woman walking alone on the side of the road, holding a cane and leaning on it. She looked so frail and poor. My heart clenched as I saw him begin to raise his hand again.

I told myself, no. Not her too. She's an old, poor. Woman. Before he could point, before I could think what to do, I yelled loudly while looking at him in the mirror, watch it out. Don't you do it? Not this woman. His hand stopped in mid-air for a moment. He looked at me again. This time, I felt like there was a flicker. I don't know what, maybe surprise. Maybe something else I couldn't decipher in those empty eyes. He asked in that low voice that terrified me, are you afraid? for her. She's an old, poor woman. Have mercy. Why are you doing this? Who are you anyway? I was speaking quickly, fear making it hard to form coherent sentences. He kept looking at me for a bit. Then, he slowly lowered his hand and went back to looking straight ahead. Drive. I felt myself breathing again, though with difficulty. The old woman continued on her way, oblivious to everything. We passed her. I kept driving, but this time, I kept circling the same area, not wanting to go far, as if trying to prevent him from finding a new prey. I kept driving

around for about another hour. He was silent, and I kept glancing at him and at the street, my heart in my throat. Until I got fed up, tired, and my fear reached its peak. I stopped the car suddenly in a dark, empty spot, turned off the engine, and turned my whole body towards him. Look, I'm not moving another step until I understand. Who are you? And what are you doing to these people? What's your story exactly? He remained silent for a few moments, staring ahead. I felt like my heart would stop from the tension. Then, he looked at me. But this time, his gaze was different. As if a piece of the masky war had been removed. I sensed a look of, sadness.

Or maybe exhaustion. I don't know. He said with a strange calmness, I see. See what? I see what they've done. I see the mark on them. Mark? What mark is this?

I started to feel like my head would explode from the questions and the horror. Every one of us has a mark. Like a halo Its color tells what they've done in their life Done good or done evil The words weren't registering Halos Colors

This was crazy talk What are you saying? Are you insane? I'm not insane, he said with the same calmness I really see it This halo tells me everything There are white halos, pure Those are good, peaceful people. And there are grey halos, those who sinned and repented, or whose lives are half and half.

And there are, black halos. When he said, black, I felt his voice change. There was a tone of, hatred, or perhaps disgust. He continued, these black halos belong to people who have truly harmed others. People who destroyed others' lives. people who stole, killed, oppressed, people who don't deserve to walk the earth among the good. I swallowed hard. And those people you pointed at, their halos were black. He nodded slowly. The darkest shades of black. People who did things, you can't imagine. And you, when you point at them,

what happens to them? I asked the question knowing the answer, but needing to hear it from him. Their halo goes out, like a bulb burning out, and their soul leaves their body. He said it so simply, as if talking about the weather. I felt the world spin around me. This man wasn't just someone seeing strange things. He was judging people and carrying out the sentence himself. An angel of death walking on two legs? A devil?

I didn't know. But what I was sure of was that. that he was dangerous. Very dangerous. So, so what about me? The words escaped me involuntarily. I don't know why I asked. Maybe morbid curiosity.

Maybe terror. He looked at me again. This time, his eyes stayed focused on me for a long time. I felt like he was piercing me with his gaze. Like he was flipping through all the pages of my past life. I felt a coldness seep into my bones despite the heat outside. You, he repeated the word softly. Yes, me.

What color halo do you see on me? I asked, instantly regretting every letter I uttered. A faint, but terrifying, smile touched his lips for the first time. It was the ugliest smile I had ever seen in my life. Your halo, he said, leaning slightly towards me, his voice dropping to a wist. Your halo is blacker than night. Blacker than the devil's own heart. One of the worst halos I've ever seen in my life. In that instant, I lost control. All I remember is opening the car door and throwing myself out while it was still stopped. I ran. Ran as fast as I could,

without looking back. I could feel his gaze on my back, feel his voice echoing in my ears. Blacker than night. I kept running and running until my legs couldn't carry me anymore. I ducked into unfamiliar streets and alleys until I found myself somewhere very far away. I took whatever public transport I could find and went to a distant place, a place where no one knows me. I left the car, left everything. I'm sitting now in a cheap hotel room, writing this. Why did he say that to me? Why is my halo, specifically, so black? There's something, something that happened a long time ago. Many years ago.

I was still a reckless young man, needing money. I did something, something terrible. Something I regret every single day of my life. A crime. I was involved in it. A kidnapping, kidnapping a little girl. Things got out of control, and the girl, the girl died. And we, me and the others with me, we got rid of.

of her. Through her body somewhere no one would ever find it. Nobody knows about this except me and the two guys who were with me. And neither of them will talk. I've lived all these years with this secret, with this guilt. Trying to live normally, trying to forget. But it seems, it seems this guilt leaves a mark that can't be erased. A mark this man was able to see. He knows. That man knows what I did And when he told me my halo was blacker than night He wasn't just threatening me He was telling me my turn was coming

That he was going to cleanse the world of me too I don't know what to do Turn myself in Would they believe me if I told them about the man with the halos They'd call me crazy And if I don't tell them Will I live the rest of my life in this terror waiting any moment to find him in front of me, pointing his finger, and my halo going out.

Why did I write all this? Maybe to confess. Maybe so if something happens to me, someone will know the truth. The truth about what I did back then, and the truth about this terrifying man walking our streets, judging people. If any of you see a tall, thin man, with empty eyes, walking alone at night, run. Run and don't let him get close to you. And don't let him see your halo. I don't know what I'll do now.

Keep running. Until when? Can he find me? Could he be looking for me right now as I write this? Oh God, protect me. I'm scared. So scared. Someone help me, someone tell me what to do.

I feel like my end is near. I feel like he's going to find me. The end.