Solved Murders - True Crime Stories - Surviving the Loneliest Roads, Violent Strangers, and a Deadly Obsession Unfolded PART2 #20

Episode Date: November 9, 2025

#horrorstories #reddithorrorstories #ScaryStories #creepypasta #horrortales #truecrime #roadhorrorstories #deadlyobsession #violentstrangers #survivaltales  Surviving the Loneliest Roads Part 2 continues the terrifying journey on isolated roads as the protagonist faces escalating threats from violent strangers and the dark consequences of a deadly obsession. This chapter dives into suspenseful encounters, moments of near-death, and the emotional strain of trying to navigate danger while staying alive, intensifying the horror and tension.  horrorstories, reddithorrorstories, scarystories, horrorstory, creepypasta, horrortales, truecrime, roadhorrorstories, deadlyobsession, violentstrangers, survivaltales, shockingencounters, realcrime, dangerontheroad, crimeinvestigation, realhorrorstories, suspense, lifeordeath, thriller, tensejourney

Desert roads, creeps, and secrets that changed everything. I was 16 the first time I realized the world wasn't as safe as I thought it was. Up until then, I had lived in that bubble teenagers often float around in, believing that as long as you followed the rules, as long as you were, careful enough, nothing truly bad could happen to you. That illusion shattered for me one hot Nevada night in the middle of nowhere. At the time, I lived with my mom and sister. stepdad in a remote area about 70 miles west of Las Vegas. That part of Nevada isn't flashy or

exciting, it's just wide stretches of desert, old Tulane roads, and silence that could swallow you whole. We had neighbors, sure, but they were miles away. If something happened to you out there, it might be hours before anyone stumbled across you. This particular night was supposed to be special. It was the first time I had been allowed to drive into town on my own to see my friends. I was beyond excited, even if my ride wasn't exactly glamorous, a clunky 71 Chevy pickup that rattled when you pushed it over 50 and smelled faintly of old leather and motor oil. I didn't care. That truck meant freedom. That night, I felt like I owned the road. Mom gave me a curfew, 10 o'clock sharp. The rule came to

with a warning, if I was running late, I needed to find a pay phone and call. This was back before cell phones were common, so pay phones were lifelines. Break the rule, and my driving privileges would vanish. That was motivation enough for me to watch the clock carefully while hanging out with my friends. The evening itself was ordinary in the best way. We watched movies, stuffed ourselves with pizza and junk food, and laughed about dumb inside jokes that wouldn't make sense to anyone else. By the time I climbed back into my truck, I was glowing with that teenage happiness that comes from belonging. The drive home, though, was a different story. If you've never driven through the Mojave Desert at night, let me explain what it

feels like. You're cocooned in absolute darkness. There are no streetlights, no poor porch lights, no glow of distant towns, just your headlights cutting a narrow tunnel through the black. Every shadow feels like it could be hiding something, and the silence outside is so heavy that the hum of your engine seems almost intrusive. The desert is beautiful in the daytime, but at night it becomes eerie, even hostile. I made it past the first couple of stop signs without a hitch. That's when I noticed an old sedan sitting in the middle of the road with its hazard lights

blinking. At first, it didn't alarm me. In that area, it was pretty common to see stranded cars. Engines overheated, batteries died, and people underestimated the desert constantly. Out there, being stuck could turn into a life or death situation, especially if you didn't have enough water. Helping stranded motorists was kind of a moral obligation, especially since ignoring someone could literally mean leaving them to die. So I slowed down. The car looked old, boxy, a model that probably had more than a few breakdowns in its lifetime. As I eased up behind it, a man climbed out from the driver's side.

He looked to be in his 30s or 40s, average build, dressed casually. Nothing about him screamed, danger. Still, my pulse quickened. Maybe it was the way he walked, steady, deliberate, like he wasn't just relieved someone's stopped but had been waiting for it. I rolled down my window slightly, just enough to hear him. That's when the smell hit me. Liquor.

Strong and unmistakable. My stomach tightened. He leaned close to my window and explained that his car had stalled. He wanted to know if I could help him out. As he spoke, my headlights illuminated the inside of the sedan, and I saw movement. There was someone else sitting in the passenger seat. A chill ran through me. Something about the whole setup felt wrong, but I was 16, inexperienced, and trying to be polite.

I asked if the car was a stick shift. He said yes. That gave me an idea. Instead of getting out and physically pushing, I offered to use my truck to gently push their sedan so they could pop-start it. It was a trick my stepdad had to. shown me, if a manual car's battery or starter is shot, you can sometimes get it running again by rolling it forward and popping the clutch. The man agreed.

I positioned my truck, nudged the sedan forward, and sure enough, the engine coughed to life. Success. Relief washed over me. I figured that was the end of it. They pulled over, got out, and thanked me. But then things got weird. Instead of waving goodbye, they invited me to hang out with them. Have some fun, as they put it.

Their tone was off, the kind of fake friendliness that makes your skin crawl. I declined as politely as I could, muttering something about having to get home before curfew. I pulled away, heart racing, ready to forget about it. But in my rearview mirror, I saw their headlights swing back onto the road. They were following me. At first, I told myself I was being paranoid. Maybe they just happened to be heading in the same direction. But as the minutes passed, doubt curdled into dread.

I tried testing it. I turned down a side road I knew, one that branched off into several other routes leading back to town. They followed. I turned again, down a road that led only to a couple of houses. They followed. My chest tightened. This wasn't coincidence. They weren't just heading home.

They were following me. By now, it was close to 9.50, and I was running late. My palms were sweaty on the wheel. The desert around me was endless black. No streetlights. No houses. Just the narrow beam of headlights, mine and theirs. Shit, I whispered to myself, over and over, like a prayer.

I decided to try something. I pulled off to the side of the road and stopped. Their car slowed, then stopped behind me. The driver climbed out and started walking toward my truck. His friend, the one I'd seen sitting in the passenger seat earlier, got out too, circling toward the other side of my truck. My heartbeat was so loud it drowned out everything else. I sat frozen, waiting until they were nearly at my tailgate.

Then I floored it. The Chevy roared to life, tires kicking up rocks and sand. A cloud of dust exploded behind me as I shot forward, leaving the two men coughing in my rearview mirror. My whole body was shaking, but I kept my foot heavy on the gas. I headed straight for the nearest gas station I knew, the one with a pay phone by the pumps. When I pulled in, the place was deserted, no clerk, no cars, no one around.

Just buzzing fluorescent lights and that lonely pay phone. I yanked the truck into park, jumped out, and called home. My stepdad answered. The words tumbled out of me in a panicked rush, the stalled car, the men following me, how they tried to approach my truck. He didn't yell. He just told me firmly to come home right away. The rest of the drive was a blur. My knuckles were white on the wheel, eyes flicking constantly to the mirrors, but the sedan never reappeared. By the time I pulled into our driveway, I felt like I'd aged ten years. Looking back, I shudder at what could have happened. Those men were

drunk, older, and creeping after a 16-year-old girl driving alone at night. I don't think they just wanted fun. I think they wanted to take something from me, maybe everything. That night burned a lesson into me, not everyone stranded on the side of the road is a victim. Sometimes, they're hunting for one. And yet, that wasn't the only time life blindsided me. If the desert encounter was my first real taste of danger, the next story is about how betrayal can creep into your life even when you least expect it, through people you thought you could trust. Jamie's silence started gnawing at me more than I wanted to admit. At first, I kept brushing it off, telling myself, hey, people get busy, she'll reach out when she can. But the weeks

kept piling on and the gap between us stretched wider and wider. Every time I'd log into chat, hoping her little green light would pop up, there was nothing. Just me, a bunch of offline contacts, and this weird empty pit in my stomach. I sent her messages anyway, like little digital bottles tossed into the ocean. Hey, how's your day? What's new in Vegas? Sometimes I'd get a short reply, like good, busy, but nothing like the long conversations we used to have. It was like she was there, but not really there, like.

talking to a ghost who only half remembered me. Around that time, Ryan started creeping into my periphery more. Not literally creeping outside my window or anything, though later on I'd wonder about that, but in this subtle, digital way. He'd pop up online when Jamie wasn't there. Sometimes he'd send me random links to music, or quotes, or just, small talk. At first, I thought, okay, maybe he's just being friendly, filling the silence. But something about it felt off.

Like one night, out of nowhere, he messaged me. Do you think people are capable of real loyalty? Or do they always eventually leave? I stared at the blinking cursor, debating how to answer. Was he asking as a friend? As Jamie's boyfriend, as a dude with way too much time to brood online, I typed back something generic like, I think real loyalty exists, but it's rare. He replied with, Jamie talks about you a lot, more than she talks about anyone else.

That sentence made my skin prickle. I couldn't tell if he was complimenting me, accusing me, or just venting his insecurities. I ended up logging off because the whole vibe gave me goosebumps. From then on, Ryan had this habit of hovering in conversations, even when he wasn't invited. If Jamie popped online for a rare moment and we were chatting, he'd appear five minutes later like clockwork. He didn't say much, but when he did, it was these cryptic little comments that threw me off balance. Things like Don't you think it's dangerous to trust people too much?

Or distance makes people do weird things. It was like he wanted me to read between the lines, but there was nothing clear to read, just this vague fog of unease. By late junior year, I finally confronted Jamie about it. I straight up asked her if everything was okay, if I'd done something to upset her, why she was being so distant. She dodged at first, but eventually admitted she was, going through some stuff. And then, in a voice that didn't sound like the Jamie I knew, she said.

Ryan doesn't really like me talking to other guys that much. Even you. That was the first red flag that really made me sit up. I mean, I wasn't just some guy. I was her best friend. The person who knew her better than most people in her life. But apparently Ryan had been whispering poison in her ear, making her feel like staying connected with me was some kind of betrayal.

The way she explained it made me furious, but I tried not to show it. She said things like, he just gets jealous because you're so important to me, and, it's not that I don't want to talk to you, it's just easier if I don't make him upset. That's when I realized Ryan wasn't just quiet and shy. He was possessive. controlling manipulative in this soft subtle way that didn't leave obvious bruises but still left marks from then on our friendship was never the same we'd sneak conversations when ryan wasn't around but she always seemed distracted nervous like she was waiting for the other shoe to drop and ryan he started messaging me more directly almost like he was testing boundaries He'd ask me weirdly personal stuff, like,

What's the worst thing you've ever done? Do you think Jamie could ever hurt someone? I never knew how to answer. Half the time I'd just close my laptop and walk away, heart racing, because it felt like talking to someone who had one foot planted in reality and the other dangling off some dark cliff. The summer before senior year, things escalated in a way I didn't see coming. I didn't see coming. To be continued.