Solved Murders - True Crime Stories - Terrifying Encounters in the New Mexico Desert With Stalkers, Killers, and Creatures PART1 #65

Episode Date: October 26, 2025

#horrorstories #reddithorrorstories #ScaryStories #creepypasta #horrortales #truehorror #scarystorytime #creepystories #urbanlegends #deserthorror  This story dives into terrifying encounters in the New Mexico desert where people face stalkers, killers, and even unknown creatures lurking in the darkness. Blending elements of true horror with supernatural twists, the tale explores survival, fear, and the eerie isolation of the desert at night.  horrorstories, reddithorrorstories, scarystories, horrorstory, creepypasta, horrortales, desertencounters, stalkers, killers, creatures, newmexicohorror, paranormalencounters, survivalhorror, creepyencounters, nightterrors, unexplainedphenomena, scarytales, truecreepystories, haunteddesert, wildernessfear

Desert Shadows, Strange Nights in New Mexico I'm about to tell you something that, even after all these years, still creeps me out when I think about it. These stories are a mash-up of moments from my teenage years and early adulthood, and they all happened in one of the strangest, most beautiful, and honestly, eeriest places I've ever lived, New Mexico. If you've ever been there, you know what I mean. That place has its charm, big skies, mountains glowing red at the same.

sunset, desert silence so heavy it feels like the air itself is listening. But when night falls, well, sometimes it's like the desert has secrets you're not supposed to see. The first story takes place back when I was just a kid, maybe 13 or 14, and my world was still simple, boys were confusing, math was hard, and summer felt like it lasted forever. My sister and my best friend, both older than me by just a year or two were my partners in crime. We were bored teenagers in Albuquerque, and boredom is a dangerous thing when you mix it with curiosity and a lack of common sense. Story 1 The Sprinkler Game

It was one of those hot New Mexico nights. If you've never been there in the summer, let me paint the picture, the sun beats down all day like it's trying to melt the pavement, and by the time it finally sets, the air doesn't cool down so much as it just stops trying to kill you. Nights were our freedom. We'd usually just walk around the neighborhood, gossip, maybe sneak snacks, or dare each other to do dumb stuff. My neighborhood wasn't bad, it was actually one of the nicer ones, but it was surrounded

by rougher areas. Growing up, my mom drilled into us the importance of staying alert, not talking to strangers, looking over our shoulders. But she also trusted us enough to let us. wander, even late at night. So on this particular night, maybe around 10.30 or 11 o'clock, we decided to spice things up. Someone, probably my sister, since she always had the crazy ideas, suggested we go to the elementary school down the street. It was about five blocks away, close enough that it felt safe, but far enough that it felt like an adventure.

And what for? The sprinklers. Yep. The brilliant plan was to run through the sprinklers like little kids, except we thought we were being grown up about it. Which, in teenage girl language, meant stripping down to our underwear because clothes get heavy when they're wet. Yeah, looking back, it was stupid. But at the time, it felt daring and fun. The schoolyard at night was darker than we remembered. There were houses around, sure, but the lighting was terrible. just a couple of streetlights that left huge patches of shadow. Still, we were laughing, squealing, running barefoot through the grass like we owned the place. Water sprayed in arcs, soaking us, and for a few minutes, we were just kids being ridiculous.

Then we noticed him. At first, it didn't register. He was way in the back corner, where the light didn't quite reach. A shape, still and quiet, just watching. A man, wearing a hood. Everything inside me froze. I don't even remember who saw him first, but suddenly we weren't laughing anymore. We scrambled for our clothes, fumbling with wet skin, whispering harshly at each other to hurry.

My heart was pounding so loud I could barely hear. We didn't run at first, we just walked fast, pretending like nothing was wrong. But the path back to my house wasn't lit well. In fact, the stretch we had to take next was almost pitch black. That's when I made the mistake of glancing back. He was running. Full speed. Straight at us.

I don't even remember if we screamed. I just remember the pure, animal panic that shot through me. We took off, sprinting barefoot on the pavement, heading not to my house but to another friend's place that was closer. Thank God she lived nearby. Her house was lit up, music thumping from inside, her sister was throwing a party. We banged on the door, practically crying, until someone let us in. Imagine being a teenager at a cool high school party and then having three soaking wet, terrified girls burst inside. We were not the vibe, let's just say that. But once we explained, some of the older guys at the party got serious.

A group of them went outside to check, and sure enough, they found someone hiding in the bushes. With a knife. There was a tense standoff before the man bolted into the darkness. I'll never forget the ride home, or rather, the run home. The guys offered us a ride, but we were so wired, so freaked out, that we just sprinted the last few blocks back to my house. My lungs burned, my legs ached, but I didn't dare slow down. To this day, I wonder what would have happened if he had caught us. Would we have been just another crime story in the newspaper?

That night changed me. It was the first time I really understood that bad things don't just happen in movies. Story 2, The Desert Stranger Fast forward a few years. I was older, a little wiser, but apparently still attracted to questionable decisions. This time, it wasn't sprinklers and neighborhood adventures, it was a road trip. Winter break. A group of friends and I were driving through the New Mexico Desert at night, heading east toward New Orleans. The desert is strange at night, beautiful, sure, but also unervingly empty.

You can go miles without seeing another car, another sign, another light. It was snowing lightly, which was rare and surreal, like the desert was trying on someone else's clothes. The air felt heavy and visibility was awful. We had left the interstate to avoid a big traffic backup and were now on some back highway that seemed to stretch into nowhere. The mood in the car shifted the second we got on that road. Earlier we had been joking, singing along to the radio, just being dumb kids.

But out there, in the dark, the silence crept in. We had all seen the hills have eyes a couple of years before, and the memory of that movie sat heavy in the back of our minds. Cannibals in the desert wasn't exactly what you wanted to be thinking about while lost on back roads in the middle of nowhere. That's when we saw him. At first, it looked like someone kneeling on the side of the road. Just barely visible in the glow of our headlights.

Our first thought was that it was someone in trouble, maybe a stranded driver, maybe someone who needed help. But as we slowed down, things got weird. The figure wasn't moving. He wasn't waving us down, wasn't turning his head, nothing. Just kneeling, stiff and still, facing away from us. And he wasn't dressed for the weather, barely any clothes on, even though the air was freezing. I told my friend to stop.

Something in me wanted to check, to make sure he wasn't hurt. She reversed a little so we were parallel with him, and I leaned out the window. Hey, you okay? The figure turned his head. I will never, ever forget what I saw. His face looked wrong, like it had been torn apart and patched back together by someone who didn't know what a face was supposed to look like. No lips No nose

Just jagged teeth and an empty nasal cavity Like a skull come to life His eyes God, his eyes, bulging, lidless Dry as if they hadn't closed in years We all froze No one said a word For a moment

All I could hear was the sound of my own blood rushing in my ears Then my friend slammed her foot on the gas and we peeled out of there like our lives depended on it. We didn't stop until we were miles away. To this day, I don't know what we saw. Part of me wants to believe he was just a burned victim, someone who had been through hell and ended up wandering out there. But another part of me, the part that still gets goosebumps,

thinks we saw something else. A ghost. A spirit. Something caught between worlds. Story 3 N. M. 55 By the time I was in my 20s, New Mexico had become a place of exploration for me. My friend Amy and I loved taking trips out into the desert, finding old ghost towns, hiking strange landscapes, chasing that eerie, beautiful silence you only get out there. In March of 2010, we were driving from Rue doso to Albuquerque.

Instead of taking the direct route, we chose the backroads, because of course, we did. One of those roads was NM-55, a long, isolated stretch of highway that cuts through a flat, empty part of the state. That road was the definition of desolate. Just miles and miles of nothing but sand, rock formations, and the occasional tumbleweed. Towns were few and far between, separated by vast distances that made you feel like, like you were driving through another planet. And on that road, we learned that the desert doesn't just hold beauty, it holds shadows. To be continued.