Solved Murders - True Crime Stories - Terrifying Encounters in the New Mexico Desert With Stalkers, Killers, and Creatures PART2 #66

Episode Date: October 26, 2025

#horrorstories #reddithorrorstories #ScaryStories #creepypasta #horrortales #deserthorror #truehorrorstories #creepytales #unexplainedmysteries #nightmaresinthedesert  Part 2 of this chilling series continues the terrifying encounters in the New Mexico desert, where stalkers and killers are not the only threats. Strange creatures, eerie voices, and the overwhelming sense of isolation push fear to its limits. This continuation delves deeper into the unknown, blending real danger with supernatural terror.  horrorstories, reddithorrorstories, scarystories, horrorstory, creepypasta, horrortales, desertnightmares, creepyencounters, killers, stalkers, strangecreatures, haunteddesert, paranormalhorror, survivalstories, fearinthedark, desertmysteries, supernaturalhorror, unexplainedencounters, truecreepytales, terrifyingdesert

chased on Highway 55. I've lived in a few different places in my life, but there's something about New Mexico that really sticks with you. People call it the land of enchantment, and sure, it can be enchanting, sunsets that make the whole sky look like it's on fire, mountains that glow pink in the morning, and endless stretches of desert that feel otherworldly.

But enchantment has a darker side too. The desert is empty, isolating, and sometimes, downright terrifying. If you've ever driven through New Mexico backroads at night, you know exactly what I mean. This story takes me back to 2010, when my friend Amy and I thought it would be a brilliant idea to take a scenic detour. Spoiler, it wasn't brilliant at all. It was one of the most frightening experiences of my entire life, and even though it's been years, I still get chills when I think about it.

The setup Amy and I were road trip junkies Every chance we got We'd load up her SUV with snacks, iced coffees, and an iPod full of playlists, then just drive. We loved finding old ghost towns, abandoned houses, and little places off the beaten path. Most of the time, it was harmless fun.

But on this particular trip, we wandered into something that still doesn't sit right with me. We were driving from Ruudoso to Albuquerque. Normally, you take the faster, more direct route, but of course, we decided to spice it up by going through NM-55. It's one of those long, lonely highways that cut through the desert with no gas stations, no rest stops, no nothing. Just you, the road, and the emptiness stretching out forever.

The towns out there are spread miles apart, and town is a generous word. Sometimes it's just a couple of buildings, a rusty gas pump, and a diner that may or may not be open. But we loved that. To us, the isolation was peaceful. At least, until that night. The White Truck We were cruising north on the highway, probably talking about dumb stuff. boys, movies, random gossip, when we noticed a white pickup truck up ahead. It was going the same direction as us. At first, nothing unusual. Trucks are everywhere in New Mexico. But then,

suddenly, the truck swerved sideways and came to a stop across the entire highway, completely blocking both lanes. Amy and I looked at each other, confused. We were maybe a mile. We were maybe a mile, away at that point, watching his taillights glow in the distance. Ah, what the hell is he doing? Amy muttered, tightening her grip on the wheel. I didn't know. There was no accident. No animals on the road.

No reason at all to stop like that. And we were the only car for miles. The silence in the SUV got heavier the closer we got. My stomach nodded. Instinct told me something wasn't right. I whispered, maybe we should turn around. Amy didn't answer right away. She just kept driving, slower now.

Half a mile out, the guy suddenly pulled his truck to the side of the road, but he didn't turn around. He just parked on the opposite shoulder, still facing the same direction as us. We exhaled in relief, telling us. ourselves he was probably a rancher checking his land, or maybe just some local with truck trouble. But as we passed, I got a good look at him. Middle-aged, alone, eyes locked on us. He never blinked, never looked away. His lips moved, but not to us, he was speaking into a walkie-talkie. That's when the dread really set in. The chase begins. A few seconds. A few seconds. A few seconds.

after we passed him, headlights appeared in the mirror. The white truck had pulled back onto the highway and was following us. Not too close. Just close enough. He'd creep within 40 or 50 feet, then fall back again, over and over, like he was testing us. The realization hit hard, we were out there alone. No other traffic. No signal bars on our phones. Nobody. knew we'd taken this detour. I tried the map on my lap, scanning for side roads or towns. Nothing. The only way forward was straight ahead, toward Mountaineer, the next speck of civilization. Turning around meant driving past him again, and that wasn't happening. Amy pressed harder on the gas. The SUV climbed past 70. I could hear the tension in her breathing.

We just need to make it to town, she said, more to herself than to me. But the truck behind us wasn't giving up. The second truck. Five or ten minutes into this tense cat and mouse game, another truck appeared in the distance, heading toward us from the opposite direction. This one was older, beat up, crawling along at maybe 20 miles per hour. Amy didn't hesitate, she had us going 75, and we blew peck. past him. I glanced out the window just long enough to see the driver, another middle-aged

man, also speaking into a walkie-talkie. My blood ran cold. In the rearview, I watched as the old truck passed the white one. Then, slowly, deliberately, it made a U-turn. Now there were two of them behind us. Amy's knuckles were white on the steering wheel. They're working together, She said flatly. I nodded, heart hammering. For the first time in my life, I felt hunted. Not scared, not paranoid, hunted. Trapped

The trucks coordinated like they'd done this before. The white one pressed closer, riding our bumper, edging forward like he wanted to ram us. I could see the chrome grill just feet from our back window. Amy floored it. The SUV roared, climbing to 80, then 90. The desert whipped past us, flat and endless. The speed was exhilarating and terrifying at once, if anything went wrong, if a tire blew, if a rabbit darted out, it would have been catastrophic.

The second truck stayed behind the first, keeping formation. My mind was racing. Were they trying to buy it? box us in, force us off the road, ambush us at the next turn. Every bad scenario played out in my head. Should we go off-road? I asked, glancing at the rocky desert on either side. The SUV was built for it, technically. But this wasn't our land. These guys knew it better than we did. And if we got stuck or cornered out there. Amy shook her head, eyes locked on the highway.

We stay on the road. The white truck suddenly pulled into the opposite lane, revving up, trying to get beside us. My stomach dropped. If he passed us and cut in front, with the other truck behind, we'd be boxed in. This was it. A glimmer of hope. Just as panic threatened. to swallow me whole, we crested a small rise and saw a sign, Salinas Pueblo Mission's

National Monument. The sign pointed left, toward a side road. Almost at the same time, a blue pickup pulled out of that road and onto the highway ahead of us. As we closed the distance, the lettering on the tailgate came into focus, U.S. Park Service. I think I actually gasped out loud. Amy slowed just enough to fall in behind the blue truck. Both of us turned to look back. The white truck and the beat-up one immediately braked, swerved, and performed U-turns in unison. They sped off the way they'd come, vanishing into the desert night. Safe at last.

We followed the park service truck all the way to Mountaineer, barely speaking. Our nerves were fried, our bodies buzzing with leftover adrenaline. When we finally hit town, it felt like stepping into a safe zone in a video game. Lights. People. Civilization. From there, we continued to Albuquerque, but the ride was quiet. The desert, once enchanting, now felt like a predator we'd barely escaped. The moment I got home, I called state police. I gave them every detail, the trucks. the men, the walkie-talkies, the chase.

They said they'd keep an eye out, but I could tell they'd heard weird stories like this before. Later, the horror of it all deepened when we realized the area we'd been driving through was close to some very dark history. Near Belen, New Mexico, a girl named Tara Calico was abducted in 1988. Her case has never been solved. And about a hundred miles south, in Elephant Butte, serial killer David Parker Ray, known as the Toy Box Killer, kept his secret torture chamber. Even though he'd been dead for years by the time this happened, many believe he didn't act alone.

That there are still others out there. Had we stumbled into meth territory? Some trafficking operation? A cult? I don't know. But I do know one thing, those men had bad intentions. And if it weren't for that park service truck, I don't think I'd be here telling this story. Reflection

People always ask why we didn't just off-road it, why we didn't fight back, why we didn't do something. But unless you've been in that kind of situation, you don't understand. Out there, in the middle of nowhere, with no phone signal, no witnesses, and two trucks working together, it felt like the desert itself had turned against us. The strangest part is, you'd think an experience like that would have stopped me from ever setting foot on a lonely New Mexico highway again. But it didn't. Amy and I still took road trips after that, though we were more cautious. We stuck to main routes, kept people updated on our location, and trusted our instincts more. Because here's the thing about New Mexico, it pulls you

back in. The beauty is inseparable from the darkness. The desert doesn't just enchant you. It haunts you. To be continued.