Solved Murders - True Crime Stories - Terrifying Rest Stop Encounters True Stories of Danger, Fear and Narrow Escapes PART2 #26

Episode Date: October 21, 2025

#horrorstories #reddithorrorstories #ScaryStories #creepypasta #horrortales #reststopencounters #truefearstories #creepyreststops #realnightmares #dangerousandscary  Part 2 of Terrifying Rest Stop Encounters dives even deeper into true accounts of fear, danger, and survival. These chilling stories of dark highways, eerie strangers, and close brushes with violence show just how quickly an ordinary stop can turn into a nightmare.  horrorstories, reddithorrorstories, scarystories, horrorstory, creepypasta, horrortales, terrifyingreststops, truehorrorstories, creepyencounters, survivalhorror, roadsidefear, dangerousmeetings, eerieexperiences, chillingtrueevents, scarynarrations, late-nightfear, unsettlingencounters, truecreepytales, darkrealstories, nightmarefuel

Horror. Sally's story, the feeling that saved her. Sally wasn't the type of person to spook easily. She'd been making that drive for years, straight from Ontario all the way down to Oklahoma, 20 hours on the road with little more than a thermos of coffee, a bag of snacks, and her stubborn determination. She did it to save money, sure, but also because she was the kind of person who thought, why waste a night in a motel when I can just power through? That particular trip, though, something was different. She'd already been on the road for 14, maybe 15 hours. Her eyes were burning from staring at the dark highway lines.

Every part of her body was stiff from sitting. When she pulled into a well-lit rest stop, she felt that mix of exhaustion and relief only road trippers know. Bright lights, other cars coming and going, the bathrooms closed by, it seemed safe enough. She even got out, stretched her legs, used the bathroom, and came back to her car feeling like she had made a smart decision. She was parked right under the floodlights. There were other travelers milling about, no reason to worry. Not long after she settled in, an RV pulled up next to her.

Outstepped an older couple, gray hair, friendly smiles, the kind of people you'd expect to see on a postcard about retirement freedom. The man asked where she was from. When she said Canada, his eyes lit up like he'd just met someone from a faraway land. They made small talk, nothing weird, just the kind of road trip chatter strangers exchanged to pass the time. They told her they were headed north after driving from the south. They weren't sure if stopping at a rest area was safe, but seeing Sally there gave them some comfort. They laughed, said their good nights, and disappeared into their RV. Everything seemed normal.

Sally locked her doors, reclined her seat, and tried to get some rest. But a couple hours later, she jolted awake. Not because of a sound, not because of a nightmare, just a feeling.

That feeling. You know the one, that gut-deep, instinctual alarm that blare's in your body even when nothing looks wrong. Her chest felt tight, her stomach turned over, Her whole body screamed, leave.

She sat up, glanced around, the lights were still on, a few cars still parked, travelers still going in and out of the bathrooms. Nothing looked out of place, but the feeling didn't go away. In fact, it grew stronger. She told herself she was just tired, told herself she was overthinking. But every cell in her body shouted louder and louder until she couldn't ignore it anymore. She panicked, fumbled for her keys, started her car, and peeled out of that rest stop like someone was chasing her. She didn't care where she was headed, just away.

Twenty miles down the road, she spotted a small motel attached to a gas station. She barely had money, but the guy at the desk saw her exhaustion and cut her a deal. Don't want you driving alone all night, he said, handing her the key. She collapsed into bed, slept like the dead, and woke up around. around nine the next morning. Shower, fresh clothes, flip on the TV. That's when her blood went cold. The news anchor's voice was urgent, grim.

Breaking story, an elderly couple was found murdered overnight at a rest stop. The screen showed the very rest stop Sally had fled. And then, it showed the RV. The same RV, the exact one parked right next to her. Her breath caught in her throat. when the camera panned across the parking lot. There, under her car, was a fast food cup she remembered dropping the night before. The couple she'd chatted with, they were dead, murdered in the middle of the night while she

was parked just feet away. The killer, never caught. If she'd ignored that gut feeling, if she'd stayed even an hour longer, there's no telling what might have happened. Maybe she'd be a headline too. From that day forward, Sally never again trusted rest stops for overnight stays. Hotels only, no matter the cost. She learned the hard way that safe enough doesn't always mean safe.

2. 2005, the creeper in the van. Jump ahead a couple decades. Different person, different place, but same terrifying theme. Rest stops and the wrong kind of people lurking there. It was 2005. The storyteller here was 18, freshly dropped out of high school in Minnesota. Life was messy, bad health junior year, not enough credits to graduate, more interest in drinking than in class. Instead of sticking around, he grabbed a plane ticket and went to Washington State to...

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Live with his cousin and the cousin's girlfriend. Their place was about an hour north of Seattle. He had other friends in the city, so sometimes he'd head down, crash with them, go to concerts just lived the kind of reckless broke life only teenagers can survive. After one of those trips, he was headed back north to his cousins. Only problem, he was broke, like zero dollars broke. And the car he was driving, running on fumes. He figured he might make it. He didn't. Twenty miles short of his exit, the car coughed and sputtered to a stop. He coasted into the nearest rest stop, frustrated but not panicked. They had pay phones, right? This was 2005. Cell phones weren't yet glued to everyone's hand, and he didn't have one. So he went to the payphone, called collect,

and tried to reach anyone who could help. His cousin was three hours away in his hometown, and drunk. No help there. His cousin's girlfriend didn't answer. His Seattle friends didn't own cars. He was stranded. The cousin promised to come by. in the morning, so it looked like he was spending the night at the rest stop. Not ideal, but what choice did he have? He reclined the seat, pulled a hoodie over himself like a blanket, and tried to settle in. About 20 minutes later, headlights swept across the lot. A van pulled in, one of those old Chevy Astro vans that already had a creepy vibe even when brand new. Outstepped a man who looked like the dictionary definition of sketchy. Short, pudgy, balding,

fig glasses, the kind of guy you'd cross the street to avoid. He started walking around, slowly, deliberately, glancing into every parked car. There were only a few cars in the lot. When he got to the narrator's car, he stopped, stared, just stood there, eyes locked, like he was deciding something. It felt like forever. Finally, the man got back in his van, but instead of leaving, he parked behind the narrator, angled toward the woods. No more sleep after that. The narrator stat bolt up, wide-eyed, keeping constant watch. He could see the guy in his side mirror, see him staring right back through his own mirror.

This went on for two hours. Every now and then, the man would get out of his van and step into the woods. He thought he was invisible, but the glow of his cigarette gave him away. Each inhale was like a tiny flare in the dark. He was watching, always watching. The narrator's bladder was screaming, but there was no way in hell he was walking to the bathrooms with that creeper lurking. Finally, he grabbed the payphone again and called State Patrol.

They promised to send a trooper through. Relieved, he hung up. Then, 30 seconds later, the payphone rang. He figured it was State Patrol calling back. He picked up. A voice oozed through the line. You uh, want to get your dick sucked? Shock, silence.

The voice again, sleazy and menacing. Let me suck your dick. The narrator slammed the receiver down, disgusted. Then it hit him. The guy must have written down the payphone number. He was calling from somewhere in those woods. The phone rang again. Against better judgment, he answered.

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I could even give you some money. That crossed the line. It wasn't just creepy, I'more. It was a threat. Rage replaced fear. The narrator bolted toward his car, remembering he had an axe handle in the back for situations. As he reached for it, the creeper emerged. from the woods walking toward him. To be continued.