Solved Murders - True Crime Stories - Terrifying Rest Stop Encounters True Stories of Danger, Fear and Narrow Escapes PART3 #27

Episode Date: October 21, 2025

#horrorstories #reddithorrorstories #ScaryStories #creepypasta #horrortales #truefearstories #creepynightrides #reststopterrors #realhorrorsurvival #darkencounters  Part 3 of Terrifying Rest Stop Encounters continues with more chilling true stories of fear, danger, and shocking close calls. From unsettling strangers lurking in the dark to encounters that could have turned deadly, these tales reveal how rest stops can quickly become the stage for real-life nightmares.  horrorstories, reddithorrorstories, scarystories, horrorstory, creepypasta, horrortales, terrifyingreststops, creepyroadstories, scarytrueevents, roadsidehorror, chillingencounters, truefearstories, survivalnightmares, eeriehighways, darkrealencounters, unsettlingtrueevents, realnightterrors, creepyexperiences, dangerandfear, narrowescapes

There's so much rugby on Sports Extra from Sky. They've asked me to read the whole lad at the same speed I usually use for the legal bit at the end. Here goes. This winter Sports Extra is jam-packed with rugby. For the first time we've got every Champions Cup match exclusively live, plus action from the URC, the Challenge Cup, and much more. Thus the URC and all the best European rugby all in the same place.

Get more exclusively live tournaments than ever before on Sports Extra. Jampack with rugby. Phew, that is a lot of rugby. Get Sports Extra on Sky for 15 euro a month for 12 months. Search Sports Extra. New Sports Extra customers only. Standard Pressing applies after 12 months for the terms apply. I know what you're feeling and I was there too.

And I know you might think that there is nobody to talk to, but I promise that you're not alone. It was never your fault, and you deserve support and healing in your own time. Whenever you're ready to talk, Dublin Rape Crisis Centre will be ready to listen. Call the 24-hour National Helpline on 1-800-77-8888. Horror

Part 1 The Creeper with the Van 2005, Washington State When you're 18, you think you're invincible. At least I did. Dropped out of school, flew across the country, living with my cousin, broke as hell, but figuring, hey, I'll be fine.

What I didn't know was that sometimes the scariest things aren't the ghosts or monsters from horror movies. They're the living, breathing people who pop up in the places you least expect them. That night at the rest stop, I thought the worst thing I'd deal with was boredom or being cold. I had no idea it was about to spiral into the creepiest night of my life. Let's pick it up where things went from uneasy to this is how people end up on a true crime documentary. So there I was,

standing in that dark lot, axe handle in my hand, adrenaline screaming through my veins. The guy had been calling me from the woods, whispering disgusting threats into the payphone, and now he was stepping out of the trees, walking toward me like he owned the place. I didn't even hesitate. I raised the axe handle, pointed it straight at him, and barked. Get back in your van and get the effing out of here. I swear to God I'll bash your skull in. My voice cracked with a mix of fear and rage, but it didn't matter. It came out loud enough, sharp enough, that it carried across the whole rest stop. The guy froze mid-step. He squinted at me, tilting his head just slightly, as if he was sizing me up, deciding whether I was bluffing or whether I'd actually swing.

For a second, my heart sank. I thought he was going to keep coming. But then, without a word, he turned, walked back to his van, climbed inside. The whole time, his eyes never left me. He put the key in the ignition and slowly rolled out of the lot, but not before giving me one last long stare. When he was gone, my whole body shook uncontrollably. My hands felt like they were buzzing. My teeth even chattered, though it wasn't cold. That's what pure adrenaline does to you. It tricks your body into thinking it just survived a war. Not long after, the state trooper finally showed up. The cruiser's headlights washed over me, and I felt this wave of relief so strong I almost cried. I explained everything, from the creepy staring to the disgusting phone calls.

The trooper listened, stone-faced, then asked if I wanted to ride with him up the highway, said there was a Denny's a few exits up where I could stay safe the rest of the night until my cousin could pick me up. But before that, he had an idea. Let's just check the rest stop on the other side of the highway, he said. Sometimes guys just circle around. We drove across, and sure enough, there was the van. I watched from the cruiser as the trooper got out, approach the vehicle, and leaned down to the driver's window. From where I sat, I couldn't hear the words, but I could see the trooper's finger jabbing the air, see his body posture go from calm to pissed in an instant. The whole conversation lasted maybe five minutes, but it felt longer. When he came back,

He shook his head. Nothing I can charge him with. Says he's waiting for a ride. Doesn't have a license. Claims a friend dropped him off. If he's still here when I come back through, I'll run him out. If I catch him driving, I'll arrest him. But for now, that's all I can do.

I was stunned. He threatened me. He called me. He was... The trooper cut me off. Yeah, I know. But without evidence, my hands are tied. Believe me, I gave him the third degree.

Then he added something that chilled me. By the way, I looked inside his van. He's got several pairs of binoculars and a giant bag of candy on the front seat. What the hell kind of grown man drives around with multiple binoculars and a bag of candy? I didn't want to think about the answer. The trooper drove me up the highway and dropped me at Denny's. My cousin picked me up in the morning, and I told him everything. He laughed at first, then got serious,

when I told him about the calls and the note. Oh yeah, the note. See, we went back the next day with a gas can to get my car, and stuck under the windshield wiper was a piece of paper, folded neatly. It was a poem, a hate-filled, childish, terrifying poem. I can't remember the exact lines, but it went something like, you should have kept your mouth shut, you stupid little effing. Somebody should have taught you never to go snitch. You belong at home, sucking Mama's Tit. It went on for pages. Nonsense rhymes mixed with venal.

The creeper had been close enough to my car to leave it there. And worse, when we looked underneath, he'd caught the brake lines. If I'd tried to drive that car away without noticing, I probably wouldn't be here telling this story. We called the troopers again. There's so much rugby on sports extra from Sky, they've asked me to read the whole lad at the same speed I usually use for the legal bit at the end.

Here goes. This winter sports extra is jam-packed with rugby. For the first time we've bet every Champions Cup match exclusively live, bus action from the URC, the Challenge Cup, and much more. Thus the URC and all the best European rugby all in the same place. Get more exclusively live tournaments than ever before on Sports Extra. Jam-packed with rugby. Phew, that is a lot of rugby.

Get Sports Extra on Sky for 15 euro a month for 12 months. Search Sports Extra. New Sports Extra customers only. Standard Pressing applies after 12 months, further terms apply. You didn't deserve what happened. and it doesn't have to define you. You don't have to carry it alone. I know a safe place where you can tell your story

and you'll be believed. Call the Dublin Rape Crisis Centre National Helpline on 1-800-77-8888 whenever you're ready to talk. They'll be ready to listen. They came out, took the note, wrote down more info, but nothing ever came of it. They knew who the guy was, had his van, had his description, but for whatever reason, the case

just fizzles. It wasn't even my car. A buddy from Minnesota had left it with me, saying I could use it until he came back for it. After that, he decided not to bother. Can't blame him. I didn't stick around Washington much longer after that. And for the short time I was there, every rest stop I passed, me and my cousin would slow down, scan the lot, hoping to spot that van.

again. In hindsight, it's probably a blessing we never did, because we were dead set on hurting him badly. Part 2. The Super Bowl rest stop, Louisiana. Fast forward a few years. Whole different situation, but still a rest stop, still a creep. It was Super Bowl Sunday. The Ravens crushed the giants that year. I remember because I spent the whole day waiting tables, slinging burgers and coffee while everyone else was glued to the game. By the end of my shift, I'd probably had six or seven cups of coffee just to keep moving. That's important, because when I got in my car afterward, picked up the girl I was seeing and started heading home, that coffee decided to hit me all at once. We lived about 30 miles east of Shreveport, right along I-20. The second I merged onto the highway, my bladder screamed. I wasn't just

uncomfortable, I was in full-on emergency mode. There was a rest stop just outside the city. I clenched my jaw, gripped the wheel, and sped, praying I'd make it. My girlfriend, Grace, started laughing when she realized why I'd gone dead silent. I barely got the car in park before I was out the door, speedwalking toward the bathrooms. This wasn't a big, fancy rest stop. Just two concrete block rooms under one roof, with a breezeway in between. No vent. No visitor center, just a map of Louisiana on a board under an awning, bare bones. As I hustled past, I noticed a man standing in front of the map. Nothing unusual. People check those maps all the time.

But the way he turned to look at me, the way his eyes lingered just a little too long, it prickled the back of my neck. I told myself not to overthink it. I pushed through the door into the men's room. Empty. Thank God. I went straight to a stall, shut the door, and finally let go. Relief washed over me, but it didn't last. The door opened, heavy footsteps echoed.

The man walked straight past my stall, then into one a few doors down. My gut dropped. Every rumor I'd ever heard about that rest stop hit me at once, robberies, assaults, guys lurking for hookups. My brain screamed danger. My hands shook as I fumbled the, in my pocket and flipped open the knife I carried. I finished up, but leaving the stall was a whole new kind of fear. I tried to slide the lock quietly. Of course, it jammed halfway before popping open

with a loud metallic clang. My heart sank. I peeked under the stall door. No feet. Slowly I pushed the door open. Empty. But then, the mirror. The men's room had one of those long, wavy industrial mirrors. Flickering fluorescent light buzzed overhead. In the warped reflection, I caught movement. The man wasn't gone. He was standing half hidden in the doorway of another stall. His pants were undone. His hand was moving. At first it was the motion that caught my eye. Then I looked up at his face. Blank. No smile, no frown, no smirk. Just a dead, expressionless stare. His eyes looked black, bottomless. He was staring right at me while touching himself like it was the most normal thing in the world. A chill ran through me. I raised my knife, angled it so the light caught the blade. For a few endless seconds, we just stared at each other in silence. Then, without a word, I turned and bolted out the door. Grace was in the car, phone in hand, ready to call the state police if I didn't come out soon. I'd. I jumped in, slammed the locks down, and tore out of there.

Took the long way home, checking my mirrors every mile. A few years later, that rest stop was demolished. Officially, the state said it was because of unwanted activity. I didn't need an explanation. I'd lived it. And to this day, I don't stop at interstate rest stops after dark. Hi, I'm Darren Marler. Host of the Weird Darkness podcast.

I want to talk about the most important tool in my podcast belt. Spreaker is the all-in-one platform that makes it easy to record, host, and distribute your show everywhere from Apple Podcasts to Spotify. But the real game changer for me was Spreaker's monetization. Spreaker offers dynamic ad insertion. That means you can automatically insert ads into your episodes. No editing required. And with Spreker's programmatic ads, they'll bring the ads to you,

and you get paid for every download. This turned my podcasting hobby into a full-time career. Spreaker also has a premium subscription model where your most dedicated listeners can pay for bonus content or early access, adding another revenue stream to what you're already doing. And the best part, Spreaker grows with you. Whether you're just starting out or running a full-blown podcast network, Spreker's powerful tools scale effortlessly as your show grows. So if you're ready to podcast like a pro and get paid while doing it, check out spreeker.com. That's S-P-R-E-K-E-R dot com. Looking back, both stories have the same core truth. Your instincts matter. Sally trusted hers and probably saved her life. I ignored mine for too long and barely escaped with a creepy poem and a sabotaged car. And in Louisiana, I learned that sometimes danger doesn't come charging at you. It lurks, waits, and stares with empty eyes. Rest stops should be safe havens for travelers. Too often, there anything but. The end.