Solved Murders - True Crime Stories - Terrifying Road Trips Motel Intrusion, Highway Stalker, and Bloody Gas Station #72

Episode Date: October 16, 2025

#horrorstories #reddithorrorstories #ScaryStories #creepypasta #horrortales #roadtriphorror #motelintrusion #highwaystalker #bloodygasstation #truefearstories  This story collection captures the terror of road trips gone horribly wrong. A motel stay turns into a nightmare with an unexpected intrusion, a relentless stalker follows along desolate highways, and a gas station stop becomes drenched in blood and fear. These chilling encounters remind us that the open road can be as dangerous as it is freeing.  horrorstories, reddithorrorstories, scarystories, horrorstory, creepypasta, horrortales, roadtriphorror, motelintrusion, highwaystalker, bloodygasstation, roadsidefear, creepyencounters, terrifyingroadtrips, nightmarestories, hauntedroads, unsettlingencounters, chillingtrueevents, scarytravelstories, darkmysteries, truehorrorstories

Horror. There's always a reason to be afraid. Let me start this by saying, road trips sound fun on paper. You think about blasting music, endless coffee, windows down, wind in your face, that whole freedom of the open road thing. But when you're actually out there, hours from civilization, with nothing but stars, pitch black roads, and a gas tank slowly creeping toward empty, you realize road trips have a darker side. And if you're even slightly paranoid like me, you begin to notice that sometimes the road notices you back. These three stories stick with me because they weren't just creepy in the moment. They changed the way I think about travel, people, and the world in general. So, buckle up, because I'm about to dive into three times where there's always a reason to be afraid wasn't just a saying. It was a fact.

Story 1 The Motel from Hell A few years back, I was doing a solo cross-country drive to get to a family reunion. Solo trips are a double-edged sword. You get the freedom of not arguing with anyone about bathroom breaks or playlists, but you also don't have backup if something goes wrong. And things, of course, went wrong. First, the weather was trash.

Sheets of rain, hydroplaining trucks, windshield wipers working overtime, but still useless. Then, just as I thought it couldn't get worse, traffic stopped cold, an accident up ahead. I sat there stewing for what felt like forever, trying not to fall asleep in the driver's seat. By the time the road cleared, I was hours behind schedule, five, to be exact. At this point, I wasn't just tired. I was running on fumes, body aching, desperate for a bathroom, desperate for a shower, desperate to just close my eyes somewhere that wasn't a car seat. That's when I spotted it, a tiny strip motel off some back road. You know the type, flickering neon sign, half the letters burned out, parking lot cracked and faded, one sad

vending machine humming by the door. It looked sketchy as hell, but exhaustion makes you lower your standards. It'll work in a pinch, I told myself. The check-in lobby wasn't even a real lobby. It was one of those setups where you stand outside and talk through a little bulletproof window. Behind the glass was a guy. Late 40s maybe, greasy hair, eyes that lingered way too long. His first question? Traveling alone? Red flag. Big one. I faked a smile, handed over my ID and credit card. He shoved them back at me. Cash only. Another flag. My gut was screaming at me to leave, But I was so bone-tired, I convinced myself I was just overthinking. I dug around my bag, scraped together just enough crumpled bills, and slid them through the slot.

He tossed me a key, literally tossed it, like he couldn't care less. The room was bad, dim light bulb, cigarette burns on the comforter, bathroom door that didn't close all the way. The first thing I did, like any horror-obsessed traveler, was flip the mattress. Yep, stains. And the cherry on top, a roach scuttled across the nightstand. That was it. I was done.

No way in hell was I sleeping in there. I locked the door, went back to my SUV, and decided to camp in the hatch. I piled some clothes for a makeshift blanket, curled up on a suitcase, and eventually passed out. I don't know how long I slept, but when I woke up, it was around 3 a.m. You know that weird feeling where you're not even fully awake, but you know, something's off? Yeah, that's what dragged me out of sleep. I peeked through my tinted windows, and there he was, the check-in guy, on his phone, pacing, looking straight in my room. He finished his call, walked right over to the door, and let himself in. I froze, my whole

body locked up. The lights inside didn't flip on, but I saw his silhouette moving around. A minute later, the door slammed. He stormed out, muttering curses, and that's when I saw another man with him. I hadn't seen that second guy before. They started whisper arguing, voices low but heated. Then, without warning, the check-in guy walked straight toward my SUV. I panicked, pulled a random shirt over my head like that was going to make me invisible. He tried the door handle. Thank God I'd locked it. Then he pressed his face near the window, cupping his hands like he was trying to see inside. The tint and the chaos of bags in the back saved me.

He didn't notice I was curled up in there, shaking so hard I thought the whole car would rattle. Finally, he gave up and walked back to his buddy. They headed to the far side of the lot, gesturing across the street toward a diner. That was my chance. Heart pounding, I slid into the front seat, started the engine. They both turned, surprise all over their faces. But I didn't wait. Tire squealed, gravel flew, and I was gone.

I called some friends back home to vent, but I never told my family. I didn't want to freak them out. Weeks later, when I was finally back home, I looked up the motel on Google Maps. Curiosity got the better of me, so I called the local police. Their response? That place? It shut down a few days ago. To this day, I wonder what would have happened if I'd stayed in that room.

Story 2. the car that wouldn't quit. When I was younger, road trips were a family tradition. Every new year, we'd pack up and head from North Texas to visit family in Mexico. Usually, everything went smooth, late night drives, snacks, cassette tapes, the whole nostalgic vibe. But one year, when I was eight, everything changed. We left like always, around 6 p.m. By 2 a.m., we were across the border, cruising through the desert. If you've never driven through a desert at night, Let me paint the picture. Pitch black, no streetlights, no towns, nothing but endless flat land, a sky stuffed with stars, and the occasional cactus silhouette looking like some ghostly figure.

For a while, we didn't notice the car behind us. It wasn't weird to see the same vehicle for miles. There's only one stretch a highway after all. But eventually, my mom leaned forward, voiced tight. Miguel, she said to my dad, that car's been behind us since. Laredo. My dad shrugged. Lots of people use this road. He's probably headed to Rasa or somewhere. But my mom didn't buy it. She kept glancing in the mirror, tense. My siblings and I caught on, and soon it became a game, watching the headlights through gaps in the luggage stacked in the back. The game stopped being fun real fast. He's getting closer, my mom whispered. And sure enough, the car behind us was inching forward. Too close, way too close. On an empty desert road at two in the morning,

it felt like a nightmare. My dad stayed steady, didn't speed up, didn't slow down, just drove. The other car followed, sometimes backing off, sometimes tailgating so close, their headlights blinded us, like they wanted us scared, like it was a game to them. For 30 minutes, we were trapped in this silent, terrifying dance. Then up ahead, we spotted a police car parked on the side of the road. My mom didn't hesitate. Miguel, pull over, right now, in front of him. We swerved over and stopped right in front of the cop. The officer walked up, confused, asking what was wrong. My mom explained everything, how the car had been following, taunting, trying to scare us. The officer's face darkened. This happens, he said. People get robbed out here.

sometimes worse. He offered to follow behind us for a while, and the relief in that moment was unreal. We drove on, feeling safer with the cruiser behind us, until 10 minutes later. There, on the side of the road, was the same car, parked, waiting. Story 3. Blood on the door. Fast forward to my adult life, another road trip, this time with a colleague. We were cutting through West Texas, and if you've ever been out there, It's desolate. Even the major highways feel abandoned. Every hundred miles or so, you'll hit a gas station, usually the only building for miles. After four hours of her driving, it was my turn. But first, gas. Quarter tank left.

You learn quick that out there, you don't risk it. When you see a station, you stop. We pulled into this little Chevron, middle and nowhere. Out back there was a trailer, probably where the owners lived. another car sat near the door, dented, dingy, no plates. We walked up to the double doors, both locked. My friend started rattling the handle, annoyed. I turned to see if there was a back in five minutes sign.

That's when I noticed. Coffee pot inside, halfway through brewing. Security monitors, just static. And then, on the back door, a streak of red, bright red, with handprints. My whole body went cold. I grabbed my friend's arm. We need to go now. She didn't get it, but we need gas. Blood, I hissed. There's blood in there. Finally she listened. We bolted for the car. As we backed out, I saw it, the back door of the station swinging open. We didn't wait. We drove 20 miles before either of us said a word. At the next truck stop, I called the police. No signal until then. I told them everything. Their response? Just a quick thanks.

No follow-up. No closure. To this day, I wonder what the hell happened in that gas station. Final thoughts. All three of these stories taught me one thing. Danger doesn't always come with warning sirens. Sometimes it's hidden in plain sight. The sketchy motel clerk, the silent car tailgating for miles,

the scariest part, none of it felt like a movie. It was all ordinary until, it wasn't, and that's the kind of fear that stays with you. Because out there on the road, or really anywhere, there's always a reason to be afraid. The end.