Solved Murders - True Crime Stories - Trapped in the Tunnel A Midnight Drive Turns Into a Descent Into the Unnatural Unknown #55

Episode Date: July 16, 2025

#horrorstories #reddithorrorstories #ScaryStories #creepypasta #horrortales #tunnelhorror #midnightdrive #lostinhorror #supernaturaltrap #unknowndescent  A late-night drive through a remote mountain pass takes a horrifying turn when a driver enters a tunnel that seemingly has no end—and no way out. Time fractures, radio static whispers impossible messages, and something unseen lurks in the dark. “Trapped in the Tunnel” is a claustrophobic nightmare about a journey into a place not meant for the living—where reality folds, and escape may not be part of the design.  horrorstories, reddithorrorstories, scarystories, horrorstory, creepypasta, horrortales, tunnelterror, liminalspace, midnightencounter, supernaturaljourney, endlessroad, trappedinthenight, hauntedpassage, realitybreaks, urbanmythhorror, darkdimension, unknownforces, drivingintoterror, lostinthenight, cursedpath

I do a fair bit of driving for work, sometimes late into the night. It's usually uneventful, just me, the road, and whatever podcast I've got on. This particular night, I was on a less-traveled state route, cutting across country to save some time. My GPS rerouted me due to an accident on the main highway, and this new route took me through some pretty remote, hilly terrain. It was well past midnight, maybe 2 a.m. The kind of dark where the trees on either side of the road look like huddled figures and your headlights are the only proof the world still exists. I saw a sign indicating a tunnel about a mile before I reached it. No specific name, just a standard warning.

Tunnels at night always have a bit of an eerie vibe, don't they? This one looked old, a simple arch cut into a massive slab of rock, probably built decades ago. The kind with those dim, yellowish light spaced out along the ceiling, casting long, flickering shadows. As I approached, I remember thinking it was longer than I expected, disappearing into the blackness of the hill. I slowed down as I entered, the rumble of my tires changing tone as they hit the tunnels concrete. The air grew cooler, damper. My radio, which had been playing some low-key indie station, started to crackle and then hissed into static. Annoying, but typical for tunnels.

I reached over to turn it off, plunging the car into a relative silence, broken only by the engine's hum and a rhythmic thwump-thwump of the lights passing overhead. I was maybe a quarter of the way through, it's hard to judge distances in these things, when I saw him. A figure, standing by the narrow walkway on the right side of the tunnel. Just standing there, his back mostly to me, looking towards the tunnel wall. My heart gave a little jump. You don't expect to see pedestrians in a remote tunnel at 2 a.m.

My first thought was that his car had broken down. I eased off the accelerator, my car slowing. As I got closer, he turned, and I saw his face in the dim, intermittent light. He was an older guy, maybe late 50s, early 60s. Looked tired, a bit dishevelled. He wore a simple jacket and jean. He wasn't holding a sign, wasn't thumbing for a ride, just, standing there. But as my headlights fully illuminated him, he raised a hand, not in a desperate wave,

but a slow, almost hesitant gesture. Common sense screamed at me to keep going. Late night, remote tunnel, lone stranger. It's a recipe for a bad story. But he looked, more lost than dangerous. And there was a part of me, the part that hopes someone would stop for me if I were in a similar bind that nudged me to slow down further. I pulled up alongside him, rolling down my passenger window. The damp, cool air of the tunnel, smelling faintly of wet stone and exhaust fumes, seeped into the car. Everything all right. I asked, trying to keep my voice even.

He leaned down a little, peering in. His face was lined, and he had weary eyes. Oh, thank goodness, he's not. said, his voice a little hoarse. My car, it just died on me. Back a ways. Completely dead. In the tunnel? I asked, glancing in my rearview mirror. The entrance was a distant, pale arch, but I hadn't seen any disabled vehicles. No hazard lights, nothing. He shook his head. No, just before it. It sort of, veered off into the ditch right as I was approaching. the entrance. Engine cut out, lights, everything. One moment I was driving, the next I was

wrestling the wheel to keep it from hitting the rock face. It's probably not visible from the road, tucked down in the gully there. He gestured vaguely behind him, towards the tunnel entrance. Stupid thing. I figured my best bet was to walk through. There's a 24-hour service station on the other side of this hill, about two miles past the tunnel exit, according to the last road sign I saw. His explanation sounded plausible enough. A car going into a ditch in the dark, especially if it lost power, might not be easily seen. And he didn't seem threatening. Just a guy down on his luck. Hop in, I said, unlocking the passenger door. I can take you to the station. Oh, bless you, he said, a wave of relief.

washing over his face. You're a lifesaver. Truly. He opened the door and settled into the passenger seat, bringing a gust of that damp tunnel air with him. He smelled faintly of wet earth and something else, something I couldn't quite place, a metallic, coppery scent, very faint.

I dismissed it as probably being from the ditch or his old car. No problem at all, I said, pulling away from the side and accelerating gently. horrible place to get stranded. Tell me about it, he sighed, rubbing his hands together as if for warmth, though it wasn't particularly cold. One minute everything's fine, the next, well, just grateful you came along. We drove in silence for a minute or two. The tunnel lights continued their rhythmic flash overhead. I glanced at my dashboard. All systems normal. I kept expecting to see the bright arch of the exit looming ahead, but the tunnel just, kept going. It was a long tunnel,

for sure. I tried to remember the sign if it had indicated the length. I didn't think so. This is quite the tunnel, I remarked, mostly to break the silence. It is, isn't it, he said, his voice quiet. He was looking straight ahead, at the seemingly endless tube of concrete and dim light. Goes on a fair bit. Another few minutes passed. I started to feel a little knot of unease in my stomach. I could see, far in the distance, what looked like brighter lights of the outside world, indicating the exit. But it wasn't getting any closer. Not really. I'd been driving at a steady 40 miles per hour, which is the posted limit. We should have been out ages ago. I tapped my fingers on the steering wheel. Are you sure that service station isn't too

far past the exit? This tunnel feels like it's going on forever. I tried to laugh it off, but the laugh sounded hollow even to my own ears. The man didn't turn his head. Not much further now, he said, his voice still soft, almost monotone. We should be seeing the end properly any second. But we didn't. A pinprick of light that I assumed was the exit remained stubbornly distant, like a star you can see but never reach. I checked my odometer. We'd driven nearly three miles since I'd picked him up. This tunnel couldn't possibly be that long, could it?

Not out here, in the middle of nowhere. A tunnel that long would be a major feat of engineering, something people would know about. My unease was growing, coiling in my gut like a cold snake. I glanced at my GPS. The screen was frozen on the point where I'd entered the tunnel, the little car icon stationary, the map around it unresponsive. GPS is out, I muttered. Great. They never work well in these deep places, the man said. His voice was calm. Too calm. I risked a quick look at him.

He was still staring straight ahead, his expression unreadable in the dim, pulsing light. That faint, coppery smell I'd noticed earlier seemed a little stronger now, or maybe I was just imagining it. It really feels like we're not getting any closer to the exit, I said, my voice a little tighter this time. Look. I gestured ahead. It's been like that for miles. He finally turned his head to look at me. His eyes, in the flickering gloom, seemed darker than before, and there was something in them, a stillness that was deeply unsettling. Patience, he said, his voice a low rumble. Tunnels can be deceiving.

We'll be out soon. Very soon. His reassurance did nothing to calm me. In fact, it did the opposite. There was a subtle shift in his tone, something that wasn't quite right. A weird, almost soothing quality that felt predatory. Then, something else. happened. I glanced in my rearview mirror, a habit when feeling uneasy. The tunnel lights behind

us, stretching back towards the entrance I could no longer see, were different. One of them, about a hundred yards back, flickered and went out, plunging that section of the tunnel into deeper shadow. Then, a moment later, the next one closest to it did the same. And the next. A wave of cold dread washed over me. The darkness was creeping up behind us, swallowing the lights one by one. It was like the tunnel itself was being snuffed out from behind, and the blackness was advancing, chasing us. Did you see that? I asked, my voice barely a whisper. The lights, they're going out behind us. The man didn't look back. He kept his eyes on me. Darkness comes for us all, eventually, he said, and this time there was no mistaking the strangeness in his voice.

It was deeper, resonant, and held a chilling certainty. My heart was hammering against my ribs. This wasn't right. This wasn't a breakdown, this wasn't a long tunnel. This was something else. Something terrible. The air in the car felt heavy, oppressive. That coppery smell was definitely stronger now, and it was making me feel

nauseous. I pressed down on the accelerator, the engine whining as the car picked up speed. 50, 55, 60 miles per hour. The tunnel walls became a blur of streaking concrete. The lights overhead flashed by faster, thwm-thwump, but the pinprick of the exit remained stubbornly, impossibly distant. What's going on? I demanded, my voice shaking. Why isn't this tunnel ending? The man was silent for a moment. Then he said, very softly, perhaps it doesn't want us to leave. I risked another glance in the rearview mirror. The darkness was closer.

Much closer. The last visible light behind us was now only perhaps 50 feet away, and the ones before it were gone, swallowed by an impenetrable blackness that seemed to pulse, to almost breathe. I felt a primal fear, a desperate urge to escape this encroaching. void. It felt, hungry. You need to slow down, the man said, his voice now holding a distinct note of command. It was unervingly calm. There's no need to rush. No need to rush. I almost screamed. That darkness is gaining on us. We need to get out of here. The darkness isn't something to be feared, he said, his head tilting slightly. It's peaceful. It's an

end to struggle. He paused, and then his voice dropped even lower, becoming almost a caress. You should stop the car. Just, pull over. Let it take you. Surrender to it. It's so much easier if you just give in. As he spoke, a profound weariness washed over me. My eyelids felt incredibly heavy. The wheel in my hand seemed to weigh a ton. The thought of just stopping, of closing my eyes and letting whatever was happening happen, was suddenly, overwhelmingly appealing. Peace. Yes, peace sounded good. The fear began to recede, replaced by a strange, inviting lethargy. My foot eased off the accelerator. The car began to slow. The encroaching darkness in the rearview mirror seemed to swell, to welcome me. But then, a different instinct, something raw and

primal buried deep inside, screamed. Danger. Wake up. Don't you dare. It was like a jolt of ice water. My eyes snapped fully open. The drowsiness vanished, replaced by a surge of adrenaline so potent it made me gasp. This wasn't peace. This was absorption. I slammed my foot on the brake, hard. The tires shrieked in protest, the car slewing slightly before coming to a jarring halt. The man was thrown forward against his seatbelt, letting out a small grunt. The darkness behind us was now terrifyingly close, a solid wall of nothingness just yards from our rear bumper, seeming to writhe and royal. My hand fumbled for the glove compartment. I always keep my licensed self-defense pistol in there on long drives through unfamiliar territories.

My fingers closed around the cool metal grip. What are you doing? The man asked, his voice no longer soothing, but sharp, edged with something cold and angry. I pulled out the gun, my hand shaking violently, but my grip firm. I thunded off the safety and pointed it at him. Get out, I snarled, my voice ragged. Get out of my car. Now, for a split second, he just stared at me, and then at the gun.

The dim, pulsing tunnel light caught his face, and I saw it transform. The weary lines seemed to deepen, to twist. His eyes. God's, his eyes. They weren't human. They were pits of utter blackness, reflecting no light, only an ancient, malevolent intelligence. And then, he smiled. It wasn't a human smile.

It was too wide, too predatory, filled with an unholy glee. The coppery smell was overpowering now, thick and cloying, like stale blood. You can't escape it, you know, he hissed, his voice a dry, rasping whisper that scraped at my sanity. It's tasted you now. It knows your scent. Get out! I screamed, my finger tightening on the trigger. The smile widened, if that was even possible.

With an unnerving, fluid grace, he opened the car. door. He didn't seem bothered by the gun at all. Very well, he said, stepping out into the dim, oppressive gloom of the tunnel. He stood there for a moment, framed by the open door, the wall of absolute darkness just feet behind him, seeming to curl around him like a welcoming cloak. This tunnel may let you go for now, he rasped, his dark eyes fixed on mine. But every tunnel you enter, every shadow you cross, it will be waiting. It has your It will find you again. You can't run from your own darkness. Then, he turned and, without a backward glance, calmly walked towards the pursuing blackness. He took one step, then two, and on the third, he simply, dissolved into it. Like smoke. One moment he was there, a dark silhouette against a darker void, and the next, he was gone. Swallowed. I didn't wait. I slammed the gear shift into drive, my foot stomping the accelerator to the floor.

The tires spun for a horrifying second on the slick concrete before catching, and the car lurched forward, rocketing away from that spot. I didn't look in the rear-view mirror. I couldn't. I just drove, my eyes fixed on that impossibly distant pinprick of light, praying, bargaining with any God that might be listening. The engine screamed. The tunnel lights were a strobing.

sickening blur. I have no idea how fast I was going. I just knew I had to get out. The darkness, I could feel it, even without looking. It was still there, still behind me, perhaps still gaining. And then, suddenly, impossibly, the pinprick of light ahead rapidly expanded. It grew, brightened, resolved itself into the distinct, arched opening of the tunnel exit, with the paler light of the pre-dawned sky beyond. I burst out of the tunnel and into the cool, fresh air of the outside world like a cork from a bottle. I was gasping, sobbing, my entire body shaking uncontrollably. I didn't slow down.

I kept accelerating, putting as much distance as possible between me and that accursed hole in the earth. I drove for what felt like an eternity, though it was probably only ten or fifteen minutes, before I saw the blessed, fluorescent glow of a 24-hour service station sign. I pulled in, my tires screeching, and slammed the car into park. I almost fell out of the driver's seat, my legs like jelly. I was covered in a cold sweat, hyperventilating. The attendant, a sleepy-looking kid, just stared at me from behind the counter as I stumbled in, probably looking like I'd seen a legion of ghosts. I bought a bottle of water, my hands shaking so badly I could barely open it. I didn't say anything about what happened. What could I say? Who would believe me? I eventually got back in my car, locked all the doors,

and just sat there until the sun came up, the gun on the passenger seat beside me. I never saw any sign of the man's car, no ditch, nothing. The road leading to the tunnel and away from it, was just an ordinary, empty country road. It's been a few days. I haven't been able to drive through any tunnel since, not even short ones in broad daylight. Every time I approach one, I feel this cold dread, this certainty that it's waiting. His words echo in my head, it has your scent. It will find you again. I don't know what that thing in the tunnel was. I don't know what the darkness was. But it felt ancient, and it felt malice. And I know, with a certainty that chills me to the bone, that it's not over the END.