Latest / Shallow Nights: Scary Bedtime Stories / Surviving the Unseen: Harrowing Encounters and Mysteries of Winter Wilderness

Transcript

Surviving the Unseen: Harrowing Encounters and Mysteries of Winter Wilderness · Shallow Nights: Scary Bedtime Stories

0:06
Winter storms in Alaska aren't unusual.
0:09
Most of us here know how to handle a snowstorm, even the
0:12
fierce ones. I've been living alone in this
0:14
house for about 5 years, a modest place on the edge of the
0:18
woods, far enough from the city to feel quiet but close enough
0:22
to make the commute manageable. That night, though, the storm
0:25
hit harder than usual. It was a Friday in late December
0:30
2017, and I'd closed up the store early, sending my staff
0:34
home before the roads got too bad.
0:37
By the time I got back, the snow was falling thick, turning my
0:40
driveway into a white, uneven mess.
0:43
After shoveling just enough to park, I went inside, locked up
0:46
and turned on the heater. The wind howled outside,
0:50
rattling the windows now and then, but I found the sound
0:53
comforting. I made myself a mug of cocoa and
0:56
settled into my worn recliner, the kind that leans too far back
1:00
if you're not careful. It was shaping up to be the kind
1:03
of evening I liked. No noise, no people.
1:06
Just me and the storm. Around midnight, I was halfway
1:10
through a random documentary on glaciers when I heard a knock.
1:15
I hit pause, sitting up straighter.
1:17
I live pretty far out, and my nearest neighbor is at least a
1:19
quarter mile down the road. Visitors at midnight.
1:23
Not exactly common. I got up, pulling the curtain
1:26
aside to peek out the front window.
1:28
Snow was falling heavily, blurring the porch light.
1:32
No one was there, just the winds swirling flurries across the
1:35
yard. Then I saw boot prints.
1:38
They led right up to my door and back down the steps.
1:41
They were fresh too, sharp edges, no snow filling them in
1:45
yet. Opening the door wasn't an
1:47
option. The wind would have blasted snow
1:49
straight into my entryway. Besides, something about those
1:52
prints unsettled me. I stood there for a moment, my
1:55
hand hovering over the deadbolt, listening.
1:57
Nothing but the wind. After a minute, I locked the
2:00
door again and went back to my recliner, trying to brush it
2:03
off. Maybe someone got lost, maybe it
2:07
was just a random hiker, but deep down it didn't sit right.
2:11
About an hour later, the second knock came.
2:14
This time it wasn't at the front door.
2:16
It came from the side of the house near the kitchen window.
2:21
I got up quickly, my pulse picking up, and grab the
2:23
flashlight I kept by the door. The kitchen window was
2:26
completely frosted over, so I couldn't see much.
2:29
I flicked off the lights inside and aimed the flashlight
2:31
outside. Nothing.
2:34
The snow outside that window was untouched.
2:36
No footprints, no signs of movement.
2:39
But the knock had been real, I was sure of it.
2:42
I stayed there for a while, flashlight in hand, scanning the
2:45
yard. A few minutes passed and I
2:48
convinced myself it was a tree branch, or maybe even the storm
2:51
playing tricks. I turned the lights back on,
2:53
locked all the windows and went to bed, leaving the flashlight
2:57
on the night stand. I woke up to 1/3 knock.
3:01
This one was louder. It came from the back of the
3:04
house near the sliding glass door that led to the deck.
3:08
My heart sank as I sat up, straining to hear over the wind.
3:12
Sliding out of bed, I grabbed the flashlight and crept down
3:15
the hallway. The sliding door was locked.
3:17
I checked it earlier, but the curtain wasn't drawn.
3:21
I paused a few feet away and peered out.
3:24
The deck was empty. The snow covered deck beyond the
3:27
glass was undisturbed. No tracks, no signs of anyone
3:30
standing there. But the knocks had been real. 3
3:33
sharp wraps, as clear as day. I stayed there for a while,
3:37
staring out into the swirling snow.
3:40
The only thing visible was the faint outline of the woods
3:42
beyond the yard. The rest of the night was worse.
3:46
The knocks didn't stop. They came every hour, sometimes
3:50
louder, sometimes softer. Front door, side windows, back
3:54
door. They moved around the house like
3:56
someone was circling it. At one point I thought I heard
4:00
faint footsteps crunching through the snow, but when I
4:02
looked out, there was nothing there.
4:05
The storm was too strong to go outside, and even if I could,
4:08
what was I supposed to do? Chase after invisible knocks in
4:12
a Blizzard? I spent the rest of the night on
4:15
edge, flashlight in hand, every light in the house on.
4:19
By morning, the storm had eased, the wind had died down, and pale
4:22
sunlight filtered through the overcast sky.
4:26
I stepped outside cautiously, bundled in my thick coat and
4:29
boots. The yard was quiet, the snow
4:31
deep but undisturbed in some areas.
4:34
But as I walked around the house, I started to notice
4:36
footprints. They weren't just at the front
4:39
door or the deck. They were everywhere.
4:42
Boot prints circled the house, weaving between the windows and
4:45
doors. Whoever had made them had walked
4:48
the perimeter several times, stopping at every entrance,
4:51
every pane of glass. But when I reached the edge of
4:55
the woods, what stood out most was that the footprints
4:57
continued deep into the forest, weaving between trees.
5:02
So I decided to follow them. About 200 yards in, the
5:05
footprints changed. I stopped dead in my tracks when
5:09
I saw them merge with something else.
5:11
Tire tracks. The faint imprint of a
5:14
snowmobile had flattened the snow, the path curving off into
5:17
the distance. I crouched down to look closer.
5:21
The tracks weren't fresh. There was a thin layer of snow
5:24
covering them, likely from the storm that had continued into
5:27
the early hours of the morning. Whoever it was had planned this.
5:32
They'd left just before daylight, knowing the snowfall
5:35
would cover their escape. I stood there for a while,
5:38
staring at the path, debating whether to go further.
5:42
But the snowmobiles trail was faint, barely visible anymore,
5:46
and I wasn't exactly equipped to trek through the woods for
5:49
miles. Back at the house, I called the
5:52
police. Two officers arrived about an
5:55
hour later, a younger guy and an older one who looked clearly no
5:58
stranger to the unforgiving cold of Alaskan winters.
6:02
They listened as I explained what had happened, their
6:04
expressions shifting from skeptical to serious.
6:08
When I mentioned the snowmobile tracks, the younger officer
6:12
raised an eyebrow. Could be kids messing around.
6:16
The older officer shook his head.
6:18
Not a lot of kids riding through blizzards at night.
6:21
He said, giving the younger guy a look.
6:24
They followed the tracks into the woods, but returned within
6:27
15 minutes. The snow had almost completely
6:29
filled them in by then. Too faint to follow.
6:33
The older officer said. But this wasn't random.
6:35
Whoever it was knew exactly what they were doing.
6:40
A lump formed in my throat. What do you think they wanted?
6:44
Hard to say. Could have been someone looking
6:46
for shelter. Or maybe they just wanted to
6:48
scare you. That word didn't even begin to
6:51
cover it. After the officers left, the
6:54
unease settled over me like the heavy snow outside.
6:57
I couldn't stop picturing the footprints circling my house and
7:01
the snowmobile waiting like a getaway vehicle.
7:04
This wasn't some harmless prank. Whoever it was had planned this.
7:07
Stalking around my home during the storm, knowing I wouldn't
7:11
venture outside. By mid afternoon, I knew I
7:15
wouldn't make it through another night without doing something
7:17
more. So I grabbed my jacket and
7:20
headed into town. The nearest gun store was about
7:23
20 miles away. The drive felt surreal, like I
7:27
was stepping into someone else's life.
7:29
I'd never been one for firearms, but after last night, the
7:33
thought of being unarmed if someone came back wasn't
7:35
something I could live with. I left the store with a 9mm
7:38
handgun, a hunting rifle, and enough ammunition to feel like I
7:42
had a fighting chance if things ever escalated.
7:46
The clerk even threw in a quick lesson on proper handling and
7:49
storage, though his parting words stuck with me more than
7:53
anything else. Don't go looking for trouble,
7:55
but make sure you're ready if it finds you.
8:00
That night marked a turning point for me.
8:02
From then on, the handgun stayed on the night stand within easy
8:05
reach, and the rifle remained propped by the front door, ready
8:09
for anything. I'd always loved living out in
8:12
the woods. The solitude, the quiet, the
8:15
sense of freedom, and I wasn't about to let some creep take
8:18
that away from me. Sure, I was rattled, who
8:22
wouldn't be? But I'm not the kind of person
8:24
to back down. If someone tried pulling
8:26
something like that again, they'd get a much different
8:29
reception than a house shrouded in darkness.
8:32
I refuse to let fear take over. This was my home, my slice of
8:36
quiet in an otherwise chaotic world, and I wasn't going to let
8:40
anyone make me feel like a prisoner in my own space.
8:44
I'd always loved the stillness of winter storms, the way the
8:47
snow blanketed everything and made the woods feel like a
8:50
different world. Now I saw the storms
8:53
differently. They weren't just peaceful, they
8:56
were a cover, a shield for anyone lurking just beyond the
8:59
tree line. But instead of retreating, I
9:02
made a choice. If anyone wanted to come back
9:05
and test their luck, I'd be ready to welcome them.
9:08
This time on my terms. Because out here, in the quiet
9:12
of the woods, you either learn to protect what's yours, or you
9:15
let someone else take it from you.
9:18
And I wasn't about to let that happen.
9:20
I still don't know who they were or what they wanted.
9:23
Maybe it was a prank. Maybe it was something worse.
9:27
But every time the snow starts falling and the wind howls
9:30
through the woods, I find myself checking the locks, looking at
9:34
the rifle by the door and wondering if they'll come back.
9:37
And if they do this time, I'll be ready.
9:47
Duluth winters were brutal, sure, but for an avid ice
9:50
fisherman like me, they were also a playground.
9:53
There was something deeply satisfying about braving the
9:56
elements, cutting a hole in the ice, and waiting patiently for
10:00
that tug on the line. Nothing but the sound of the
10:03
wind and the Creek, of the ice beneath you.
10:06
Growing up, my dad and I would brave the bitter Minnesota
10:09
winters to fish together, his old thermos of coffee steaming
10:12
between us. Even after he passed, ice
10:16
fishing became my way of feeling close to him.
10:19
That's what brought me to the lake that day.
10:22
It had been a tough week at work, tight deadlines, endless
10:25
emails, and the kind of stress that sticks with you.
10:28
The forecast predicted a Blizzard, but I wasn't worried.
10:31
The ice was thick, solid enough to hold trucks, let alone me in
10:34
my gear. By the time I arrived, the snow
10:37
was coming down hard. Visibility was maybe 20 feet
10:41
tops. The wind howled as I hauled my
10:44
sled onto the ice, the sharp cold cutting through my gloves.
10:48
It was the kind of weather most people would avoid, but for me
10:51
it was perfect. No crowds, no distractions.
10:54
Just me and the lake. After drilling my holes and
10:57
setting up my shack, I settled in.
10:59
The propane heater hummed softly, warming the space as I
11:02
baited my line. The storm outside made
11:05
everything feel even more isolated.
11:07
I leaned back in my chair, letting the quiet wrap around me
11:10
like a blanket. That piece didn't last long.
11:14
About an hour in, I noticed something through the small
11:17
window of the shack. A dark figure standing in the
11:20
distance. Through the swirling snow, I
11:23
could just make out the outline of a man.
11:26
He wasn't moving, just standing there facing my direction.
11:30
At first I thought it might be another fisherman, but as I
11:33
squinted through the frost covered window, I realized there
11:36
hadn't been any other vehicles in the lot.
11:39
Whoever he was, he'd gotten here on foot.
11:42
Maybe he was just checking the ice.
11:44
Maybe he didn't have a shack and was out braving the elements.
11:47
Still, there was something about the way he stood there that made
11:50
the hairs on the back of my neck prickle.
11:54
I looked away for a moment, focusing on my line.
11:57
When I looked back, he was gone. The wind howled louder, rattling
12:01
the walls of the shack. I told myself I was being
12:04
irrational. The storm was playing tricks on
12:06
my eyes, nothing more. But no matter how much I tried,
12:11
I couldn't convince myself I was the only one there.
12:14
About 20 minutes later, I heard footsteps crunching on the ice,
12:17
stopping just outside the shack. I reached for the zipper,
12:21
pulling it open just enough to peek out.
12:24
He was there, tall, bundled in a heavy coat and hat, his face
12:28
mostly hidden by a scarf. He stood a few feet away, his
12:32
breath visible in the freezing air.
12:35
You shouldn't be out here, he said, his voice deep and rough.
12:38
I was caught off guard. What, the ice, he said,
12:41
gesturing toward the lake. It's not safe.
12:44
I frowned, looking down at the holes I drilled.
12:46
The ice was at least 10 inches thick, plenty safe for fishing.
12:50
It's solid, I said. Not today, he said.
12:54
There was something about his tone that sent a chill through
12:56
me, not just from the cold, but from the weight of his words.
13:00
He wasn't trying to scare me, he was warning me.
13:03
Before I could respond, he turned and started walking away.
13:06
Hey, I called after him. Wait.
13:10
He didn't stop. Within seconds he disappeared
13:12
into the storm, leaving me standing there, confused and
13:15
uneasy. I went back inside, but I
13:17
couldn't focus. His words kept replaying in my
13:20
head. What did he mean not today?
13:24
The ice was fine, wasn't it? That's when I heard it.
13:27
A loud, echoing crack. I jumped to my feet.
13:31
The ice groaned beneath me, loud.
13:34
I grabbed my gear and bolted out of the shack, the snow whipping
13:37
against my face. The cracks grew louder,
13:39
spreading like spider webs across the ice.
13:42
The ground beneath me shifted, and I nearly lost my footing.
13:46
I ran as fast as I could, my boots slipping on the slick
13:48
surface. Behind me.
13:50
The ice gave way with a deafening crash.
13:53
My shack tilted one side, sinking into the freezing water.
13:57
I didn't stop until I reached solid ground, my chest heaving
14:00
and my legs trembling. I turned back to the lake, my
14:04
breath fogging in the frigid air.
14:06
The shack was gone, swallowed by the icy water.
14:10
But that wasn't what caught my attention.
14:12
Out on the ice, where I'd seen the man, there was nothing.
14:15
No footprints, no tracks, no sign he'd ever been there.
14:20
I stood there for a long time, staring at the empty lake.
14:23
Who was he? How did he know the ice wasn't
14:26
safe? And where had he gone?
14:29
When I got home, I couldn't stop thinking about it.
14:31
I asked around, but no one else had been out on the lake that
14:34
day. A buddy of mine mentioned local
14:37
legends about spirits warning people of danger, but I wasn't
14:40
sure. I believe that.
14:41
All I know is I haven't been back to that lake since.
14:45
Maybe someday I will, but for now I'm sticking to solid
14:49
ground. When you spend most of your days
14:57
on bustling job sites, surrounded by the noises of
15:01
power tools and the chatter of coworkers, you start to
15:04
appreciate the rare moments of quiet.
15:07
Building houses with a crew is rewarding, sure, but from time
15:11
to time, you need some quiet time.
15:13
That's probably why I didn't think twice about booking a
15:15
remote cabin on Mount Hood for a long weekend.
15:18
I needed a break from the constant noise, both literal and
15:22
figurative, of my job. A snowstorm had been forecasted,
15:26
but that just made it more appealing.
15:28
A cozy cabin, a warm fire, and the sound of snow piling up
15:32
outside. Perfect.
15:35
I arrived late in the afternoon, just as the first flake started
15:38
to fall. The driveway hadn't been plowed
15:41
and who knows how long, so I had to park a little way down the
15:44
road and trudge up with my gear. The cabin looked exactly like
15:47
the pictures and the whole place was beautiful.
15:50
The key had been left in a lock box by the door.
15:53
When I stepped inside, it was colder than I expected.
15:57
The heating was on, but it was faint, probably a setting the
16:00
rental company kept to save energy.
16:03
I dropped my bags in the living room, flicked on a few lights
16:05
and immediately started a fire in the wood stove to warm the
16:08
place up. That's when I noticed the first
16:10
odd thing. There were dirty dishes stacked
16:14
in the sink. A couple of mugs, a plate, and a
16:16
pan with dried up grease. I frowned, thinking maybe the
16:20
cleaning crew had been rushed or hadn't made it out because of
16:23
the snow. Not a great start, but whatever.
16:26
I wasn't going to let a few dishes ruin my weekend.
16:30
I washed them quickly and moved on.
16:33
But the weirdness didn't stop there.
16:36
When I went to the bedroom to unpack, I noticed the bed looked
16:39
off. The blanket and sheets were
16:41
rumpled, and the pillow was indented, like someone had just
16:44
been lying there. I leaned closer and pressed my
16:47
hand to the mattress. It was warm.
16:50
Now, I'm not someone who jumps to conclusions, but I'd be lying
16:53
if I said that didn't put me on edge.
16:56
Still, I told myself it was probably just residual warmth
16:59
from the heating system. I shook it off, put my stuff
17:02
away, and decided to settle in. The evening passed perfectly.
17:07
I cooked dinner, sipped on a whiskey by the fire, and lost
17:10
myself in a book I'd brought along.
17:12
Outside, the snowstorm picked up, blanketing the woods in
17:15
white and muffling every sound except the wind.
17:19
Around 10 PMI decided to call it a night.
17:22
The cabin was small, so I double checked the doors and windows to
17:26
make sure everything was locked. Satisfied, I crawled into bed
17:30
and turned off the light. Somewhere around midnight, I
17:33
started hearing faint noises. At first I thought it was just
17:37
the wind or the snow shifting on the roof, but then there was a
17:40
soft Creek, like a floorboard groaning underweight.
17:44
I sat up, but the sound didn't come again.
17:48
It's an old cabin, I muttered to myself.
17:51
Wood expands, things shift. Relax.
17:55
Still, I grabbed my flashlight from the night stand and gave
17:58
the cabin a quick once over. Nothing.
18:01
The doors were still locked, the windows secure, and the snow
18:04
outside was undisturbed. So I went back to bed and
18:08
eventually drifted off. When I woke the next morning,
18:11
the storm had passed. I brewed a cup of coffee and
18:14
stepped onto the porch to take in the view.
18:16
That's when I saw the footprints.
18:18
They started at the back door, clear and distinct, leading away
18:22
from the cabin and into the woods.
18:25
My stomach tightened. I set my coffee down and walked
18:27
around to get a better look. The prints were fresh, crisp
18:31
edges untouched by snowfall. They went straight from the back
18:34
door to the woods, disappearing into the trees.
18:38
And then it hit me. The faint noises I'd heard
18:41
during the night. Whoever had left those dirty
18:43
dishes and the warm bed hadn't left the cabin before I arrived.
18:48
They'd been hiding somewhere, waiting until I fell asleep to
18:51
sneak out. I stared at the footprints for
18:54
what felt like forever, a sick realization settling in.
18:58
They'd been there, lying low, watching for the right moment to
19:01
leave. The weird noises I brushed off
19:05
last night weren't the wind or the creaking of an old cabin.
19:09
They'd been someone moving around.
19:12
I decided to call the rental company.
19:15
Their response was immediate. Apologies poured out from the
19:19
person on the other end of the line, mixed with excuses about
19:22
how they didn't know anyone had been squatting in the property.
19:26
They offered me a full refund, practically begged me to leave,
19:29
but I wasn't about to cut my trip short over this.
19:33
I'll stay the last night. I said firmly.
19:36
There was a pause before the person on the phone hesitantly
19:39
offered some advice. All the doors in the cabin have
19:42
heavy manual locks on the inside.
19:44
They said they can't be opened from the outside.
19:47
Just lock them all before you go to bed, OK?
19:50
That way, even if the person comes back, they won't be able
19:52
to get in. OK, it was something.
19:56
After hanging up, I spent the rest of the afternoon securing
19:59
the place. I checked every door, every
20:02
window, testing the locks to make sure they worked.
20:05
The cabins age worked in my favor.
20:07
Those heavy duty manual locks were solid, built to last, and
20:12
had no way of being picked or tampered with from the outside.
20:15
By the time I was done the place felt like a fortress.
20:19
That night the wind howled outside and the snowstorm raged
20:23
on, but the cabin was silent. I sat by the fireplace with a
20:27
cup of coffee. The thought of a stranger in the
20:30
cabin stayed with me long after. Where had they been hiding?
20:34
The attic? The crawl space?
20:37
Or had they slipped out right under my nose?
20:39
I didn't sleep much that night. Every so often I'd hear a noise,
20:44
a branch snapping outside, the wind rattling a window, and my
20:47
eyes would dart to the door, expecting to see someone trying
20:50
to force their way in. But the locks held, and the
20:53
cabin remained secure. In the morning, I packed my
20:57
things and left. I didn't bother calling the
20:59
rental company again. I'd had enough of their
21:01
apologies. As I drove down the snowy
21:05
Mountain Rd. I couldn't help but look in my
21:08
rearview mirror, expecting to see someone standing in the
21:11
distance watching me leave. That experience stuck with me.
21:16
Even now, when I rent cabins, I make sure to inspect every inch
21:20
of the place before settling in and pay extra attention to any
21:24
sign that someone might have been there before me.
21:27
Because the truth is, you can never be too careful.
21:30
Even in the most remote, peaceful places, you're never
21:34
really as alone as you think you are.
21:42
Driving through Taos, NM in March is usually breathtaking.
21:46
The snow dusted mountains against the endless sky, the way
21:50
the light breaks through the clouds.
21:52
It's a photographer's dream. That's why I was out there
21:56
despite the forecast warning of a snowstorm.
21:58
I've done this kind of thing before.
22:00
Hop in my car, chase a scenic spot and snap some shots.
22:04
This time, I was hoping to capture the dramatic contrast of
22:07
the storm rolling in over the Sangre de Cristo Mountains.
22:12
The roads were already getting slippery when I turned onto a
22:15
winding back Rd. that hugged the mountain's edge.
22:18
It wasn't part of my original plan, but I'd seen a promising
22:22
view and couldn't resist. The problem with chasing the
22:26
perfect shot is that you don't always think about
22:29
practicalities, like whether the road you're on will still be
22:33
passable in an hour. And as the snow started falling
22:36
harder, that decision came back to bite me.
22:39
The snow was relentless, thick flakes sticking to my windshield
22:43
faster than my wipers could clear them.
22:46
The road narrowed, blanked by steep drop offs on one side and
22:50
towering evergreens on the other.
22:52
I debated turning around, but when I tried to find a spot to
22:56
do so, my tires hit a patch of ice hidden beneath the
22:59
snowdrift. The car slid sideways, and
23:02
before I could react, I felt the crunch of snow swallowing my
23:05
wheels. I was stuck.
23:07
I tried everything, rocking the car, spinning the wheels, even
23:10
shoveling with my hands, but it was no use.
23:13
The snow had me firmly in its grip.
23:16
Frustrated and a little nervous, I climbed back into the car and
23:19
checked my phone. No signal, of course.
23:22
Still, I wasn't panicking yet. I had a full tank of gas,
23:26
blankets and snacks. Worst case, I'd have to wait it
23:29
out until someone came along. About an hour later, headlights
23:32
cut through the swirling snow behind me.
23:35
I felt a much needed sense of relief as a pickup truck pulled
23:38
up and stopped a few feet away. The driver's side door creaked
23:43
open and a man stepped out. He was bundled up in a thick
23:46
jacket and beanie. You all right there?
23:49
He called out. I cracked my window.
23:52
Yeah, just stuck. I was hoping someone might come
23:54
by. He nodded slowly, taking a step
23:57
closer. I can give you a ride to town.
23:59
It's a ways back, though. You sure you want to stay out
24:01
here in this storm? His tone wasn't exactly
24:04
menacing, but there was something about it that didn't
24:07
sit right. Maybe it was the way he lingered
24:10
on the words, like he was testing how desperate I was.
24:14
Or maybe it was the way he kept looking at my car, like he was
24:17
more interested in it than me. I'm OK, thanks.
24:20
I'll wait here. I'm sure the storm will pass
24:22
soon. He studied me for a moment.
24:25
Storms only getting worse, he said.
24:28
Could be all night before anyone else comes by.
24:31
I tighten my grip on the steering wheel.
24:33
I'll take my chances. He stood there for a long beat,
24:37
the snow piling on his shoulders.
24:40
Then he nodded once, almost to himself, and said suit yourself.
24:45
But he didn't leave. Instead of climbing back into
24:48
his truck, he walked around my car.
24:51
At first I thought he was just inspecting it, maybe trying to
24:54
decide if he could tow me out. But then he circled again,
24:58
slower this time, his hand brushing against the car's hood
25:01
like he was marking his territory.
25:03
I reached for the lock button and double checked every door,
25:06
just in case. Finally, he stopped near my
25:09
window and leaned down, his face uncomfortably close.
25:12
You sure you don't want to ride? He asked, his voice quieter now,
25:16
almost coaxing. I didn't answer, just stared
25:19
straight ahead. After a moment he chuckled, a
25:22
low, humorless sound, and walked back to his truck.
25:25
I watched in the rear view mirror as he climbed in and
25:28
started to reverse. My tension eased as the
25:31
headlights disappeared into the storm, but then they stopped.
25:35
The truck didn't drive away. Instead, it sat there, idling
25:38
just a few feet behind me. Every few minutes the engine
25:43
would Rev like the driver was impatient, but he never moved.
25:48
I turned off my own headlights, hoping he'd think I was asleep
25:51
or uninterested in whatever game he was playing, but deep down I
25:55
knew this wasn't over. Minutes stretched into an hour,
25:58
and still the truck didn't budget.
26:01
My fingers hovered over my phone, useless as it was without
26:04
service. I considered making a run for
26:07
it, but the thought of leaving my car and facing him in the
26:10
open was even more terrifying. At some point during the night,
26:14
the truck finally left. I didn't see it go.
26:17
I must have drifted off for a moment, but when I opened my
26:20
eyes, the headlights were gone and the storm had died down.
26:25
A faint Gray light seeped through the clouds, signaling
26:28
dawn. I managed to inch my way out of
26:30
the snowdrift. My legs were stiff, and I drove
26:33
back to town. At a diner in Taos, I told the
26:37
waitress what had happened. Her face paled as she leaned in
26:40
closer. You're lucky, she said.
26:44
There have been reports about a truck like that.
26:46
Guy's been stopping stranded drivers trying to get them into
26:49
his vehicle. No one knows what he's after,
26:52
but it's nothing good. The thought made my stomach
26:55
turn. What would have happened if I'd
26:57
accepted his offer? Or if I hadn't locked my doors.
27:01
After that, I got rid of my car and opted for a 4 by 4 equipped
27:05
with mud tires, a portable shovel, and a satellite phone.
27:09
I still love the thrill of chasing a storm for the perfect
27:12
shot, but I'm more cautious now. Because if there's one thing
27:16
that night taught me, it's that the snow isn't the only thing
27:21
hiding on those mountain roads. If these snowstorm nightmares
27:27
sent shivers down your spine, don't forget to smash that like
27:30
button and subscribe for more bone chilling tales.
27:33
What would you have done differently in these icy
27:35
encounters? Share your thoughts in the
27:38
comments, I'd love to hear them. Send this video to a friend who
27:42
thinks snowstorms are all hot cocoa and sledding.
27:45
They might need a reminder to trust their instincts.
27:49
Stay warm, stay safe, and always keep an eye on those frosty
27:53
shadows. Thanks for watching and I'll see
27:56
you in the next nightmare.