Hey there, it's Edwin and this Scary Story podcast. There is a stretch
of road between the airport and the city where most of my family lives,
so whenever we have to make the trip down there, we have to travel
down a long, dark and empty highway. The US had some travel advisories
around the area. You know, places that you should not travel on at
night, especially not by yourself. Got used to quite often, and this
road was one of them. The highway was painfully straight and boring. At
one point during the drives at night, the lines that would divide the lanes
would begin swirling and dancing to the rhythm of the tires against the asphalt and
the many potholes that lined it. The things that would snap you out of
the hypnotic states would be the gas stations, though most were not operational.
Oh and the crosses on the side of the road. People would sometimes be
gathered around one of the working gas stations, and those were usually the passengers
of the buses that traveled all night between the north and southern states of Mexico,
making their stops for people to grab a bite to eat or to use
the bathrooms. Motorcyclists would also be spotted, sometimes traveling much slower than I
was, and on the right side of the road, as if it were
in the middle of the day, with not a care in the world about
how dark it was out there. They had places to be, I guess,
But to me imagining being there all alone, exposed with only the sound
of my engine instead of the late night radio show that I was listening to
in the car, I'm sure my mind would begin to play tricks on me.
Stories of ghosts were not uncommon in these areas. One such story that
I was told on my last trip was the one with the police officer who
happened to be my dad's brother in law, whose jurisdiction doesn't start until much
further down the road, but knowso's officers who have to work the night shift
patrolling that highway. It is a story of a woman named Sophia. Sophia
had been spotted in early December, though to others it had been late November,
wandering about on the left side of the highway, flagging down motorists who
stop at the side of a woman needing help on the side of the road.
It was weird to start thinking of her story that late at night but
with those patches where the radio doesn't catch signal, there's not much else to
do but to let your mind wonder what's on the other side of the road
next to you if all you can see are your own headlights reflecting off the
dark pavement in front of you. I couldn't remembered the story very well at
the time, but please know that after this experience, I will never forget
it. The clock had already hit one in the morning. It was only
about forty five minutes away from my grandmother's house. I prayed silently that she
would be asleep and not be waiting up for me so late. The car
was the only sound I could hear, the engine and tires against a road,
though I made sure to keep the static from the radio turned up just
a little bit, just in case it got something interesting for me to turn
up and listen to. I passed another empty gas station with only a tiny
red light coming from the front entrance. I could barely see it. Maybe
I was going too fast. Up ahead on the left side, I could
see flickering lights on the dirt by the pavement. As I got closer,
I could see that they were candles, and yet another white cross with flowers
just another casualty. I was gripping the steering wheel more than usual, and
I couldn't remember ever being that nervous going along that road, maybe because it
was the first time that I was by myself at When my dad used to
drive with me, we would take turns and he knew the way better than
I did. Then again I would lose my patience at just how slowly he
would drive. I remember passing by those crosses, almost being able to read
the names on them, and it always made me feel uneasy. I rubbed
my eyes as I saw another white cross coming up ahead, this time closer
to the road to my right. My eyes couldn't move away from it as
it grew bigger once I got closer, this one was much larger than the
others, and it wasn't so low in the ground. It was then when
I realized that what I was looking at was not a cross. Someone was
waving at me from the side of the road, a woman with her arms
stretched out, waving both of her arms. A small bag was on the
ground next to her. I let go of the gas pedal and slowed down
to pass her. There was nothing around for miles and no other signs of
a car, and nowhere for anyone to be hiding in cases was a trap.
I pulled over a few yards in front of her, and she came
rushing up to my window smiling. I asked her if she was all right,
and she said that everything was fine, but she had a favor to
ask for me. I hope she wasn't about to ask for money, because
I seriously had no cash. I turned down the radio all the way as
she leaned over to the window to explain to me what she wanted. She
told me that there was a town called East Cethro, not far from where
she was right then. Actually I knew of the town, and it was
a town right next to the one I was going to. She said that
her parents lived there and she needed me to give them a message for her.
They lived in a house by the only two large trees before going up
a trail known as Camino de lasvin or Path of the Deer. The woman
was young, not even thirty years old yet, but she looked tired.
Her eyes were sunken in just the way they end up looking when you don't
get enough sleep. Her black hair stood out against her white shirt, and
her teeth were larger than usual. Maybe her mouth was shriveled a little more
than normal, and it was tough to explain. I guess I was just
thrown off by the situation. But the car pulled over on the side of
the road, with no other cars being seen for over half an hour,
speaking to a woman who happened to be walking along the side of the road.
At one in the morning, I looked back at where she had been
standing, wondering if her bag was still there on the ground in the dark,
and then looked back at her and asked her if she wanted me to
take her there, then it wouldn't be a problem. I was going there
anyway. No, she said, her tone changing drastically, and then another
smile started creeping up on her face once again. She wanted me to give
them a message. She told me to tell them to come and see her,
that she misses them, that she can't wait to be with them again.
She emphasized that last part, she can't wait to be with them again.
I was confused. Honestly, there was no way this was happening,
and I kept thinking about what she could have been doing in the dark and
why she wanted to stay there. I asked one more time that I could
take her, that it was no problem, that it was going to the
town right next to it. Her tone changed once again as she said no.
Her smile came back and asked if I could send them that message that
she would be staying around that area. And that's what made me feel very
uneasy. There was nothing around there for miles, not even one of those
closed gas stations, not a rest stop, nothing, just pure desert with
bushes and hills into the distance, even though you couldn't see them there at
the time. There was something strange about not wanting to leave a complete stranger
on the side of the road in fear of what may happen to them,
but also feeling the relief of knowing that the bizarre encounter itself was enough to
make you want to leave her behind. She walked back to where she was
standing, disappearing completely into the darkness behind me, and I rolled up my
window and headed back to the road. The rest of the drive was intense,
to say the least. I kept hearing her voice, that whisper and
echo that came out of her when she asked me to share that message with
her parents. I felt guilty for leaving her on the side of the road.
Now, but a little before two in the morning, I made it
to my grandmother's house and I caught the light of the kitchen on. As
soon as I shut off the car, the light of the living room turned
on and the front door opened its Grandma I got out of the car and
I grabbed my bag and went inside. Forgetting all about the woman on the
side of the road, it wasn't until a few days after that when I
needed to take my grandma to pick up yarn from one of the shops at
the edge of town. When I mentioned that I needed to take care of
something in Isidro and asked about the trail and the house by the two large
trees, Grandma told me that she knew where the house was and agreed to
come with me. We pulled up around six pm, right around sunset,
and the woman had been right. It was the only house around there,
and the trees really stood out from the rest of the scenery. As I
was getting out of the car, the man who had been sitting in the
front porch stood up and greeted us with a smile. When I stepped out
of the car. The man asked how he could help us, and,
even through the fear of sounding strange to him, I told him exactly what
the woman on the side of the road had asked me to tell them,
that she would be there, that she couldn't wait to be with him again.
The man turned around to face the house and called his wife over,
a woman named Sandra, who came rushing to the front door. What day
is it, he asked her in Spanish. They both looked at each other
in shock. My grandma had stepped out of the car and was next to
me too, looking out into the field of the house with the two trees.
They had missed the anniversary of their daughter's death, a young woman who
had died in a car accident several years ago, a woman named Sophia.
And that's how the story goes, and her story has met head lines as
the woman who refuses a ride, the woman who sends messages to her parents
around the time of her death. In fact, even tow truck operators have
claimed to see her standing on the side of the road, and those new
ones who have never seen her before actually stop and talk to her. They
end up visiting the parents' house with the same message. The following story is
called Where We Stayed, and it is coming up right after this. There
was no specific reason to visit New Orleans by myself, especially when it was
raining so much over there. I mean, I didn't know it would be
raining the entire time, but then again, I didn't ask anybody or thought
of looking up the weather. I had put all my things in storage,
over paying for a tiny spot that barely fit some of my books and small
furniture that I could not get rid of. Had I been brave enough back
then to only get rid of Sarah's things, everything would have fit in one
of the storage lockers for half the price. There were blankets and a lot
of her clothes, not everyday clothes, but the ones that used to be
her absolute favorite ones, her green jacket, her ugs, the sweaters that
she knit for both of us but made mine too tight in the arms,
so she ended up using it for herself. And there were things from these
other things we used to call miscellaneous drawers. There were basically drawers with random
stuff that she had not managed to sort out just yet. I just called
them junk drawers, but for some reason it would make her very upset.
You didn't want to be around her when she was upset. Just thinking of
the many things that she used to do when she let her rage take over
still makes me want to crawl under the bed and hide. I was in
a daze, and it wasn't only the weather I forgot to look up,
but also the name of the hotel I would be staying, maybe not even
getting to the checkout page and simply staring at the hotel's reservation website and making
myself think that I had actually purchased a week's stay, when in reality there
was no charge to my credit card. Sir, where will you be staying?
The lady from the bank over the phone asked me. I don't know
why, but back then, I think you had to tell your bank that
you were traveling so that your card wouldn't get locked. It would take years
for me to find out that you only had to do that if you were
leaving the country. I think I got the overly cautious gene for my dad.
He was the one that told me to not buy things with him at
the store. It was a thing Dad used to say when cards came out
and when you wanted to pay with a credit card, the cashier would literally
take an imprint of your card and run it. Later, I can almost
hear Dad ask me how much I trusted the cashier. I think they trusted
as more. Back then, I still had the woman on the phone and
with my computer in front of me, I tried searching for the confirmation details
of the hotel where I would be staying, but there was nothing, no
receipt. When I told her New Orleans, she said that my card was
already cleared for using Louisiana and to have a great trip. I didn't even
get to say goodbye to her, as my eyes kept scanning my emails with
every headline you can imagine. But no, there was no hotel reservation Before
Airbnb. You could still get extended stays at places. It was only a
matter of searching on websites like Craigslist and stuff like that, but of course
it was much sketchier. My excuses at the time were literally about me wondering
exactly how my life could get worse. At the time, I was with
myself. Now everyone everything, everywhere just left me or was in the process
of doing so. The night before my flight, I sent an email reply
to a listing on the website of this place located near the city center,
not the best part in town, but it was affordable. It looked safe
inside the building from the pictures. If they didn't reply to me, then
I guess I could just search for just about any hotel in the area.
There were lots of them. I'm sure they would have rooms. But again,
I never checked to see if there was some major events or convention in
the area that would lock up all the rooms in the city, which had
happened to me before. During a trip I took with Sarah to San Diego
back in nineteen ninety eight, right on Super Bowl weekend, I shut down
my computer the way a person says goodbye to an old friend. Even though
I was likely to come back to that same apartment. My lease wouldn't be
out for another two months, but I had already committed to taking out my
things and putting them in storage. It was a mess. I was a
mess. I needed to get out of town. When I arrived, I
went to one of the counters with computers at one of the lounges. Back
when American Airlines used to do that sort of thing. I logged into my
email and saw the confirmation from the place I had asked about. It would
cost eighty dollars for a full week, and I was given an access code
and to get the key as soon as I submitted the payment right there on
the spot. Thank goodness for credit cards. The cab driver was okay,
a bit rude with the way he spoke and the way he lit a sick
garette with no way to open up the windows completely thanks to the rain,
the way he asked me what I was there for, but I was thinking
for visiting at the time, and if I knew anything, No, I
didn't know anything. I didn't know why I was there or why the city
stood out to me from the many ads on some website. I just needed
to get out of town. I needed to smell different roads and hear different
people walking down the street. I guess I sort of knew Sarah and I
always wanted to visit this place, maybe catch a band performance or finally learn
how to dance. I took my own suitcase out of the trunk while the
driver left me mid sentence as I was saying thank you to him. Maybe
he wasn't happy with his tip zero six one seven was a coat on the
lock. It opened up and I was able to grab the key. The
keychain itself was a folded up piece of paper, fourth floor, Room three,
and then a phone number at the bottom. I stepped into the hallway,
damped the wallpaper and carpet everywhere. A large security camera buzzed as it
zoomed into my figure. When I passed right under it, the key went
in easily, and I was surprised at the room. It was beautiful,
with classic old fashioned furniture and a basket of snacks in the center table.
The window showed a stunning view of the rest of the city, the parts
that you can't see from the walking around the street. Inflicked on the light
and saw a kitchen area, clean modern at the time, and it smelled
the great. I took off my shoes and draamped of Sarah. How I
wished she was with me. It was the second day when I got an
email from the owner of the apartment, which I still hadn't met in person,
and who I thought I wouldn't actually get to meet, but eventually she
showed up at my door. Her email said that she would be stopping by
to leave an extra towel because she had assumed that I would be there by
myself without confirming. Sure enough, a few hours later, she knocked twice
at my door, and that was it. I put on my shirt and
walked over to the door. That morning. When I opened it, there
was a laundry basket with extra towels and a hair dryer. I looked around,
but the hallway was empty. That was weird, I thought to myself.
But the whole thing was weird. I would step outside into the city
and become drenched with the rain. I'd rush to the cafes and stores,
seeing some of the nicest people I had ever met, but everyone just seemed
so tired. Maybe it was just me. I couldn't remember the last time
I had felt so empty. But the dreams I had in that apartment were
stranger than before. In one of them, Sarah would struggle to take off
one of her boots and then kick it across the room, knocking over a
bottle of soda. She would start laughing as I rushed over to it,
worried that the bottle had broken and we would get ants all over the place.
In another dream, she showed up with me with her yellow suitcase next
to mine, the one that she begged me that I carry for her up
the stairs, and that she would take my backpack. In the dream,
we had arrived right at the same apartment, and I heard Sarah's complaints about
the smell of the hallway, but then I would sit back and bask in
her joy of seeing just how nice the apartment was on the inside. When
it was time to go, I received another email that night before my flight.
It was a simple thank you email, along with a note saying that
she hopes that we enjoyed our stay. I clicked on the reply button on
my phone, letting her know that it had only been met, but thanks
anyway if this stay had been great. About five minutes later, I heard
a knock on the door, asking for me by my first name, Henry.
I walked over to it and finally met the owner, a short woman
about fifty years old. She was asking me if I needed anything. I
told her that I had just replied to her email, but that everything was
fine, and I thanked her once again. She waited for me to say
something, as she softly said, but your wife, the woman she's here.
That was impossible, but maybe I had talked to myself long enough for
her to imagine that someone else had been there with me. I simply repeated
it that no, that I had been there by myself. I could tell
that she was uncomfortable and that her demeanor had changed. It felt like I
was about to receive one of those talks about not lying, like the kind
that a parent gives to a child when they're being scolded. She simply faked
a smile, and with that she walked down the hallway and to the staircase.
We were about to board the plane when I got the familiar ding on
my phone had an image attachment, which I quickly downloaded three images of the
security camera on the hallway of that apartment where I had stayed. The email
had been sent from the owner of the apartment. In one of the images,
I'm walking from the end of the hallway towards apartment number three, and
the second I'm standing by the door, and the third I'm walking into the
apartment, still with my suitcase next to me. But in all three of
those images, Sarah was next to me, and a third image she looked
at the camera, but I was there by myself, and Sarah had been
dead for exactly two months. Scary Story podcast is written and produced by me
Edwin kovar Ruguez. Do you have an idea for a story, Send me
an email or find me on Instagram at Edwin Cove. That's e d w
n coo v up. Next, check out my other podcasts, True Scary
Story and the other one called a Dark Memory by searching for them on your
podcast player. Don't forget it's tip followed to stay up to date. Thank
you very much for listening. Sea Soon