WEBVTT

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Hey there, it's Edwin and this
Scary Story podcast. There is a stretch

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of road between the airport and the
city where most of my family lives,

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so whenever we have to make the
trip down there, we have to travel

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down a long, dark and empty
highway. The US had some travel advisories

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around the area. You know,
places that you should not travel on at

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night, especially not by yourself.
Got used to quite often, and this

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road was one of them. The
highway was painfully straight and boring. At

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one point during the drives at night, the lines that would divide the lanes

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would begin swirling and dancing to the
rhythm of the tires against the asphalt and

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the many potholes that lined it.
The things that would snap you out of

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the hypnotic states would be the gas
stations, though most were not operational.

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Oh and the crosses on the side
of the road. People would sometimes be

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gathered around one of the working gas
stations, and those were usually the passengers

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of the buses that traveled all night
between the north and southern states of Mexico,

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making their stops for people to grab
a bite to eat or to use

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the bathrooms. Motorcyclists would also be
spotted, sometimes traveling much slower than I

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was, and on the right side
of the road, as if it were

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in the middle of the day,
with not a care in the world about

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how dark it was out there.
They had places to be, I guess,

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But to me imagining being there all
alone, exposed with only the sound

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of my engine instead of the late
night radio show that I was listening to

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in the car, I'm sure my
mind would begin to play tricks on me.

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Stories of ghosts were not uncommon in
these areas. One such story that

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I was told on my last trip
was the one with the police officer who

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happened to be my dad's brother in
law, whose jurisdiction doesn't start until much

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further down the road, but knowso's
officers who have to work the night shift

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patrolling that highway. It is a
story of a woman named Sophia. Sophia

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had been spotted in early December,
though to others it had been late November,

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wandering about on the left side of
the highway, flagging down motorists who

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stop at the side of a woman
needing help on the side of the road.

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It was weird to start thinking of
her story that late at night but

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with those patches where the radio doesn't
catch signal, there's not much else to

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do but to let your mind wonder
what's on the other side of the road

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next to you if all you can
see are your own headlights reflecting off the

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dark pavement in front of you.
I couldn't remembered the story very well at

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the time, but please know that
after this experience, I will never forget

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it. The clock had already hit
one in the morning. It was only

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about forty five minutes away from my
grandmother's house. I prayed silently that she

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would be asleep and not be waiting
up for me so late. The car

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was the only sound I could hear, the engine and tires against a road,

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though I made sure to keep the
static from the radio turned up just

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a little bit, just in case
it got something interesting for me to turn

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up and listen to. I passed
another empty gas station with only a tiny

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red light coming from the front entrance. I could barely see it. Maybe

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I was going too fast. Up
ahead on the left side, I could

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see flickering lights on the dirt by
the pavement. As I got closer,

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I could see that they were candles, and yet another white cross with flowers

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just another casualty. I was gripping
the steering wheel more than usual, and

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I couldn't remember ever being that nervous
going along that road, maybe because it

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was the first time that I was
by myself at When my dad used to

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drive with me, we would take
turns and he knew the way better than

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I did. Then again I would
lose my patience at just how slowly he

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would drive. I remember passing by
those crosses, almost being able to read

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the names on them, and it
always made me feel uneasy. I rubbed

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my eyes as I saw another white
cross coming up ahead, this time closer

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to the road to my right.
My eyes couldn't move away from it as

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it grew bigger once I got closer, this one was much larger than the

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others, and it wasn't so low
in the ground. It was then when

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I realized that what I was looking
at was not a cross. Someone was

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waving at me from the side of
the road, a woman with her arms

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stretched out, waving both of her
arms. A small bag was on the

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ground next to her. I let
go of the gas pedal and slowed down

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to pass her. There was nothing
around for miles and no other signs of

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a car, and nowhere for anyone
to be hiding in cases was a trap.

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I pulled over a few yards in
front of her, and she came

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rushing up to my window smiling.
I asked her if she was all right,

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and she said that everything was fine, but she had a favor to

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ask for me. I hope she
wasn't about to ask for money, because

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I seriously had no cash. I
turned down the radio all the way as

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she leaned over to the window to
explain to me what she wanted. She

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told me that there was a town
called East Cethro, not far from where

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she was right then. Actually I
knew of the town, and it was

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a town right next to the one
I was going to. She said that

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her parents lived there and she needed
me to give them a message for her.

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They lived in a house by the
only two large trees before going up

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a trail known as Camino de lasvin
or Path of the Deer. The woman

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was young, not even thirty years
old yet, but she looked tired.

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Her eyes were sunken in just the
way they end up looking when you don't

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get enough sleep. Her black hair
stood out against her white shirt, and

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her teeth were larger than usual.
Maybe her mouth was shriveled a little more

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than normal, and it was tough
to explain. I guess I was just

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thrown off by the situation. But
the car pulled over on the side of

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the road, with no other cars
being seen for over half an hour,

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speaking to a woman who happened to
be walking along the side of the road.

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At one in the morning, I
looked back at where she had been

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standing, wondering if her bag was
still there on the ground in the dark,

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and then looked back at her and
asked her if she wanted me to

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take her there, then it wouldn't
be a problem. I was going there

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anyway. No, she said,
her tone changing drastically, and then another

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smile started creeping up on her face
once again. She wanted me to give

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them a message. She told me
to tell them to come and see her,

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that she misses them, that she
can't wait to be with them again.

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She emphasized that last part, she
can't wait to be with them again.

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I was confused. Honestly, there
was no way this was happening,

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and I kept thinking about what she
could have been doing in the dark and

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why she wanted to stay there.
I asked one more time that I could

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take her, that it was no
problem, that it was going to the

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town right next to it. Her
tone changed once again as she said no.

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Her smile came back and asked if
I could send them that message that

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she would be staying around that area. And that's what made me feel very

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uneasy. There was nothing around there
for miles, not even one of those

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closed gas stations, not a rest
stop, nothing, just pure desert with

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bushes and hills into the distance,
even though you couldn't see them there at

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the time. There was something strange
about not wanting to leave a complete stranger

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on the side of the road in
fear of what may happen to them,

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but also feeling the relief of knowing
that the bizarre encounter itself was enough to

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make you want to leave her behind. She walked back to where she was

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standing, disappearing completely into the darkness
behind me, and I rolled up my

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window and headed back to the road. The rest of the drive was intense,

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to say the least. I kept
hearing her voice, that whisper and

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echo that came out of her when
she asked me to share that message with

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her parents. I felt guilty for
leaving her on the side of the road.

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Now, but a little before two
in the morning, I made it

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to my grandmother's house and I caught
the light of the kitchen on. As

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soon as I shut off the car, the light of the living room turned

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on and the front door opened its
Grandma I got out of the car and

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I grabbed my bag and went inside. Forgetting all about the woman on the

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side of the road, it wasn't
until a few days after that when I

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needed to take my grandma to pick
up yarn from one of the shops at

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the edge of town. When I
mentioned that I needed to take care of

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something in Isidro and asked about the
trail and the house by the two large

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trees, Grandma told me that she
knew where the house was and agreed to

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come with me. We pulled up
around six pm, right around sunset,

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and the woman had been right.
It was the only house around there,

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and the trees really stood out from
the rest of the scenery. As I

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was getting out of the car,
the man who had been sitting in the

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front porch stood up and greeted us
with a smile. When I stepped out

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of the car. The man asked
how he could help us, and,

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even through the fear of sounding strange
to him, I told him exactly what

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the woman on the side of the
road had asked me to tell them,

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that she would be there, that
she couldn't wait to be with him again.

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The man turned around to face the
house and called his wife over,

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a woman named Sandra, who came
rushing to the front door. What day

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is it, he asked her in
Spanish. They both looked at each other

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in shock. My grandma had stepped
out of the car and was next to

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me too, looking out into the
field of the house with the two trees.

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They had missed the anniversary of their
daughter's death, a young woman who

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had died in a car accident several
years ago, a woman named Sophia.

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And that's how the story goes,
and her story has met head lines as

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the woman who refuses a ride,
the woman who sends messages to her parents

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around the time of her death.
In fact, even tow truck operators have

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claimed to see her standing on the
side of the road, and those new

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ones who have never seen her before
actually stop and talk to her. They

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end up visiting the parents' house with
the same message. The following story is

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called Where We Stayed, and it
is coming up right after this. There

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was no specific reason to visit New
Orleans by myself, especially when it was

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raining so much over there. I
mean, I didn't know it would be

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raining the entire time, but then
again, I didn't ask anybody or thought

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of looking up the weather. I
had put all my things in storage,

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over paying for a tiny spot that
barely fit some of my books and small

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furniture that I could not get rid
of. Had I been brave enough back

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then to only get rid of Sarah's
things, everything would have fit in one

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of the storage lockers for half the
price. There were blankets and a lot

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of her clothes, not everyday clothes, but the ones that used to be

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her absolute favorite ones, her green
jacket, her ugs, the sweaters that

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she knit for both of us but
made mine too tight in the arms,

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so she ended up using it for
herself. And there were things from these

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other things we used to call miscellaneous
drawers. There were basically drawers with random

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stuff that she had not managed to
sort out just yet. I just called

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them junk drawers, but for some
reason it would make her very upset.

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You didn't want to be around her
when she was upset. Just thinking of

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the many things that she used to
do when she let her rage take over

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still makes me want to crawl under
the bed and hide. I was in

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a daze, and it wasn't only
the weather I forgot to look up,

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but also the name of the hotel
I would be staying, maybe not even

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getting to the checkout page and simply
staring at the hotel's reservation website and making

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myself think that I had actually purchased
a week's stay, when in reality there

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was no charge to my credit card. Sir, where will you be staying?

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The lady from the bank over the
phone asked me. I don't know

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why, but back then, I
think you had to tell your bank that

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you were traveling so that your card
wouldn't get locked. It would take years

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for me to find out that you
only had to do that if you were

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leaving the country. I think I
got the overly cautious gene for my dad.

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He was the one that told me
to not buy things with him at

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the store. It was a thing
Dad used to say when cards came out

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and when you wanted to pay with
a credit card, the cashier would literally

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take an imprint of your card and
run it. Later, I can almost

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hear Dad ask me how much I
trusted the cashier. I think they trusted

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as more. Back then, I
still had the woman on the phone and

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with my computer in front of me, I tried searching for the confirmation details

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of the hotel where I would be
staying, but there was nothing, no

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receipt. When I told her New
Orleans, she said that my card was

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already cleared for using Louisiana and to
have a great trip. I didn't even

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get to say goodbye to her,
as my eyes kept scanning my emails with

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every headline you can imagine. But
no, there was no hotel reservation Before

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Airbnb. You could still get extended
stays at places. It was only a

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matter of searching on websites like Craigslist
and stuff like that, but of course

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it was much sketchier. My excuses
at the time were literally about me wondering

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exactly how my life could get worse. At the time, I was with

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myself. Now everyone everything, everywhere
just left me or was in the process

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of doing so. The night before
my flight, I sent an email reply

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to a listing on the website of
this place located near the city center,

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not the best part in town,
but it was affordable. It looked safe

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inside the building from the pictures.
If they didn't reply to me, then

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I guess I could just search for
just about any hotel in the area.

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There were lots of them. I'm
sure they would have rooms. But again,

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I never checked to see if there
was some major events or convention in

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the area that would lock up all
the rooms in the city, which had

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happened to me before. During a
trip I took with Sarah to San Diego

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back in nineteen ninety eight, right
on Super Bowl weekend, I shut down

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my computer the way a person says
goodbye to an old friend. Even though

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I was likely to come back to
that same apartment. My lease wouldn't be

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out for another two months, but
I had already committed to taking out my

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things and putting them in storage.
It was a mess. I was a

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mess. I needed to get out
of town. When I arrived, I

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went to one of the counters with
computers at one of the lounges. Back

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when American Airlines used to do that
sort of thing. I logged into my

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email and saw the confirmation from the
place I had asked about. It would

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cost eighty dollars for a full week, and I was given an access code

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and to get the key as soon
as I submitted the payment right there on

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the spot. Thank goodness for credit
cards. The cab driver was okay,

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a bit rude with the way he
spoke and the way he lit a sick

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garette with no way to open up
the windows completely thanks to the rain,

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the way he asked me what I
was there for, but I was thinking

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for visiting at the time, and
if I knew anything, No, I

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didn't know anything. I didn't know
why I was there or why the city

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stood out to me from the many
ads on some website. I just needed

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to get out of town. I
needed to smell different roads and hear different

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people walking down the street. I
guess I sort of knew Sarah and I

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always wanted to visit this place,
maybe catch a band performance or finally learn

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how to dance. I took my
own suitcase out of the trunk while the

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driver left me mid sentence as I
was saying thank you to him. Maybe

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he wasn't happy with his tip zero
six one seven was a coat on the

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lock. It opened up and I
was able to grab the key. The

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keychain itself was a folded up piece
of paper, fourth floor, Room three,

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and then a phone number at the
bottom. I stepped into the hallway,

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00:18:08.559 --> 00:18:14.759
damped the wallpaper and carpet everywhere.
A large security camera buzzed as it

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00:18:14.839 --> 00:18:18.440
zoomed into my figure. When I
passed right under it, the key went

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00:18:18.480 --> 00:18:22.160
in easily, and I was surprised
at the room. It was beautiful,

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00:18:23.000 --> 00:18:26.839
with classic old fashioned furniture and a
basket of snacks in the center table.

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The window showed a stunning view of
the rest of the city, the parts

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that you can't see from the walking
around the street. Inflicked on the light

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and saw a kitchen area, clean
modern at the time, and it smelled

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the great. I took off my
shoes and draamped of Sarah. How I

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wished she was with me. It
was the second day when I got an

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email from the owner of the apartment, which I still hadn't met in person,

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and who I thought I wouldn't actually
get to meet, but eventually she

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showed up at my door. Her
email said that she would be stopping by

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00:19:04.279 --> 00:19:08.000
to leave an extra towel because she
had assumed that I would be there by

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00:19:08.039 --> 00:19:14.000
myself without confirming. Sure enough,
a few hours later, she knocked twice

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00:19:14.000 --> 00:19:18.160
at my door, and that was
it. I put on my shirt and

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00:19:18.200 --> 00:19:22.160
walked over to the door. That
morning. When I opened it, there

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00:19:22.200 --> 00:19:26.359
was a laundry basket with extra towels
and a hair dryer. I looked around,

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00:19:26.400 --> 00:19:32.039
but the hallway was empty. That
was weird, I thought to myself.

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But the whole thing was weird.
I would step outside into the city

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and become drenched with the rain.
I'd rush to the cafes and stores,

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seeing some of the nicest people I
had ever met, but everyone just seemed

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00:19:45.160 --> 00:19:52.480
so tired. Maybe it was just
me. I couldn't remember the last time

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I had felt so empty. But
the dreams I had in that apartment were

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stranger than before. In one of
them, Sarah would struggle to take off

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00:20:03.279 --> 00:20:06.799
one of her boots and then kick
it across the room, knocking over a

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bottle of soda. She would start
laughing as I rushed over to it,

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worried that the bottle had broken and
we would get ants all over the place.

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00:20:15.400 --> 00:20:19.480
In another dream, she showed up
with me with her yellow suitcase next

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00:20:19.559 --> 00:20:23.079
to mine, the one that she
begged me that I carry for her up

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the stairs, and that she would
take my backpack. In the dream,

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we had arrived right at the same
apartment, and I heard Sarah's complaints about

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00:20:32.880 --> 00:20:37.839
the smell of the hallway, but
then I would sit back and bask in

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her joy of seeing just how nice
the apartment was on the inside. When

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00:20:42.920 --> 00:20:48.039
it was time to go, I
received another email that night before my flight.

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00:20:48.359 --> 00:20:52.160
It was a simple thank you email, along with a note saying that

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00:20:52.200 --> 00:20:56.279
she hopes that we enjoyed our stay. I clicked on the reply button on

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00:20:56.279 --> 00:21:00.440
my phone, letting her know that
it had only been met, but thanks

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00:21:00.480 --> 00:21:07.359
anyway if this stay had been great. About five minutes later, I heard

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00:21:07.400 --> 00:21:11.119
a knock on the door, asking
for me by my first name, Henry.

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00:21:12.480 --> 00:21:17.119
I walked over to it and finally
met the owner, a short woman

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00:21:17.200 --> 00:21:22.279
about fifty years old. She was
asking me if I needed anything. I

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00:21:22.319 --> 00:21:26.559
told her that I had just replied
to her email, but that everything was

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00:21:26.599 --> 00:21:30.720
fine, and I thanked her once
again. She waited for me to say

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00:21:30.720 --> 00:21:40.039
something, as she softly said,
but your wife, the woman she's here.

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00:21:41.680 --> 00:21:45.960
That was impossible, but maybe I
had talked to myself long enough for

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00:21:45.039 --> 00:21:49.519
her to imagine that someone else had
been there with me. I simply repeated

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00:21:49.519 --> 00:21:56.799
it that no, that I had
been there by myself. I could tell

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00:21:56.880 --> 00:22:00.720
that she was uncomfortable and that her
demeanor had changed. It felt like I

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00:22:00.759 --> 00:22:04.720
was about to receive one of those
talks about not lying, like the kind

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00:22:04.759 --> 00:22:11.039
that a parent gives to a child
when they're being scolded. She simply faked

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00:22:11.039 --> 00:22:15.720
a smile, and with that she
walked down the hallway and to the staircase.

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We were about to board the plane
when I got the familiar ding on

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my phone had an image attachment,
which I quickly downloaded three images of the

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security camera on the hallway of that
apartment where I had stayed. The email

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had been sent from the owner of
the apartment. In one of the images,

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00:22:41.240 --> 00:22:45.119
I'm walking from the end of the
hallway towards apartment number three, and

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00:22:45.200 --> 00:22:52.799
the second I'm standing by the door, and the third I'm walking into the

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apartment, still with my suitcase next
to me. But in all three of

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00:23:00.279 --> 00:23:11.720
those images, Sarah was next to
me, and a third image she looked

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00:23:11.759 --> 00:23:18.640
at the camera, but I was
there by myself, and Sarah had been

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dead for exactly two months. Scary
Story podcast is written and produced by me

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00:23:33.480 --> 00:23:38.440
Edwin kovar Ruguez. Do you have
an idea for a story, Send me

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an email or find me on Instagram
at Edwin Cove. That's e d w

290
00:23:44.720 --> 00:23:49.920
n coo v up. Next,
check out my other podcasts, True Scary

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Story and the other one called a
Dark Memory by searching for them on your

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podcast player. Don't forget it's tip
followed to stay up to date. Thank

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you very much for listening. Sea
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