I forgot the title, but there’s this creepy pasta of a man who stays at a hotel with the one rule that he cannot look into the unmarked locked room on the way to his own room. He looks through the keyhole and sees a woman sitting in the corner. He thinks about knocking, but decides to leave her alone. The next morning, his curiosity gets to him again and he looks through the keyhole. However, this time all he could see was a distinct red color. He assumed the woman knew he was spying on her and covered the keyhole with red cloth. He later went to the receptionist and confronted her about the room. The receptionist explains “a woman was murdered in that room, and many guests have reported seeing her ghost. She was white all over, except for her eyes. They were red.”
I was driving through west Texas on my way to California and take a detour on 41 to see a friend out studying bats in Devil’s Sinkhole. I stop at the only gas station for about a zillion miles to top off my tank, use the bathroom and get a snack and it’s one of those rickety old gas stations from the 70s with old pumps where you have to prepay inside.
While I’m inside looking around at the snacks I see all the bags of chips and candybars are dusty and expired by about two years; the refrigerators holding the soda don’t even sound like they’re on and it’s absolutely sweltering inside, no A/C. I look up out the window and see one of the only two employees there circling my car, running his fingers along the edge of the trunk. Then he reaches over and tries the driver-side door handle.
I turn to the guy behind the counter and get pissed, “He’s trying to get in to my car!” He looks out at the guy now pulling on the passenger side door, looks me right in the eyes and says in a flat, matter of fact tone, “I don’t see him doing anything.” Then he stoops just enough for me to see him reach under the counter for something, and that’s when I felt myself click in to autopilot.
I flipped around and banged open the door, screamed at the other guy outside to get the fuck away from my car or I’d break his face, then somehow managed to work my keys fast enough to get in and peel out before the other guy could get out the door behind me with something in his hand. I floored it for the next 50 miles freaking out because I know I looked in the rear view mirror to check if they were getting in to the truck in the parking lot to follow me, but I couldn’t remember what I saw because my head was swimming from the adrenaline.
I called the police about 20 min later and they told me since nothing had actually happened that they weren’t going to “waste the gas driving out there.” I still shudder when I think about how the man in the convenience store never broke eye contact with me while he was reaching under the counter.