3 Very Scary True Desert Horror Stories

This happened not even a month ago. I'm a senior in high school, and I've lived in Nevada my whole life. There's not a whole lot to do here, but one thing my friends and I have always been into is urban exploring. We'd look for abandoned buildings, old service tunnels, dead malls, anything that felt forgotten. We'd climb through broken fences, take pictures, sometimes sneak up to the roofs or down into basements. It wasn't about breaking stuff or doing anything illegal, it was just about the vibe. The only guy in our group who always found the weirdest places was Charles. He was kind of the quiet, mysterious type. He'd show up with locations none of us had heard of. Half the time I didn't even ask how he found them. One day he sent us a screenshot from some sketchy Instagram account. Low follower account, blurry photos, all kinds of creepy comments under the posts. The caption on the post in question just said something like dozens of abandoned mine shafts in the Mojave Desert if you know where to look. According to Charles, he had been in contact with the account and whoever was running it had given him some areas to check out. That's all Charles needed. He was instantly obsessed with the idea. So that Saturday, it was me, Charles, and our other friend James. I had a Wrangler that was perfect for off-road desert driving, so we took that. We didn't have a specific address or anything, just a general area and a pin drop somewhere in the middle of the Mojave. The spot Charles had marked was way off in the desert, like really far from anything. We turned off the main road almost half an hour earlier, and the dirt path we were on barely looked like a road anymore. We drove around for what felt like forever. No signs, no structures, no landmarks, just endless nothing. I kept checking my phone even though I knew we didn't have service. James was in the back, getting more and more irritated. He started telling Charles this whole thing was a waste of time and that he had been scammed by some troll account. Charles insisted that we keep looking, so we did. He's always been stubborn with navigation, so I figured I'd indulge him a little while longer. Eventually, just as we were about to call it quits, James pointed out something off to the right. At first, it looked like just more rock and sand, but as we got closer, we saw it. This half-collapsed wooden structure built into the side of a slope. Part of the entrance looked like it had been caved in, but you could still see a dark hole behind the support beams. It wasn't huge, but it was definitely man-made. Definitely a mineshaft. Charles didn't say anything at first. He just pulled out his phone, opened the offline map he'd downloaded when we still had service, and dropped a pin on it. Then he turned to James and said, told you, to which James said he just got lucky. But even I had to admit, it was kind of crazy. We'd been driving in circles out in the middle of nowhere, and somehow, we'd actually found one. I parked a few yards from the entrance, just off to the side on a flat patch of dirt. We all climbed out and geared up. Charles had even brought masks for us to wear. The three of us walked up the mine, and it looked even sketchier up close. Charles picked up a rock and tossed it in. We waited. A few seconds later, we heard it clang three times, then nothing. It was really deep. Charles looked back at us and said if we tripped on the way down, we were probably dead. We started the descent. Luckily, the shaft wasn't a straight drop. It sloped down at a steep angle, but not enough that we had to climb hand over hand. The ground was loose and uneven, and there were old wooden beams lining parts of the wall. Surprisingly, they seemed pretty sturdy. The deeper we went, the colder it got, and quieter. It was really eerie down there. We couldn't even see any light coming through from the entrance anymore. Eventually, we made it to what felt like the bottom. The shaft leveled out and opened into a wider tunnel that branched off in a few directions. It looked exactly how you'd imagine. Old support beams every few yards, rusted rails half-buried in dirt, and a thick layer of dust on everything. There were scraps of wood and metal scattered around, maybe parts of old carts or tools. It smelled kind of stale in there, if that made any sense. Honestly, I didn't realize how much of a blessing the masks were until that point. We picked a tunnel and just started walking. None of us really said much. We weren't looking for anything specific, just exploring. There honestly wasn't much cool stuff down there. The place looked like it had been mostly cleaned out of anything worth taking. But then, we heard something. It was faint, somewhere further down the tunnel. It sounded like something being dragged. At first, I thought I imagined it, but I looked over and saw Charles had stopped too. James motioned for us to turn off our flashlights, so we did. We just stood there in total darkness, listening. The sound came again. It was a sort of scraping sound, like metal or maybe even wood being dragged along the ground. It was hard to tell with the echo, but it seemed like whatever it was was getting closer. We stood there in the dark for maybe 30 seconds, maybe a full minute. It was hard to tell. The scraping sound kept coming, slowly getting louder. It didn't sound too close to us, but that didn't make it any less terrifying. Then, James accidentally flicked his flashlight on and then off again. I wanted to kill him. The scraping stopped and everything went silent. Then, out of nowhere, there was this loud metallic clang from somewhere deep in the tunnel, like whatever was being dragged had just been dropped. And right after that came the most awful, demonic scream I'd ever heard. It barely sounded human. We turned and ran, not even caring about how loud we were being. I'd never run faster in my entire life. I could hear footsteps coming from somewhere behind me, and I thought I was going to have a panic attack. I was in the back trying to keep up, and then I tripped on something. One of my shoes came off, and I struggled to stay upright. I didn't have time to go back for it, so I just kept going, trying to ignore the pain in my foot. Up ahead, Charles and James had already reached the incline and were climbing. I practically threw myself up the stairs. When I tell you climbing those stairs half barefoot was the most painful thing I'd ever experienced, I'm not exaggerating. It was excruciating. I picked up a new splinter every few seconds. If not for the adrenaline coursing through my veins, I don't think I would have been able to make it out of there. By the time I finally made it out into the open air, my foot was shot. I needed James and Charles to damn near carry me over to the car. I couldn't drive like that, so James jumped in the driver's seat. I barely got the door closed before he threw it in gear and floored it. I don't think we were followed up the shaft, but we weren't sticking around to find out. We drove in silence all the way to the nearest hospital. I thought the pain was going to make me pass out. I ended up having to get a tetanus shot, and even after all my wounds were cleaned and all the splinters were removed, I couldn't walk normally for days. A few days later, once I could walk without limping too bad, James told us he'd dropped his wallet somewhere near the shaft, probably when he was helping me get to the car. He hadn't said anything at the time, but now he figured it was worth going back. Just to the entrance, where were we going back inside? So, the three of us drove back out there, using the pin that Charles had saved. Obviously, James' wallet was nowhere in sight, but we did find something. My shoe. It was sitting a few feet from the mine's entrance. I cautiously walked over to it and picked it up. It was torn up, like someone, or dare I say something, had bitten into it. There were literally teeth marks in my shoe, and entire chunks of it were missing. We didn't stick around much longer after that. None of us can come up with any rational explanation. You might be quick to just say it was some homeless person living down there, but if that were the case, how the hell had they managed to stay alive for so long? There was no food down there. What in the world would they eat? Charles said that Instagram account never responded to him when he DMed him about what happened. It's going to be a long time before I do any urban exploring in the desert again. I've always been a rugged kind of guy. I've always loved the outdoors, and a vacation to me is a camping or fishing trip, not some extravagant excursion to some resort or something. My girlfriend of six months shares my love of nature. That's probably one of the main reasons we started dating, if I had to be honest. A couple weeks back, Tiki and I decided to do something a little different. We drove out to the desert to camp for a few days. We'd both done forests, mountains, lakes, all that, but neither of us had really experienced the kind of open, silent, dry isolation the desert offered. It just felt like something we had to try at least once. One of the main reasons we landed on the desert, too, was the stargazing. That's something we both love, probably more than anything else. Even back when we first started dating, we'd take drives out past town just to lie on the hood of the truck and watch the stars. So when we read that this spot was far from any towns or light pollution, it was basically a done deal. I found a place online that was supposedly remote, but legal to camp on. No amenities, just open land, some fire rings, and stars. Sounded perfect. We packed up the truck with our gear and made the three-hour drive early that Friday morning. The last hour or so was on a dirt road that felt like it went on forever. There wasn't a house or sign of human life in sight. Honestly, that was half the appeal. By the time we found the campsite, it was already late afternoon. The place was completely void of people, just as I had hoped. The first couple nights were exactly what we wanted. Warm days, cool nights, clear skies. We'd sit out by the fire with a couple drinks, pass a little joint back and forth, and just talk about dumb stuff or lie back and stare at the sky. Not having a schedule or any distractions was really, really refreshing. And yeah, we'd fool around a bit in the tent, that was all part of the fun too. It felt good to be disconnected. Both nights though, we heard something strange. Not close, just somewhere way out in the distance. It was this low, drawn-out sound, like a howl or a moan. It didn't really sound like a person, more like an animal. The first night, we both sort of paused when we heard it. Tiki looked at me like, did you hear that too? And I nodded, but we ended up laughing it off. I said it was probably a coyote or a mountain lion or something, and she agreed. Same thing the second night, right around the same time too. We chalked it up to being desert wildlife. I mean, there's all kinds of stuff out here that we're not used to hearing. It was unsettling, sure, but we weren't going to let it ruin the trip. The third night, I woke up to the sound of footsteps outside the tent. It was soft at first, just a couple faint crunches, like someone walking slowly over dry dirt. I held my breath and listened. It wasn't an animal. It was too steady and slow. I didn't move. I wanted to grab the flashlight, wake Tiki up, and say something, but I couldn't. I was frozen. My heart was pounding, and every muscle in my body felt locked up. The steps didn't go around the tent. They just stopped a few feet away, and for a long time, there was nothing but silence. I stared at the ceiling of the tent, barely blinking, waiting to hear something else. But whoever or whatever it was didn't make another sound. I waited there for God knows how long, praying they'd walk away. But then, out of nowhere, I heard a flick. That sharp, unmistakable sound of a lighter. A small orange glow appeared through the fabric of the tent, maybe waist height a few feet off to the side. Whoever was out there held the flame steady for a few seconds, then started waving it around slowly. I didn't move. I just stared at it, trying not to make a sound. And then the flame got bigger. Way bigger. It went from a flicker to a glow, like they'd lit something. A torch, maybe. Then, without warning, the person dropped whatever they were holding. I heard it hit the dirt with a dull thump, and a second later, the side of the tent lit up. The heat came fast. Way faster than I expected. And within seconds, the fire started spreading. That's what finally snapped me out of my haze. I woke Tiki up, and she immediately realized what was happening. We scrambled. No time to think. We started tossing our stuff out of the tent and onto the dirt. I'm not even sure we got everything. We sprinted out of the tent while the fire spread. Tiki grabbed one of our water jugs and dumped it on the fire, while I tried stomping out anything that had caught on fire. Eventually, we got it under control. Half the tent was completely ruined. I grabbed the flashlight and started scanning the area around the tent, looking for the person who had just tried to kill us. But there was no one. At least, no one I could see. Tiki started packing up our stuff, and I quickly followed suit. We started speedwalking what we thought was the direction of the truck. There weren't any landmarks, and it was dark, so we were practically guessing. After a few minutes, it became clear we were turned around. At some point, maybe ten minutes into walking, I heard it again. That same distant scream we'd heard the first two nights. Only this time, it didn't stop. It kept going, like an animal was in constant pain. And then another scream started from somewhere else, and then another one. They were all coming from behind us, but it was clear that there were multiple things out there. I didn't say anything, I just grabbed Tiki's arm and started moving faster. By some miracle, we actually found the truck. We practically threw all of our stuff into it, and I drove off as fast as I could. I couldn't go too fast though, the road was rough, and without any light besides my high beams, it felt like every dip and bend could flip us. After what felt like forever, we finally hit a main road. I didn't stop speeding until I saw other cars again. Tiki was holding it together, but I could tell she wanted to cry, and I was doing a really bad job of consoling her. We did call the police to report everything that happened. All I can think about all of this is how if I weren't such a light sleeper, my girlfriend and I could have been murdered that night in the desert. This is important context for what I'm about to tell you, so I'm going to start here. I've always been a little suspicious of my mom's past. Suspicious isn't exactly the right word, but I can't think of a better one. She was born in Mexico and spent her childhood there before moving to the states alone to pursue an undergrad degree. The rest is history. She found work, met my dad, and has lived in America ever since. I don't really know a lot about her life before America, and there's a part of me that thinks that's by design. She avoids talking about her past entirely and dismisses any questions about it with a joke or by changing the subject. Growing up, my dad always told me that it was because she had some childhood trauma that was better left undiscussed, and I believed that for the longest time. I mean, why wouldn't I? But as I grew older, I started getting more and more curious, and would often marvel at how skilled my mom was at dodging those kinds of questions at family gatherings and whatnot. Here's what I do know. She lived in a border town somewhere, northern Mexico, along the Texas border. It doesn't have the best reputation, being a border town and all. The closest I've ever gotten to knowing anything about her parents is a joke that she told a few times when I was younger. She would laugh that her dad's side of the family were the politicians and her mom's side were the crooks, but she was never able to tell which was which. I never read into it as anything beyond a cynical political joke, but as I grew older, I started wondering whether there was more truth to that statement than I had originally thought. Her dad worked for the government in some capacity, and she never spoke about her mother, not once. The only other piece of information I have is a name. I'm not going to write it out, so I'm just going to call him R. One night, when I was around 10 or 11, I woke up in the As I was walking past our living room, I heard my mom speaking in a quiet voice. I didn't understand Spanish, but she repeated R's name multiple times, the way someone talking about someone would, as opposed to someone speaking directly to someone. All the lights in there were off, so I couldn't actually see her, but I could hear her. Even though I knew it was just mom, my young self was still a little scared of the dark, so I instinctively flipped the light switch on. She didn't scream or even react to the light. It was like she was anticipating that I'd be there. Instead, she immediately hung up the phone and glared at me with a look I had never seen from her. She told me to go back to bed, and I did. And that's it. That's basically all I know about my mother's past. A joke, her dad's very vague occupation, and the name R. What I'm about to tell you happened almost a year ago to date, and it's been on my mind a lot recently. I'm from Arizona, lived there my whole life. I was a year removed from graduating college, and I was driving through the desert on my way to meet up with one of my old college friends. It was a really long drive, I'm talking road trip hours, and I was tired of listening to music. I'm not a podcast guy, so I was low-key cycling through my contacts, calling up all my friends and whatever girls I happened to be talking to. Eventually, I decided to call my mom. We're both really into soccer, so we were talking about the upcoming Champions League fixtures and how exciting the matchups were. She's got some serious knowledge on the sport, so the two of us can talk soccer forever. Out of nowhere, I saw two pickup trucks blocking the road up ahead. It didn't look like a car accident, so I wasn't sure what I was looking at. I was worried that someone might need help or something, so I slowed down as I approached. My mom was still on the phone, but I hadn't let her know what was happening. I stopped my car and sat there, wondering if it would be a good idea to get out. Before I could do anything, three men sprang out from the two cars, all holding guns. I froze up and realized there was another car quickly approaching mine from behind. I was unarmed, so compliance was really my only choice at that point. One of the men tapped his gun on my door, motioning for me to get out. The other two stood a little further back. I put my hands up and slowly got out of my car. By that point, the car behind me had fully caught up and was parked a little ways away. The man barked a few commands in Spanish, but I didn't understand what they were saying. I consider my inability to speak Spanish one of my biggest failures in life, especially as a Mexican-American, and in that moment, not being able to at least communicate with my assailants, I wanted to die. It didn't take a translator to know what they wanted me to do, though. Before I knew it, my phone, keys, wallet, and other personal belongings were in their possession, and it looked like I was going to be stranded in a barren desert with no viable escape. One of the men got into my truck, and that's when things took a turn. I realized I hadn't hung up the phone with my mom, and since my truck was still running, she was still on the line. I watched through my driver's side window as the man reached his finger toward the screen as if to hang up, only to pull it back like he had changed his mind. I kept watching, and it seemed like he was listening. I instantly connected the dots. My mom must have been speaking to him. Eventually, I saw his lips start moving and realized they were having a full-on conversation in there. I obviously couldn't hear anything because the windows and doors were closed, but I knew they were speaking Spanish. I swear on my life, I'm 90% sure he repeated R's name a few times, like my mom had said it and he was making sure he heard it correctly. At some point, the other guys must have realized what was going on, because they stopped guarding me and approached the car. The guy inside rolled the window down and stared at me as he spoke to the other two men. After he finished talking, all three of them turned and stared at me as if sizing me up. The conversation didn't last long after that. They hung up the phone and walked back over to me. They handed me all my stuff back, including my car keys. The only thing they took was the cash in my wallet. One of the men looked at me, smiled, and in a thick accent said, tax, as he did it. I had never been more happy to lose all my cash in my life. As I drove away, all three cars, including the one that had been behind me, started speeding off into the desert, away from the road. My plan was to try memorizing their license plates, but none of the cars had any. I was still in shock. After a few minutes of driving, I called my mother back and demanded an explanation. She told me that she had simply threatened to call the police on them, as she was tracking my location and knew exactly where I was. I told her that was obviously BS, and insisted she tell me what they had really been talking about. She was adamant about her story though, and told me most of the Spanish was just her pleading her case. Even though I didn't believe her story, there was nothing I could do but accept it. I asked her to call the police for me, and she said she would. Eventually, we ended the call, and I drove the rest of the way in complete silence. In all honesty, I blocked that experience out of my mind for as long as I could, but over time, I just couldn't anymore. I'm becoming more and more sure that my mom had some kind of tie to a Mexican gang or cartel growing up, and even scarier, maybe that tie didn't end when she left Mexico. She knows I'm not stupid, so I don't know how much longer she expects to keep this charade up. I feel like I should just straight up ask her, but I'm really worried about what kind of tension that might create, or worse, what kind of world I might be getting myself into should she tell me the truth.