Let's Not Meet: A True Horror Podcast - 10x11: Chris - Let's Not Meet

Episode Date: April 24, 2023

Stories in this episode: - Bus Stop Buddies Turned Creeps, by Amanda (0:48) - Midday Park Stalker, by Anonymous (14:54) - The Man in the Silver Mercedes, by Sick Cookie (19:41) - Chris, by Emily (29:05) Extended Patreon Content: - He Said My Tail Light Was Out, by Alicia - The Unknown Man Inside My House, by Alexandria - Horror in Hawaii, by Courtney - Almost Kidnapped While Pregnant, by Andrea - Potential Employer Turned Stalker by Barrett - The Sandwich Man, by Kelly Due to periodic changes in ad placement, time-stamps are are estimates.  All of the stories you've heard this week were narrated and produced with the permission of their respective authors. Let's Not Meet: A True Horror Podcast is not associated with Reddit or any other message boards online. To submit your story to the show, send it to [e-mail].   Get access to extended, ad-free episodes of Let's Not Meet: A True Horror Podcast with bonus stories every week at a higher bitrate along with a bunch of other great exclusive material and merch at patreon.com/letsnotmeetpodcast. This podcast would not be possible to continue at this rate without the help of the support of the legendary LNM Patrons. Come join the family! Check out the other Cryptic County podcasts like Odd Trails, Welcome to Paradise (It Sucks), and the Old Time Radiocast at CrypticCountyPodcasts.com or wherever you get your podcasts! Go to HelloFresh.com/lnm50 and use code lnm50 for 50% off, plus your first box ships free! Check out the Vessi Cloudburst and other styles at vessi.com/MEET. Use code MEET for 15% off your order. Free shipping for CA, US, AU, JP, TW, KR, SGP.  - Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/groups/433173970399259/  - Website - https://letsnotmeetpodcast.com  - Patreon - https://patreon.com/letsnotmeetpodcast  - Instagram - https://www.instagram.com/letsnotmeetcast/  - Twitch - https://twitch.tv/crypticcounty  

When you download the Croger app, you have easy access to savings every day. Shop weekly sales and get personalized coupons to get the most value out of every trip every time, whether you shop in-store or online. Download the Croger app now to save big. Croger, fresh for everyone, must have a digital account to redeem offers. Restrictions may apply, see site for details. Save big on your favorites with the Buy 5 or more Save a Dollar each sale. Simply buy 5 or more participating items and save a dollar each with your card. Proger, fresh for everyone!

This podcast contains adult language and content. If you have a story to share, send it to Let's Not Meet Stories at gmail.com. Enjoy the show. My name is Andrew Tate and this is season 10 episode 11 of Let's Not Meet a True Horror Right before I started sixth grade, my family moved for a third time, meaning I would be starting at another new school. I'm a pretty extreme introvert, so I can't begin to describe the level of anxiety I was internalizing at the thought of my first day. My sister is four years older than me, so we were never really in the same school building. This didn't help.

I didn't even have that small comfort of having her around. To make matters worse, both schools I attended previously were small, with maybe 75 kids total in my grade. The new school that I would be attending had over 500 students in my class alone. The only silver lining was that I was beginning middle school, and my class would be a mix of kids from six different elementary schools, so in a sense everyone was new. During our first year in this town, my family rented a small townhouse while they waited for our previous home to sell. This group of townhomes was off a busy six-lane road. To reach it, you had to go down a slightly curvy road between two sections of trees giving the development a buffer from the hustle of the main road.

I also had to walk this road daily just to reach the bus stop as the bus didn't even enter the development. It was about a quarter of a mile walk, due to the road's curvature. I wasn't visible for part of the walk from the main road or the housing development. It's hard to say which would be the most terrifying on that first day of school, the idea of walking to the bus stop alone and then having to find a seat in a vehicle full of strangers, or the thought of walking to the bus stop with my mother when I was in sixth grade, my fear of being alone won. So my mother walked with me to catch the bus.

Two boys were at the bus stop when we arrived, and my mother being extremely extroverted, and completely oblivious to my embarrassment and anxiety, introduced us to each other. The boys were polite, they introduced themselves and promised my mom that they would look out for me on the way to school. The two were a great ahead of me, and while their actions will stay with me forever, the one thing that I cannot recall is their names, so we'll call them Nick and Cody. Only the three of us were at the bus stop. I was relieved to know two people at least, but also a little skeptical of why they would

voluntarily pay attention to me. From then on, they would wait for me in the morning so that we could walk to the bus stop together. Initially, it felt like an easy friendship, and they even began inviting me to hang out on the weekends and after school to do things like basketball or manhunt. Now manhunt was like hide and seek, but we played it at night, starting with one seeker and many people hiding. Every time someone is found, they become the seeker until there's only one person left hiding in the group. After a couple of months, Nick began to creep me out a little. He started slowly with crude jokes or comments about my body when we were alone at the bus stop. Eventually, he escalated into asking me personal questions about whether I had done things or if I wanted to.

Cody was a follower, and even when I could tell he wasn't quite into something Nick was doing, he would still follow suit. I usually laughed it off, with part of me thinking that this was just middle school, and I should get used to it. Yeah, I know, I was 12, and dumb. The red flags waved like a stormy crimson sea, but I kept ignoring them, hoping the issues would disappear. Eventually Nick would find reasons to touch me, often accidentally coming in contact with

my chest or my butt. While I have always been quick to stand up in defense of my friends, I have never been good at speaking up to protect myself. Instead, my anxiety generally leads to shutting down when I get nervous or uncomfortable. At 36, I've gotten better, and I've found my voice. I credit a lot to my dog, who is anxious about new people and situations. I've

never been okay with people pushing his boundaries. Now, the only time I tend to shut down is on the rare occasion when I get hit on. I'm very much in flight when it comes to those types of social interactions. Unfortunately, for 12-year-old me, shutdown mode only encouraged Nick's behavior. My parents had found a house by early May, but we would not move in until the beginning of June, so I was stuck there a while longer. I began counting down the days until we moved out of that townhouse. Sometime that spring, two events scared the hell out of me. I was usually home alone for a short while after school some days, probably an hour or so.

The rules in our house were always strict. I was to go straight home, lock the door behind me, and not open it for anyone, or go out to meet friends until my mom got home, as she was usually home before my dad. On one of those days, Nick and Cody showed up at my door. They knew I was there alone, and were well aware that I could not come out until my parents were home. Momentarily, I talked to them through the window while they stood outside the door, but Nick insisted that I open it, just for a minute, hoping that it would make them leave. I did. The second I opened that door, he yanked the screen door open, which was unlocked.

He barged into my house, saying that he just wanted to look around for a minute. Cody was hovering outside the door. Both of them were wearing rollerblades. I was so angry that Nick had barged in, especially while wearing rollerblades as my mom was hardcore into respecting other people's homes. I told him he needed to get out, but he said that he wanted to see the bedrooms and rolled towards the stairs across from the front door. In my anger and panic, I grabbed the back of his shirt and pulled as hard as I could.

Adrenaline is a wonderful thing. Since he was on rollerblades on a tile floor, he flew backward, where he collided with Cody. The momentum rolled both of them into the bushes, and as soon as they were clear of the doorway, I slammed it shut and locked it. I was terrified of Nick's actions, and my mother was due home any minute, so I cleaned the roller-blade tracks from the floor with shaking hands while trying not to cry. When my mom got home, I didn't tell her what happened. In my mind, it was my fault for opening the door in the first place, and I felt stupid. I also knew that the fact that I opened the door would be the point that my mother would fixate on. Not only would I be yelled at, but I would also

probably be grounded and not allowed to stay home alone for a long time, and I treasure those few hours of quiet time. It was an introvert's paradise. On the other hand, if I had said something, the next instance could have been prevented from happening. To the parents who are listening, I think it's good to make sure that your children experience the consequences of their actions, such as groundings, so that they can learn from their mistakes. That's essential for them to become responsible adults, but make sure the threat of your reaction is never greater than the dangers that they face outside of your home. To kids, their parents' reactions, emotions, approvals, and disappointment is everything.

Sometimes the consequences do not need to come from you because the experience was already punishment enough. For example, the fear from that moment felt like a major consequence for me. I never made the mistake of opening the door for anyone again. As we walked home from the bus one day, I was a little bit ahead of Nick and Cody since I wanted to get home quickly. Nick quietly kept up with me. Then suddenly grabbed me from behind.

We were on a stretch of road where nobody else could see us. Nick was taller than me, at five two, and much stronger. His arms wrapped around me, pinning my arms to my sides and crushing my loony tunes backpack until the books dug into my shoulder blades. I yelled at him to let me go, but he had already pulled me off the road and dragged me into the trees. I panicked and struggled while he alternated between telling me what would happen and how much fun we would have once we were out of sight from the deserted road. He called the Cody to grab a rope out of his bag and watch for cars.

I would love to say that I kicked Nick and the family jewels hard enough to ensure that he would never get laid, but I think I forgot I even had feet in the struggle. Instead, in my panic and anger, I struggled to break from his grip, which was futile. I told him to let me go, and never yelled for help since it was unlikely that anyone would hear me.

I don't know if it was the fact that I was fighting him so hard, his fear of being seen, or Cody's half-hearted suggestion to let me go, but Nick simply lost his grip for a second. All I know is that his arms released me just for a breath of a moment, so I took off. I got back on that road and I ran the rest of the way home while Nick kept calling for me to come back. I arrived at an empty house and somehow managed to unlock the door while shakily checking over my shoulder for another attack. Again, I told my parents nothing. Instead, I spent the last few weeks in that house, terrified of walking to and from the bus. I dragged my feet in the morning, leaving the house at the last possible second

to avoid walking with Nick and Cody. To my surprise, they stopped waiting for me in the mornings. If I had to wait at that bus stop, I would stand very far away from them, ensuring that I was in full view of the busy road. If either of them tried talking to me, I refused to respond. Nick would talk about me when I was within earshot, calling me a baby, and complaining that I couldn't take a joke. After school, I would run the quarter mile back to my house, listening closely for the sound of anyone approaching.

My family moved shortly after. Thanks to the school size and the grade difference, I never had to deal with either of them again. I wish I could say that this experience had my red flag radar and high alert from then on. However, at 16, I was still fully unprepared for the love bombing that began a two-year-long emotionally and psychologically abusive relationship. Although I recognized the dysfunction fairly early on, being someone who tends to blend well with the decor, I was so desperate for someone to notice my existence that I clung to that relationship until my senior year of high school. I firmly left that man-child in the rear view, and I've been happily single for 18 years since,

going on adventures with my dogs, and enjoying lots of cuddles and sass from the cats. I don't know where Nick and Cody are today. While I would like to hope that they've both matured into decent human beings, I truly hope they never hurt any girls or women over the years that have passed. Wherever you are, Nick and Cody, let's not meet again. 18T Fiber presents A Straight Forward Moment You're wine? Thanks. I'll pretend I know what I'm doing before saying it's good.

And I'll pretend I don't know you're pretending. Are you a Gigillionaire? Yeah, I have 18T Fiber. The straightforward pricing has inspired me to be more straightforward. Me too. ¿Tendrán? ¿Estás un guilhán? Sí, tengo 18T Fiber. El rato de la presión de la presión de la presión de la presión de la presión de la presión de la presión de la presión de la presión de la presión de la presión de la presión de la presión de la presión de la presión de la presión de la presión de la presión de la presión de la presión de la presión de la presión de la presión de la presión de la presión de la presión de la presión de la presión de la presión de la presión de la presión de la presión de la presión de la presión de la presión de la presión de la presión de la presión de la presión de la presión de la presión de la presión de la presión de la presión de la presión de la presión de la presión de la presión de la presión de la presión de la presión de la presión de la presión de la presión de la presión de la presión de la presión de la presión de la presión de la presión de la presión de la presión de la presión de la presión de la presión de la presión de la presión de la presión de la presión de la presión de la presión de la presión de la presión de la presión de la presión de la presión de la presión de la presión de la presión de la presión de la presión de la presión de la presión de la presión de la presión de la presión de la presión de la presión de la presión de la presión de la presión de la presión de la presión de la presión de la presión de la presión de la presión de la presión de la presión de la presión de la presión de la presión de la presión de la ¡Vamos a la casa! I don't forget about their abouts for the kids. Discover the last one on the store or at jcp.com. It's the foot of the head to where you go. JCPenny. This recently happened to my sister and me. We were leisurely walking my two pups on the trails

at a gorgeous park in Northwest Arkansas. My sister noticed a man walking parallel to us who kept his distance for the entire 45 minutes of our walk. She's five years younger than me and about to graduate with her psychology degree, specifically focused on criminology and forensics. She's very aware of her surroundings and the behavior of others at all times, to say the least. She didn't mention the creepy man's presence to me then. This was probably to keep me from freaking out. By nature, I am confrontational, and in my third trimester of pregnancy, so my instincts to protect are stronger than ever.

We walked to my car to load up the dogs, but we had to spend some extra time drying them off. Their paws and legs were dirty because we let them get in the water since it was a beautiful day. I was huffing and puffing, squatting down with the dogs without any idea that this man had followed us back to the parking lot. He was standing next to his car, just staring at us. I noticed my sister seemed distracted. She quietly mumbled. That guy is watching us. As I said before, I didn't

realize he had been following us and watching us for the last hour. So I casually said, huh? What guy? Thinking it was probably someone stopping by to admire my dogs. I always get stopped by strangers while in public because of how beautiful my husky and blue-heeler dogs are. My sister darted her eyes up without pointing, not to be obvious and said, straight ahead, the guy standing at his car over there. Alarm bells went off immediately for me, and my fighter flight kicked in. This guy wasn't somebody just casually admiring the dogs. He also wasn't your typical outdoorsy

park adventurer. He stood with his hands concealed in his hoodie pockets, wearing big headphones and dark sunglasses. He completely concealed all of his features. He didn't even try to look away or act like he was doing something else. He was deliberately following us. I got to the driver's side door of my car opened it and paused for five seconds to shoot him a look that said, yeah, now I see you staring at us, you creep. He then waved at me. I got in my car, made sure that everyone was settled, and put that bitch in sports

mode to peel out of there. Simultaneously, he got into his car and started to follow us. There are several stoplights from that park to my house, so I thought that we would lose him. And we did for a bit. But then out of nowhere, he rolled up right behind us at the last main intersection close to my neighborhood. At this point, I was thinking, okay, fuck it.

If this guy wants to be this obvious, we will get as many details about him as possible. His windows were not tinted at all, first mistake. I told my sister to turn around and get a picture of him since he was on our ass. The light turned green as we were doing this, and I sped up again. We passed a neighborhood, and he quickly pulled off into it. I wondered why he did that, thinking maybe he was scared that we had taken a picture of him. We obviously decided not to go straight home, but instead drive around the town a few more

times to make sure that we had lost him. I called my husband and the police in both towns that we passed through to report the man's information to the best of my ability. The police took it very seriously and to my surprise, actually sent patrol cars to that park and my house. Unfortunately, the man knows exactly what my car looks like, so my husband will drive it for a while. It really pisses me off that he felt the confidence to stalk us openly and follow us the way

that he did. Now I won't let this one time scare me or keep me from going out to enjoy what nature has to offer. So creepy-ass stalker from the park, you're lucky my sister was with me and kept me calm this time. And you better hope that we don't meet especially after I have this baby, because I'll be packing next time I go anywhere, and I won't hesitate to confront you face to face. This event happened in 1984 before Roadrage had a name. The madness that someone experiences behind the wheel is very real, whatever you want to call it. I was a skinny 16-year-old girl working my first

job at a daycare center. I only worked a few hours daily, preparing snacks for the children. Afterward, I cleaned up the kitchen and went home. I rode to work in a recognizable Ford station wagon I sometimes shared with my brothers. Family and friends affectionately referred to the car as the tank. Many folks in this town recognize the tank because of its unique cocoa crispy brown shade and the shocking number of dents. This detail is important. I may have contributed to a few of the dings, but my two older brothers created the lion's share, at least that's the story I'm sticking with. One afternoon my brother Ken needed a car, so he was tasked with picking me up after my

shift. We pulled onto the turnpike, a very busy three-lane road with many shopping centers. After a few moments, my brother Ken noticed a silver Mercedes driving very slowly in front of us. Patience is not one of Ken's strengths, so he turned on his blinker and sped ahead of the car, positioning himself in the left-hand lane. Apparently, this was right where the silver Mercedes wanted to be, so the Mercedes gunned it. They cut us off and nearly caused an accident. The man driving the Mercedes slammed on his horn as we approached to the red light. This is where most of the road rage stories end. The driver's door flew open, as the Mercedes stopped beside us, and a stout red-faced man

came barreling out. He was in his mid-50s. I was sitting in the passenger seat only a few paces away when we locked eyes. That was the first time I remember being truly frightened by someone. The man was wild-eyed and screaming of cinnitus. Ken was yelling, I didn't do anything wrong. Incredibly, the man jerked the door handle next to where I was sitting. My pulse raced as I helplessly watched to this man trying to get into our car.

What was his plan? Thankfully the car door was locked. My brother had had enough, the light was still red, but Ken waited for an opening in traffic, then hit the gas. We went flying through the intersection, adrenaline soaring. I thought the exchange was over, but I noticed the silver Mercedes was right behind us. He's following us, I screamed, incredibly, the man had run the red light as well. My brother had many skills, and his talent for driving like a bat out of hell was on top

of that list. We were only a mile from home and planned to make a run for it. We tore through our neighborhood, barely slowing to turn, and desperate to outrace the Silver Mercedes. After a bit of time, it seemed like we had lost him. I was terrified that the man would discover where we lived, though. Ken must have had the same thought, because as we approached our two-story brick house on the hill, Ken drove another loop around the block just to be sure that we had shaken him. We eventually pulled

into our driveway so fast a clout of dust rose from the gravel. Instead of parking at the edge of the driveway as we usually did, I jumped out of the wagon and threw up the garage door. Kin sped the car inside so it couldn't be seen from the road. Nobody else was home. I felt far from safe. The man was still out there looking for us. home. I felt far from safe, the man was still out there looking for us. Surely he won't find us, I thought, the cars hidden in the garage. I nervously peered out my window's mother, which was directly over the driveway. My gut churned as the silver Mercedes drove slowly by. Minutes later, it pulled into our driveway. A man got out of the car and looked through the garage windows below me.

Soon he was pounding at the front door. I paced the hallway as Ken just disappeared. He showed up moments later with a loaded shotgun. A firearm makes a person very brave, and I remember my brother marching to the door, with it perched across his chest. Don't open the door, I cried. But can't ignore it.

He swung that door open only to discover the porch was empty. I thought the whole ordeal was over, but after a few more moments, there was more pounding at the front door. I was convinced that the man had returned, but a police man was standing there when Ken boldly answered the door with his shotgun hidden out of view. The crazy man had called the cops on us. I guess, technically, mostly my brother. This lunatic stood in the driveway shouting, where's the kid? I want him locked up. I watched from the front porch as my bewildered-looking mother pulled into the driveway.

I want this lunatic off my property, Ken yelled. Meanwhile, my mother pleaded with Ken, just apologized to the man. Why should I, Ken responded? I didn't do anything wrong. Eventually the police made the man leave, but not before threatening to contact his lawyers and have everyone sued. He was on his maniacal tirade for so long that even the police could tell that he was crazy. After he left, the police interviewed me. The police officer explained that the man had been canvassing

the neighborhood, looking for the owners of the beat up brown station wagon, and a neighbor told him where we lived. The man accused us of speeding through a neighborhood where small children lived. The man is crazy, I told the cops. He was chasing us. Nothing ever came of the report. I'm sure this made the Silver Mercedes driver very angry. That night, my mother received a late-night phone call from a man who panted heavily into the phone.

She continued receiving creepy calls like that for a few more nights. These were the days of rotary phones before before caller ID, so it really freaked her out. The whole household suspected it was the man who drove the silver Mercedes. I remember being confused by the phone calls and what they were supposed to accomplish. As an older adult, I wonder who the man was trying to intimidate. My mother, the innocent onlooker, Ken, or me. I also wonder how the man got our phone number. He had to have searched a three-inch phone book trying to locate us since the internet didn't exist yet.

Thanks to an unknown neighbor, he already had our address. I was very nervous for several weeks as I drove back and forth from work. The tank stood out like a sore thumb, and I kept expecting that lunatic driver to reappear. So to the man in the silver Mercedes who tried to gank open my car door, then showed up at our house. Let's not meet again. Are you tired of having soggy cold feet every time it rains or snows? Well listen up because I've found the ultimate solution to this problem, Vessy Shoes. These shoes are a game changer.

Vessy shoes are 100% waterproof, not just water resistant, and have all the features of a rubber winter boot built into a sneaker. Plus, they're lighter and more comfortable than boots, making them perfect for any adventure you have planned. They're made from diamond text, a super soft knit material that keeps your feet warm in the cold, but also cool in the warmer months. These shoes are so freaking comfortable and durable. The lug rubber outsole gives you the extra grip and wet conditions, and there's even

added lining inside for extra warmth in the cold. And the best part? They slip on and off, making it quick and easy to get outside. I have two pairs of their shoes, a pair for running out the gym and a pair of fashionable slip bonds I use for everyday wear. I'm already shopping for my next pair. I never have to worry about my feet getting wet or cold again, and they keep me comfortable in any weather I experience.

You can wear them on your daily commute or out on a hike. They're perfect for both. Vessie has many other styles to choose from as well, so you can find the perfect shoe for any occasion. I highly recommend investing in a pair of Vessis. Trust me, they'll change your life. Vessis are my go-to shoes by my door. Check them out at Vessi.com slash meet and use code meet for 15% off your order.

That's Vessi, V-E-S-S-I dot com slash meet and use that code meet for 15% off your order. Now back to the show. 18T fiber presents a straightforward moment. You're one? Thanks. I'll pretend I know what I'm doing before saying it's good. And I'll pretend I don't know you're pretending. Are you a Gagillionaire? Yeah, I have 18T Fiber.

The straightforward pricing has inspired me to be more straightforward. Me too. Ugh, this wine. I'll fetch you a better one. Straight forward is better. No equipment fees, no data caps, no prensa de $12. ¡Ladona de $1,5! Con $18,5. Llamé en la abierta de la abierta de la abierta de la abierta de la abierta de la abierta de la abierta de la abierta de la abierta de la abierta de la abierta de la abierta de la abierta de la abierta de la abierta de la abierta de la abierta de la abierta de la abierta de la abierta de la abierta de la abierta de la abierta de la abierta de la abierta de la abierta de la abierta de la abierta de la abierta de la abierta de la abierta de la abierta de la abierta de la abierta de la abierta de la abierta de la abierta de la abierta de la abierta de la abierta de la abierta de la abierta de la abierta de la abierta de la abierta de la abierta de la abierta de la abierta de la abierta de la abierta de la abierta de la abierta de la abierta de la abierta de la abierta de la abierta de la abierta de la abierta de la abierta de la abierta de la abierta de la abierta de la abierta de la abierta de la abierta de la abierta de la abierta de la abierta de la abierta de la abierta de la abierta de la abierta de la abierta de la abierta de la abierta de la abier Entras de todo para cualquier ocasión, ya sea elegante o casual, tenemos puro estilo para

ti. Desde vestidos, trajes, colores y estampados, de marcas como Lee's Clavern, Wardington, Stafford y J. Ferrar. Ay, no olvidemos de robots para los chiquitos. Descubre lo último en la tienda o en JCP.com. Estilo de pieza cabeza para donde sea que vayas. JCPenny Yes, Jason Benny. First, let me say that I have never written this out or told anyone the finer details of this time in my life. And this podcast has given me the courage to put it out there and process everything. With that said, those finer details are extremely sensitive and could be triggering. This story begins in April 2014, nearly two months after I left

my cheating, narcissist, husband, and father of my three-year-old daughter, who will call Lila. I was 25 years old, a newly single mother, living with my parents until I could find a suitable and affordable place for Lila and me. Needless to say, I was broken and vulnerable. Though I longed to have a complete family again someday, I was not equipped to even think about another relationship. Not to mention, I had been out of the dating game for four years now, and I had a kid. I was not exactly what guys my age were going after. However, I was ready to meet new friends and get out a bit, so I took advantage of the night's lylust spent with her dad. I would go out often with co-workers after we finished our shifts.

I worked for the Department of Mental Health at a residential treatment facility for children in adolescence with mental illness and severe emotional disturbance. It goes without saying, we went out often. Have you ever heard of trauma bonding? It's the idea that people form relationships that often begin because of some similar or shared trauma. So let's just say that a lot of the staff at the facility, we were friends. Furthermore, I worked primarily in the acute cottage where we had the most

chaos. Most of my team members were males, one of whom I became close friends with. Joe. Now, take my vulnerability and age plus getting drunk with a male friend slash coworker who I was close with and Yeah, you get the idea We were both up front about our intentions to keep it casual and it stayed that way until the end We even remained on good terms But the story isn't about Joe. It's about my friend Chris I met up with Joe and some other co-workers at our usual bar after work one night. Joe had a friend with him. We exchanged pleasantries as I took

a seat next to Joe. It was unspoken but predetermined that I would spend the night at Joe's as I often did. The end of the night came, so Joe and I went to his house. Chris joined us with another girl in tow. I worked the day shift the following morning which started at 6.15am. I went to my car to leave for work, and I noticed Chris was sitting in his car, wide awake, with the driver's side door open. I walked over and asked what he was doing, and he replied with some snippy remark. I don't even remember what it was. I just brushed it off, left for work, and figured I'd probably never see him again, as he lived over an hour away and was just visiting Joe for the weekend. Things with Joe fizzled

out, but like I said, we stayed cool with one another, and still talked at work, and when we all went out to the bar. Not long after meeting Chris, maybe a week later, he sent me a friend request on Facebook which I accepted. I figured we'd be those Facebook friends who never actually interact. However, soon, Chris messaged me, and apologized for being a dick the last time I saw him. We continued to talk every few days which turned into every day and he eventually asked for my phone number. It's soon evolved into constant texting, sometimes flirty, sometimes normal, but always pleasant. After a few weeks, he proposed coming to town to visit, not to see Joe but to see me, though he'd still stay at Joe's house. I was kind of taken aback. Wasn't it weird to him that

he was talking to a girl that he only met because she was sleeping with his friend? He said that it wasn't a big deal since things were strictly casual between Joe and me, and he wanted to get to know me better. Remembering that I was only two months in my separation from Lila's dad, I knew I needed to tread lightly. After texting for a while, we started calling and FaceTiming each other during our free time, and Chris eventually started coming to town every weekend. He started staying at my house after I had found my own place. I only allowed him to come over when Lila was with her dad.

I didn't want to introduce her to Chris until I felt out the situation and was confident that he'd be a positive presence in our lives. So, sometime near the end of June 2014, not long after Lila turned four, she met Chris. They were enamored with one another. He played games with her and helped her cook breakfast for me. It was everything a vulnerable single mother would want for herself and her child. I know this doesn't seem like a great length of time and looking back it wasn't, but Chris and I talked constantly and had spent

a great deal of time together in person by this point so I felt good about him being in her life. Chris was laid off from his job and we were getting more serious so he started considering looking for a job in my town and staying with Joe or me until he could get his own place. At the end of July 2014, something unexpected happened. I had a day off from work, so Chris and I enjoyed an evening on the porch with a few drinks. I got on Facebook and I saw a news article that shook me to my core. The Department of Mental Health was facing intense budget cuts, as a result the facility

in which I worked was going to be closed. Nothing like finding out that you're going to be unemployed from a news article on Facebook, right? To summarize, the powers that be gave the employees very few options, neither transferred to another facility, retire, or just be let go. Obviously, I couldn't retire, and I couldn't afford to be without income while I looked for another job, so I looked into transferring. Still, the closest facility was over an hour away in the town where Chris was from. This predicament was further fucked due to Lila's dad and I not being divorced yet, so we didn't have a parenting plan. I reviewed the situation with him and we agreed that he and I would move there since his

girlfriend was in the Air Force and stationed near St. Louis. He could transfer to a different location of the retail store where he worked. Then, I could transfer to another department of mental health facility. We decided this move would be good as it would ultimately open up more opportunities for a Lila than our small town could offer. Chris and I decided that we would just find an apartment in St. Louis together and by September 2014 we were loading up a U-Haul. We found a beautiful but very expensive, two bedroom apartment in a nice part of St.

Louis County, which we could afford with both of our incomes. Lila would have a bedroom and bathroom all to herself. It was like a dream, until it wasn't. October was approaching, and Lila's dad had not made any more mention of moving, so I was getting nervous. I confronted him, only to be met with denial. He said he never agreed to move, which threw a huge wrench in my plans. I had just signed a one-year lease two hours away from my family friends in Lila. We eventually decided that Lila would come to my house every other week until she started kindergarten in August 2015.

I already knew in my mind by that time, I'd be preparing to move back home. There was no way I could survive being away from her during the week while she was at school and only seeing her on the weekends. On top of that massive blow, I started seeing changes in Chris. He would make rude remarks about my appearance,

but then play it off like he was joking. He never stopped making the remarks, but stopped pretending to be joking. Around mid-October, the first incident happened. His drinking increased in the weeks leading up to this, but he was out of control this one night. His rude comments had become downright hateful. Now, I'm not the type to keep my mouth shut, but I kept my tone even and carefully chose my words. Hey, don't talk to me like that, I'm not okay with it. We were sitting on our bed then watching TV, so I never expected what would come next.

Chris snapped his head back toward me. His eyes were filled with anger as he lunged across the bed, knocking me backward and clenching his hand around my throat. "'Don't you fucking talk back to me like that you bitch,' he said. After he felt like he had gotten his point across, he released his grip and left me, gasping for air, alone on the bed, while he went to get another drink from the kitchen. Still in shock, I ran to the bathroom and locked the door, unsure of what to do. I stayed in that bathroom for over an hour, until I didn't hear him moving around anymore. I quietly opened the door,

and peered through the small sliver to see him sleeping in our bed. I was still shaken but exhausted. I knew he was so drunk he wouldn't wake up again that night so I slid into bed and slept with a knife under my pillow. The apologies were profuse the next day. He didn't even remember his actions, but he said he was so sorry and he'd never hurt me. Yada yada yada. Having the curse of always looking for the best in people I forgave him, but I didn't forget. I just became more aware. Fast forward to late November, a friend from back home moved to St. Louis, but in a different

part of the county. Even though it would be a drive, I convinced Chris to come with me to her house, to visit her and her husband. It was awesome to catch up with a friend, sit by the fire, have a couple of drinks and laugh about old times. I guess I had a little too much fun for Chris's liking because when it came time to leave and we got into the car he was silent. That is, until we got on to the highway to head home, he started to be raating me about being useless. He said that I was such an annoying drunk and I made an ass of myself. Then he said, I couldn't hang out with that friend again.

I was honestly too drunk to protest, so I just sat in the passenger seat. I silently cried about what my life was becoming. I wanted to go to bed when we got home, but he wanted sex. By this time I had sobered up, and I told him no, I wasn't about to sleep with someone who had just talked to me like that. I should have seen it coming. I had promised myself that I would be more aware about my reflexes were dulled from the alcohol.

He pushed me onto the bed and grabbed me by the throat, cutting off my air supply. Afterward, I locked myself in the bathroom. I turned on the shower and sobbed until I fell asleep on the bathroom floor. I forgot to mention that, at some point, since we moved to St. Louis, he had decided that he didn't want anything to do with Lila and would stay in another room or leave the apartment altogether when she was home. By this point, I was done. I had promised to get out as soon as possible. He was bitter, cold, rude, hateful, heartless, and nonchalant. I, however, was putting on a show of the perfect girlfriend. I made him breakfast, did his laundry, did everything but literally kiss his ass.

During this time I also made more trips back home to see Lila taking small amounts of my belongings to my mom's house with every trip. The day after the second incident, it was the same as the time before, apologies, promises, etc. He said anything to keep me in his grasp. Again, I agreed to forgive him, and I damn sure did not forget. December 2014 to January 2015 was a blur. There hadn't been any more incidents since the last one, but mid-January, right around my birthday. I experienced a pain I never wish upon any other human being. I hadn't

been feeling well for a few days. I was nauseous and exhausted, and the thought of food disgusted me, even when I was starving. I made up a reason to go to my Walmart, and when I got there, I timidly made my way to the display of pregnancy tests. In my gut, I already knew, but I had to be sure. There was no way I would take these tests at home. So, after purchasing them, I went to the bathroom. I took both of them, one right after the other, and they confirmed when I was afraid to be true. I was pregnant. I collapsed in the bathroom stall and alternated between sobbing and vomiting until I could gather my strength to stand, dry my tears, and walk out to my car. I sat outside the apartment for close to 30 minutes before finally getting the courage

to go inside. I struggled to find the words to tell him, dreading his reaction. Opening the door to the bedroom, I found him sitting on the bed, headphones on, playing video games. I sat on the bed beside him and slowly pulled the tests out of my coat pocket. He still hadn't taken his eyes off the TV or removed his headphones so I tapped his leg, and since no words could come out, I just laid the tests on the bed, and he looked down at them briefly, while I held my breath.

I was waiting for his reaction. And what seemed like one swift motion, he ripped off his headphones and threw the game controller. He had his hands around my neck again. You're not having that fucking kid. He cieved through clenched teeth. Before I could gasp out a word, he continued, If you don't get rid of it, I'll get rid of both of you.

And if Lila or her dad say a fucking word, I'll drive down there and I'll slit both of their throats. Just as quickly as he had gripped my throat, he released, picked up his headphones, and his controller and went back to his game. I was invisible again. The next day, he and I found a nearby planned parenthood office where I would have a consultation before the actual procedure. Chris sat in the car during the appointment and was silent during the drive-back. A few days later, we drove to the clinic again

and Chris stayed in the car again. I learned that I wouldn't be having a procedure at the clinic. Instead, I was administered a pill at the clinic that would terminate the pregnancy. I was sent home with the pills to take the next day, which initiated contractions to expel the life that had been growing inside of me.

As instructed, I took the pills the next day and waited for the contractions to start. Please believe me when I say I've never felt such excruciating pain in my life, mental or physical. I stayed in bed, curled into the fetal position gritting my teeth and sobbing. I had my eyes squeezed shut so tightly that my head was throbbing. Whenever I let an audible sob slip, Chris told me to shut up and quit faking it. Once again, I retreated to the bathroom and I suffered a loan behind the sound of the running shower. When it was over, I crawled into bed and weakly climbed under the blankets.

When it was over I crawled into bed and weakly climbed under the blankets. I stayed there for three days. I'll never stop wondering who my baby could have been. But by making that choice, I likely saved them and myself from what was sure to be a traumatic existence. Throughout the rest of January and February 2015 I started making bigger moves to get closer to home while hiding that I was leaving. On St. Patrick's Day 2015, Lila had a parent child dance at her preschool where I also worked.

We went dress shopping and she chose a green fairy costume out of all of the green clothing items available. Of course I bought it. My girl wants to dress up like a fairy for the dance she can do it. We had a blast, and I felt a joy that I hadn't felt in months. We got home from the dance, and she went to the spare room to change clothes. I went to my bedroom door, only to find that Chris had locked it. I knew he was home, so I knocked. He called out to let me

know that he had locked the door. "'Yeah, no shit. Unlock it so I can go to the bathroom,' I said. "'Each of the two bedrooms had its own bathroom, which could only be accessed by said bedrooms. Not a chance. You had the car all fucking day, and I missed a chance to play golf." He said. "'Are you fucking kidding me?" Unlocked the goddamn door you asshole," I argued. "'I can't hear you.

I'm playing PS4 online. I have my headphones on,' he said. "'Fucking dick,' I thought to myself. Before having an idea." "'Okay, cool. I bet you'll hear me dumping your entire case of beer down the drain, I threatened. I wasn't actually going to do it. I just wanted him to open the door before I pissed my pants.

I stood before the bedroom door when he ripped it open and stormed toward me. He immediately grabbed me by the throat, again, and slammed me against the wall, breaking the picture frame behind me. His grip was tighter than it had ever been before, and even worse, by this point, Lila had come out of her bathroom and was standing just a few feet away, trembling in fear. My vision started to grow narrow and turn black around the edges. I thought that I was going to die, and my sweet baby girl would be there to see it. I was scared that I wouldn't be alive to protect her from whatever would happen after

he killed me. Just as I felt my body sinking into oblivion, he let go, dropping me to the floor. I was getting my vision back when I looked up at Lila and I saw him walk past her. He pointed his finger at her, as if to say, you're next. I crawled to her and grabbed my cell phone out of my pocket. I dialed 911 while screaming. I'm calling the cops. He stopped short of closing the bedroom door, with panic plastered across his face as he ran toward me. He begged me not to. I told him to stay away from me. He backed off, ran to the kitchen, grabbed a knife and held it to his throat. He told

me that he'd kill himself if I called the police. I don't give a fuck. It'll be one less piece of shit on this planet," I replied, as I hit the call button. The police came and took my statement, but they didn't arrest him because somehow there were no marks on my neck, and it was his word against mine. Lila's statement wasn't concrete evidence due to her age. I thought, fuck it, we're out of here then. I packed up enough stuff the last few days and I drove two hours south to my mom's house.

I was trembling the whole time. While I knew I was completely done, I was still locked into Elise and I had two jobs in St. Louis so I couldn't move home immediately. Luckily a friend nearby offered her spare room to Lila in me until I could get something set up back at home. I made trips to the apartment while Chris was at work and that whenever I could into my Chevy Impala, by the first week of May 2015 I was gone. I pressed charges for the last incident, and then I had to drive up to St. Louis for court.

He pleaded guilty at the last minute, so I didn't have to go see his face again. I found out later that all he had to do was take an anger management course. What a good criminal justice system, right? Fast forward to April 2022. I remarried. Lila is about to turn 12, and my current husband and I share a three-year-old daughter. I had done my best to leave the memories of Chris behind, but the recurring nightmares were making it impossible. One day, I was curious to see if Chris had continued to be a piece of soggy wet lettuce, and I looked him up on a website

for Missouri court system. Turns out, he was. He got married at some point after I left him, but that marriage dissolved in 2018. He had also earned an order of protection against him at that time. Being the person I am, I wanted to know who he married. I guess I just wanted to know the name of the woman with whom I shared similar experiences. Somehow that led me to finding her maiden name and contacting her on Facebook. We'll just call her Jenna. My message to Jenna was short and simple but genuine. Hi, this is probably horrifically odd and random, but are you Jenna, who was married to Chris? If I have the wrong person, I'm sorry you can just disregard.

She replied, yes, are you the ex-girlfriend he also abused that I found paperwork on? Yes, I am. I just wanted to say that I'm glad you got out. I empathized. We continued to talk for hours and say that I'm glad you got out, I empathized. We continued to talk for hours and learned that our stories were terrifyingly similar and equally traumatic. I hated that Chris claimed another victim after me, but he didn't entirely get away with it this time.

A newspaper where Jenna lives picked up the, and Chris had his disgusting face, splashed all over the internet. And it serves him right, but he deserved far worse. Jenna and I also put together that Chris lives with his current girlfriend in Florida. We debated whether or not it would be out of bounds to reach out to her and warn her. We thought she'd probably think that we were two crazy bitches with the vendetta, but we agreed that if we didn't, and he abused her too, we'd never be able to live with ourselves. I'd rather some woman I don't know think that I'm crazy, and find

out that this bastard claimed another victim. So I opened a Facebook message with his current girlfriend and added, Jenna, I explained who we were, what just happened to us, and that we were only reaching out to her to keep her safe, just in case. Jenna even sent a link to the article from the newspaper with his mug shot. After a while, she replied, but pretty much brushed us off and denied having similar experiences. We both told her that we were hoping it stays that way, adding that if he shows his true colors, she has us in her corner. She hasn't replied.

It'll be a year since Jenna and I messaged her. With all that is in me, I hope she or any other woman does not have to live through the hell that Jenna and I experienced. And a Chris, you psychopath, you'd better hope for your own personal safety. We never meet again. Don't forget to stick around after the music of your patron for your extended ad-free version of this week's episode of Let's Not Meet, and if you'd like to get access head over to patreon.com or would slash Let's Not Meet podcast to sign up and support the show today.

This week you have heard, Bus Stop Buddies Turn by Amanda, midday park stalker by anonymous, the man in the silver Mercedes by sick cookie and finally Chris by Emily. All the stories you've heard this week were narrated and produced with the permission of their respective authors. Let's Not Meet a True Horror Podcast. It's not associated with Reddit or any other message boards online. As always, if you have a story to share, send it to Let's Not Meet Stories at gmail.com. Don't forget to check out the new episodes of my other podcasts, Odd Trails, my True Paranormal Podcast, the old-time radiocast, and my new favorite welcome to Paradise It Sucks at

crypticcountypodcasts.com or wherever you get your podcasts. See you next week. Stay safe. This happened a few years ago when I was in my early morning. 18T fiber presents a straightforward moment. Your wine? Thanks. I'll pretend I know what I'm doing before saying it's good. And I'll pretend I don't know you're pretending. Are you a gigillionaire?

Yeah, I have AT&T fiber. The straightforward pricing has inspired me to be more straightforward. Me too. Ugh, this wine. I'll fetch you a better one. Straight forward is better. No equipment fees, no data caps, no price increase at 12 months. Live like a gigillionaire with AT&T fiber.

Limited availability in select areas. Visit AT&T.com slash hypergig for details. No hay un precio de 12 meses. Llevo como un guilhina con 80 y 50. Llevo en el abierto de la abril y en el abierto de la abril. Vídate a acertar a la abril de la abril. ¡Vamos a la abril! de los estilos para ti. Desde vestidos, trajes, colores y estampados, de marcas como Liz Claiburn, Wardington, Staffordy, J. Ferrar. Ay, no olvidemos de robots para los chiquitos. Descubre lo último en la tienda o en jcp.com. Estilo de pieza cabeza para donde sea que vayas. J.C.P.E.N.Y.