Let's Not Meet: A True Horror Podcast - 11x03: Lost Stories 15

Episode Date: July 10, 2023

Stories in this episode: - Man On The Couch, by Freakofthenight450 (1:57) - Pale Man With Long Blonde Hair, hybridbirdman (11:53) - Andy, by theirouttogetus (15:50) - A Bed For The Night, by tufted_wisdom (22:37) - Kidnapped As A Child, by Cheeseshrice1966 (28:23) - Hell's Waiting Room, by LubisiLane (36:52) - Man In The Yellow Raincoat, by Whalebaboon (48:46) Extended Patreon Content: - Loss Prevention Officer Imposters, by Bookeyboo - Mr. Pickles Saved My Life, by Jess - Our Night on Fremont Street, by Jasmine - The Phat Motorcycle Guy, by Andrew Due to periodic changes in ad placement, time-stamps are estimates and are not always accurate. 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! - Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/groups/433173970399259/ - Website - https://letsnotmeetpodcast.com/ - Patreon - https://patreon.com/letsnotmeetpodcast - Instagram - https://www.instagram.com/letsnotmeetcast/ - Twitch - https://www.twitch.tv/bongotate

This podcast contains adult language and content. Listen to discretion is advised. If you have a story to share, send it to Let's Not Meet Stories at gmail.com. Enjoy the show. Welcome to Lost Stories No. 15. We still have a lot more of these to get through, and I'm just now realizing that we haven't done a single Lost Stories episode in 2023. So I figured I should take a journey all the way back to 2017 and grab some of the first stories I ever recorded for the show.

It was a trip going back and listening to a younger me trying to find his voice, and figure out how to do this thing the right way. I've selected stories from the first six episodes this time around. Some have been highly requested by longtime fans, and per the usual disclaimer for these kinds of throwback episodes if you're new to the show, these are some of the lost and thankfully recovered recordings from the earlier days in the show, which until now were no longer available online. The audio quality and performance are both ancient and should be listened to with a very

forgiving ear. However, these are some stone-cold classic Let's Not Meet Stories that are sure to chill you to the bone. And that's a fact. Without any further ado, enjoy the show. I'll start with a bit of backstory. My mom was dating an abusive prick at this time. We'll call him Ian.

And because of Ian and the crazy fights they had gotten into, we couldn't lock up the house at all. He had kicked in both the front and the back door of the house, and they never fixed it. My mother and Ian were both at the bar every day. I told you this, only so you will know why the house wasn't locked up and where my parents were when this happened. This incident occurred when I was around 12 years old and my little brother was around

10. I was a really small girl at this age and my brother was sick all the time, so he was very, very tiny and frail. My mother and Ian were at the bar as usual on this night. Now, when you opened the front door to our house, it put you right in the living room and you could see to the back door. There was a hallway to the right that led back into the bedrooms and that was where my brother and I were.

We were in his bedroom and the door was closed while we were playing something on PlayStation. It was around midnight or 1 a.m. and we were playing and having a good time when I heard a weird noise. My brother didn't hear it and I didn't want to creep him out. I told him that I wanted to go get a drink and told him to stay in the room and I would bring him something. Now to get to the kitchen you would have to walk down the hallway in front of both the front and back door because it was behind the living room. Now I kept hearing strange noises, so before I left my brother's room, I told him to get into the closet and to work on our fort so that it would be ready when I was

done getting our drinks and snacks. See, I raised my brother for the most part and took care of him. I had a terrible feeling and a sense of dread. I could tell something wasn't right, and this was a way to get my brother to hide without scaring him. He frightened easily, and he had really bad asthma attacks, and at the time we had no inhaler or breathing treatment machine. I knew if he started having an asthma attack, on top of being scared it would not be pretty. Anyway, I left the back room and decided to see what was

going on, because I was such a bad ass at 12 years old, but I had to protect my brother. I start sneaking up the hallway as slowly and quietly as I could. I was terrified as I could feel that something was wrong. Before I made it to the end of the hallway, I heard a man. It sounded like he was growling. It was a deep and terrifying sound. I can't explain the feeling that washed over me. It damn near made me puke. So of course I froze. I have no one in this town. I don't know anyone and my dad is living in a different state.

Also my mom is at the bar junk as hell. I was sitting there trying to gather the courage to see what was around the corner and going over my options when I hear my brother's door open. He sees me in the look on my face, and he freezes. I remember his eyes going so wide with fear, because he must have heard the growl or whatever it was as well. I motion him with my hands to go back into the room and he does. I then gathered the courage to peek around the corner and what I saw still freaks me out to this day. It was horrifying. My little brother was already horrified because of the growling noise this man was making. I am so thankful that he wasn't the one who saw

what was out there. I muster my big brave sister face and calmly told him that there was a man that I didn't know on the couch and that he needed to keep very quiet and be brave and also keep his breathing in check. Now my little brother adored me and he looked up to me so when I told him that he needed to be brave he tried his best. I told him not to move, and he didn't. The first thing I tried was the window, but it wouldn't budge. It was completely stuck. And now I'm making myself feel calm for my brother's sake, but I don't know what was sitting out there. So since the window was stuck, I decided to start looking for a weapon. My older brother lived here, and I know he had swords somewhere. And

I don't remember where he was. So I'm looking for the weapon and I hear the man sing. I know you're here. Fuck. My stomach nodded up, the hair on the back of my neck raised and I incidentally got a cold sweat. And then I hear it. My little brother started wheezing. An asthma attack. Fuck. Fuck. I hugged him.

Reminded him about being brave and told him to sit still and focus on his breathing. I started frantically trying to get my window open, but it was stuck. I looked around and started moving the blankets. When I find my older brother's cell phone, he always forgot it. I remember thinking that I was so lucky and felt a bit of relief. I immediately called the police and told them what was going on. I was hysterical at this point, but still remaining quiet. The dispatcher told me to remain on the phone so she could hear what was happening, when the man started banging on the bedroom door.

It had been about 5 minutes into the phone call when this happened, and I could no longer remain calm, I fucking lost it. I started screaming, and I mean blood-curdling screaming, the kind of screaming that would send chills down your spine if you heard it. I forgot to mention that our bedroom had the only working lock on any of the doors. Even though the door was locked, he was trying to get in and he was banging on the door. His banging got louder and louder. He was screaming for us to let him in when it went completely silent.

Then he did the creepiest, most terrifying thing ever. He started fucking laughing. You know, I could just bust down this door in two seconds, right little girl? There were three taps. Now he's lightly knocking on the door and asking for me to open it. His demeanor completely changed. And then I heard a scraping at the door. What I had imagined in my 12 year old head was that he was scraping the door with his really long fingernails. But that just wasn't the case. Then I hear the police start screaming at him to get on the ground and to put his hands

up. I heard him putting up a fight, followed by more yelling, and eventual silence. After a few minutes, there was a knock at the door, but at this point, I was too terrified to open it. I thought that this nightmare guy was still there. So being in an hysterical state, I started screaming, no, no, please, over and over again, just sobbing and shaking. I couldn't stay brave from my little brother anymore. I was on the floor holding him this whole time, convinced that we were going to die.

Eventually I calmed myself down a bit and this time a female officer was at the door, so I opened it. There were about 5 cops standing in the hallway, listening to me being hysterical. I refused to let go of my brother at this point, but we both ran into this female officer's arms and collapsed sobbing hysterically. We had been so scared. It turns out this guy had been completely wasted and high on drugs. I remember the cops walking me up to him and having me stand in front of him to ask me if I knew this man. I didn't, but I'll never forget standing in front of this huge man looking into his brown eyes that were

completely bloodshot and filled with hatred. I'll never forget that growling noise that he was making or the look of pure horror in my little brother's eyes. My parents were called and investigated for leaving us alone like that and for all the locks on the doors to be broken. Now, my mom is a different person. Doesn't drink, and she's now married to a cop. She's completely changed. I remember asking her about it later, and she told me something that I didn't know. The man had a huge knife, and that's what he was scraping on the door. The man had a huge knife, and that's what he was scraping on the door. He also had some rope, tape, and a tarp. I still don't know how he didn't get to us, or why he didn't just bust the door down

to get to us. It would have taken one half-ass kick for him to kick down that door. It was super thin. It still creeps me out to this day and I still have nightmares from it. My husband doesn't understand why he gets so furious with him when he leaves our doors unlocked that night. I work third shifts so I'll come home and the doors will be unlocked and this is infuriating because I have to go through every room in the house and check the closets and all the other places that a person could hide.

See I have two kids and they will never ever go through what I did. So creepy, crazed, drugged man and product of my nightmares. Let's never ever meet again. I grew up in Tasmania. It was a beautiful place to live with so much natural beauty and very friendly people. Tasmania is an island at the bottom of the world, and all of the problems of the rest of the planet always seem so far away. Growing up, my family was middle class. We lived in a middle class part of town. One of my best friends growing up, however, lived in a fancy neighborhood. Big old houses with mostly boring neighbors who were very old and kept to themselves.

When we were about 10 years old, a man with long, shaggy blonde hair and a pale face who looked like he was in his late 20s or maybe early 30s, moved into a house on my friend's street. Only a few houses down from him. He was ghostly pale and would walk up and down the street a lot. To us he seemed like a pretty nice guy. Sometimes he would stop for a chat if we were playing in my friend's front yard. He had a child like nature about him. To us at the time, he didn't even seem creepy. My friend's mother saw us talking to him in the street,

and afterward she politely warned us to stay away from him. I overheard her talking to my mom and saying that there's just something a bit off about him. He was living in a big house all by himself, which he apparently inherited. My friend and I walked past his house once, and we saw him standing in the dining room, just basing the wall, staring at a blank wall. We were watching him for about 10 minutes and he didn't even move. My friend had the balls to throw a stick at the window to see if he would react, but

he didn't. One very hot Saturday afternoon, my friend and I were in his front yard shooting water pistols at each other and having a great time making tons of noise. Out of nowhere, the pale blonde haired man showed up with a huge water gun and started shooting both of us. My friend and I looked at each other being a bit startled by him suddenly showing up, but we let him join us. He was just playing, and he happened to be much bigger than us.

And was being a little over aggressive. For example, he held my friend to the ground by his throat and shot his water pistol into his face and was laughing like some kind of drunk psychopath. Being kids, we really didn't know what to do. My friend had tears in his eyes when the man took his hands off his throat. The man giggled and ran off down the street shouting, I fucking got used both! Then started to laugh.

When my friend's mom got home from the supermarket, we told her what had happened and she went and gave him the piece of her mind. Years later, she told us how he just stared at her while she was yelling and had this blank emotionless expression. Probably how he was staring at the wall that day a while back. Now, the next time that I saw him, it wasn't in person. It was about a year later, and we saw his picture on the front of the newspaper. His name was Martin Bryant.

He shot and killed 36 people, and wounded dozens more in Port Arthur. After the massacre, other kids in the neighborhood came forward and said that they also had water gun fights with them. So, Martin Bryant, serial killer, insane person, let's not meet. A few years ago, my brother-in-law bought another apartment complex in Florida. He owns a few apartment complexes in West Palm Beach, Miami. So when he told me that he bought another one and wanted me to manage it, I figured why the hell not. I had just graduated college with my degree and planned to get my master so I figured I could manage his place and do graduate school.

When he booked my flight to Orlando, I was stoked. I loved Disney and I dreamed about buying a year pass and checking out all of the neat parks. Then when I got there, we drove out of Orlando, and I had a bad feeling. He bought the apartments in a town called Leesburg. I was a little disappointed that I was an hour away from Orlando with its nightlife, clubs, and whatnot.

I made it work though, and soon settled into life, managing a small apartment complex. I had my own one bedroom apartment in the corner and then there were ten other tenants. Most were older folks, snowbirds and retirees that spent their days golfing and swimming in the pool that we had. There were two military families, one with small kids, and then there was Andy. Andy was an enormous man. Now I'm a pretty big guy, 6'4", 250 pounds.

But he was at least 6'6", and maybe 400 pounds plus. He walked with the cane and had long black hair that he put in a ponytail. He worked from home, or so he said, but rumor was, he was on disability after a horrible work accident. I really didn't care. He paid rent on time. He was quiet and he kept to himself. That was only in his place once when his AC went out. He was pretty neat. No food containers or pizza boxes, beer cans, etc. Nothing that I expected a big guy like him to have laying out. Things in our complex went pretty good for the next year, until one night, in November.

It was raining, like it always does in Florida, and it was about midnight, when someone rang my doorbell. I looked out and saw it was one of my tenants Joseph. Joe was one of the retirees who retired to Florida in his words to play golf and drink beer. Normally he was all smiles and jokes but that night his face was pale and he looked frightened. I hate to bother you, Sam, but something ain't right with Andy. I put on my jacket and falled him to his apartment as he was Andy's neighbor. He put his finger on his lip and motioned for me to listen.

I put my ear up to the door and I heard Andy fighting with someone. It sounded like whomever he was fighting with was throwing things. I was taken aback as he had never had a guest over in the year that I had lived here. So I knocked and I heard him stomp over the door and open it. He looked normal. He was very well dressed, well put together, and like I said, wasn't messy at all. He answered in a shirt that had grease stains. His hair was limp and greasy, and smelled like

B.O. I peered behind him and saw that his place was a disaster. I asked if everything was okay. He seemed irritated and said yes, and then shut the door in my face. I sent Joe back to his place and told him to let me know if he had heard anything else and went to bed. The next morning I decided to pay Andy a visit to see if he was okay, and so I went by his place and knocked. No answer, so I decided I would try back again later. I got busy doing other things and forgot all about it. December rolls around, and I'm starting to get monthly rent checks.

None from Andy. That got me a bit worried as he was always on time with his checks, so I knocked on his rolls around and I'm starting to get monthly rent checks. None from Andy. That got me a bit worried as he was always on time with his checks, so I knocked on his door. There was nothing. I knocked again, and I heard grunting and moaning. Now I should have called the police first, but I didn't. I opened the door with my key ring and was hit with the foulest smell ever.

It smelled like piss, shit, vomit, and bio all rolled into one nasty smell. The walls were streaked with what I assumed was shit, and the place was thrashed. I start calling for Andy while dialing 911. I hear the moaning from the back bedroom. I can never unsee what I saw. Andy was naked and laying on the floor in his room with some dirty clothes. He was covered in his own shit and piss, and there were piles of vomit on the carpet. That was bad, but what was worse is he was covered in bites, human bites all over his

arms, his legs, and he was starting to smell with infection. He was also bleeding from his rectum. I wondered who attacked him. Was it the woman we heard him fighting with? I didn't get my answer until a few days later. He had been rushed to the hospital and was fighting for his life in ICU. The doctors talked to his sister who turned out to be his medical guardian, and things slowly came into place.

Turns out Andy did that to himself. He suffered from multiple mental disorders. He stopped taking his meds in October. There was no other person there that night that he was arguing with. He was arguing with himself. Those bites he inflicted on himself. The bleeding from his rectum from inserting foreign objects in there and doing so much damage he ruptured his internal organs. He ended up pulling through and went home to live with his sister. I had the task of cleaning his apartment and what I found while cleaning pretty much freaks

me out as much as finding him. He had a shoe box full of cutouts from magazines, old family photos, and even photos he obviously took of the residents in the apartments, including myself. All of the eyes were burned out with cigarettes, and some of them had access put over where their mouths were. I'm not sure if that was part of his mental decline or if he is always that creepy and I never noticed. All I know is Andy. Let's not meet. When I was about 12, my granical John came from Ukraine to visit us in Canada. He had a lot of stories, but this was the one that stood out.

In the late 1960s, John was traveling by train from his village to another to visit family. He had to change trains at one point and was dropped off at what amounted to a platform and a hut in the middle of nowhere. There was no one else at this station. Other than the dirt road that led off to the surrounding woods, there was nothing there. He waited for some time, but no train came. It was winter and getting colder and darker, and just about the time he started worrying about a place to stay and some food to eat, an old woman appeared out of the twilight.

She asked if he was waiting for such and such train, and when he said he was, she said it wouldn't be along until the following day. She asked if he needed a bed for the night, and offered him a meal in a room at her house, which she said was about an hour's walk from the station. Now lodging with the locals was more or less the standard when traveling in this part of the USSR, and great Uncle John wasn't looking forward to a hungry night on a cold platform, so he was glad to accept her offer. He took his suitcase and they set off together down the dark road into the forest.

It was more than an hour away, more like two, and by the time they had arrived at the small woman's two-story house, John was tired and very hungry. They went inside, and the woman lit some oil lamps and warmed some borscht for them to eat. John finished his soup and asked where he would be sleeping. He led him up the stairs to a tiny room with a window that contained a single bed and nothing else. He thanked him, they said goodnight, and he closed the door. Then the person locked it, leaving him in the dark. Somewhat creeped out by this, John called to him,

but he didn't answer, and he heard nothing else. Figuring that he would deal with it in the morning, and that he had probably done it by mistake. John set the suitcase down and laid on the bed, deciding to make the best of it and get some sleep. Before he could fall asleep though, he felt the urge to pee and got out of bed hoping to find a chamber pot or something that he could pee into. He got onto his hands and knees and began to fill into the bed in the darkness, thinking there would be a pot. but instead he found a body.

Uncle John ran straight to the window to see if he could exit the room that way. It was nailed shut. He knew that if he remained in the room, he was probably a dead man. If he broke the window and tried to get out that way, there was a good chance that the old man and who knows what else was there would hear him and would come into the room before he could get away. So he did the only thing he could think to do. He pulled the body from under the bed, he did onto the mattress, and covered it with a blanket. Then he got under the bed and waited.

Sure enough, about an hour later, he heard footsteps coming slowly up the stairs, then toward the room. The lock clicked and the knob turned slowly. In the gloom, John saw someone move toward the bed. Then he heard several terrific and sickening buds. The person had bashed the body on the bed with a large crowbar, which then dropped onto the floor right in front of John.

There was silence. Then the person went out of the room and the door was shut again. The footsteps went down the stairs, and there was shut again. The footsteps went down the stairs, and there was silence again. John moved out from under the bed, took the crowbar, and was able to slowly pry the window open. When the window was up, he threw his suitcase out, then dove out himself, not caring what was below him,

only worried about what was behind him. He landed without too much injury and began to run into the field behind the house toward some lights in the far distance. It turned out that that was a highway with some military and transport trucks on it, and John was able to get a ride to another village where he could catch a train. He didn't bother reporting what had happened to the authorities. Since at that time in the USSR, there was a distinct chance he would have been the one who had gotten into trouble.

He just thanked God that he escaped and decided that the next time he traveled to visit relatives, he would take another way. So, old woman, whomever you are in the cold, dark winter, in your two-story house, with your crowbar and your dead body, let's not meet. This story takes place in the summer and 1973 when I was six.

The thing is, I sort of recalled what had happened but never put two and two together until a few months ago when I was talking to my mom who wanted a great detail about what had happened in this story. I was a very outgoing child, very extroverted, and would make friends with anyone. We lived in a middle-class neighborhood and three houses down from ours on the same side of the street was a huge park. My mom was a nurse who worked second shift while my dad worked days as a salesman. I rarely had a babysitter only if they went out for dinner or a movie.

They would normally have older kids from the neighborhood come and babysit. One sitter who I really liked lived just down the street a bit. They would normally have older kids from the neighborhood come and babysit. One sitter who I really liked lived just down the street a bit. Vicki. She had babysit a few times before that, and it was pretty uneventful. She'd play games with me, play dress up, pretty basic stuff. One day I had gone with friends down to the park. I remember there was a ball filled at the time, and a sand lot next to that.

My friends wanted to play on the monkey bars, but I wanted to play in the sand instead. I looked at the sandbox, and my baby sitter, Vicki, was standing there. I told my friends I was going to go down to the sandbox and ran off. We played in the sand for a bit, built a castle, and then she asked me if I wanted to go get something cold to drink. It was very hot, so of course I said yes, so she takes my hand and we start walking to her place. She starts telling me about her puppies and asks if I want to play with them. Of course they get giddy and now can't wait to get to her house. This was where my memory had stopped, and after my mom told me what had happened, the rest flooded back. See, when I told my mother that I remembered the park and how big it seemed,

she asked me if I remembered being kidnapped. I immediately thought she was kidding, and then the look on her face told me otherwise. She said it was around five in the afternoon when one of my friends had come to the door and they asked for me to come back outside, sure that I had gotten bored and walked back home. When my mom checked the house, she realized I wasn't there. She was seven months pregnant with my sister at this time. So she sprints to the park, screaming my name. After asking several kids if they had seen me with no clue, she went to the ball field and asked the older boys if they had seen me. One of those

boys said that he had seen a younger woman playing with the girl that fit my description in the sand, then walked off in a general direction, and that's all that he knew. My mom ran across the street to one of the houses and asked to use their phone and call the police. By the time the police got there, my dad had come home, and some of the neighbors were trying to help my mom. So now there's this search party out looking for me, screaming my name and knocking on all of the doors.

The police had gone back to the park to ask the boys if they knew who had been with me and if they knew who she was. Between the boys and the neighbors, they had been able to deduce who it was that led me off. The police in the entourage went to Vicki's home. She lived with their parents but they weren't there. So they knocked on the door. She came to the door and told them that she hadn't seen me and that she had been home all day. The police asked to come in and for some reason she said okay. They searched the house and finally went down to the basement, which is right where they found me. I started to remember. It was literally like a floodgate had opened and I started crying.

You see at six years old you sort of trust everyone and she had been in our home. I never got a bad feeling from her and my parents didn't either. But when we walked into our house I remember that cold feeling, washing over me and getting very worried. I remembered starting to cry and saying I wanted to go home over and over. She takes me into her kitchen and gets me a glass of water and a tissue. I hear dogs barking and next to the kitchen is an open stairway that goes down to where the barking was coming from. She starts trying to get me to go down stairs telling me that there are all sorts of toys and games. I reluctantly agree and she grabs my hand to head down

the stairs. The dogs are going nuttier and I start screaming. At this point, Vicky is getting fucking bizarre. She starts screaming at me. Shut the fuck up. If you don't shut the fuck up, I will throw you in the cage with the dogs and they will eat you, shut up! She continues to drag me down the stairs while I'm still screaming. I was scared out of my mind. I remember crying so hard that I was hyperventilating. Then suddenly, Vicki flips a switch and starts being syrupy sweet, trying to calm me down. She tells me that she was just playing a game and that she wants to play hide and seek now.

She must have been relatively skilled at calming me down because the next thing I know, I hear a knocking at the upstairs door and I wasn't crying. The houses were all the same sort of tracked houses, and it sears used to sell, not huge but not small, but you could hear everything at any spot within the house. I keep hearing the knocking, and she's telling me that it's her friends. They're coming to play hide and seek. She convinced me to let her put a piece of masking tape over my mouth, so I wouldn't make a sound, and lifted me up into a big wooden box next to the canal.

She put a big pile of blankets over me, and told me to be really quiet so that they couldn't find me. The whole time the dogs were going bat shit, but when she calmed me down, they calmed down too. They still looked incredibly mean, but were no longer frothing at the mouth, and only slightly growling, until the knocking started. I remember scrunching in there confused, still scared and convinced that the dogs were going

to get out and eat me. I was crying again, and hyperventilating. I remember taking the tape off of my mouth because I couldn't breathe, but I remembered I needed to be quiet because I was afraid of what she would do if I screamed. I laid in that smelly box next to a big bag of dog food, sweating the hell, tears rolling down my face. I sort of pushed back the blankets to the side, but only enough so that I could pull them

back over me when someone came. I recall thinking about my dad and wondering if he'd come to find me. All of a sudden, I hear what sounds like young adults yelling my name. They come downstairs and the dogs are going bat shit again. Over and over men yelling my name and then I hear a man say, if you don't shut those fucking dogs up I will. I was in a large storage box with tape hanging off of my mouth when they came and opened the lid. I remember a very nice man asking me my name and if I was okay.

I don't remember answering him in anything other than screams and tears. I was grabbing his neck so hard that my dad had to practically prime me off of him. My mom said that Vicki was found guilty of attempted kidnapping. But last she had actually heard was that she had been in prison. We moved from the area shortly thereafter and have not been back since. I do know that my mom said her parents were very odd, but that they didn't know them. She met Vicki through a neighbor that had used her as a babysitter as well, but only ever heard good things about her.

The only time that my mom and dad did actually meet her parents was after this happened, when they came to the door to ask for forgiveness. They said that Vicki hadn't meant to do anything bad, and she was a good girl. My mom said that my dad picked her dad up by the shirt, and told him that if they ever came onto our property again, he'd kill them. So, Vicki the babysitter? Let's not meet. During my early 20s, I worked as a meter reader in Iowa City, Iowa. A meter reader is the person who records how much electricity, gas, or water you've used

each month. If your meters are inside and you want an accurate bill, a meter reader must enter your house whether your home or not. And just to clarify, we only entered homes if consent was given when the customer first signed up for the service. Customers also provided us with the keys if necessary. Entering a home when the owner isn't image of ourselves that we like to protect to the rest of the world. But the further you venture inside, the closer you come to truly seeing what kind of person lives there.

And if you want the raw unfilled space, you can't just go through the space. And you can't just go through the space, you can't just go through the space, you can't just go through the space. And you can't just go through the space, you can't just venture inside, the closer you come to truly seeing what kind of person lives there. And if you want the raw unfiltered truth, head for the basement. I hate basements. I've seen walls that look like giant static filled TV screens until I realized it was cockroaches scurrying across a white background. Cobwebs' so thick and dusty that it looked like a cotton candy machine exploded at the

spider-county fair. I've seen rats, snakes, feces, weapons, neglected children, abused pets, homeless squatters, massive hordes, bizarre sexual items, a makeshift meth lab, and even a coffin. There are rational explanations for each of these things. Well, maybe not the coffin. But there was one basement where what I found was beyond the grasp of logic. And that's what made it so terrifying. It was an old apartment house. From the outside, it looked like every other house in the block. It was an old apartment house. From the outside, it looked like every other house in the block. I entered the back door and found myself at the top of a staircase.

I ran my hand along the wall until it grazed a light switch. I flipped the switch but no lights turned on. I wasn't carrying a flashlight, and this is because a typical route involved 5-6 hours of walking, so it carried as little as possible. Oftentimes, I use the light from my handheld screen, but it only illuminated what was about a foot in front of it. So armed with the world's worst lantern,

I made my way into darkness. Once at the bottom, I blindly shuffled across the room, one baby step at a time. With arms outstretched and head down, I eventually reached the far side of the basement. I shined the dim light from the handheld along the wall and discovered two doors. Each door led into its own small room. I chose the door on the right and luckily found the meters in the far corner. As I was entering the reeds, I began hearing noises coming from the other room, something

was moving, and there was a whimpering that grew louder the longer I listened. I eventually realized it was a dog, it sounded weak and distressed. I tried to open the door but it was locked. At this point, the dog was scratching at the other side of the door. I felt helpless. I reported it when I got back to the office, but I couldn't shake the thought of that dog. It stuck with me for over the next month until it was time to return. So there I was, one month later, back within that basement. At least this time, I knew where the meters were located.

I shuffled back to the little room on the right, while keeping my ears open for any sounds that could be coming from that other room. This time I heard nothing. I read the meters and started making my way back, but I couldn't shake the memory of that dog. Was it still trapped inside that room? My curiosity got the best of me. I stood outside at the door for a few minutes listening. Still nothing. That's when I made a huge mistake. I tried to open the door. I had no more than jiggled the door knob when I first heard it. The screams. Blood-curdling screams, unlike anything I'd ever heard. Sounds that I didn't think a human was capable of producing. Short, piercing, high-pitched

shrieks, followed by a abruptly low drawn-out guttural mounds that ultimately morphed into something that I can only describe as crying, but much louder. It was all over the place, like some kind of psychotic freeform jazz. I stumbled backwards, nearly losing my balance. I shouted something like, hello? Who's in there? There was no response. Just the screams. Are you okay? Do you need help? Still no response. Just screams. There was no doubt that I had yelled loud enough for him to hear me. He didn't want my help. He wanted me gone. I fumbled my way through the darkened room toward the exit. When I reached

the top of the stairs, I just stood there listening. I was trying to wrap my mind around what I was hearing. I waited for the screaming to stop, but it never did. When I finally left, it was still as loud and demented as when it began. I felt relieved, but that quickly vanished when I realized that I had to do it all over again next month. I reported what I had heard, but nothing came of it. As my return drew nearer, a sense of dread grew inside of me. What kind of lunatic sits alone in total darkness and silence? My mind created endless explanations of what kind of hell laid beyond that door. By the time I returned, I had built him up in my mind so much that

anyone other than the devil himself would have been a let down. But there was no sign of him the next month, or even the next several months. I had nearly given up on solving the mystery when a stroke of luck pulled me back in. One night, I went to a concert with my friend Laura. After the show, I gave her a ride home. She'd moved somewhat recently, so she had begun to give me directions. I didn't pay much attention to where she was leading me, until she pointed to a house aways up the street. I couldn't believe it.

She had moved into that house with the mysterious room in the basement. I began by asking Laura, this sounds weird, but have you noticed anything odd about the basement at this? But before I could finish my sentence, she blurted it out. A crazy guy lives down there. Finally, I had confirmation. She went on to tell me that, even though her apartment was in the attic, she often heard

him yelling late at night, but that wasn't all. She had actually met him. One day while walking to her car, she saw him standing in the lawn. He stood perfectly still, with no expression on his face. He was directly in her path, so she cautiously made her way around him. She noticed that he was staring at her, so she offered a friendly high. He had no reaction, except for one unsettling exception. He stuck out his tongue and then quickly sucked it back into his mouth and resumed acting

like a statue. Thoroughly creeped out, she got into her car and drove away. Two or three months later, I finally met him. I entered the back door like I did so many months before. This time something was different. There was a light on in the basement. I peered down the staircase. At the bottom, a ragged looking dog was staring back up at me.

It was the same dog I had heard during my first visit. Then I noticed something else. Behind the dog, I could see a pair of bare feet. The sailing blocked my view of the rest of whoever was standing there, but it didn't matter. I knew it was him. I should have left right then, but I didn't. I know this probably doesn't make sense, but at this point my desire to finally get some answers outweighed my fear. And I shakily called out, meter reader, and started to make my descent. As I made my way down, more of him was revealed.

He looked to be middle aged, his head was shaved and his eyes were wild. He was wearing his pants, but no shirt. What I remember most was Helene and Sinyue his body looked. It had the look of a body that was never at rest. I explained who I was and what I was doing there. To my surprise, not only did he talk to me, but he actually sounded somewhat normal. The volume and pitch of his voice was odd, but he said the same sorts of things that people typically say to meter readers. I even started to doubt whether or not this was the same man I had heard screaming, but his behavior slowly removed all doubt. As I read the meters, he rapidly paced back and forth. He was constantly ringing his hands together,

cocking his head from side to side. The longer he talked, the more agitated he became. He began grimacing, and little verbal ticks started popping up in his speech. Every so often, he blurt out a loud, aww, in the middle of a sentence. He was trying to suppress these sounds, but he was losing the battle. I started to make my way to the exit, and he followed. His verbal outbursts grew louder and more frequent. I was petrified. When I reached the stairs, I drew our conversation to an end and said goodbye. As I turned to head up the staircase, he could

no longer hold it in. The screams. The very same unforgettable screams that I had heard coming from that locked room. I ran up the stairs as fast as my legs would carry me, flung the door open, and rushed back into the daylight. A month or two later, I had a couple of friends, including Laura, over to my place. I was excited to tell her about my encounter. But as I was relaying what happened, I could tell that something else was on her mind. When I finished telling my story, she told me about something she'd seen a couple weeks earlier. One day she noticed lights flashing outside her window. She looked outside just in time to see

police officers placing the man from the basement into the backseat of the squad car. see police officers placing the man from the basement into the backseat of the squad car. She later found out from another tenant that he had attacked someone with a knife. That was the last we ever saw of him. I don't know what became of the man in the basement. I'd like to think that he got the help that he needed, but maybe that's just because I'd rather not think about the alternative. So let's not meet. This story happened to my mom's friend in Korea about 10 years ago. Every time I hear this story, I get chills.

My mom's friend lived in an apartment complex in Seoul. She was a stay-at-home mother with a young daughter and her husband worked during the days. One day she was coming home from owning errands with her daughter and got on to the elevator in her building. When she got on, she noticed that there was a man wearing a cap and a yellow raincoat. He kept his head so low that she couldn't really see his face. She immediately felt really uneasy, and she made her daughter stand to her side

furthest away from the man. What made her feel even more uncomfortable was that when she pressed the button for her floor, there was no other lit number. And on top of that, she noticed that he was carrying something wrapped inside of newspaper close to his side. Things started to click in my mom's friend's head, and she started to panic and decided to take out her cell phone and pretend that she was calling home to her husband, who obviously

was not at home. He was at work. She started saying things like, oh, I'm on the elevator and about to get off. Can you get the door for me? And making it seem like her husband was waiting at home. When the elevator did reach her floor, I think she lived on the 12th floor or something. She quickly got off and grabbed her daughter and started to walk as fast as she could to her apartment. She noticed that the man also got off on her floor and was slowly following her down the hallway. When my mom's friend got to her door, she started to bang on it and

shout, hey honey, I'm home, please open the door and kind of pretended like he was coming to answer the door. Upon seeing this, the man in the ilirang coat started to walk the other way, back towards the elevator. When he seemed to be far enough away, my mom's friend quickly picked up her daughter and started to frantically punch in the code on their door's keypad. But the problem was that the buttons were going to make sounds, so the man knew that there was not going to be anyone answering the door for her. And he turned around and started to run back towards her. My mom's friend, at this point, was practically screaming and when she finally got the door open, the first thing she did was throw her daughter

in through the door. When she got herself in, she saw that the man was pretty much inches from the door, but she managed to get it shut and lock it before he could wedge his hand or a weapon into the door. Afterwards, looking through the door's people, she saw that the man was walking back towards the elevator. Yu Young-chul was a South Korean serial killer and cannibal. He murdered 21 people. When he was arrested, he was wearing his signature yellow raincoat.

So man in the yellow raincoat, let's not meet. Make sure you stick around after the music for your extended version of this week's show if you're a patron, if you'd like to get ad-free access to all of those extensions and bonus content as well as the regular shows at a higher bit rate for the best listening experience, make sure you go to patreon.com forward slash let's not meet podcast to sign up today. This week you have heard man on the couch by freak of the night 450, pale man with long blonde hair by hybrid bird man, andy by their out to get us. A bed for the night by tufted wisdom, kidnapped as a child by Jesus rice 196666, Hell's Waiting Room by Lubus Eyelain. And finally, The Man in the Yellow Raincoat by Whale Baboon.

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, 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. I also wanna give you guys a quick update before I go on the TV pilot.

I've received my cut of the footage and I'm working on the music right now. I'm scrambling to get it done before the end of the month so that we can go to color grading and finishing the sound design and piecing everything together for you guys. Hopefully we can get that out soon for everybody to see and enjoy. sound design and piecing everything together.

We're also already planning episode 2. I'm very excited about what's going on this year and I'll keep you guys all in the loop. But for now, thank you all so much for all the support and for being patient with us. There's only a handful of us and we're all working very hard on this thing. Also don't forget to check out the new episodes of my other podcasts, odd trails, my true paranormal podcast. Welcome to Paradise It sucks in the old time radiocast over at crypticcountypodcasts.com

or wherever you get your podcasts. I'll see you all next week for a brand new episode of Let's Not Meet. Everyone, stay safe. 1 tbh 1 tbh 1 tbh 1 tbh 1 tbh 1 tbh 1 tbh 1 tbh

1 tbh 1 tbh 1 tbh 1 tbh 1 tbh 1 tbh I'm a female. Born and raised in New Jersey.