Let's Not Meet: A True Horror Podcast - 11x07: Lost Stories 17

Episode Date: August 7, 2023

Stories in this episode: - How Easy It Is, by chimpwithalimp (1:30) - The Handcuff Man, by Strange-Beacons (4:47) - Mr. Creepypants Had A Room For Rent, by Backingawayslowlynow (16:40) - He Came For Me, by Blueeyes1101 (26:33) - It Gave Him A Thrill, by AmericanHigh (28:57) - My Childhood Friend's Father, by rob666boss (37:47) - My Favorite Customer, by CoreZore (48:58) - The Face, by uhuhshesaid (55:16) - I Saw The Fear In My Dad's Eyes, by shesaholocaust (59:44) - He Was Waiting In My Bed, by peter_parker23 (1:07:30) - I Shouldn't Have, But I Did, by anon (1:09:36) Extended Patreon Content:  - Mustache Man, by Anonymous - Parents Are Monsters Too, by Dayneliz - He Tried to Get Me in His Car, by Drew - Late Night Chase, by Hayden 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!  PDS DEBT is offering free debt analysis to our listeners just for completing the quick and easy debt assessment at https://www.PDSDebt.com/meet.  Get $1.49 per meal by going to www.EveryPlate.com/podcast and entering code 49meet. Stop wasting money on things you don’t use. Cancel your unwanted subscriptions – and manage your money the easy way – by going to www.RocketMoney.com/meet. - 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/andytatelive

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. This will be the last of our lost stories presentations for the month. We have a lot of new submissions to get through, but listeners keep asking for more of these older recordings, and I get it.

Most of you have never even heard these stories. For the newcomers this week, these are recordings from 2017 to 2018 that haven't been available online since. And this week, we have some really terrifying tales. I had forgotten about most of these stories and this week's episode myself, so it was very refreshing to go back

and clean up some of these old recordings. For now, enjoy the show. Back in my teens in Dublin, Ireland, I used to head to a particular nightclub every single weekend and got to know most of the regulars there, almost to the point that I could sit at any table and know at least a few people. One night, I was introduced to a new woman that no one really knew very well. And I said hello, made very short and polite conversation, then went about my time as normal, dancing and drinking. Nothing much of note happened during my time in the club. At the end of the night, I left a little earlier than my friends because I

lived really far away outside of the city. I got a taxi home and got into bed falling into a deep sleep. I woke up in the morning with the sunlight streaming into my room and immediately knew that something was wrong. There was too much weight on the bed. I spun and looked down to the end of the room and there sat at the end of my bed was the woman from the night before, staring at me wide eyed with utter devotion and a weird smile. It was totally fucking horrible. I had no idea what to say, so I just said nothing.

It was so weirded out by her expression in the whole bizarre nature of the situation. I was dumbstruck. It wasn't a lustful look. It was a spooky, obsessive, insane look. I know for a lot of guys the idea of having some random woman appear in their bedroom might be a thrill, but this was nothing like that. It was scary, plain and simple. I got up, got dressed, summoned a bit of courage, and turned to her and said, you're leaving now. And

essentially marched her out of the house telling her that buses leave at the end of the road every half hour. And she just left without saying anything. From talking to my friends and family, I pieced together what had happened. After I left the nightclub, she tried to catch up, but instead she had lost me. She went back and asked around until someone told her, roughly where I lived, and she got a taxi there. Knocked on some random doors, waking up neighbors, and eventually one told her exactly where I live, and then she lied to my sisters saying that I had been expecting her. My sister

was pissed off after being woken up, but let her in. From there, she got into my room and set there for God knows how long just silently watching me. As it turns out, nobody from the club knew her at all, but we all assumed someone else knew her. What really spooks me is that if she had wanted to hurt me for whatever reason, she easily found her way into my family's house, right into my bedroom. Really, I'm shuddering just thinking about it. So, woman's stalker that found her way into my bedroom silently, with very little difficulty, let's not meet. When I was a teenager, I lived in a small town located about 30 miles south of Atlanta, Georgia. I did not get my driver's license or my first car until I was almost 20 years old, so between the ages of 16 and 19, a hitchhiked

frequently. This was in the early 70s when people still hitchhiked, and many drivers were still willing to pick people up, in spite of the dangers and risks posed to both driver and writer. For the most part, I never had any trouble with the people who offered me rides, but occasionally, I would get picked up by someone who would totally creep me out. This story is about one creepy ride I accepted, and how 25 years later I would discover to my great shock that I may have been much luckier at the time than I had ever imagined. This incident occurred sometime in the summer of 1974 when I was 17 years old. At that time I was a 6-foot tall 175-pound blonde hair and blue-eyed guy who did not have

any trouble connecting with girls for dates. In fact, my story begins with me standing on the side of the highway with my thumb out as I was trying to get a ride back home after spending a weekend with my girlfriend who lived in downtown Atlanta. I was traveling south away from the city and out to the country where I lived with my parents. I recall that I only had my thumb out for about 15 minutes when a man in a big white Lincoln town car, which is a very large and expensive car at this time, pulled over. As I walked up to the car, I scanned the inside and looked at the driver, trying to size

up the situation as I always did, just to be safe. What I saw was a tidy car with a man in the driver's seat who looked to be in his late 30s or mid 40s. He was dressed in an expensive suit and tie. He had short black hair, wore black rimmed eyeglasses, and appeared to be rather on the thin side with a gunt face and dark eyes. I never learned his name, but for the sake of the story, we'll call him town car man. When I got up to the passenger side of the car, I leaned down toward the open window and

told him where I was heading to and asked him if he was going that far, to which he replied that he was in a very soft voice and waved me into the car. I was not at all wary of him, as by all appearances, he was just an ordinary middle-class, business man, and I opened the door and got into the front seat next to him without any hesitation. Generally, when I accept rides from strangers while hitchhiking, I like to try to engage them in chat, sort of as a way to pay them for the ride by providing good conversation,

and also put the medis about picking me up and showing them that I was harmless and not a creep, even though I felt that I didn't look dangerous, only if you could call having long hair and dressing in the hippie fashion of the time dangerous. However, when I began to try to chat with town-carman in my normal fashion with typical small talk, I instantly started getting bad vibes from him, as I could tell that he was mostly ignoring what I was saying. And instead, kept trying to steer the conversation toward asking me personal questions about myself, such as how old I was, where I went to school, and if I had a girlfriend, I tried to answer his questions politely as possible, without really giving away too much information. but town car guy kept getting more and more personal, asking me questions that hinted to whether or not I was sexually active with my girlfriend,

telling me that when he was my age, he went around horny about half of the time and always had been on the lookout for sexual adventures. The more that town carmen continued continued to ask me questions about myself, wanting to know very personal things about me like if I had ever had sex with my girlfriend, all while glancing over at me from time to time with the sort of creepy, knowing-looking-as-is, as if you were privately enjoying some dirty secret that only he knew about. The more uncomfortable I became. I don't know how better to describe it other than it really began to make me feel uneasy

as his manners seemed very cagey, and I totally sensed that there was some underlying motive to his questions. It really put me on guard. I began to think about what I should do next as in should I ask him to pull over and let me out even though I was only about half of the way to my destination and out in the middle of nowhere. For the first time, I began to realize just how vulnerable I felt. However, what really made me start to feel uneasy was when he started asking me if I wanted to drink liquor, indicating that he had several bottles with him in the

trunk and that if I wanted some, he would pull over to the side of the road and mix me up a stiff drink. Because I was growing more and more uncomfortable, I declined his offer, saying that I didn't drink. Which was a lie, even at that age I was already regularly drinking with friends. But he would not take no foreign answer, and he kept insisting that we should really just have one drink, because he was such a great drink mixer, and it would only take a minute for him to fix a very special one for me. After I had declined his offer for something like the fourth time, he abruptly changed tactics again and began telling me a story about when he was my age and a young lady in the army and how he used to hitchhike a lot too.

And that he would sometimes get picked up by men he wanted to pay him money to have sex with them. He laughed and then asked if anything like that ever happened to me. By this time I had had quite enough of all of this and looked him straight in the eye and said, no, that has never happened to me and nobody better ever offer that to me. Well, the knowing look vanished instantly from his face and I could tell that he was totally irked by how I had just reacted to his story. The exchange between us totally changed the dynamic inside of the car and he became very quiet.

After a few minutes of this uneasy silence, he spoke up and told me that he was turning at the next intersection and that I would need to get out there. Even though he had told me when he first picked me up that he was going the entire way. At this point, I was actually very relieved and now only wanted to get out of the car. When the car came to a stop, I had just barely gotten out of the car and pushed a door close when he stepped on the gas and zoomed off. Literally jerking the handle of the car out of my hand. I remember that I stood there watching him drive away until he had disappeared down the road,

and then my heart was beating very fast. I was both scared and angry at what had just happened. After I calmed down, I resumed hitchhiking until I got another ride that took me home without further incident. Fast forward 25 years, it's 1999, and I had all but forgotten about the creepy ride with town car man. I'm on the internet reading through a true crime website when I stumble onto a story about an ultra creepy guy named Robert Bennett. an ultra creepy guy named Robert Bennett, a man who had been arrested after a series of vicious attacks on men whom he had picked up in his car, drugged, handcuffed, and then set their genitals on fire with a flammable liquid. The attacks took place over a 20-plus year period, starting around 1968 in the Atlanta area and ending with his arrest in 1991, prior to Bennett's arrest, this attacker became known as the Hancock Man.

And talk within the local gay community was that he was targeting men who he thought were gay prostitutes. When I saw a photo of Bennett that accompanied the article, my jaw literally dropped open, and the memories of my ride from that day in 1974 came flooding back. I was certain I was looking at the picture of the town car man, and I was absolutely floored. I do not have any way to prove that this creepy guy who picked me up was in fact Robert Bennett, but the physical resemblance between what I remember about Town Carman

and the photo of Bennett is absolutely uncanny. Also, the persistent offer by Town Carman to mix me a special drink and his questions about whether or not I had ever had sex with men for money also seems to indicate that possibility. I should also point out that even though this story took place in the early 1970s in deep South Georgia, I was actually okay with gay people at the time, and even had a few friends back then that were gay. So we did not have a problem with homosexuality at all, and still don't.

But being heterosexual, I also had zero interest in having sex with other men, and even if I had been game for that sort of thing, I always found it highly distasteful when people assumed that they could act in such an unwanted, cagey fashion regarding sexual matters with complete strangers. I always have and always will find that to be extremely creepy. So, let's not meet. How many of you wish there was a better solution for paying off your debt? PDS debt has customized 0% interest options for anybody struggling with credit cards, personal loans, collections, or medical bills, with rising interest rates and the cost of living at an all-time high, now is the time to take initiative with your debt. Stop waiting and start saving with your own custom debt savings options from PDS debt. Stop waiting and start saving with your own custom debt savings options from

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few years ago, my partner and I moved from the east coast to the Pacific Northwest. We didn't know anyone in the city. We just saved up a decent chunk of money and hopped on a plane. It was exciting and we certainly haven't regretted it. The plan was to stay at hostels and cheap hotels until we could find work and an apartment. Finding work was actually quite easy for us. We had new jobs within a week of getting off the plane. Finding somewhere to live though was a nightmare. Everywhere we looked had incredibly steep requirements for credit scores and minimum household income. We tried more legitimate sites at first, but after two months of hopping around at different hostels, motels, and Airbnb places, we became desperate, so we

went to Craigslist. Many of the listings we tried gave us a lot of trouble at first. So one day, I'm desperately scouring Craigslist for rooms, and I come across one that seemed a little weird. The poster said he had a very large house in a nice neighborhood, and that he wanted to rent out a 500 square foot room for $600 per month. Utilities included, in this city that was suspiciously cheap. He also wrote it in a rambling sort of way. It was almost half an ad for a room, and half an open letter to everyone that had recently

accused him of being creepy. Now obviously, if we weren't so desperate, we wouldn't have even considered contacting this man, but we thought that we might have been at risk of running out of money before we could get in somewhere at this rate. On the phone, he sounded relatively normal. He actually suggested that we meet up with him in a public place to talk about the room at first. We agreed to meet him at a restaurant near the hostel that we were staying at, that

we didn't tell him which one, of course. He showed up late and looked surprised to actually see us there. He sat down and he talked for a very long time. Now, I say he talked rather than we talked because he rambled non-stop about himself and how he felt persecuted by everyone in this city. He claimed to be an artist and a collector. And between him repeating himself many times about how the locals just don't understand his quote unquote passions, he also told us that the room he had advertised was currently

filled with his collection. He never once said what he had collected, but he also said that if things went well, he would have to hire someone to move it and to storage before we could move in. At one point, he stopped talking abruptly and ran into the restroom. We took this opportunity to discuss the situation. We knew at this point that he was probably a crazy person, but the threat of homelessness was looming, so we agreed that we should at least see the place and decide based on that rather than his eccentricities.

He came back to the table sweaty and flustered. We weren't sure why at this time, but we figured out later. Before we could say anything, he blurted out. I want to show you the apartment right now. We were surprised by this, but we had just discussed seeing it, so we agreed. I asked him to text me the address, and that we would take public transportation and meet him there. He insisted that he drive us there since we don't have a car. Now obviously we were hesitant to get in his truck. And I think it was obvious to him as well. But the previously mentioned desperation was still a thing and we were pretty sure

he wasn't going to try and hurt us. We were right, but it was still a bad decision in Retrospect. So we crammed into the front seat of his tiny rusty ancient looking pickup truck. My partner was pressed up against the door and I was uncomfortably close to the driver as he continued to babble about how the city has gone downhill and how everyone he used to hang out with shuns him these days. At one point I whispered to my partner to get ready for a possible tuck and roll situation. He saw me whispering but couldn't hear me over the wind pouring through the cab of the truck. One of the windows was broken out, which really added to the vehicle's charm.

He said something about us being romantic together and that he envied our youth. We arrived at his house 15 minutes later. He had been technically honest with us up to this point. His neighborhood was decent looking and his home was pretty large. It was a one story ranch house. I noted out loud that he had bars on all of his windows and several locks on the front door. He said that his collection was very valuable to him, and he was just protecting it from

thieves. Once he let us in, I made a point of urging him to go ahead so that he couldn't get a chance to lock the door behind us. We very quickly noticed three things, his art, his collection, and a smell. The man's method of art, of which he was very proud was apparently to take lots of innocent childlike things such as baby dolls, stuffed animals, ceramic figures, and toys, then attached dildos to them. One of the most notable pieces being the one referred to as his unicorn. It was a ceramic

horse figurine that he slobbly sawed the head off of and replaced with the baby doll's head and added a hand sculpted clay penis as the horn. His collection consisted mainly of rubber, plastic, and latex clothing, as well as gas masks. Both his collection and his art were everywhere. The place was so jam-packed with junk that every room had only a single file path going through it, so that you could walk through without bumping into art or stepping on piles of fetish ware. This fellow was definitely not concerned about cleanliness, this place reaked of mildew and moldy rubber. The carpet looked as if it hadn't seen a vacuum since the 70s. As we passed through the kitchen,

he declared that he loves cast iron pans because you don't have to wash them. Just as we noticed, every countertop was cluttered with rusted pans that all looked to have had decades worth of scorched food caked on. We stayed behind him, mostly silent as he stopped every now and then to point out his favorite art pieces, and to repeatedly tell us that he was leading us to the room, and that it was full of his favorite stuff right now. He said that he'd get people to move it out

for us, but he said it, like us moving in was a sure thing. He opened the door to the room, and actually said, voila! I don't doubt that the room was around 500 square feet, but every inch of it was packed with clothing racks. The clothing racks were all packed with the same thing. Shiny rubber, latex and plastic pairs of pants would dill those sewn onto the front of them. Up to this point, we were doing our best to avoid reacting to all of the freaky stuff in this guy's home. Because we were afraid he would snap on us if we did. But I started to notice after a while, though, that he was getting disappointed

that we weren't reacting to anything. My guess is that he gets off on shocking people with his creepy pants and that this wasn't going to go as well as he had hoped. We told him that the room looked big enough and that we'd like to go back to our hotel to think it over. He didn't have a much of a reaction to that, but he agreed to drive us home now. When he thought that I wasn't looking, he took something out of his pocket and tossed it into an open doorway of a dark room on his way past it. I was afraid that it might have been his car keys, so I used the light on my phone to peek in as we passed that room. The whole room was a pile of tied-off used condoms, or sperm balloons as my partner called them later. We speculated that he

was masturbating at the restaurant and added the balloon to the pile before taking us back. So we piled back into his truck and had a long awkward drive back to the place where we had met. His rambling was much more frustrated this time around, and he passed where we wanted to get out three times before he just jumped out at a red light, frantically shouting, this is good here, it was nice meeting you, thanks, bye. I added his number to my contacts as Mr. Creepypants. Over the next several days he sent a few texts, asking if we talked it over yet. I wanted to be polite, so I just said we decided against it, but thank you for the very nice offer.

He responded with the phrase, are you creeped out yet? Then copied and pasted over and over about 30 times. I'm not sure why I was still trying to be polite, but when he had stopped spamming me, I responded, no. We thought that your collection was lovely, but it's just so large that we can't bring ourselves to ask you to move it.

It took him a few more days to respond, but he did, and he took it better than I had expected. He said, yeah, I really didn't want to move it, thanks for understanding. Then he made a recommendation for a local burger place for some reason, so I blocked his number shortly after just to be safe. And for the record, we didn't care that he was a fetishist of some sort. We cared that he was really freaking gross. So Mr. Creepypants, let's not meet again. It was about 21 years ago when my mother was pregnant with a beautiful child. That would be me. She was invited to a friend's bridal shower in a really small town outside of where we

lived. Mind you, we're from Kentucky, so when you travel in between small towns, you take the creepy back roads. She said, on this occasion, when she left, it was about 11pm. She was driving her old niece on Centra on a road that everyone calls, death lane because so many crashes occur here. People like to speed around the hairpin turns like idiots She was about halfway home when this truck kept riding her ass

She slowed down and pulled to the shoulder to let him pass on this one lane road He slowed and stared at her as he drove by She shrugged and kept driving about one mile down the road By, she shrugged and kept driving. About one mile down the road, she came upon the man that had passed her, with his truck parked horizontally in the road. My mother, she stopped the ways back wondering what was up. Then she saw the man getting out of the truck, and in his hand was a large knife. My mom had nowhere to go with only ditches on each side and no way to turn around.

She decided to take the ditch and of course got stuck. The man walked towards her. She was fumbling to get out of the ditch when a truck arrives forcing her a salient to leave. The other truck had a husband and wife in it and they ran to my mother's aid. They saved her life unbeknownst to them. When she arrived home, she went straight to bed shaken by the night's events. And here's where things get weird. The next day, she woke up and went to watch the morning news. She gasped at what she saw. A pregnant

woman had been murdered the night before. Her baby was cut out of her intake and they caught the guy. He was parked in the holding the murdered child in his arms, rocking it. The same guy who came for my mom. So today I learned I almost wasn't born. Let's not meet there. This happened 10 years ago, just after my parents divorced, and were in the process of selling my childhood home. My mom had moved across town with my dad, who had traveled for a living, and was gone

for long stretches of time leaving my older brother and I alone often. As teenagers, we didn't mind. Even with this upheaval at home, our lives were fairly routine. Both of us worked, and were in high school, so we left in got home around the same time each day. At night, we would go to the gym just outside of our neighborhood for a couple of hours. My brother's friend James would often join us. One night, James, my brother and another one of our friends, Christopher, were hanging out at our house, washing their cars and preparation for the weekend. Since it was dark, my brother had borrowed my car keys to

illuminate the driveway with my headlights so that they could see. When they were finished, my brother asked me if I felt like going to the gym with them, and I declined. I wasn't feeling up to it, so they left me home alone. Before I went upstairs to my bedroom to blare, now that the house was empty, I had noticed that the front door was unlocked and the back door was locked. This detail didn't particularly alarm me because we lived in a safe neighborhood centered by golf courses and a country club. In other words, I had nothing to worry about.

I went to my room and listened to loud music for about half an hour with my door shut. Then, as I was hungry, I went downstairs to fix myself something to eat. That's when I noticed the front door was locked. I wasn't too concerned at this point, perhaps. I had locked it before I went upstairs. I didn't remember locking it, but it was the most rational explanation. Then I noticed that the back door was unlocked. I definitely didn't unlock the back door. As irrational then as it seemed, it hit me with a jolt that somebody was in our house

My brother had left my car keys on the counter in the kitchen I grabbed them and ran out the front door to my car. I put the keys in the ignition and it didn't start My brother had left the lights on the battery was dead Mother fucker It was just like being in a horror movie The battery was dead. Motherfucker. It was just like being in a horror movie. Frantic, I called my brother.

Since he had his headphones plugged into his phone, listening to music while he worked out, he was forced to answer. I think somebody is, or was, in our house, I said. I told him about the front door and how I didn't lock it so either somebody was in our house or in the backyard. Can you please come home? And just as I said this, a man with a miniature baseball bat comes from the side yard of our house. His pace was quick as if he didn't want to be seen, but it slowed once he reached the road, where he walked normal as if nothing had happened.

I told my brother what I just saw. I recognized him, I said, it's our neighbor. My brother and his friends came rushing home about 10 minutes later, and I repeated the story. Okay, my brother said. We're going over to his house. I stayed back at home after the four of us had checked every room in the house with my dad's gun.

It was clear, and there was no one there. When they came back, they told me that they knocked on the front door, and an older woman had answered. The look in her face, James said later, was like she had been expecting us. And that's when her middle-aged son, the guy with the bat, came down. My brother said. Before we even spoke, he yelled out, I didn't break into anybody's house. We never said that, my brother had said. We just wanted to tell you that somebody was in our house just now.

The mother had taken on a protective though somewhat submissive stance. Listen, I'm so sorry. It won't happen again, I promise. My brother and his friends saw in her eyes that she knew they were telling the truth. That her son wasn't. It better not, my brother said, looking up at her son behind her. When they got home, they recounted this story to me, and we began to dissect just what it happened. We'd seen this man before.

He was older, late 30s, early 40s, and lived with his elderly parents. He only seemed to come out at night when he would go on long walks around the neighborhood, muttering to himself, and carrying a miniature baseball bat to quote unquote, fend off dogs as he'd been overheard telling a neighbor. He obviously had some mental problems of some kind. And he obviously had been watching our house and he knew our routine. We determined that he may have mistaken my brother's friend, Christopher, for me, and thinking that the house was empty,

entered through the unlocked front door and then realized that I wasn't home. He then left through the back door and had hidden in the backyard until he thought the coast was clear. How long had he been inside? We weren't sure, but I'd been in my room for at least half an hour. Why was he breaking into our house? We didn't know. But we guessed it wasn't the first time he'd done something like this.

And it may have been the overactive and speculative imagination of a bunch of teenagers, but we guessed he did it because running around someone's empty house and be known to them gave him some kind of sick thrill. Perhaps stalking people gave him something to do, and it was clear to us that he probably couldn't help himself and that he would probably do it again. So let's not meet him. This message is for my fellow budget conscious listeners out there. If you're like me and looking to make the most of your hard earned money during this back to school season, I've got a game-changing suggestion for you. It's America's best-value meal kit, every plate. Honestly, I used to stress about managing my food expenses,

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Get a dollar forty nine per meal by going to everyplate.com slash podcast and entering the code four nine meatetMEET. That's up to a $110 value. Again, get started with every plate for just 149 per meal by going to everyplate.com slash podcast and entering code 49Meet. Now back to the show. When I was in elementary school, I was friends with the girl named Jessica. We had a group of five or six girls that we always played with. Jessica's parents were divorced, and I often went over her dad's house after school

just because they had a trampoline in a slide. Her dad was a totally normal dude. His name was Richard and he held a job as a pilot, which was definitely a job that requires mental stability. Jessica came over to my house as well and her dad would always come pick her up after the blade ate, so he was familiar with where I lived. And abouts. I think it was in second or third grade. Jessica moved away with her mom. I didn't fully understand what was going on as a child, and I still don't know exactly

what happened, but something had gone wrong with her father. We didn't hear much from Jessica, but around her birthday the following year Richard invited our group of girls over for a surprise party. We had arrived at the party and were waiting for Jessica so we could surprise her, but Jessica never showed up. We were just hanging out with her dad for a while. Now as a child, this didn't seem as weird as it does to me now. When our parents picked us up, we obviously told them what had happened, and we didn't hang out with Jessica or Richard ever again. After that, some of the girls started receiving presents from Richard at their homes.

I never received them, but my mother told me about it years later. The presents usually consisted of cheap jewelry and notes. I have no idea what the notes said, but I'm not sure that I want to. After this, Richard goes away. My mom later told me that he was in a mental institution. Years go by, I completely forgot about the whole situation then in winter of 2013. I was out of town for a cheer competition. I was scrolling through Facebook one night when all of a sudden a new group chat popped up with five girls from elementary school.

I had not kept in touch with any of them so it was very weird. The chat was about how they had received messages from Richard on Facebook. I checked the other folder in my Facebook messages, and sure enough, I had some too. I had a variety of messages that did not make a lot of sense, including some strange poems. Many of the messages were descriptions of dreams that he had had about me. Some of them were nonsense, others were understandable enough to come across as sexually and violently threatening. I don't feel comfortable sharing some of the more explicit ones, but here are a couple

of the shorter and less scary messages. Hi, little girl. From not long ago, pristine of pristineness, I want you, I want you, I want you. We're going to have planets to go to someday, provided you don't melt them first. I'm so very proud of you. Stay happy, and I haven't found a way to keep you off of my mind. I can't see the planets till I make you all mine. You're just so rough and oh, just so fine. As if I'm there, my love's for you, for you I share. It's so indefinite.

For it is all about you, that I only care. Oh my goodness, you're all my whipping cream containers. I clicked on Richard's Facebook profile and his whole profile was dedicated to us five girls. He didn't have any friends, so clearly nobody had seen it. Unfortunately, we didn't have very good security settings on Facebook. He had saved dozens of photos from us and then reposted them with nonsensical and inappropriate captions. The captions ranged from essays about his love for us to one sentence captions that simply said, she's so ugly. Here are some of the shorter photo captions.

Emily, hopefully, and not too soon, I'm gonna find out about your YXX8511. And I'm gonna show up as a man that knocks on your front doorstep and I'll bite your bottom lip off before you can say a word. See, era, because my initial euphoria turns into sunken depression when I realize there's nothing that I can do about anything besides you, because you're inside me, and I can't get you out of my mind, I love you so much. Melissa, can I paint your picture? I want to lift you around so I can see how heavy you are and we'll go for a drive on Hollywood Drive with all the windows rolled down so we can get that crystal clear view. We were all freshly 18 at the time and I didn't know what to do, so our mom's contact at the RCMP, which

stands for Royal Canadian Mounted Police. They told us not to block Richard on Facebook, but not to reply to the messages, so it could be used as evidence. He continued to send us messages every single day and we shared screenshots with each other in a group chat and sent them off to the RCMP. He had several different Facebook accounts that were all variations of his name along with one randomly named Esteban. One of the girls got in touch with Jessica to find out if she still had contact with her father. She only saw him on supervised visits once in a while. She was very embarrassed and apologized a lot.

She was a super sweet girl and obviously none of us were upset with her in any way. Eventually Richard was charged with five counts of criminal harassment. He pleaded guilty and went to jail for around five months. When he got out, there was still a no contact order in place, meaning that he could not contact any of us girls or come within a certain radius of our homes. He was not allowed to use the internet either. I'm not sure how all of this works, but this is what the constable, handling the case told me. However, not surprisingly, he started contacting us on Facebook again.

He went back to jail for breaching his probation. It was the summer of 2015, and he got out again. I started receiving more messages. I immediately wrote on the group chat to see if any of the other girls had gotten anything. They had it. It was just me. I immediately contacted the police. They had forgotten to include my name on the no contact order. He knew not to contact the other girls but thought it was still safe for him to contact me.

This time things got worse. I had just started working at a new job and being the idiot that I am, I had my workplace public on my Facebook job and being the idiot that I am, I had my workplace public on my Facebook profile. One day I came into work and there was a package waiting for me. I was obviously confused because I would never order something to be delivered to my work. I opened it up with my managers and there was weed inside, along with a disc that had

encryption software on it. He had mailed me weed to my work. I knew immediately that it was him, and awkwardly explained the situation to my managers who thought it was hilarious. The security of my office tower was alerted and given a photo of him. They began walking me to my bus stop after my shifts. It was scary knowing that he knew where I worked. At this point, I hadn't seen Richard in years, but it was clear that he was mentally unwell. I had no idea what he was actually capable of, or what his motives were. The RCMP did not take this case very seriously, and they moved very slowly, passing the case around to various officers. Meanwhile, I was terrified.

I could hardly walk down the street at night without freaking out. Every time somebody knocked on my door while I was home, I would drop whatever it was I was doing and hide underneath the kitchen counters. I had not moved since I was a child, so it was very possible that he remembered where I live. The packages kept coming. I received more weed in several different forms, including cookies, what appeared to be cocaine,

and a key to his apartment along with some miscellaneous items. I opened all of the packages at the police station. One of the packages included a USB stick with a bunch of audio recordings on them, but I decided that it was better for me not to listen to them. The return address on the packages was a random PO box in another city that did not belong to Richard and no fingerprints were found on the packages.

During all of this, the Facebook messages remained constant. Luckily, and one of the messages, he informed me that he had sent me drugs and a key along with his home address. This confirmed that the packages were from him. He was charged again. I received a subpoena in the mail to appear as a witness in court, however, he once again pleaded guilty, and I never got to go to court. I was actually a bit disappointed, as I thought seeing him in person would provide some kind of closure.

He is still locked up somewhere, as I am writing this, but I still get scared walking at night or when somebody knocks on the door. The police provided me with zero information on where he was being held, or when he was being released. I feel like I'm just waiting for the day that he will contact me again. It seems as if every time I think it's over, it isn't. If I do hear from him again, I'll be sure to post an update. This situation could have been a lot worse. As far as I know, he did not physically follow me around or anything.

I strongly encourage all of you to make your Facebook privacy settings as private as possible. So Richard, let's not meet. From 2006 to 2011, I worked in the electronics department at my local Walmart in a small city. To the five years I had worked there, I had plenty of creepy encounters with strange customers, especially considering the state hospital was directly across the road. This story isn't just a regular old, creepy encounter, but something that would lead me to being stalked for nearly a year. It all started in 2010, on a night I was working second shift. I was doing my end of shift ritual

when a woman in her late 40s interrupted me. She was with a little girl, no more than three or four. Excuse me, I need help with my cell phone. She spoke softly and proceeded to tell me her problem. I need to turn my phone into a straight talk phone. The girl earlier said that you could do it. Oh, fucking of course she did, I thought to myself, but my lips said, sure, let's see what we can do.

She handed me a six-year-old phone from Verizon, and I knew as soon as I saw it that I wouldn't be able to do what she wanted. I explained she would have to buy a new phone from straight talk and transfer her old number. Basic shit really. Now I always took my job seriously and held myself to the highest standards of customer service. I would often receive letters to the store from customers complimenting me, so I assure you I did nothing to actually piss off this lady, but sure as shit, she was pissed.

Why the hell would I buy a new phone? I already have one! She's screaming at the top of her lungs. She claims I'm upselling her and being a corporate goon. I finally managed to diffuse the situation, and as she left the department, she gives me the classic, you'll never get a job in this town again. As soon as I'm getting ready to leave my shift, my manager stops and tells me,

he got a complaint at customer service. From a lady claiming, I swore at her granddaughter. Apparently, I told her to fuck off. I explained what happened, and he just laughed it off. My manager's knew that it was very unlike me to say something like that to a customer. I wish the story ended there, but then I wouldn't be writing this. For the next several weeks, I would get complaints about things I'd never done. Sometimes even on my days off.

I would come in to questions from management nearly every day. There were complaints ranging from me being rude to a customer all the way to me doing drugs in the parking lot on my break. All these complaints were coming from two women. As it turned out, it was cell phone lady and her adult daughter. It turns out they had been even scoping out my work schedule and starting to come in nearly every day. They would walk through the electronics to make sure they saw me, and later that night they would have a complaint.

This happened for months. It happened so much management deemed her core zone's favorite customer. To be honest, I didn't care much. I even thought it was pretty funny. I never got into trouble when everyone knew these ladies and just blew it off. I started caring when she took it to a new level. She started to follow me around. I would see her when I was around town. She made it clear she knew where I lived and would regularly walk by my house. I would see her standing out front just looking at my place. I would see her standing out front, just looking at my place. I began getting

complaints to the city about my property. The grass is too tall. The old shed in my yard. My fire pit, basically everything. She even found out my girlfriend's name and began complaining at her job. I knew it was her. She would make it so clear that she was following me. Sometimes she would stop in and ask me questions at work and act like the nicest customer. A few times she even asked me things like, how is your girlfriend? Or my favorite. How can you afford that big house on your little Walmart wage? For about seven months she stalked and slandered me. I started telling her I knew what she was doing and to stop, but she played it off. I couldn't report her, she'd never once threatened me. She was just making my life very hard. By this time everyone in my

life knew about this nut job. One night I'm grabbing dinner with my friends from work and were joking about it when someone says, what if you just counter-stock her? At first, I thought it was a terrible idea, but they convinced me it would work and they would all help me, so we hatched a plan. It went as follows. Find her job. Find her name and address. Make complaints in the same manner as follows. Find her job. Find her name and address. Make complaints in the same manner as her.

Find out all the rumors she's told about me. Make it clear that we know. Show her that we have numbers. I found out her information easily enough. Turns out she didn't live anywhere near me. I was even friends with a few of her coworkers. They would keep me informed on crazy shit she said about me and even told her to stop.

We began doing exactly what she was doing to me. We did this for about four months. The more we dug into her life, the more I found out about how obsessed she was over getting me in trouble. She had claimed that I assaulted her. She urged others to report me and follow me. She told the police I was a potential drug dealer. Eventually we did win.

She started putting together that there were six of us digging into her life and asking questions about her life. My last month at work, I didn't get a single complaint. In fact, I never saw her again. The day after I quit though, I heard she was in the store complaining about a new person after asking one of the managers why I quit. I'll honestly never understand why she was still hell bent on destroying me. I just told her to buy a $20 prepaid phone. So this happened to a friend of mine. She told this story the other night of her whiskey and I

convinced her to let me put it here. My friend Nina was about 22 and living in DC at the time. One afternoon she takes the subway to meet some friends in town. The very urgent need to pee hits halfway there and she realizes it would be prudent to hop off early at the mall and find a bathroom before proceeding. So she heads to the mall, makes her way to the second floor to the bathroom, and is practically running at this point. She bursts in and is pleased to find it empty. I mean, who likes strangers peeing two feet away? She chooses the middle stall and a line of three, sits down, and lets nature

take its course. As she's finishing up, she hears heavy breathing. She looks down, and sees a foot in the stall next to her. Well, that's odd, she thinks. It seemed to be empty when I came in. But she figured she was just in a hurry. She probably just didn't notice one of the stalls was occupied. She glances down again, and a mother fucking man's face is now looking at her from under the stall. This bloated, pasty pale face with thin red lips in eyes that looked somewhere between

transfixed and aggressive. And he's still panting. My friend screams, kicks in the direction of the face, although she didn't make contact, and runs out of the bathroom as fast as her feet can take her. She is sort of dazed and panicked, so she walks around for a bit, realizing she should notify mall security. So Nina finds a guy in uniform and tells him about the man hiding in the deserted women's bathroom on the second floor.

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slash meat. That's RocketMoney.com slash meat, or follow the link in the show notes. Again, RocketMoney.com slash meat. Now back to the show. A little background for you guys. My dad and I have never really seen eye to eye. Not in an abusive manner or anything of those sorts, but we clash to the point where an argument can erupt within a matter of minutes between us. My mum usually says, there is no doubt I'm his daughter.

Anyways. My mum usually says, there is no doubt I'm his daughter. Anyways, this goes back to when I was around 17 or 18. We live in a no-k town in the northeast of England. My town is quite literally divided by one main road, which separates the quiet family houses on one side and the drug-fueled abusive families on the other. I was planning on spending the night at my friend's house, Sean and Josh. They were like brothers in a lot of ways. We would just spend our nights playing games that would make us sick with nostalgia. Really good times.

The only thing was they lived off of one of the worst roads in my town. My dad would usually drop me off that night, then walking home the next morning was a breeze. Everyone around there was in bed hung over usually. It got to be about 2am, and I genuinely didn't feel very well, and all I wanted was my own bed. So, I called my dad to see if he could go and get me. I knew he was up, he spent many nights fishing, which usually meant he'd come home anytime between 1am and 6am.

So my dad says to me that he'll walk over and bring two big dogs with him, because his car is still full of fishing equipment and it'd be quite a while before he could drive over. He explains to me that he'll call me back in a few minutes after he's put the leads on the dogs and let me know when to set off. After about 20 minutes, there's still no call from my dad. So I figured he's most likely left his phone at home and he's already waiting at the corner of the street for me.

No big deal, I'll set off. So Sean and Josh are half asleep, but they keep saying, we don't mind walking you, honestly, it's fine. All of that said between yawns. I let them know that I'll be absolutely fine. It's literally like two minutes up the road. That pop on my shoes, grab my bag, and head out. As I was walking, I tried to untangle my headphones because that takes anyone a good 10 minutes to do. Just as I get them untangled,

something in my head is like, just don't bother. I had this weird gut feeling, so I rounded the corner to the long road that leads home. This road is the awful road I mentioned earlier. Off of this road is a lot of long streets, where the not-so-nice people live. Not all of them are horrible, but eight out of ten are. I passed one particular street and noticed a group of men drunk or possibly on God knows what, all shouting at each other, but yet again they were quite far away so I didn't get too worried. About halfway up this long road, I could see the corner where my dad was supposed to be at this point. I heard panting and running behind me. My whole body tensed up and my immediate

reaction was to grab my bag as tightly as possible, assuming whoever it was was going to run past and take it. But if you feed behind me, the running slowed to a walk. Suddenly I heard a drunken man's voice behind me saying, where are you going? Obviously I was startled and just replied with quiet, home. I didn't really want to look at him and walked a bit faster. He started getting agitated with me and started shouting at me.

What are you scared of? I'm walking you home. So I tried to keep calm and was sneaking my phone out of my pocket to call my dad who was still nowhere in sight. I told him, I'm not frightened, I'm just not very well. It's okay about walking me home. My dad's around the corner. Can't you hear the dogs?

And I tried to laugh it off a little as to calm the situation. The next thing I know, this guy is dragging me behind an old police station, literally an abandoned police station saying, the most disgusting things to me, which really turns my stomach thinking about it. I have no idea how, but I managed to kind of squeeze through his grip and ran as fast as my little legs would carry me. I phoned my dad and my dad hadn't even set off yet. I could hear him running and he kept telling me to stay on the line. He'd be there soon. I could hear this guy catching up behind me when I see my dad. I've never felt such relief in all of my life.

My dad wrapped his arms around me, then held me by the shoulders, and I could see in his eyes he thought he would never see me again. Obviously, the little cheeky rapist man scampered and disappeared within seconds. My dad walked me home as I tried to choke out whatever happened. Then he consoled me until we reached the front door. When we got back into the house, he started putting on his gloves in his coat and putting the leads on the dogs. I stood there, readied and asking him where he was going. His reply was very short and simple. I'm taking the dogs out for a walk. By this point it was around 3 a.m. because it's obviously normal to walk the dogs at this time. I was

worried. But seeing as though my dad was walking, two German shepherds crosses with him, I felt a little more relaxed. So my dad goes out. And about half an hour later, he comes back with a big smile on his face. I went into the kitchen and my dad stood at the sink, washing his hands. He turns to me and says, you are right, darling? Still cheery is ever." I said very simply to him, what if you've done?" he replies. This guy, did he happen to have a cigarette behind his ear with beige trousers on? I remember the trousers, but not the cigarette. Then my dad looks at me and says, well, the cigarette's not there anymore. I started to get a bit confused, but I stammered out,

wait, you found him? And at this point, the concern came back to his face. He explained to me that when he found them, he was standing on that same corner that he attacked me, like he was waiting for another young naive girl to be walking by just to do it to her. In the end, my dad showed me his bloody knuckles and very calmly said, just don't tell your mother. So creepy guy, we probably won't ever meet again because my dad and the dogs have ruined your face. This happened when I was 12. My mom was out of town for work and my stepdad was gone doing something for the evening. I was left at home with my two step sisters, ages 12 and 15. My step sisters were both extremely promiscuous, and they decided

to invite two older guys over, probably age 20, maybe even older. I was very naive at this age and sheltered by my mother. I knew the guys shouldn't have been in our house, but as naive as I was, I just went on with my regular nightly routine. So I take a shower, put my house code on, go into my room, and one of the older guys is laying across my bed, smiling. I remember feeling extremely uncomfortable, and not knowing how to react. I just quietly said, please get out of my room. He laid there, smiling for a second, and then left. I locked my door and didn't leave my room. My step-sisters used to gang up on me so I didn't want to tell them and have them beat me up. I could hear my sisters running through the house squealing, yelling something about

playing naked hide and seek. My stepdad ended up calling to check on us and saying he was on his way home. One of my step-sisters overheard the conversation on the other line. They would eavesdrop on all my phone calls. And they told the guys to leave out the back door. I ended up snitching to my mom eventually because my stepdad could tell something was off. I got into a lot of trouble for not telling them right then, and I understand why.

Now at age 24, as I understand it, it terrifies me to think how horrible that night really could have gone for me. This isn't exactly a scary encounter, mostly because of the way I reacted. The scary part is what I learned afterward. I'll be the first to admit, I have an nasty temper, and sometimes it gets the better of me. I also have not really had very many scary encounters, so I haven't learned to be afraid, and 40 years I've only had a handful of frightening experiences. I used to take the bus two and from work. On this particular day, I was in a seat near the middle of the bus, which was about half

full, as in just about every front-facing double-seat only had one person in it. We were bouncing along, hitting every single pothole, and I was trying to read a book when I felt something touch my hair. They assumed my hair had got caught in the collar of my coat, or in the back of my seat. I shook my head to free it, and went back to my book. Something touched my hair again. I reached back and brushed my hand over the back of my head to free my hair of whatever it was catching on.

A few minutes later it happened again. I turned around and looked at the back of my seat, then at the person in the seat behind me. A youngish guy, probably mid-30s, sporting the stubble look and wearing a grubby wrinkled t-shirt and an equally grubby jacket sat behind me. He seemed to be looking out the window so I turned around and went back to my book. A few minutes later, something touched my hair yet again. This time I didn't move. I tensed my muscles ready for the next touch, and when I felt it again, I whirled around. There was Mr. Touchy feeling with his hand raised up, to touch our eyes met. Him looking startled, and me no doubt looking murderous. Get your hands off my damn hair, I snarl that him.

Okay, at this point you're probably thinking this is poetic license. I snarl that him. point you're probably thinking this is poetic license. I snarled at him. This little woman with a round face who tends to look perpetually worried? Yep, I did. But was I scared? To tell you the truth, I was more angry than scared. I just wanted to read my book and get home, and my first reaction is usually anger before fright. And I was on a public bus with other people. It's easier to be brave when you're not alone. So I turned back and face front and went back to my book, expecting this to be the end of it. A few minutes passed.

Then my hair was grabbed and yanked. I should have moved to another seat. I should have gone up to the bus driver, but I didn't. It had been a long day, and I wasn't in any mood to take shit from anyone. I turned around and told Mr. Touchy Feeley quietly and coldly, if you touch me again, I will hurt you. For a little background on what came next, my job, both the one I was doing at the time and the job I do now, involve a lot of typing. At one point, I actually briefly wore the fingerprints off of the tips of my fingers. Lately, I've started to get an

ache in my right hand. But this also means that my hands are very strong, as in I never need someone to open a pickled jar for me. In fact, my family and co-workers come to me to get the jars opened. So of course, Mr. Touchy-Filly grabbed and yanked again. In this time I turned, grabbed his up raised hand and squeezed it as hard as I could and kept squeezing. He let out this sort of strangled scream and I let go. And now the other passengers started yelling

and the bus driver pulled over to the side of the road. I was standing in the aisle ready to fight and Mr. Touchy Philly just sat there, clutching his hand and screeching. The bus driver was clearly somewhat confused. This undoubtedly was not the scenario he'd been expecting to see, but he asked me to come and sit at the front of the bus and told Mr. Touchy Philly to stay where he was. It took remarkably little time for the police to get there, but in retrospect, we were near the junction of about three different

burrows and police from more than one burrow showed up. I was taken to sit in one police car and Mr. Touchy Philly was taken to another police car, and the rest of the passengers were briefly interviewed and then the bus was sent on its way. I never saw this man again, but here's where things got a bit scary. The very nice cop you interviewed me told me that the guy had been arrested several times for stalking and had already served two prison sentences for physically and sexually assaulting other women. All of his victims had been complete strangers, and he had initially encountered them on public transit, pulling the exact same hair-touching trick. The other women had ignored him, told him off, moved seats, and reported him to the bus

driver. I, on the other hand, literally broke three of his fingers. I'm not saying it was the right thing to do. I was informed that it was entirely possible that Mr. Tetchy Feeley might try to press charges against me for assault, and despite his history, he could potentially win. I was told that I could try to press charges against him,

but would unlikely win since all he'd actually done was touch my hair. As it happened, neither of us tried to instigate legal proceedings against each other, and I was informed later that the local DA had also declined to press charges against me for assault, and had privately said something along the lines of, you go girl. The cop also told me that if it were his daughter, he hoped she would do the same exact thing and damn the legal consequences. So Mr. Touchy Philly, let's not meet again for your sake. Don't forget to stick around after the music of your patron for your extended ad free version of this week's episode and some bonus stories as well.

If you'd like to get access, head over to patreon.com forward slash let's not meet podcast, to sign up and support the show today. This week you have heard how easy it is by Chimp with a limp, the handcuff man by strange beacons. Mr. Creepypants had a room for rent by backing away slowly now. He came for me by blue eyes 1101. It gave him a thrill by American high. My childhood friend's father by Rob 666 boss. My favorite customer by Czor? The face by Ahashi said, I saw the fear in my dad's eyes by Shizuhalikost. He was waiting in my bed by Peter Parker 23 and finally, I shouldn't have, but I did.

By Anonymous. All of the stories you've heard this week were narrated and produced with a permission of their respective authors. Let's not meet a true horror podcast is not associated with Reddit or any of the 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 like Odd Trails, my true paranormal podcast, Welcome to Paradise at Sucks and the Old Time Radiocast, all at crypticcountypodcasts.com or wherever you get your podcasts. We'll see you all next week for a brand new episode. Stay safe. Back at the start of 2021, I was completing my master's thesis research in the Pacific Northwest. research in the Pacific Northwest.