Let's Not Meet: A True Horror Podcast - 16x01: I Saw You Get Your Jaw Shot Off

Episode Date: January 5, 2026

Stories in this episode: It Was A Setup! | Glitter_Dorsays21 (0:38) I Saw You Get Your Jaw Shot Off…. | 138_hail_yourself (7:33) Shackles in the Storm | Mirocchi (15:09) A Teacher From Another School Stalked Me | lil_ede (20:13) The Longest 5-MInute Walk of my Life | YasulB (27:20) "Look in my Trunk." | tealthriver (32:47) He Wrote About Me on Craigslist | Conscious-Drawer8204 (37:06) I Was Stalked For Months and Almost Kidnapped | FeelGodInsideOfHer (43:28) Extended Patreon Content: Don't Use Tinder | Evie Cold-Hearted Snake | Essay Lurker from the Lake | Kristin The White Scion | Kakers666 The Honey Man | Emerson Due to periodic changes in ad placement, time stamps are estimates and are not always accurate. Want Bonus Weekly Stories? Hate Ads? Join our Patreon for only $5 a month for over 100 hours of bonus content, and it's all ad-free! Send your stories to [e-mail].    For a limited time, Nutrafol is offering our listeners $10 off your first month’s subscription and free shipping when you go to Nutrafol.com and enter the promo code MEET. For a limited time get 40% off your first box PLUS get a free item in every box for life. Go to Hungryroot.com/MEET and use code MEET. This episode is sponsored by BetterHelp. You can’t step into a lighter version of yourself without leaving behind what’s been weighing you down. Therapy can help you clear space. Sign up and get 10% off at BetterHelp.com/NOTMEET. Join the Discord:https://discord.gg/84WXQud4gE Follow: - Twitch - https://twitch.tv/crypticcounty - Website - https://letsnotmeetpodcast.com/ - Patreon - https://patreon.com/letsnotmeetpodcast - Instagram - https://www.instagram.com/letsnotmeetcast/ 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.              

This podcast contains adult language and content. Listener discretion is advised. If you have a story to share, send it to Let's Not Meet Stories at gmail.com. I moved to East L.A. during the summer after high school. My parents bought the house from my aunt and uncle, who had just moved out. We already had family in that area, so it felt familiar, and the neighborhood was nice and quiet. The plan for me was to live with my parents and save money while I figured out what I wanted to it to do next. I was getting ready to start community college and applied to a medical

assistant program. Now, back then, everyone had an opinion about East L.A. People generally described it as dangerous, even though most of them had never even been there. I grew up visiting my cousins in that same area, and it was never as dramatic as people made it sound. As such, these places just aren't scary to me. They're just neighborhoods where people live. I met Michael at my cousin's house party that summer. He had tattoos and looked edgy. When he asked me out, I said yes. I was flattered and curious about what he would be like.

He told me he knew of a place with the best guava nectar in town and said that we could go to the drive-in afterward. I actually laughed. I like guava nectar, but I had never heard anyone hype it up like that. But as I said, I was curious, so I agreed. He parked at the drive-in first.

He said that we could leave the car there, walk to the restaurant, and come back for the movie. We even asked the employees if that was okay. They said it would be fine to do that if we paid a small fee, which he did. Something about the plan felt strange, though. The restaurant was about a 20-minute walk away, and the movie started at nine.

It was already close to eight at this point. I asked him if it was a smart idea for us to walk by ourselves at night. He smiled and said that he thought I wouldn't be afraid of this area since I spent so much time in East L.A. And he said this like he was challenging me. I remembered mentioning that to him too. He used my own words to keep me from voicing my concerns, so I just went along with it. There were very few people on the street and it was dark. As we got closer to the restaurant, he stopped a few times to show me videos on his phone.

They were silly clips that he thought were funny. I felt uneasy about the walk, but it seemed like Michael wanted it to last longer than it should have. Something was off. Looking back, I think Michael was intentionally stalling. Then a car pulled up beside us. A masked man then got out and walked towards us. For a second, I thought it might be a prank, like for a YouTube video or something. Then I heard his voice, he said, I need your phone in your wallet.

I remember thinking he sounded young, maybe high school age. He sounded nervous as well, kind of out of breath. And I can't prove this, but I could tell this was not something he had done before. That was the only time I had ever been mugged, and I don't know what other mugger sound like, but I just know that this guy had never done this before. I think he was hesitating. At one point, I even remember the driver yelling. Hurry up, man. He yelled back, I'm hurrying. She's right here. He kept looking at Michael. Michael looked back. I couldn't see their faces, but something about that exchange told me they

knew each other. Then he took my wallet and phone, ran back to the car, and they drove away. Michael stood still. He didn't help. But, to be fair, I don't know what he could have done. You never know what someone with a gun might do if you make the wrong move. I was in shock trying to make sense of what just happened. I told Michael we should go to the police. He kept insisting we should still go get the guava nectar so that I would calm down.

I couldn't believe it. I had just been robbed, and he was offering me juice. I didn't have a phone and I didn't have any way to call anyone and somehow we were still walking to get guava nectar. So we got the guava nectar and then walked back to the drive-in.

When we finally got to the car I told him again that I wanted to go to the police. This time, I said that if he refused I would ask someone else in the parking lot to call. He finally said, okay. When we gave our statements at the station, things got even stranger. I said the car was gray because I knew what I saw,

but Michael insisted that it was white. I said there had been a driver who yelled hurry up. Michael said that there was no driver, and it was the same person who got back into the driver's seat of the car and drove himself off. He also kept adding other little changes. The officers were polite, but I could feel their patience thinning.

When they realized we were telling them two different stories, She said she couldn't really investigate because the two people who were there could not even agree on what happened. I knew right then and there that they were not going to investigate any further, so Michael drove me home. When my parents found out what happened, they were furious. My mom told me never to talk to Michael again, and she didn't need to repeat herself. Thankfully, I didn't lose too much. My wallet was easy to replace. and I needed a new phone anyway. I've lived in East L.A. ever since that summer. It's been eight years,

and I have never had another bad experience here. The more I think about that night, the more I'm convinced that Michael planned it all. I can still remember how he stalled to give them more time to come and mug me. I can still remember how calm he stayed throughout the whole thing. I can still remember how he tried to give the police

completely different information about what really happened. No way all of this was done by accident. Since then, I've seen Michael a few times at different places. He always wants to engage in small talk, and he's tried to invite me to several events. I always keep my guard up, and I don't agree to anything. Try to imagine being in my shoes as you listen to this,

as this was a very eye-opening experience. I was born and raised in the suburbs of a metropolitan area of the U.S. When I was in my early 20s, my boyfriend at the time, two of my best friends, who were like brothers, and one of their girlfriends decided to open a hipster type of store. I don't want to go into too many details as it would probably give the location away, but it was in a high poverty, high violent crime area. There were several independent-owned restaurants and bars opening up,

and they were making a positive impact in the area. Before continuing, I just want to quickly mention that both my cousin and I are 23-year-old females, and we had heard not so great stories about the bar directly across the street from where I was going to open the business and live above. On a random Tuesday morning at around 11 a.m., we figured we would go and check out the bar for ourselves. We got there, and this place was like any other dive bar in the Midwest, except the bartender immediately looked at us in a concerned way. He said, I don't even work here. I just live in the apartment upstairs,

and I saw that the regular bartender didn't show up. This struck us as odd, but we still decided to stay and take in our surroundings. We ordered a couple of beers and made sure to give this non-employee a decent tip. Then these two men came up behind us, kind of trapping us between them and the bar. They asked for a few dollars and gave me one of those weird-ass flip phones to hold onto as collateral.

The guy then returned to us about 20 minutes later and sauntered over and held his hand out. In his hand, there was this white substance, and he said, I can show you a new life. My cousin and I looked at each other and then replied, Huh, that's interesting. We're going to go to the bathroom now. We went to the bathroom to form an escape plan. We decided that we were going to go back out and tell the bartender that we didn't feel safe and then try to dip out to our car, which was parked right behind the building. Mind you,

it had been a few hours since we got there, so it was around 1 p.m. These dudes wound up following us out, and the car pulled up and opened its back door. Nobody got out, but they tried to grab my cousin who was smaller than me. I took her hand, and we ran to her car and locked the door. We both started crying. At this point, it was too late for me. though. We had already signed a building lease for this business space and the living unit above it. Well, flash forward maybe a month later, I saw this really tall guy who had these super thick bottle cap glasses. He was very recognizable in the neighborhood. He constantly walked up and down the street all day long. He was clearly a drug dealer, or potentially a pimp of some sort.

About a week after we all moved in, on a beautiful Midwest evening, we had taken our dogs out. We were all standing near the new building, feeling optimistic, inspired, and so excited for what was to come. And then we heard what we all thought was a car backfiring close by. We then saw a bunch of people running, screaming, and hiding around the building across the street. From my perspective, it seemed to happen in slow motion. And then I saw this guy I recognized, the guy with the Coke bottle glasses. He was holding what was left of his jaw. He was bleeding like crazy, but he was running to hide behind this building, kitty corner, from where we were.

The next day, I took a walk and I saw the whole trail of blood and became very worried about what kind of stuff might happen to us, with the new store and living above it. Three years later, I was taking a homelessness and society course in college because I really wanted to get involved in the community and help. Despite the violence, there was such a sense of real community and caring for your neighbor. It was a very small class, and I was one of the first students to arrive on the first day. I was just minding my own business, glancing up at classmates as they filtered in, and then I saw him again.

super tall guy with the glasses walked right into the room and he now had absolutely horrible scarring on his chin this was the guy who was in the car that pulled up next to my cousin and tried to grab her this was also the guy whom I had basically witnessed getting his jaw shot off I immediately froze I was afraid that he would recognize me when class started each of us had to explain why we decided to take this course He went first and explained how he had previously been involved in some terrible things. He said he had gotten shot in the face and sent to prison

where he discovered that he wanted to change and help the community instead of being a quote-unquote stain, as he said. Everyone clapped and welcomed him to the class. I never told him I was there and saw what happened or how I knew him prior to being shot. He was nice enough and I'm sure it would have been okay if I brought up my personal experience with him, but I just didn't want to open any wounds for him.

It's a very small world, even in big cities. I hope that that guy is still doing well, but I'd rather not meet him again. And to the other guys at the bar that my cousin and I went to, let's absolutely never meet again because that was terrifying. resolutions come and go but growth real lasting growth takes time and that's why i love nutrifle because they aren't promising a miracle in 30 days they're just here to help you grow your hair and confidence from within one day at a time neutralful is the number one dermatologist recommended

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spelled N-U-T-R-A-F-O-L dot com promo code meet. That's Nutraful.com promo code meet. I used to live in a small town in the middle of nowhere in Finland. My parents still live there, and I often visit during long holidays. This town is seriously tiny, with an ever-lowering population count and a compact downtown. This story took place in the middle of August when my sister had a visitor from abroad. The visitor brought gifts for everyone, so my mom wanted to give them something in return. My mom decided to buy some things for them that were local to either my hometown or Finland.

I was getting bored at home, so I decided to go and help her shop. We drove downtown and left our car in front of the first shop that we visited. Since we weren't in a hurry, I suggested that we just walk around instead of driving. My mom agreed, and we popped into different stores picking various items from the different places we stopped. The last shop that we were going to visit was the actual touristy shop. As we were walking towards it, we noted how the same. the sky had turned a very dark shade of gray. We walked into the shop and greeted the woman behind the till, and then the rain started

beating down hard. It had been an unusually hot and dry summer, so it seemed like all the rain had built up and was determined to reach the ground at once. The heavy rainfall was accompanied by loud rumbles of thunder and bright flashes of lightning. The lady behind the till had big dark hair, and a heavy, Russian accent. My mom chatted politely with her about the weather before she started browsing the items.

The store was tiny and filled with local crafts and items plastered with local sites, few as they were. While they technically had a big front window, the lower part was mostly obscured by tables and low shelves filled with merchandise. As the chatter between my mom and the shopkeeper grew quiet,

the rain and thunder outside did not. We then heard even more noise from outside. It was metallic jingling. I didn't think anything of it, as the town center was under construction. I knew that many things could be making that sound, and if not, a car might have been dragging a chain. The shopkeeper, on the other hand, got curious and shuffled from behind the counter to the window.

What is that? Should I go do something? That's very odd. The woman said in somewhat broke and finish. Both my mom and I perked up and moved into a position where we could see outside as well. What we saw gave us both paws. There was a man already walking away so we could only see his back. He was hunched over and he was moving very slowly with great difficulty for a very obvious reason.

Those are chains, the shopkeeper asked. I asked. Shackles, my mom and I both corrected in unison as we kept looking. The man had very heavy shackles on his feet. Did he escape from somewhere? There isn't a mental institution in town anymore, the shopkeeper asked. As he started to disappear in the distance, we all relaxed a bit, but kept talking and trying to guess what that was all about. I opened the door for a moment and stuck my head out.

but was only rewarded with wet hair, as the man was already gone. My mom ended up calling the police just in case it was something someone should be worried about. I checked both local news and social media, but no one else seemed to be aware of it. I read somewhere that no one was even using heavy shackles like this anymore. The prison system had given up on using them back in the 80s. When we told my dad, he claimed he must have been. a protester, but why would someone stage their protest during a rainstorm in a part of town where no one even lived? There were no other people outside, and on the other side of the street

there was an almost empty parking lot. That already debunks my personal theory about it either being a film shoot or an art project. There didn't appear to be anyone they're recording anyways. And why would someone shoot in unpredictable circumstances that would be hard to replicate if they needed to reshoot? Whoever this was, and whatever the case may be, I was thoroughly creeped out, and so was my mom. My sister's visitor, on the other hand, was very excited about hearing the story and claimed that it was all they wanted from their trip to Finland. I was a shy kid. In elementary school, I didn't think I spoke to anyone unless I was spoken to.

And even then, I was often so anxious about being perceived that I kept my replies short. Afterward, I spent the next few hours replaying the conversation in my head, hoping I didn't come off as weird. I had a lot of trouble with boys, too, so it was no wonder I spent a lot of time. lot of my time in the guidance counselor's office. My guidance counselor was a sweet younger woman. She and my mom got along well, and I even kept in contact with her through Facebook as I got older. She was truly awesome. At the time I got to high school, I had broken out of my shell a bit. I became a varsity competitive cheerleader, and I was in all AP and honor classes. I was the top-ranked art student and the president of the art club. I was also dating.

a complete asshole. I truly got the real high school experience. At my high school, there was an option to take tech classes at an applied learning center. They offered us a ton of courses like cosmetology, automotive courses, and other things like that. It was truly a great tool for those who weren't planning on college and those who just wanted to gain some technical skills before graduating high school. I couldn't take any courses at the tech school, but my boyfriend did. He took some sort of police course, and it happened to be taught by my elementary school guidance counselor's husband. The guidance counselor's husband was a very large man. What I mean by this is that he was the most ripped man I had ever seen. His arms were the size of my head,

and that's not an exaggeration in the slightest. He was an arm wrestling champion at one time. This is also not an exaggeration. Over the few semesters, my boyfriend was in his class, the two became pretty close. I guess the guy became sort of a mentor to him. And since I knew his wife, we even ended up having dinner over at their house. Looking back now, I have no idea

why two educators thought it was a good idea to invite two high school students over to their house. But they did. They even had two young daughters who were probably around five and seven. They were also in competitive cheer, so I spent most of the evening talking with them. Dinner was uneventful,

and I never thought twice about it, as odd as it was. Afterwards, my boyfriend's teacher followed me on Instagram. He would like or comment on my pictures and occasionally message me. It was never about anything weird, and since he was my boyfriend's mentor and my past guidance counselor's husband,

I didn't really think twice about it. I remember him messaging me once to ask if I would come over some time to give his daughter's tumbling lessons. This didn't even raise any suspicions from me. I remember thinking, Wow, what a great idea. I was so naive.

Now fast forward a year or so later, I finally realized that my boyfriend was a jerk and I dumped him. I would see his teacher at my teacher at my cheer competitions and he would still occasionally message me. I still didn't think that it was weird since his daughters were still into cheering as well. I was sitting in my AP statistics class one day,

goofing off in the back row with a friend of mine when I heard my name called over the intercom. I was being asked to report to the principal's office. Almost simultaneously, my stepdad started texting me, asking me weird questions about pictures that I did not understand. Right then and there, all of my anxiety came rushing back. I had never been to the principal's office before, and as I stood up to leave class, everyone was staring at me.

As I walked into the office, I was surprised to see my mom standing there crying. A detective was standing next to her, and a big yellow folder was sitting on the desk in front of them. The folder was full of pictures of me, and they were found on my ex-boyfriend's teacher's phone. The folder was incredibly thick. He had been stalking me, and I had no idea. I never opened the folder because I didn't want to know what was inside.

After I left the office that day, I never heard another word about it, except that he was fired. It almost feels like a dream, but it really did happen. I'm just glad I never went to his house to give his daughter's tumbling lessons. So to my ex-boyfriend's teacher

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I'm a 22-year-old male, and this happened on a regular morning. I had just gotten off of the buzz, and I was walking the five minutes to campus with my headphones on. The university was massive, plastered with signs, so you couldn't miss it. And that's an important detail. This dirty little minivan pulled up beside me. The man inside looked like he was in his 40s.

His clothes were grimy. The van was grimy. But nothing seemed strange. He seemed like an ordinary guy driving one of those local vans that haul all kinds of junk. He gently asked where the university was. I smiled and pointed, told him it was straight ahead, and declined his offer when he asked if I wanted a lift. He then drove off, so I put my headphones back in and kept walking. One minute later, the van stopped in front of me again. Get in, he said. I'll give you a ride. I smiled and repeated, no thanks, adding that I was only

a few steps away. He stared at me for a few seconds, and then drove away. I kept going, and then my friend called, telling me that he would be late, and I'd have to wait in the cafeteria. I answered the phone, and as I talked, the van rolled up beside me for a third time. He asked again, but this time the tone had shifted. He looked at me longer. His gaze slid from my chest to my feet. He wasn't just offering help anymore. He looked tense like someone who expected to be obeyed. I took the phone away from my ear and told him,

dude, the university is literally two steps away. I pointed at it and said, thanks, but no. He watched me for a few seconds more and drove off. The road stayed pretty clear after that. By then, I had realized he wasn't lost. If he wanted to get to campus, he'd already be there. He then looped the block again. He was now circling me.

My first honest thought was confusion, but then it turned to anger. Why had I been polite? And then I got a sharper feeling. Concern. I flipped into survival mode. I didn't know what this guy's deal was. If he wanted to rob me, he had many chances to do so.

The road was empty. One minute later, at the edge of the campus wall, he stopped me again. Get in, I'll give you a ride. He insisted yet again. This time I looked him dead in the face and replied, No, now you can go wherever the hell you want to go. He didn't even look me in the face after that. He stared at my hair, then my body,

and he did this for about half a minute. slow and hungry like some kind of predator deciding which move to make. I couldn't read his eyes, so I couldn't tell what was going on. Lust, maybe something darker, I didn't want to know. I then noticed something in the passenger seat. A rope. Sure, it was a small detail, but noticing it landed like a weight in my chest. For a second, I imagined scenes.

I was imagining jumping him, punching him, and teaching him a lesson. I felt that boiling instinct, like I could handle it, since I was a guy like him. I wasn't very strong, but I thought I had a good chance of standing up against him.

Even so, I crossed the road and slipped through the university gate, leaving the van behind me. But the van pulled up near the campus walls and parked. I stopped inside the door, frozen and shaking with a mess of emotions, shock, confusion, and anger.

I even told myself out loud that maybe I should have just gotten into the van. Maybe I should have let him put his hands on me so that I could have beaten him when he let his guard down. I truly wanted him to meet the wrong person. And believe it or not, I turned around and I headed back outside, back toward him, to do it. Then my friend messaged me and said, Okay, I just got here, let's meet up and study. He then called me, telling me to hurry so that we could have.

find a good spot in the library. I let out a slow sigh and walked back inside, leaving the van outside. Now, in retrospect, I know how reckless that impulse to go back and confront the van was. It was just raw emotion. I'm calm and gentle by nature, but sometimes men think they can handle problems like this, and they think they can fix it with force. That's not always true. It can go wrong in a second, and I'm very lucky it didn't go wrong for me. When I told my friend this, he told me it was very reckless to even consider confronting the guy in the van, and I agree. So if you hear this, please stay safe. In 2010, I was living in Quincy, Massachusetts with my husband, a new baby, and a roommate.

It was a Saturday, so I was taking a much-needed break from the baby and went to run errands and have some alone time. My first stop was the local Radio Shack to get a phone accessory. After making my purchase, I walked out of Radio Shack deep in thought about my to-do list. I was enjoying myself when a voice broke through my reverie. Excuse me, miss. Can you please help me? I blinked in confusion and looked over at the man who addressed me. He was an older man.

Everything about him was beige from his khaki slacks to his brown cardigan and his tweed flat cap, not to mention his sandy-colored mustache. Even the car he stood next to, a boat-sized town car, was a faded champagne color. I hesitated As a big believer in the golden rule

I generally try to help people whenever I can but something about this situation gave me pause so I just stood there in the middle of the parking lot What do you need? I asked He smiled warmly There's something wrong with my car He explained as he held up the key fob When I click it the car won't lock

It's very strange can you come over and take a look He then gestured to his car and clicked the fob in demonstration. Still hesitating, I replied, I don't know anything about cars, but we're right here at the radio shack. Maybe someone in the store can help you. No, no, no, he insisted. I think we can figure this out together. Come over here and look.

Again, I repeated that I didn't think that I could help him. I could see that he was getting agitated, yet he continued to smile through it. He then walked over to the back of his car and opened the trunk. But here's the strangest thing, he continued. The doors won't lock, but the trunk will. He then started waving at me eagerly and said, Come here and take a look at the trunk.

I began to feel very confused. Part of me wanted to go over and help, yet my greater instincts prevailed. I began to walk in the opposite direction, toward my car, repeating over and over again to the man. I can't help you, just go inside Radio Shack for help. As I walked away, I saw him throw up his arms and disgust, slam the trunk shut, and get into his car and drive away. I drove on to my next errand, feeling very unsettled.

But as I tried to process the encounter, I began to have doubts about my reaction. Maybe he was genuinely just an old man who needed help. Did I do the right thing? When I returned home, I shared my encounter with my husband and roommate. I expected that they would laugh and assure me I was being overly paranoid.

Instead, they looked at me with wide eyes. My husband then said, that guy was trying to kidnap you. I didn't report the incident to the police, as I didn't have any useful information regarding a license plate number, and I didn't think a man asking for help with his car counted as harassment.

I did always wonder what the man's true intentions were, though. On a lark, I decided to Google, attempted kidnappings in Quincy, and hopes that my search would turn up empty, and that this was truly just an innocent, if awkward, encounter. Imagine my dismay when I pulled up an article that said, Quincy Man Accused of Attempting to Kidnap Woman, 20. I immediately recognized the perpetrator as the man at the radio shack. A follow-up article revealed that he actually lived in my old neighbor. I often wonder if I was one of his first attempts at kidnapping, and what would have happened to me if I had gone over to look into his trunk? So I was telling a co-worker this story, and she suggested that I share it here.

Back when I was about 17, around 2009, I worked as a courtesy clerk at a grocery store, bagging groceries, and bringing in carts. My mom and sister also worked there, so the place felt like family. Most of the guys who I worked with were protective of me, which honestly was a blessing because I was hit on by older men a lot. My boss would even follow me home some nights just to make sure that the creeps weren't trailing me. One incident, though, has stuck with me. It was an insanely hot day.

I had just finished wrangling a mountain of carts and ducked into a little pizzeria corner of the store to cool down. Out of nowhere, this man who appeared to be in his 20s or 30s came up and handed me his number. He didn't say much, if anything, and he just walked off after handing it to me. I was too overheated to react. The next day, while outside, a silver,

minivan pulled up to me. I noticed baby's shoes hanging from the rearview mirror. The man driving the van tried to talk to me, and I remember cutting him off saying, I'm 17 and I have a boyfriend. Usually that scared men away, but it didn't scare this one away. That night near closing time, my cashier whispered that someone was watching us. I turned and saw the same guy from the minivan, standing around the car. the corner staring.

I told my night manager, who immediately opened the office door while counting tills so that he could keep an eye on things. The guy eventually left the store, but he just waited outside. My manager ended up following me home again that night. A few days later, my aunt randomly texted me, which is unusual, as we hardly talked. She sent me a link to a Craigslist missed connections. post and asked if it was about me. Turns out

it was. The post said something like, I saw you working at the grocery store. You were cute. You wore a bow in your hair, suspenders hanging from your shorts, a bunch of wristbands, and had bright colored hair. Your name tag said, Garrett.

I'm 40, and I would like to meet up. The Garrett part really freaked me out. Garrett wasn't me. My coworkers and I used to switch name tag sometimes to mess with customers and see their reactions so not only was this guy watching me closely enough to describe my entire outfit

but he also memorized the fake name I happened to be wearing that day I ran to my manager and I showed him the post he immediately replied to it with too young for you parent after that things got weirder I would see the same silver van around, but sometimes I wasn't sure if it was even the same guy. Once I rushed inside after spotting it,

only to have the man suddenly follow me down an aisle. There was no way he could have parked that fast and gotten inside so quickly. I honestly don't understand how that even happened. When I screamed, he bolted out before anyone else saw him. The police got involved and escorted me home every night. for a week. Eventually I transferred to another store in a different town, and I never saw the van or the man again. Being hit on by creepy older men unfortunately never stopped, but that Craigslist

post still gives me chills. I wish I could find it again. It was so unsettling reading how he described me. So to the man who wrote that Craigslist post about a 17-year-old girl, let's not meet. This episode is sponsored by BetterHelp. Every January, there's pressure to reinvent yourself. New habits, new goals, a whole new identity. But lately, I've been thinking about a different approach. Instead of doing more, what if the goal this year is to carry less, to let go of the stuff that's been quietly weighing you down?

Therapy has helped me understand that feeling like, lighter doesn't come from forcing change. It comes from identifying what's heavy in the first place. Having space to sort through old patterns, expectations, and stress made it easier to see what I didn't need to drag into the next year. Sometimes progress isn't about adding something new. It's about finally setting something down. That's where better help comes in. Therapy can be a way to gain an unbiased perspective on your life, to shine a light on what's been weighing you down so you can make room for what actually matters. I remember before I started therapy, I thought, what are they going to tell me that I don't already know about myself? I was

always putting myself down just assuming nobody would help. A better help works with fully licensed therapist who follow a strict code of conduct, and they do the initial matching work for you so you can focus on your goals. With over 12 years of experience and an industry leading match fulfillment rate, they usually get it right the first time. And if not, you can switch to a different therapist from their tailored recommendations. Trust me, I've been through a handful of therapists, and it took me a while to find the right one. But once I did, everything clicked.

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You can't step into a lighter version of yourself without leaving behind what's been weighing you down. Therapy can help you clear space. Sign up and get 10% off at betterhelp.com slash not meet. That's betterhelp.com slash not meet. When I was 17, I lived with my grandparents and a tucked-away suburban neighborhood in Southern California.

I was very social back then. I partied a lot and I was basically out doing something every single night, so I was usually getting home anywhere from 2 to 5 a.m. We had only lived there for maybe six months and only had one key. The neighborhood was full of old people. There were some younger families as well, but everyone was upper middle class. No one drove onto our street unless they lived there or knew someone who did. My family was always home, so I never took the sole house key,

and the front door and sliding door in the backyard were always unlocked, so I was free to come home any time of the night, and I would lock it behind me. My husky slept outside and liked to come in and out as she pleased, which is the main reason the sliding door in the backyard is always open all night. There's another reason why I'm mentioning my dog that's important to the story, and I'll circle back to that in a bit. Anyway, fast forward to a random night. I was out with a friend of mine.

I don't have any recollection of what we did that night. We probably went to somebody's house and did a bunch of coke until 3 a.m. Then she drove me home, since I don't drive, and dropped me off at about 3.45 a.m. I got out of her car, said goodbye, headed inside, and locked the door behind me, as usual. I then went into the kitchen and popped a couple of noodles into the microwave.

About five minutes later, I went upstairs to my room. My room was on the second story of the house directly above the garage and driveway. Looking out my window, about 50 yards away, you see the entrance to my street, which is shaped like the letter P. So anyone who drove into my street could clearly be seen looping around and passing our house via the same road. This was when I looked out my window and I saw them. The lights in my room were already on,

and my curtains were already drawn from when I left in a hurry earlier in the evening. I walked up to the window and shut the curtains when I looked down into the driveway. Between my grandparents' four parked cars, there was a very large man standing there, staring up into my window. He was standing completely still

with a blank stare on his face. He appeared to be in his late 20s or early 30s, and he was about 6'2 and at least 250 pounds. I can't remember what he was wearing entirely, but his red shirt stood out to me. I immediately dropped to the floor, but there was no way he didn't already see me. As I dropped, I saw another man walking out from my gate,

which isn't visible from the window. He then stood next to the driveway briefly, and then walked toward the other man. I heard a brief exchange between the two, but I couldn't understand what they were saying, as they weren't speaking English. After I dropped to the floor, I crawled to my grandpa's office, which sat directly next to my room, and had a window that also faced the driveway. The lights were off in there, so I could look out that window without being seen. The man whom I saw standing between their cars was still standing there, staring at my window motionless.

The other man was looking around and pointing to the house. I nearly vomited. I then crawled to my grandparents' room down the hall. I frantically knocked on their door trying to stay quiet so as not to tip off these men, because I wanted them to be caught and questioned by the police. My grandparents finally woke up and could barely understand me

because I was shaking so badly and my words were just spilling out. My grandpa, being the fearless, grumpy old man that he is, put on his robe and decided to walk outside and investigate himself. I called the cops and watched from the upstairs window to make sure nothing happened to him. By the time he went outside and stood in the driveway

the men were no longer in sight. A few moments later A car sped out of our street It had its lights off And there was no license plate Once my grandpa came back inside He told me that when he went out there They were parked next to the next door

neighbor's car in her driveway With the car on but the lights off And the seats reclined He said it looked like they were sleeping Or pretending to When they looked over and saw him They reversed out of the driveway and sped off. The cops took a whopping 30 minutes to show up. They didn't even want my descriptions of the men

or the car. They just said to lock the doors and call the cops if they came back. They drove around my street for a bit and then left. Great. Thanks for the help. My grandpa thought that I was just on drugs and didn't feel the level of urgency or danger that I felt. My grandpa was very nonchalant, even though I saw them, which pissed me off and made me feel even more helpless. I slept on the floor of their room that night, and for about three months after that. That wasn't the end, though. Now let's circle back to my husky. Her name is Nala, and at the time, she was about two years old. She's small for a husky, about 50 pounds, but people who aren't super familiar with dogs, still think she looks pretty intimidating.

She chose to always sleep outside, which is why we always left the slider of the back door open, as I said. Now, my grandparents would get pissed off when I would close and lock it because Nala would have accidents in the house when I did this. Anyway, about a month or so, before the night I saw those men, I was in the backyard and I saw Nala chewing on something. She has possessive aggression With certain things like bones

And things that she's stolen That basically means that when you go near her And she's in that possessive state She'll growl Flash her teeth, snarl And even lunge at you If you even dare to reach your hand out To indicate that you intend to take away what she has

You'll probably lose that hand When I walked up to her she lunged at me She happened to have a steak, a rotten moldy, obviously old, teabone steak she somehow found. It looked like she had been working on it for a while. I asked my grandparents about it and they said they didn't give it to her. I also asked my neighbors and they had no idea what I was talking about. So I didn't think anything of it until it happened four more times. On four separate occasions I found her with a T-bone steak.

that had meat clinging to it, rotten meat. I threw them away each time I found them. I asked my neighbors again, but they still were saying that it hadn't been them. As I said, this was coincidentally happening in the weeks leading up to that night that I saw those men. The event that made me start to connect the dots between the stakes Nala was finding, and these men, happened the second time I encountered them. About three months after that initial event, I went on a trip to Europe to visit some family for a month.

I hadn't been sleeping in my room, so I was excited to get away for this trip. Nothing had happened since that night, but the trauma and fear I had experienced were very real. It made me lose weight. I stayed up all night listening to every noise that I heard in analyzing it, peaking out the windows every couple of minutes until 6 a.m. I was a wreck.

While out of the country, I came to terms with everything in my own mind and decided I had to stop living in constant fear. What would those men do to me if I hadn't seen them? If they wanted to break in and rob us, why were they doing it at a time when everyone was home? If they were peeping Tom's, they could have parked on my street and watched me all night, and I never would have known. Were they planning to try and take me? I should mention, I'm a model, I'm not widely known, but I have a decent social media following. I do a lot of live streams and I'm very interactive with my followers. I've been online in the spotlight since I was 13.

About a week after I returned from Europe, I decided I was finally going to go out and socialize again. It was the first time I really felt okay and not so afraid of doing so. I got used to things being normal again and was excited to move on from the whole thing. That night I got home earlier than usually, around 1 a.m. I had my key to let myself end as we started locking the door after that night.

My friend waited for me to go through the gate and get to my door before pulling away. As I pulled out my keys and walked up to the door, I heard some rustling in the bushes. I thought that I was being paranoid and figured it was just an animal. When I heard the rustling, I instinctively flashed my unlock phone screen in that direction for light to look into the pitch black backyard. At that exact moment, someone about four feet in front of me, in the backyard, flashed their phone screen as if they were investigating the same way I was. I didn't see the person. I just saw the phone screen. It had a text conversation open on it. I noted that it wasn't an iPhone. I let out a gasp, and they whipped around the corner into the backyard while I bolted inside the front door.

I ran to the backslider, slammed it, and locked it, then ran upstairs while calling the police. The entire interaction outside happened in about 10 seconds. The police showed up and didn't do anything at all, just like before. After talking with them for a while, I went upstairs to my room and peered out the window as they spoke to my grandparents. As I was scanning the streets from the window, I heard a whistle coming from directly below me in the driveway. It was that type of whistle people do when they're trying to get someone's attention. It was as if someone were communicating with their buddy saying,

The cops are here, let's go. My theory is that these men were stalking me and casing our house for at least a month before I saw them. them that first night. They must have seen my dog, and not knowing that she doesn't bark or attack strangers, they baited her with stakes to gain her trust so that they could get into the backyard without a problem. We moved a couple of months later due to something unrelated, and I never saw them in again. To this day, I still struggle with PTSD from those events. I've lived in constant fear and paranoia. I can't be alone at night at all.

I think the reason it affects me so much is that they were never caught. Nobody knows what their end goal was, which was the worst part for me. How did they find me? Did they follow me home from seeing me somewhere in public one night? Were they some of the workers who were on the roof the month prior? Everyone on our street had their roofs redone one by one for about a month, and since I was on the top floor, I often woke up to the workers, sitting in my windowsill adjacent to my bed

with my curtains open literally inches away from me. Did one of the workers tell a friend there was a teenage girl who always left her curtains open? Did they find me through social media? I'll never know, and it kills me. I swear I still hear that whistle every now and then. Honestly, it might be auditory hallucinations at this point, but I don't know.

I'll never know who those men were or what their intentions were, but regardless, let's not meet again. Thanks for listening and stick around after the music if you're a patron for your extended version of this week's episode. If you want to get access, go to patreon.com forward slash let's not meet podcast to sign up and support the show today. You'll get access to ad-free versions of all of our episodes at a higher bit rate

plus bonus content in those extensions every week with stories you won't hear anywhere else. Again, that's patreon.com forward slash let's not meet podcast or follow the link in the show notes. Be sure to check out the new episodes of my other podcasts like Odd Trails and the old-time radiocast at Cryptic County Podcasts.com or wherever you get your podcasts. And follow me on Twitch at twitch.com. If you have a story to share, send it to Let's Not Meet Stories at gmail.com. This week you have heard, it was a setup by Glitter Dorsays 21. I saw you get your jaw shot off by 138 Hail Yourself,

shackles in the storm by Marochi. A teacher from another school stalked me by Lil Eadie. The longest five-minute walk of my life by Yasul B. Look in my trunk by Teal Thriver. He followed me in a van, then wrote about me on Craigslist by Conscious Dore 8204, and finally, I was stalked for months and almost kidnapped by feel God inside of her.

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 of the message boards online. We'll see you all next week. Everybody, stay safe.

I'm a female, and I'm 5'5 with a stalking muscular dome, and I've got to say that.