Let's Not Meet: A True Horror Podcast - 1x11: Sleepover - Let's Not Meet

Episode Date: April 1, 2019

Stories in this episode: A pastor with a creepy fetish - mangogurl.  Old Lady Sleep Over? - OrangeEevee.  The Guy Across The Street - hemlockmuffins.  Creep at Disneyland - iruleudrule.  Follow Let's Not Meet:  Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/groups/433173970399259/  Twitter - https://twitter.com/letsnotmeetcast  Website - http://letsnotmeetpodcast.com  Patreon - http://patreon.com/letsnotmeetpodcast  Twitch - https://www.twitch.tv/crypticcounty   

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episode 11 of Let's Not Meet, a True Horror Podcast. This story extends from 8th grade middle school to my freshman year in college. I'm 24 years old now, so this must have began in 2008. I was raised in a Korean household with strong Christian beliefs. Every summer and winter, there would be a youth retreat where all the teens in our church would go to one big joint retreat with counselors and teenagers from churches in and out of state. I met my best friend Hannah there. She was from Philly and had a pastor who was white, who we called pastor Allen, and I'm only stating that he's white because it ties into this whole weird fetish thing that these

retreats were predominantly Korean. After these retreats, everyone would add each other on Facebook and keep in touch. I remember a day or two after 2008, summer retreat, Pastor Allen would often reach out and ask how my quote-unquote walk with God was going since the retreat, and if I ever need someone to speak to, I could always confide in him. This didn't alarm me at the time because counselors would often keep in touch. I always kept our conversation brief, considering the fact that I was shy and timid.

Over the years, I'd always see Pastor Allen at retreats and was friendly with him. Nothing strange ever happened other than his persistence with keeping in touch with me on Facebook and other things after their treat. I slowly stopped talking to him, and eventually we didn't speak at all. This is where it all starts getting weird. One day after our summer retreat in 2011, I got a friend request from a woman named Sumiko. I noticed we had

a lot of mutual friends from the retreat, so I assumed that she was a counselor there. She messaged me immediately after I accepted her friend request. As she and I became quickly acquainted. At the time, I was 15, and she was everything I needed in an older sister. Although we never met, I let my naivety get to me, and confided in her about my teenage girl troubles. After months in, I remember walking into church and asking one of my youth leaders if they met Sumiko at the retreat. He said he had never heard of her. I asked him to check the roster, and he did only to find that there was no Sumiko on

the list. That's when things started to get very eerie for me. I panicked and went home to block Sumi off my Facebook. I saw on her page that the only person who continued to tell her it was nice seeing her was Pastor Allen. No one else from the retreat seemed to be interacting with her at all. It all started to freak me out. I blocked her and unfriended Pastor Allen.

I remember no longer attending these church retreats. The few days later, I received an email telling me that Sumiko decided to attempt suicide because of me, and that the email is coming from the mental hospital that she was staying at. They told me it was all my fault. I was a junior in high school and her high amounts of stress from the SATs, and I deleted that email because I wanted to forget about it all and focus on studying. junior and high school under high amounts of stress from the SATs, and I deleted that email because I wanted to forget about it all and focus on studying.

Shortly after, I started receiving really unfriendly anonymous messages on my tumbler. They would tell me that I was going to burn in hell for eternity if I continued to stray from God. They continued all the way into my senior year in high school. I always deleted and ignored them, or would reply sarcastically and laugh at them with my friends. Eventually, the message just faded and I didn't hear much from them anymore. In 2012, I got accepted to a close-by-Christian college and I moved into my dorm. My dorm floor decided to have a little icebreaker meeting to help us get comfortable. I met another Korean girl and we began talking about our similarities and our childhood being

raised Korean with Christian parents. I opened up to her about my encounter with Pastor Alan in midway through the story. I saw her face slowly dropping and getting pale. She told me she had a very similar encounter with the pastor she knew, and that he was also a white man working with the youth in an all-Korean church. I asked where she was from, and she replied with the same state that Pastor Allen was from. She then asked me the name of the pastor. I told her, Pastor Allen. We had the same predator in our lives, at the same age. I'm not sure where Pastor Allen is now, but I pray to God that he's not harmed any little Korean girls.

It's absolutely disgusting. He was borderline 60 years old when I was 14 or 15, and makes me sick knowing that people will pray on children in the most vulnerable ways. And ruin a lot of my perspective on Christianity as well. It's horrible to take something so spiritual and take advantage of a child with it. So Pastor Allen, with the creepy young Asian girl fetish,

let's not ever meet again. I was very young when this happened. About 7 or 8. But I remember it vividly. It's kind of scary. So I was a pretty naive child. My grandparents did warn me about stranger danger, but they mostly focused on how bad men were.

So when an old lady started talking to me, I didn't think much of it. I was actually very happy someone older was talking to me. She lived across the street, so I saw her every day when I went outside. She was very nice. She gave me sweets and little toys and knickknacks whenever she saw me. The first red flag I saw was that she would sneak into my backyard late at night and tend to our garden. At the time, I didn't see it as a problem, though, because she planted cherry tomatoes,

and I love those. Something I recently realized though was the fact that the only way to get into our backyard without needing a key was the side of the house that had my window, which was usually open due to it being summer, which is scary. The second red flag was the first time I went into her house, and this time I actually took it as a red flag because to this day I won't drink milk. So I went in. She gave me some brownies and she ended me a glass of milk. That's all I'm fine, thank you, because I already had a lot to drink at my house. Her response was to make me drink the whole cup. A full adult's ties cup, by the way, and I wasn't allowed to leave until I did.

I finished it while crying. I left in a hurry, and didn't see her again for a couple of weeks. Eventually I did get over it, though, and went back to apologize. We hung out for the whole day, and when it got late, she asked me something which, sadly, I got excited about. She asked me to sleep over. I was excited because I was never allowed to sleep over at a friend's house, and my logic was that since she's older and mature, then I would be allowed.

I ran to my grandparents and obviously they were pissed. She followed me home and when they said no, I ran to my room in tears. I heard my grandpa yelling at her through my window and when I looked and made eye contact with her, I will never forget the disappointed look on her face when she said, Why did you tell them? The old lady across the street, my younger self would have loved to meet you again, but I've grown up and I definitely don't want to ever meet you again. This happened in the summer of 2013 when I was 27 and living in a rather large city in Texas. I lived in an historic district that had gorgeous old mansions from the late 1800s and early

1900s on one block, and crack houses on another. The area was and still is in a perpetual state of transition, and I lived on the cusp of the two sections. I had moved to this area in January, from an even shadier part of downtown, to an old house that was split into four units. Each of us had one quarter of the house, so two upstairs, two downstairs. We had a common four-year area where the mailboxes were. They lived in the bottom right unit if you were looking at the house from the street.

Now despite the shadiness of the area and the crack heads that wandered around at night, I mostly felt safe. I liked the house and I liked the other tenants, all females like me, and all around my age. The girl who lived in the unit across from me, Gigi, was a little quirky but nice, and she had a gorgeous dog named Carlo. One day in early August, I ran into Karen, who lived in the unit upstairs. She told me she was moving out later that month to live with her boyfriend. I was a little bummed because she was nice and quiet, but otherwise didn't give it much thought. She moved out during the day on Thursday, August 22nd,

while the rest of us were at work. I had plans to go to my then boyfriend's house that evening, so I got home from work that evening and grabbed my dog, Leah Pold, who was a German shepherd that I just got in in July, and walked out the front door. I was locking up and started when a guy about my age came up the walkway and spoke up right from behind me. Hey, I jumped and turned, feeling mostly okay because I had Leopold even though he's a huge baby, he looks scary. So I said hello back, and he responded. Do you live here? Uh, yes, I do.

Why? Stupid to admit, I know, but I had just walked out, locked up, and had my dog with me, so I didn't feel that I could reasonably deny it. Are you moving? No, I believe one of the other tenants moved out recently, but we don't interact a lot, so I'm not 100% sure. Well her movers assaulted me today, and I want to press charges. I'm really sorry to hear that.

Did you notice the name on the van of the moving company? If so, you could contact the company and let them know what happened. He looked just fine, so I don't really know what he meant by assaulted. Yeah, okay, thanks. Bye. I thought nothing of the encounter. He seemed normal, so I went on my way, spent a few hours at my boyfriend's house and headed home.

I pulled up to my house around 9.15pm to see three cop cars with their lights on and flashing. There was also a lot of commotion in the front. I walked up to see that the glass of the front door had been busted out. As I walked up, Gigi stopped me and was pretty hysterical. She said she was in her place when she heard a loud noise that was the glass shattering. She opened her door to look. And remember, we have the bottom units in the foyer, so our front doors were right at the front of the house.

She sees a guy running away, the glass broken, and a note on the glass. The note said, watch your back. Gigi then told me that Karen told her that she was moving out. Her movers got into a caruffold with some guy because he kept trying to aggressively sell them drugs. It would not leave them alone when they asked him to. One of the movers pushed him and all hell broke loose. When Karen and her boyfriend got into her car to drive away, the guy got into his car

and followed them onto the freeway, honking and trying to make them crash. They eventually lost him. I knew immediately who they were talking about and told the police and Gigi about my earlier encounter. The police wrapped things up shortly after and our landlord who came when Gigi called, promised to fix it the next day. They couldn't find the culprit and I didn't know where he lived. Only that it had to be close because of how he left on foot after speaking with me. I went to bed thinking that things would be okay, but I was very, very wrong.

I went about business as usual the next day and went out with my boyfriend for a while. We returned around 11 p.m. and parked his car out front next to mine. There was gated parking in the back, but that night I didn't park there. The windows and blinds were open. We were playing records and drinking scotch, all as well, until I noticed movement outside. It was this guy. I watched as the guy started circling my car radically, almost like he was possessed and dancing around the vehicle like he was getting ready for some ritual. I alerted my boyfriend and he came to look with me. All of a sudden, the guy goes into a frenzy and starts beating my car with a tire iron.

I freak out, my boyfriend runs out to tell him to stop and I call 911. I'm on the phone with the operator and I'm telling her what's happening. At this point, my boyfriend was yelling at the guy to stop, and the guy told my boyfriend he had a gun, and he would kill him, and he continued to smash the car, then moved onto my boyfriend's. The operator heard him threaten us, and told us to get inside and not engage. And that's exactly what we did. I stayed on the phone with her for a very

long time and watched as he yelled and coherently at me. It was directed at me, but I had no idea what he was saying. Though I did catch a few words like slut and whore repeatedly, and he kept yelling at me. Watch your back and continue to attack my vehicle in a violent frenzy. It took cops two and a half hours to show up. I was livid at the lack of response given the act of threat and damage to my property. He was nowhere to be found when they got there, but on the plus side, it figured out where he lived. He lived in the apartment complex across the street. When the police arrived, they assessed the damage to my car and it turns out he had also decided to key my car all over. I didn't notice it when I got home because the street was rather dark and it was late.

I hadn't paid attention. On the driver's side door it looked as if he tried to spell out the word slut. Unfortunately, the police couldn't find him, and were absolutely useless. I barely slept that night, and was incredibly upset, but the story does not end there. On Sunday, Gigi called me again.

The guy was loitering around the house and staring at it from the sidewalk. She got spooked and called the cops again, but nothing happened. They couldn't find him, and honestly, I can't remember why it was so hard for them. I only remember being angry at them and him. A few nights later, Gigi heard sounds outside again, and called the cops again. This time, he had left a brick, and a note that said, watch your back.

But he laid it outside my windows. At this point, the same cops had shown up a few times, and as Gigi was in the foyer, telling them that she heard sounds and muffled talking. One of the cops looked at me quizzically and said, "...Miss, do you know the gentleman?" Did you know this gentleman before? No, I had never met him until he approached me on Thursday to ask about Karen moving out. Are you sure? Yes, I'm sure. Are you positive?

You didn't have any sort of relationship with him previously. Yes, I am. Why are you asking me? I was getting really annoyed at this point. Well, I think it's a little weird that this guy seems to be focused on you. I'm wondering if, given the word carved into your car, and what he was shouting a few nights ago, if you didn't have a previous relationship with him that ended poorly and now he's taking it out on you. I was really angry at this insinuation. It was as though I was somehow to blame for this. It was as if for him to do what he did, it had to be because I had done something. It couldn't just be because, you know, he's a fucking psycho. I can't remember exactly what I said to the officer because I was so upset.

And Gigi, bless her heart, was extremely offended on my behalf. However, in between Gigi's feminist rant, my growing anger and frustration and my dogs whining and powing for attention, the officer said something that I didn't process until a little later. He said it was obvious I was a target for a lot of the actions. Not Gigi. We were the only ones there at the time, so the upstairs was empty. And that if, if, it's true, I didn't know him previously, then he thought it was likely that he approached the movers and me intentionally, and he thought it was likely he had been watching me for a while. I went back to my place shortly after and stood in my anger while drinking copious amounts of wine from my classy box. A few nights later, in the beginning of October, I woke up in the middle of the night around 2.30 a.m. incredibly thirsty. My room was at the back of my unit, so I walked from

the back bedroom to the kitchen, which was in the middle of the unit. I'm not sure why, but for some reason I had the urge to peep through the crack of my blinds in the living room, at the front facing the street. And there he was. My house was pitch black, so he couldn't see me, but there he was. Standing on the sidewalk in front of my my unit just staring at my windows. I jumped back and started hyperventilating. Made sure all the doors were locked and contemplating calling the cops, but backs that idea because I was pissed at them.

I stayed standing and watching from the cracks and the blinds. He barely moved for almost an hour, and when he walked away, it was obvious from the way that he moved. He was either intoxicated or high on something. I made sure that the doors were locked, ran back to my bed, and checked on Leopold, who was snoozing peacefully in his bed in my room. I couldn't fall back to sleep. I was anxious all of the next day. I was also scared that Leopold was home alone and was scared that maybe the guy would break in my window this time and into my unit and somehow hurt my dog.

That was an nervous wreck. The next night I couldn't sleep at all. Around 3am I made my way to the front and there he was again. That night played out exactly as the night before. This sick dance went on for weeks until he started leaving the sidewalk and walking into the yard, closer to my house, and my window. I watched every night as he got closer, and closer. I was terrified.

Eventually one of my friends gave me his gun and another one gave me his shotgun. And yes, I knew how to use both. I have my concealed carrying license, but didn't have my own gun at the time because I was in the process of choosing which gun I wanted to buy. They didn't really make me feel better though. Those weeks were some of the longest of my life and every night was the same. I didn't sleep. Work was hard because I wasn't sleeping and I was worried about my dog. I was just a ball of panic and fear for most of October. I watched him, watch my windows, get closer and closer. Until one night he was right outside my window. Right fucking outside. I was frozen on the other side scared if I moved too much or looked through the crack. He'd

see me. Somehow I worked up the courage to peek a little. And my blood froze. He was pissing on the house right under my window. About a year prior, I had seen that movie with Sally Field called an I-Fer and I-Wer. She obsessively stalks her daughter's rapist and killer who got off on a technicality. She follows him while he's delivering groceries. After he delivers groceries to this woman's house one day, she watches as he urinates on the woman's fence before he leaves. He returns shortly thereafter to rape and kill the woman. So needless to say, I was freaked the fuck out.

I called my landlord in the morning to let him know. I needed to move and relayed some of the information and asked him if he'd let me out of the lease. He agreed. He knew he could easily find another tenant, so he wasn't worried about letting me go. A little while later, I was driving around with Leopold, just a cruise and listened to music and mall over my living situation. I was still on my street, but further up in the nice part, with the old mansions.

I loved this part of the street, and it's a relatively well-known street in my city. I was admiring the house when I saw a sign that said there was a backhouse for lease. I had loved this house since I was a little girl, and it was a huge corner lot, with a massive gate circling around the backyard, where the backhouse was located. I called immediately, spoke to the owner who said that they could show it to me that afternoon, so I called my mom to come look at it with me, and I loved it. He didn't mind that I had a dog and said that the dog could have his run of the yard as long as I cleaned up after him. He asked why I was moving and I explained the

situation to him. He told me he was a retired police chief of a relatively big city nearby and assured me that no one was getting through his fence and security system and that he'd look after me. I moved later that weekend, ended up spending almost four years in that backhouse. I'm afraid the end is very anticlimactic. The story is not as scary as some of the others on here, but I was terrified for the duration of this time. I never saw the guy again despite being in close-ish proximity. I never want to again. I don't remember exactly how old I was. I remember definitely being in elementary school probably about fifth grade. My mom and I left to go to Disneyland.

We lived about an hour's drive away and had annual passes. One of my mom's favorite rides was Tower of Terror, which I was very much afraid of because of the drops. Right in front of the ride is a little area for the fast passes. For anyone who isn't familiar, they're just small machines that you can get passes from to skip the lines. This is where I would wait while my mom went on the ride. There was always a worker there, plus many others in viewing distance, and I had one of those foot bones in case I got lost. As I'm sitting there, I hear a worker behind me talking to a man, asking him to move out of the fast-pass area since they were closing them off for the day.

The man walked out and sat next to me. He was about 18 to 20 years old. He asked beforehand if I would mind if he sat next to me, which I said no since I didn't think anything of it, and there was plenty of space in between us. Now it was a very friendly kid, so naturally I was going to start conversation with him while I waited. When I turned, he was already looking at me. He stuck his hand out, offering to shake hands with me, and gave me his name, which was light. Now that I'm older and I've watched Death Note, I'm sure it was a reference to the show. I introduced myself to him and we began to talk. As the conversation went on, he scooted closer to me. Again, I didn't think anything of it, because we were pretty far apart still.

I figured he just wanted to be able to hear me better. It was a relatively normal conversation, asking where I was from, my hobbies, and how old I was, etc. Until he asked, do you have a phone? What's your phone number? I'm a tiny fifth grader girl, and he has just told me he was 19. I froze and felt all of the adrenaline rushing into my body as he proceeds to grab and squeeze very high up on my thigh and the sides of my stomach.

That lasted for about five seconds until I saw my mom, which prompted me to get up and run to her. As I walked up, though, she looked really mad and annoyed. She was looking past me. And from behind me, I hear, hi, I'm light. He shook my mom's hand. I was wondering if I could spend the rest of the day with you guys. My mom said no, and he walked away.

I began bawling my eyes out to her. She explained the reason why she looked so angry. It was because when I was a little kid I used to invite people over to our house or to hang out with us, so she assumed that I had done it again. I didn't tell her about the touching until I began high school, which I definitely should have, but for some reason I had this idea in my head that I would have been in trouble if I told her. So, creepy Disney Land episode of Let's Not Meet, a True Horror Podcast. This outro has been recently re-recorded, as some changes were made at the request of an author for safety or privacy reasons. The credits for this week's show are all still available in the show notes.

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. If you have a story you'd like to share, send it to Let's Not Meet Stories at gmail.com. Thanks for listening. See you next time. Fresh produce is the best produce. That's why at Crogr, we invest in local farmers to bring you the freshest seasonal picks. So no matter how you shop, your local produce always

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