Let's Not Meet: A True Horror Podcast - 1x19 Carol - Let's Not Meet

Episode Date: May 27, 2019

Stories in this episode: Carol - wynkenblnkennod Roommate story - Anon "So, how much for the little one?" - SteelButterflye Pastor Six-piece - backingawayslowlynow Visit http://sacpodfest.com for details on the first ever live Let's Not Meet show! 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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Woo! My name is Andrew Tate and this is season one episode 19 of Let's Not Meet, a true horror podcast. Two years ago, my significant other and I found the perfect place to rent. It was a small tract of fabricated homes. The neighborhood was nice. It was quiet, which for two college seniors wanting to get out of the noisy dorms was heaven. Now because this was Arizona and it was pre-Fab houses, most of the folks that lived in

our neighborhood were 60 or older, save a few. To our left, Sandra and David, an awesome couple, and their early 60s both retired postal workers. They spent summers and main and winters here. To our right, a 40-something who supposedly owned her own home business named Carol. She looked like she perpetually was sucking on a lemon, and she was just off. At first, she would occasionally join my significant other for a smoke on the porch, or if we barbecued with Dave and Sandy, we would invite her over. To say that she was awkward was putting it lightly. We suspected maybe. She was on the

spectrum or something like that. We would be eating and she would describe how her mother died a slow agonizing death when a tumor in her throat burst, or there was the time when she would describe her latest yeast infection in detail. I kid you not. Sometimes I would work out on the porch. I had a small bench with a bar and some weights. One day I'm lifting when I almost dropped the bar on my neck. Leaning over was Carol. I could have snapped your neck like a twig. She mumbled. I sat up.

Pardon? I asked. I said you really could have hurt yourself. I doubted what I had heard, chalking it up to not hearing her correctly, but she had this smirk on her face. After that, I tried my best to ignore her. However, I had not told my significant other of my suspicions that maybe Carol was a bit fucking insane. I come home from class one evening, and my girlfriend and Carol are on the porch. I went inside because I was coming down with something, and I just wanted to go to bed.

My girlfriend comes in and tells me that she's going to her job. She worked nights as a dispatcher for the campus police. Now, I'm out of it, so she kisses me good night and says that she will lock up the house and see me in the morning. Around 1 a.m., I wake up covered in sweat. I go to get a glass of water and drink it down. I see my girlfriend or who I assume to be my girlfriend on the couch. I'm so out of it

that I crawl back into bed and fall asleep. The next morning I wake up, so my girlfriend comes in the door telling me that work was crazy. Wait, you weren't at work, you were here. She looks at me funny. I get a sick feeling in my gut. Viva or no fever. I know I saw someone on the couch. So she writes it off as a fever dream. The house was locked up. I forget about it. Life goes on and graduation is approaching. Things with my side of the family, well specifically my egg donor, go badly. Long story, my girlfriend is offered a job in her home state of New York City. So we give notice to our landlord and we let Sandy and Dave know. And one night we tell Carol, she blinks at us and gets up and heads over to her house not saying a word.

And we brush it off as weird carol. That night, we're asleep. We hear a creaking coming from the living area. I sit up. My girlfriend hears it. She grabs my arm and I grab the metal bat from under my bed. Who's there?" I ask. Wack, the door thuds. Thank God, it's locked. My girlfriend dials 911. Meanwhile, I'm watching as someone is recreating the door scene from the shining except whoever was doing it was using a small hatchet. They still were making progress on the door as it was pretty much hollow.

The six minutes it took for the police to get there felt like a lifetime. I can now see the hatchet's tip in the door. Suddenly, we hear the cops tell someone to put their weapon down. I had no idea who it was until we were let out of our place. On the couch and cuffs is Carol. We learned after that she had been in and out of jail. Supposedly, she went cuckoo for cucko puffs from long-term use of meth. She was arrested and charged with breaking and entering and destruction of property. I tried to get her own attempted assault, but she made a plea deal that included some kind of psychiatric treatment. I could never prove that she was in my place that day.

I was sick, but I'm sure it was her. As we were moving, I was messing around with our storage space, which is really just a crawl space under the home. We had never used it. Curious, I crawled around underneath the house and saw that if you kicked hard enough you could get the screen that led the door outside off really easily. Who knows how many times she might have been in our place or under our house listening to us. We still keep in touch with Sandy and Dave. The unit carol rented was sold and they haven't seen her since. She was carted off to jail.

Thankfully we are thousands of miles away and never have to see her again. You're already there, hero. But if you want to take it to the next level, turn up Bull Loose in your backyard. Bull Outdoor can help you design, build, then deliver the outdoor kitchen of your dreams. Think of all the fun you'll have. Grills, pizza ovens, sinks, ice chests, refrigerators, and more. All designed to last a lifetime. Start customizing now at bullbibq.com. That's bullbibq.com and turn a bull loose in your backyard.

Before any judgment is placed, I would like to say that I wasn't in the best state of mine prior to, nor during the situation. I had just went through a particularly difficult breakup, a suicide attempt, moved back in with a parent, and then experienced a sexual assault by a trusted friend. I did not have a good judge of character, and was by far hitting my rock bottom. After several months at my mother's home and after the sexual assault, I realized I desperately needed to get out of that atmosphere and try to get back up on my feet. I found a cheap home for rent and began my life all over again. It wasn't the nicest place, certainly not as warm and comforting as my last place, but it would do temporarily.

Shortly after moving in, still not in the right mindset, and with the huge lack of self-care, I began using almost anything that I could get my hands on. Psychedelics like acid and mushrooms, and then even MDMA, and anyone who's experienced MDMA, can tell you, it gives you an incredible sense of happiness and content, which at the time I had neither. These short-term bouts of false happiness sucked any remaining serotonin from my brain and left me feeling just, if not more, empty inside. On top of that, after my suicide attempt, I was abruptly taken off all my medications, as I used them to hurt myself prior. This meant my sleeping medication, and with it trickled down that familiar insomnia,

then my SSRI, which when you completely stop abruptly, it can exceedingly send you into a state of manic depression and confusion. And last but not least, my anxiety medication. I relied on this for years. It took me out of my agoraphobia and helped with my PTSD triggers, which having my attacker live just several blocks away on the very same street as another individual who abused me from ages 11 to 14, I simply lost all ability to cope. After some time of intense withdrawals

from my anxiety medication and even experiencing a seizure I began to buy pills. The only ones available were Xanax, which I quickly developed tolerance to and at my worst was taking anywhere from 12 to 20 milligrams a day. Because of the Xanix abuse, there were many things I didn't completely recall, such as my wedding, to a bass-playing musician that I had only known a month, as well as much of the month we spent together. My most vivid memories were lying on the couch watching the office on Netflix religiously, shaking and sweating in between buys and re-ups from my pill-dealer. I began drinking heavily and hanging out with the wrong crowd. A grunge punk crowd, the ones

that crowd-surfed, much of their lives destroyed things and their paths, didn't work and commonly used others, burning each individual bridge as they passed. As I was in no state to actually care, I enjoyed their company and one individual in particular. I'll refer to as side show Bob started to become what I thought was my best friend, even wearing a dress at my wedding as my quote unquote, made of honor. He often wore women's clothes, not because he was transgender but because he simply liked to. Some made fun of him for this, but I thought it was cool but because he simply liked to. Some made fun of

him for this, but I thought it was cool, and that he didn't care what others thought. He really seemed to have a kind of goofy nature about him that I admired, but as a man that wore women's clothes, he often would get into my closet. I'd like to add that Bob had very poor hygiene. He wore no deodorant. He showered rarely in his feet. Those feet left a smell that permanently absorbed into the carpet fibers, that stayed even after I moved out. He would often hop off the couch at 4pm or so to rush to his pizza delivery job.

He never stopped a shower or even brush his teeth. He'd even wake up and throw back on the same uniform that he'd been wearing for weeks, which stunk of cheap weed, pizza grease, and feet. On New Year's Eve of 2016, I left my at-the-time husband. After a serious withdrawal and being around him, completely sober, it became obvious that he was using meth. I was suspicious of it before, as I used to use it when I was much younger, along with nearly half of my family members. You can always sense it.

He knew before marrying me that this was the big no for me. My brother and cousin, my father's heart attack and death, all contributed to meth use. He knew this when he married me yet kept its secret. I do blame myself partly for this. It's the kind of thing that occurs when you marry a stranger. About a year later, he passed away from a shot-laced with fentanyl. They found his body five days later. After the separation from my husband, I allowed Bob to stay.

He didn't have a room, he slept on the couch. He didn't contribute to groceries or bills, and quite frankly, turned my home into a disgusting mess, but since my OCD seemed to have dissolved into my drinking, I preferred not being alone with my thoughts. I didn't really mind. Within a week of leaving my husband, Bob grew increasingly more obsessed with the thought of us being together. I made it very clear I had no intentions with him, and valued our friendship, not to mention I was about to experience my first divorce, and all the shame

that came along with that. I started avoiding home. I started avoiding him. Every time I'd return to the home, he'd be there, and tears, some days I'd find him not only in my clothes, but in my bed. Eventually, he quit his job to have a better chance of seeing me. He'd follow me, room to room, demanding to know why it is that I can't see us together. Eventually, I told him to stop, and that he needed to leave, but he was quick to throw back into my face, that legally, he was a tenant in my home, and he needed a 30-day notice. I'm not going anywhere, bitch," he said. Things grew more aggressive, and I grew more uncomfortable, and afraid by the days. His tears turned to anger.

His questions turned to screaming. One very vivid memory I have is him staring me directly in the eyes, red-faced, spit-flying, screaming. I'm sick of being fucking rejected by women. He was no longer my goofy drinking buddy. He was someone I absolutely could not be around." A police officer suggested that I get a restraining order to get him off the premises, which I did, then I kept the doors locked.

His only few possessions in my home were a guitar and amp, which I placed on the back porch then notified him. He immediately tried to break into my home, kicking the old front door with such force that I could see it begin to crack at the deadbolt, leaving dark shoe prints on the cracked white paint. The police had trouble serving him. He quit his job. He had no actual address. Although I provided them with this car description license plate and friend's addresses.

Morning, noon and night, I'd find myself crying, pressed up against that door hoping it wouldn't break. Every time I called the police, he had already left. I'd find myself up at night, staring at the windows, watching that loud green car of his drive-by, filling my pulse rise, phone in hand. For weeks, I received surprised visits from him. Most were terrifying, occasionally some were thought out. One evening, he had a mutual friend knock on the door which I happily opened, only for him to quickly jump out from behind the door and attempt entering. I moved swiftly and as strongly as I could to slam the door and lock it. Kicking again, calling 911 again, he'd leave again. After a few months, he moved on.

He found a girlfriend who kicked him out quite quickly. He responded by beating her unconscious and attempting to cut her throat. Luckily, a neighbor heard the commotion and Bob quickly ran. He got off easy on those charges, but of course you could Google his name, and you would see repeat charges of serious assault. I spoke with his exes, I saw the photos of what he had done to their faces, and their bodies. All I can think about is how that could have been me.

The last time I saw him was back in my hometown on a local grocery store, as I waited for a cup of coffee, after a tiring-hour shift at my last job. He nodded with a kind smile. I froze, heart throbbing hands shaking. It was that day I moved an hour and a half away. It is this month I'll be moving back. MikeLates.com's got something for everyone, with over 500 Texas license plate designs to choose from. Like Boulder T, the biker, who loves his rescue kid.

I personalized a plate on my wrap for my little binky seat. Judy W. The tailgator, who loves to grill before the big game. My plates sports my team color, yeah. Whatever you're looking for, we got that at MyPlates.com. Let me preface the story with a few things. I'm not the best writer, and I've not posted here before nor do a lot of people know that this happened to me. I'm turning 21 at the end of the month, and this event happened almost a decade ago,

yet I still remember it so clearly. I still think on it often and bring it up to my family, as uncomfortable as it makes us. It reminds us on how dangerous the world really is. As a little backstory growing up, I had always had extremely fair skin, blonde hair, and light eyes. The kind of thing that specific creeps, unfortunately, go for. When I was just around the bend of becoming a teenager, my older sister, who was eight years ahead of me, was in the military and had been gone for quite some time now. However, she was finally coming

back home to the USA soil, and a few states away at a base in Kentucky. My parents and I were excited, and planned to leave for a weekend so we could finally go and see her for the first time in years. It would only be a few days, but we were happy regardless. We ended up seeing her, of course, and had a few days to be able to go out to eat, open her accumulated Christmas presents, and go to a nearby mall in proximity to the hotel that we had been at. I've never seen someone so happy, just to wear regular civilian clothes, but I digress. Right from the get-go, our last night together felt odd as we walked through the mall. Just one of those creepy vibes you get from an unfamiliar

area. It wasn't too long until closing, and at this time frame, malls closed around 10pm or so. I'm sure you know what happens at malls. You go in and look at everything. Unbeknownst to us at the time, the four of us come across the last store we would be stopping at for the night before leaving. We walk in and it's not particularly a store we'd go into. It has expensive street wear clothing. Like the pesky 12-year-old that I was, I go back and forth, pestering mom and dad walking around the store as my sister looks around as well. Suddenly, my sister walks over to my brother, as I'm near my dad, and whispers something into her ear. A man with the most defined black mustache that I can remember had been tailing us and doing

the typical retail routine. Hi, is there anything that I can help you with? Can I help you find something? But he's being too persistent and only asking my dad these things. The man didn't speak broken English but his accent was incredibly thick. Perhaps Indian or Turkish, we think. My sister and mother walk out of the store and keep eyeing back at my dad. The, all right, let's go now, look. Now me, being 12, feeling even worse vibes. I don't understand why my mom and sister are wanting

to leave so badly, but I start to catch up to them regardless. As my dad starts noticing us leaving, he begins to walk out as well, but the man stops him as I'm still in ear shot. I find out at this point, the man has been staring at me almost the entire time with my aloofness to the situation. He looks away from me into my dad and asks, so how much for the little one? My dad visibly confused,

chuckles uncomfortably thinking it's some kind of really tasteless, bad joke. My mother and sister don't hear this and are still waiting for myself and my dad to catch up several feet away. What? My dad, Faroza's brow, and replies hoping for some kind of explanation. But the man proceeds to say he wanted to purchase me. Visibly protective dad mode now, and realizing the man is completely serious, he says, we don't do that here. His rising tone was palpable. As he starts hurrying me away to mom and sis, and we start leaving, he tells them what just happened. The whole drive back to the hotel, my sister just consistently getting more upset, saying that

back to the hotel my sister just consistently getting more upset saying that if she had known, she'd kill that bucker. Honestly, I'm not sure there's really anything we could have done, but regardless, the entire situation was beyond uncomfortable. Especially now that I realize the implications of what was going on. So creepy mustacheash man, please let's never ever meet again. I scarcely imagine what kind of life you lead behind closed doors. Long ago, when I had first gotten into college and moved to a new city and a new state, because of it, I was approached to help in a haunted house by the activities director at my college. I didn't know the people who were asking for help at their event that well, but it was supposed to be in a huge church that looked like a castle since it was a former monastery, and all the proceeds would go to help various

local charities that the church was involved in. I saw it as my chance to meet some new people and make some new friends. Participants were encouraged to come and costume to help with the setup and to bring about a general festive mood. I decided to go with Harley Quinn as this was a full decade before the Suicide Squad movie and I thought it would help me find other geeks in the process to befriend. So I have the pigtails and whatnot and I arrive to a very large stone building that does indeed look like a castle and that no one but me, the event coordinators, and one other girl showed up to. Side note, I've always looked younger than my age, so I was clocking in at 15 the oldest in this costume even though I was well into 19 at the time.

The people who approached me were there. We'll call them Bob and Sue. Along with the other girl, they were able to find who went to a different college. They said that more people would show up later. Spoiler alert. No one did. And we started unloading the cars and bringing things into the church. I very quickly found out that this place was 10%

actual service hall and 90% sub floors, towers, and abandoned classrooms. They had mapped out the whole thing for a medieval-themed, guided-haunted house-tor. They complemented me on my quote-unquote jester costume, and I shrugged and rolled with it, happy that I had accidentally matched the theme. The first sign of trouble came about 45 minutes after we started setting up the concessions room. I was sent down into the lower floor to look for another girl who had yet to come back after being sent to fetch cupcakes from a fridge and the old kitchen down there. She was named Becca, and she was dressed as a fairy princess.

So the directions Bob and Sue gave me just barely got me to where I was going. This place was a massive maze on the inside. When I suddenly hear heavy breathing, I stop and peek my head around the corner to see a person standing in the dimly-lighted hall, back to me, looking through a space between two doors into a very bright room just beyond. I was having none of this and said in a very clear and overly loud voice. Can I help you? This guy spins around like a top and proceeds to stare at me with wide eyes and a gaping

mouth. Classic body language for someone who just got caught doing something that they should not have been. At that moment, the door behind him starts opening and he moves behind it, and Becca comes through the door, cupcakes in hand. She looks really scared. And in a very fake chipper voice says, that she needs help carrying all of these cupcakes and we should really start heading back now. I look behind her as the door closes and see the creepy guy bolt away down the hall and turn a corner

to who knows where. I nod, not wanting to leave her alone and we go back up to the higher floor. When we get to the room where the concessions were being set up, no one was there, and as Becca sets the cupcakes down, she informs me that there is a lot more downstairs, but she's too scared to go. She says that that guy was following her around for a while, ducking behind corners whenever she would turn around. When she got to the kitchen, she had engaged the lock at the top of the door, and she stayed in there gathering things and pretending that she didn't hear the dude's heavy breathing and being a creep-asoid.

She didn't have a cell phone because of her costume, a fairy princess. It didn't have pockets. She was ready to cry when she suddenly heard me call the guy out and decide that now was the time to act and unlock the door and came out as quickly as she could before I left. Bob and Sue had pulled a Houdini and were nowhere to be found in the immediate area, and she said she was too scared to go back downstairs. I told her she should stay up with the concessions, and the much more brightly lit area and tell someone as soon as they came back, and that I would go back down to snag the rest of the stuff. I know this sounds like a pretty bad idea, and it was, but that guy was scrawny and looked to be in his 50s, and

the same height as I was. So I was pretty sure that I could take him since I was still pretty tough from constant farm work all through high school. So I head back down in this dude tries the same thing with me, following but ducking behind corners every time I turn back around, not saying anything but breathing. Heavily. I was far more angry than scared at this point, and when I heard him standing outside of the kitchen door, like he had done with Becca, I threw the door open as quickly as I could, so my face was about an inch from his and said, I have the strongest feeling you're not allowed within 500 feet of a school

zone. He was once again very shocked, and before he could answer, I slammed and locked the door and then proceeded to sing happily and loudly, as soon as I heard him scuttle away back into the darkness. I gathered the soda bottles and boxes of candy bars into a couple of bags to reduce trips, which probably took about 10 minutes. Unlock the door after checking for signs of creepy Mick Creeperton and a headed backup stairs.

When I got to the concessions room, I opened the door, and Becca was circling the concessions table to be away from him. Who else? The creep himself. I set the bags down, stood between him and Becca and said very loudly in his face. Back the hell off, Grandpa. He took offense to this and proceeded to storm out of the room, this time rather than sneak away.

As soon as he was gone, Becca started crying, and I told her we needed to go upstairs to find someone. And if we didn't, to go home and call the police from there because this was quickly escalating out of hand for either of us. We head upstairs to see no one. So we head for the door. When who should stop us halfway down the stairs but Sue? She wanted to know why we were leaving and we told her everything.

She said that that was impossible and that she had only left 10 minutes ago, and that was hardly enough time for all of that to have happened. I pointed out that we had been unable to find her for several hours and wanted to know why that she had ditched us in this church by ourselves. She straightened up and said that traffic to the Costco was heavy and that we should be grateful for this opportunity to help the Lord. straightened up and said that traffic to the Costco was heavy and that we should be grateful for this opportunity to help the Lord. I pointed out that the nearest Costco was easily an hour and a half away.

But before she could respond, Bob was behind us on the stairs saying that he would be glad to take Becca home. At first, we had to help with the rest of the supplies and get them out of the car. Becca agreed and I decided to stick around since these people were beyond weird and I didn't want to leave Becca alone in case they decided to go to a movie or something and ditch her with Dr. Creepinstein. We finished unloading the car and just as we were about to leave, Sue pops back up and says, we have to introduce ourselves to the pastor of the church before we go. So, we start following her down these hallways.

The whole time she is gushing about this guy like he's an anthropomorphic Bible. We get there and who should it be but Baron von Creepie creep. Now, complete with Pastor Robes. As soon as he sees us, he looks uncomfortable and is trying not to look at us, as Sue is going on and on about this and that and the other. And Sue brings up our wild imaginations about a man in the church, and this dude actually straightens up and says that it was him and he was simply trying to help us, but we kept being very disrespectful. And that he had to hide in his office from our terrible and inappropriate behavior.

Becca looked as stunned as I was, and this dude steps closer to me and asks for my parents' number so that he can have a talk with them about raising a child that knows how to respect their elders. I proceeded to snap hard, so hard that I developed a rage-induced forest with a cur eye. First off, I'm a 19 year old girl and I will not be giving some psycho with a god complex and a thing for underage girls, any phone number of anyone that I care about. Secondly, you're pretty tough in those robes

in front of someone who knows you publicly, but we both saw how fast you ran when I cornered you spying on my friend through that gap in the door. Like you get good housekeeping lessons from Michael Myers. Thirdly, newsflash. Pigtails and fairy wings are not antennas, beaming out a signal for you to follow girls down dark hallways, but hey, it looks like that asthma attack you had the whole time you were alone has magically

cleared up. It must be a miracle." At this point, Pastor Creeps a lot, looks mortified. I guess he thought I wasn't going to call him out on it. Becca looks like she wants to hug me and Sue looks like she wants to kill me. I mean, she was livid. It was at this point that Bob, who I had not noticed, come in from the room as I was ripping into the pastor, proceeded to slap a hand on my and Becca shoulders at the same time and demand we apologize. I slapped his hand away from both of us, told him to fuck right the hell off, grabbed Becca

and marched through the halls, out the door and down the street to the bus stop downtown. Hoping we could figure out the quickest way to get her home from there. We didn't say anything while we waited, but once we were on the bus she thanked me and pointed out the worst part of the story. That the church was going to have a haunted house still and that Bob and Sue had told her on the ride over that the pastor was supposed to be the tour guide for the kids while the parents waited at the concession stand.

I was horrified and said, we had to warn people and stop this. She agreed and said to leave to her since she had a computer and a bit of clout back at her university. I had neither as I had just moved there and so I just left to her. We found her bus, hugged as she got on and I never saw her again. What I did get was called into the Activity Director's office and regaled about the

nasty message left by Bob and Sue stating that I was barred from ever entering to the church because of my lies spread about their beloved pastor. Bob and Sue had a terrible turnout at the haunted house, and none of the parents trusted their kids with the pastor anymore. Essentially, we had ruined their Halloween. I recounted what had happened to their activities director, and they said I was obviously making it up and barred me from future school events for the year. I didn't fight it since I had a job that I was starting in a week but I will always be grateful to Becca and wonder what she said and did to save those kids. Ask Sherwin Williams during the sweet summer sale June 30th through July 10th and get 30% off paints and stains, with prices starting at

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This week you have heard Carol by Reddit user, Wink and Blink and Inod. Roommate turned to restraining order by an anonymous Reddit user. So, how much for the little one by steal butterfly? And finally a retelling of past or six piece by backing away slowly now. Don't forget to email all of your stories to Let's Not Meet Stories at gmail.com. And if you have any questions or inquiries about the show, email Let's Not Meet podcast at gmail.com. And don't forget next week's Sunday June 2nd at 2 p.m.

at the Stab Comedy Club in Sacramento, California, I'll be performing the first ever live episode of Let's Not Meet, a true or a podcast. I'll be telling some new stories as well as some of my favorite bonus stories that I told on the Patreon, that only a handful of people have ever heard. I'm really excited to see all of you there, but if you can't make it, I will be uploading

it as an episode eventually, and in the near future as soon as it is ready, as long as the recording goes well. And I will also be putting up a new episode on that day, so I'm not skipping a weekend, I'll still put out the episode, but I'll also be performing live in the same day. I'll see you next week for a brand new episode of Let's Not Meet, or I'll see you at Stab Comedy Club. See ya. Fresh produce is the best produce. That's why at Crogr, we invest in local farmers to bring you the freshest seasonal picks.

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