Let's Not Meet: A True Horror Podcast - 2x05: Holly - Let's Not Meet

Episode Date: July 15, 2019

Stories in this episode: My dad's psycho ex - alittleteapot19 My sister was kidnapped. -ammay Tom the Landlord - anon 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 Merch - https://www.teepublic.com/user/letsnotmeet

If I could be you. And you could be me for just one hour. If you could find a way to get inside each other's mind. Welcome mile in my shoes. Welcome mile in my shoes. Welcome mile in my shoes. We've all felt left out and for some, that feeling lasts more than a moment.

We can change that. Learn how it belonging begins with us.org. Brought to you by the Ad Council. Welcome my all in my shoes. My name is Andrew Tate and this is season two, episode five of Let's Not Meet a True Horror Podcast. This story occurred when I was in middle school. I can't remember the exact grade, but it had to have been fifth or sixth because I was still attending private school with my little brother. The summer before the school year started, my mom busted me for having a MySpace account.

Well, actually, my little brother squealed on me after we had one of our weekly blowups. He's a twerp. Anyway, I told her I really, really needed to keep in contact with my best friend who had moved at the beginning of summer. And MySpace was how we were able to share pictures and chat. She said that I could make a Facebook account instead, as long as she had access to my username and password. This was when Facebook first became popular, so I had no clue what it was, and my mom had to walk me through setting up the account and finding some of my school friends. About 45 minutes after I created my account, my inbox started to flood with requests. Some kids from my school, some old teammates from my basketball days, and most

importantly, this boy, that I had a mad crush on for about three years. As I'm scrolling through all my real life friends that were hoping to level up to be my online friends, I came across an outlier. The profile photo was that of a woman who had to have at least been in her early 40s. The photo was taken from a downward angle. Her lips perched in that classic duck lip fashion and her breasts, spilling out of a lacy tank top. Her hair was cut into a blunt bob with her bangs covering one of her eyes. The color was pretty unnatural.

Definitely one of those cheap box dies that you get from the drugstore. I'd describe it as a deep black and cherry color. Her name was Holly. I was pretty freaked out to say the least. Being fairly new to social media, it gave me the heebie-geebies to think that an adult woman that I didn't know sought me out and wanted to get a glimpse into my online life. Instead of rejecting her request, I ignored it. That way I could feign ignorance and say that I never saw it, in the event that I did

actually know this woman. A few days later, my staunchly overprotective mother signed into my account while I was swimming at my cousins. She checked my friend requests and saw Holly's. Being the conservative, prim and proper woman she is, she was appalled by Holly's profile photo. Without giving a second thought, she denied the request and never said a word to me about

it. The remaining days of summer came and went, and I was connecting with my classmates and engaging in the classic poke war and posting silly things on each other's walls. Then three days before I was set to start school, I got another friend request from Holly. This time, her last name was different in her profile picture is more seductive. It's a full-body mirror selfie and she's wearing a leather bodysuit, coupled with thigh-high leather boots. Okay, now I'm even more freaked out. I decided to tell my mom and part to see

if maybe she knows Holly and because her Facebook wisdom was so vast, and she would tell me how to get rid of Holly for good. I left my profile open on the computer and ran upstairs to get my mom. When I came back, I had a staggering 45 friend requests. All from Holly. Her picture and her last name were different on every profile, but each photo featured her darkened, cherry hair and some sort of leather get-up, occasionally featuring a whip in her hand. My mom gasped audibly, and was about to message one of the accounts to give this holy character

a piece of her mind and threatened to call the police. As my mom was slamming her fingers on the keyboard, unleashing her fury, I got another friend request, this time, from my dad. Now, to anyone else, this one may not seem too weird, except for a few things. 1. My dad has made it his life's mission to be the last man on earth without any social media. 2. The profile picture was a photo of me and my dad from when I was in first grade.

My dad had lost a considerable amount of weight since then. I'm talking over a hundred pounds, and was always deeply embarrassed by his old photos, so I know he would never use that specific photo as his Facebook debut. 3. My dad and I were not estranged. We lived in the same house and he and my mom were happily married. It's like a million percent impossible that he would make a Facebook without telling any of us and send me a friend request.

It was obvious to me that my mom wasn't buying the fake account anymore. She went from absolute rage to disgust. And then to a state I rarely saw her in. She was calm, like eerily calm. Oh, it seems that Holly is a friend of your father's then. Oh, it seems that Holly is a friend of your father's then. Let's see what she has to say. In my head, I was thinking this woman has no idea the Pandora's Box. She's about to unleash. My mom is a lovely lady, but the moment you try to cause harm to her family, you've got a big storm coming.

Anyway, she accepted the friend request, and then we waited. And waited and waited. Nothing. My mom had figured that this woman had somehow connected to either herself or my father, considering she knew his first and last name and was able to find my mom's Facebook account to steal that old photo. She stared at the inbox, waiting for the reply from this enigma of a woman. Go to your room, dear. She told me, I don't want you involved in whatever shit storm this woman is trying to cause. I happily obliged. The drama was far too much for my pre-teen brain, and I honestly just wanted to eat some lucky charms and watch SpongeBob. My bedroom was right above our home office, which was usually a quiet place until that day. My mom called my dad into the office and interrogated him about this woman who was trying to desperately

get my attention on the internet. My dad was quiet, methodically clicking through these photos and repeating each of the fox last names out loud to see if they rang any bells. Then, oh for fox's sake, I could hear his heavy footsteps nearing the bottom of the stairs. Get down here, my heart started pounding. My dad wasn't a guy that raised his voice very often, but I bet my neighbors heard him calling me this time. I timidly came down the stairs and met my parents in the office. Honey, I'm sorry for yelling. You're not in trouble, he began. I just need to know how this woman found you. I don't know, I said defensively. He sighed, and dragged his open palm hand down on his face.

He turned to my mother, delete the account now. "'No,' I wind. I just got it and all of my friends are on there. Punny this woman is mentally ill. I need you to be safe. I need to keep you safe.' He said as he grabbed my hand and pet my hair. It turns out my dad dated Holly when he was in high school. She was older than him by quite a few

years and his mom couldn't stand her. My grandma forced my dad to break up with Holly when he was a senior threatening to kick him out if he didn't. I guess it didn't go well. Like at all. My dad said that two nights after they broke up, he came home from the night shift at work around 4 a.m. My grandma was out of town visiting her sick sister, so it was just my dad and his two younger brothers staying at the house. He was exhausted out of his mind and didn't even notice that there was shattered glass on the porch, the result of

a broken window in the living room. He entered the front door and went to check that my uncles were asleep, like he did every night. To his horror, neither of my uncles were in their rooms. He ran to the back of the house to his bedroom, hoping desperately to find that they had fallen asleep in his bed after watching TV. Instead, he found Holly, naked, waiting for him. "'You psycho bitch! Where the fuck are my brothers?' he yelled. "'Relax, baby,' she sang. I took them to my sister's house for a sleepover. I thought

we needed some time to ourselves. Long story short, my dad ended up getting a restraining order against Holly. Though it didn't do much, he would see her car driving slowly by his house and workplace at all hours of the day. He would find roses and teddy bears and creepy notes on the front seat of his car or in his mailbox. Eventually, my grandma got a new job and moved. my dad and uncles across the country, and Holly was never heard from again, until now. I let my parents delete the account, and life went back to normal, for a while. I started school, saw all of my friends made some new ones, and was generally just kickin' ass. A few months into the school year, I remember being in math class

when the assistant principal pulled me out. I'm sorry, sweetie, but your mother was involved in a car accident. Your grandma is here to take you, and your brother home, she said. I instantly started to ball. The assistant principal took my hand as we walked down the hall to my brother's classroom. He was two grades younger than me, but our private school was small and went from kindergarten to eighth grade. The three of us walked hand in hand to the main office. My tears had become a bit more silent now, as I had to put on a strong front for my little brother. My breathing started to steady, and the ringing in my ears began to lower. We entered the principal's office, and I saw a few kids sitting on the bench in the

waiting area, either waiting for the school nurse or to be reprimanded by the principal. I looked around for my grandma, but I couldn't see her. I started to cry again, because I was so upset and wanted to hug my grandma and to go see my mom. My tears and sniffles startled everyone, and the otherwise quiet waiting room. So much so that the only other adult in the room turned around. She was tall, maybe 6-1. She was wearing a tight-eye shirt with a kitten on the front and acid wash jeans. Her hair was long and curly and unnatural. Blackened cherry.

I screamed. Oh honey, don't worry, I'm here. Let's go to see your mom, she really wants to see you." Holly said. Get away from me, I yelled. You're not my grandma. I ripped my hand away from the assistant principal, grabbed my brother and ran out of the office. My heart was racing a million miles a minute, and my mind was scrambling for some sort of plan.

I only live a few blocks away from the school. Should I run home? No. No, of course not. She could follow us and find out where we live. My older brother lives in an apartment across town. Should I run home? No. No, of course not. She could follow us and find out where we live. My older brother lives in an apartment across town. Should I go there? No, that's too far. She'll find us before we make it. And I stopped in my tracks. I told my brother to go back to his classroom and pretend like nothing happened. Everything will be fine. Then I break into a dead sprint back towards the office. Luckily, Holly is still in the office, talking to the assistant principal, spinning God knows what kind of story. She shocked to see me burst through the door. I'd like to call my mom, please, I said, honey, your mom is in the hospital. Holly began

her voice, increasing in volume. We need to go see her now. Principal Mandy, may I please use the phone? I'd like to call my mother. I requested. Cool as a cucumber. This bitch wasn't going to get me or my brother. Not today. The assistant principal looked half confused

and half scared out of her mind. Did they not check this woman's ID? There was a list of adults for each student that would be allowed to take them off school property, and I'm sure Holly was not on that list. I stared intently into the assistant principal's eyes, my hand extended. Yes, honey, of course. She finally relented. She turned around to tell the front desk secretary that I needed to use the phone when Holly made

a beeline towards me, grabbed me by the wrist, as I pulled her by the hair with my free hand as hard as I could and stepped on her ankles, a tactic that I learned from fighting with my brothers all of those years. She fell hard on the floor, but bounced up just as quickly and ran off. The principal had told the front desk lady to call 911, and she took me into her office to call my mom. After my parents had some choice words with the office staff or allowing that woman onto campus, they decided to pull both me and my brother from the school. We moved a few towns over for a clean slate,

and have moved a few more time since. I never saw Holly again, but this is not the end of her story. I recently turned 21 and was about to head to the bars with a few of my friends to celebrate. I noticed what looked like a flyer on the windshield of my car, which was parked on our driveway. It looked like one of those promotional things that people stick in your car windows while you're in the store. I yanked it off intending to throw it away without a second glance, but I noticed my name was written in big pink sparkly letters. I opened the folded piece of paper to find a handwritten letter about

how much better my life would have been had I gone with her that day, all of those years ago. But that despite my foolish decision, I turned into a beautiful and accomplished young woman. Holly, you psycho bitch, let's never meet again. 18T fiber presents A Straight Forward Moment You're wine? Thanks. I'll pretend I know what I'm doing before saying it's good. And I'll pretend I don't know you're pretending.

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No equipment fees, no data caps, no price increase at 12 months. Live like a gigillionaire with AT&T fiber. Limited availability in select areas. Visit AT&T.com slash Hypergate for details. This happened around 2006. I was in my mid-20s and my sister, the unfortunate main character of the story, had just turned 21. At the time, she and her boyfriend lived with my fiancee and I. On weekends, we went out to one of two bars that had karaoke, air hockey, etc.

This particular night, we were at the bar further out from where we lived in the city, a good half an hour by car. Everyone was having drinks, socializing with people we knew, singing karaoke, nothing out of the ordinary. Except that night, my sister started hanging out with these two older ladies who had a liquor store in their purses. They were sharing, although I didn't know it at the time, as she tended to drink a lot more than I did. That was a score for her. Less money spent on drinks, but she ended up far more hammered than usual. Towards the end of the night, around 145 she was really, really drunk.

The aforementioned fiance, my sister's boyfriend and I, were in a heated air hockey game, planning to leave as soon as it was over. She walked up to us and said she was going to smoke a cigarette outside, nothing unusual, everyone did, until we were done. About five minutes later, we paid our tab and walked out, but she was not on the porch area where the smokers usually congregated. Okay, weird, but not alarming. We went out back of the bar to check for her, we went inside, we went to the restrooms, and then the large parking lot.

It should be noted that this particular bar was in a business park, so there were multiple businesses that were closed, as well as a Mexican restaurant next door that had just closed as well. We searched, asked everyone that knew us, and those that didn't, if they had seen her. No one had. I asked the workers from the restaurant that were sitting outside as well. It seemed nervous when telling me that they hadn't seen her, but I didn't think about this much until later. By then I was in a full-on panic. I called

herself on about 15 times and it went to voicemail every single call. Being a bit inebriated myself, I started searching for her. When as far as to take off my heels and start running down the highway searching for her. Honestly, there had been times she would start walking home in the past, though never from this place it was so far from where we lived. The fiance and her boyfriend thought that we should go to the house to see if she got someone to bring her home. Seemed unlikely, but not unheard of. We get home and she's nowhere to be found.

Just as we're about to head back, and I got my phone to call the police, I received a call from the police department on my phone. They indicated that they had my sister, that there had been an incident, and I needed to get down there. Well, we rushed to the police department where we were taken into a room with my sister. Her face was red, from obvious crying, and bruises were starting to show on her arms and her chest. She said that when she told us she was going outside she thought we said we were leaving then.

So she walked out to the car. After a few minutes being drunk and tired she sat down up against it to wait. A van pulled up and a young man was asking her directions to somewhere. She walked closer to try and explain when suddenly the back door flew open and two other men grabbed her and threw her in, taking off. They were rough with her, hitting her a few times while holding her down, saying that they wanted money. They snatched her purse from her, breaking the straps and searched it. Quite haphazardly, as they didn't find the $30 that she had in it. After driving around a bit, speaking in Spanish,

that she couldn't understand, they pulled out a gun, making sure that she saw it, and put a bandana around her eyes telling her that they'd let her go. She was driven around some woods by a neighborhood that she didn't know. The door was opened and they pushed her out, telling her to run, that if she took off the blindfold and turned around, they'd shoot. And she ran. Eventually, she did take the blindfold off and came to the first door that she saw beating on it and screaming for help.

The police were called. She was picked up and now we're back to my being there, hearing what I feared had happened. The report was filed. The police did search and locate the bandana that she ripped off, but she was so intoxicated and terrified. She was not able to give a clear description of the van other than a white older model. And the three occupants were young Hispanic men. The investigation turned up nothing as no cameras caught any of this. Pell, we even had detectives in our home who said, look, we need the truth.

If you got drunk and just went home with someone and didn't want your boyfriend to find out, we will file charges against you. Aside from the bruises, broken purse and her trauma, there was nothing concrete to go on. That was unpleasant. I am still fairly convinced someone at the restaurant knew something, given their suspicious behavior when I asked about her. But the police were never able to find that link. All was said and done, and the guys were never found.

Eventually, we just moved on in different states, and now, just a story in our lives, and still makes me sick, thinking that something could have happened. A lot worse than what did, but thankfully it didn't. Be safe out there kids, and to the badly organized trio who could not my adult sister let's never meet. This all came crashing down, only a week ago and I need to let it all out. I apologize if it's a bit too wordy. I'm a single 24 year old woman and recently rented a modest two bedroom house.

The rent was just slightly over my budget, but I decided to check it out anyway since it was so close to where I worked, and only two blocks from a grocery store. I figured I could make it work if I started writing my bike more often and found a way to cut down on other expenses. I thought about getting a roommate, if necessary. I called the owner and set up a time to view the house. The owner Tom was a family man in his early 40s who lived eight houses down. He was very friendly and animated, charming even. He didn't quite come off as flirty and he didn't raise any red flags. Looking back, he just seemed overly eager for me to get the place, using phrases like, when I move in.

Now, at the time, I figured he just wanted a tenant to move in so he could start collecting a check. I admittedly am quick to judge and I'm usually good at reading people. Usually I loved the house. It was clean and quaint with no frills. Exactly what I wanted. At one point, I told Tom that the rent is just a little over my budget and mentioned the possibility of getting a roommate. He winced for a split second, then smiled warmly and quickly said, how about instead of a thousand, I'll cover the utilities and drop it to 900?

I was really taken back by his generosity. Even though that doesn't sound like a whole lot, it put me right near my budget, and I wouldn't need a roommate. I thanked him, accepted his offer, and moved in about a week later. Now, I hopped aboard the minimalism train shortly after moving in, and part of that process consisted of throwing out all of my old socks and underwear and replacing them with 10 new matching pairs. So it was pretty concerning when one laundry day I only had seven pairs of underwear. I follow the same routine when I get home from work.

I immediately take a bath, put the clothes that I wore that day into the laundry basket, and there was zero chance of my underwear being anywhere other than somewhere in my small home. I checked inside my shirts, pants, washer, dryer, and rummaged through my dresser. They were nowhere to be found. This mildly freaked me out, but I didn't think too much of it after a couple of days. A week passed. When I got home from work on Friday, I went to the bathroom to run my bath and immediately noticed the toilet seat was up. My chest and throat tightened. I never raised my toilet seat. I have no reason to. And I have a pet peave about the lid being left up. Then the missing underwear recurred to me, and I started

sobbing uncontrollably. My gut told me to get out of the house as soon as possible. I started emptying my dresser into a large back. I also realized that I should take a very quick inventory of my underwear. I knew I was down to seven. I dumped my clothes back out onto my bed, then grabbed my laundry basket, and dumped those clothes out into a separate pile. I meticulously counted my underwear. I was now down to five pairs. I stormed out of the house with only my

person laptop, sat in my car, locked the doors and continued to cry helplessly. I eventually called my mom, who told me to come over and that we'd call the police. I composed myself as well as I could and started driving. As I made my way down the street, I passed Tom's house and saw him getting out of the car with his daughter. I waved hello and faked a smile, then kept on driving. It's so painfully obvious now that I'm writing all of this out, but it wasn't until that moment a light bulb finally went off in my head. Aside from my parents, Tom was the only other person with a key to my house. Realizing he just witnessed me leave, I made a U-turn shortly after,

turning onto the main road and parked a little ways before my street. I didn't suspect he would return the same day, but then again people like that aren't exactly normal. Maybe he thought I was going out for the night, and that perhaps I had left another present for him. I got out of the car and slowly approached my street. I stopped as soon as I could see Tom's house, and it was covered pretty well by a truck sitting in the nearest driveway. Not even a minute later,

I do see Tom walk out of his house and towards mine. The mailbox was in between our houses, so I prayed that he was just checking the mail. As you can probably guess, he wasn't. I couldn't see him walk through my door due to the house layout and where I was standing, but seeing him walk up and disappear behind my garage wall was more than convincing. I called 911 and reported a burglary. Worst case, I was wrong and could apologize to Tom, explaining myself and asking for new locks. By the request of the dispatcher, I got back in my car, locked the doors and waited.

Two patrol cars pulled up alongside me. The officer rolled his window down and shouted out a few questions, then told me to stay where I was. They both sped towards my house. About 10 minutes later, a third patrol car pulled up behind me. That officer walked up and kept me company as I explained the situation in more detail. Shortly after, the officer who initially approached me arrived and got out of his car. He walked up to my door and showed me an evidence bag with a single pair of underwear

inside. He simply asked, are these yours? I started crying again, and all I could do was not, over and over. This is already much longer than I wanted it to be, so I'll sum up all of the relevant details. The cops parked in my driveway and stood in front of the garage waiting for Tom to walk out. As soon as he did, they verified his identity and asked if he had given me a 24 hours notice, to which he admitted not doing. Upon asking why he entered my home, he fumbled with his words and said he needed to inspect

the appliances. They continued to grill him and found him to be very deceptive. They decided to pat him down for weapons, and that's when they found my underwear in his pocket. He's currently awaiting trial for burglary charges. I'm staying with my parents until I can find another place to live. I will definitely be getting a roommate, but for now, I'm just happy to own 10 pairs of underwear again. Thank you for listening to this week's episode of Let's Not Meet, a true horror podcast and this episode you have heard my dad's cycle X, by listener a little teapot 19. My sister was kidnapped by Reddit user Aimee and finally Tom the landlord

by a listener who asked to remain anonymous. If you'd like to hear your story on the show, email Let's not meet stories at gmail.com. I've been getting a lot of listener-submitted stories this season. It's making my job a lot easier because I don't have to scour Reddit for a good story and then hope that I can get permission from the author to read it on the show. And also makes me a lot happier to be able to read stories, you know, submitted by my listeners. From my Patreon listeners out there, don't forget to check the feed. Just drop the one shot story for you guys yesterday to keep you see-sheeted until the

bonus episode next week. If you'd like to support the show and get access, don't forget Patreon.com forward slash Let's Not Meet Podcast. I'll see you guys next week for a brand new episode of Let's Not Meet. 18T Fiber presents A Straight Forward Moment You're wine? Thanks. I'll pretend I know what I'm doing before saying it's good. And I'll pretend I don't know you're pretending.

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