Let's Not Meet: A True Horror Podcast - 6x07: Camping Nightmares - Let's Not Meet

Episode Date: May 17, 2021

Stories in this episode: - The Pervert Who Stalked My Dad and I - Brandon M (1:05). - Look Behind You - Colleen Clark (17:34). - Creepy Uncle Jeff - Wild Bill Helium (27:35). - Why I Will Never Go Camping Again - Kit (39:06).  All of the stories you've heard this week were narrated and produced with the permission of their respective authors. Let's Not Meet: A True Horror Podcast is not associated with Reddit or any other message boards online. To submit your story to the show, send it to [e-mail].  Get access to weekly bonus episodes of Let's Not Meet: A True Horror Podcast, ad-free versions of the free shows and a bunch of other great exclusive material and merch at patreon.com/letsnotmeetpodcast. This podcast would not be possible to continue at this rate without the help of the support of the legendary LNM Patrons. Come join the family! Policygenius is America's leading online insurance marketplace.  Policygenius makes it easy to compare home and auto insurance in one place. Head to PolicyGenius.com to get started today! Make the switch to PrettyLitter TODAY! Get 20% off your first order by visiting Prettylitter.com and use promo code MEET. ChiliSleep makes customizable, climate-controlled sleep solutions that help me not only get a better night’s sleep after an especially eerie episode but have also improved my entire well-being. Head over to chilisleep.com/meet for ChiliSleep’s best deal, available to Let's Not Meet listeners for a limited time! Follow Let's Not Meet: - Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/groups/433173970399259/ - Merch - https://letsnotmeetmerch.com - Twitter - https://twitter.com/letsnotmeetcast - Website - http://letsnotmeetpodcast.com - Patreon - http://patreon.com/letsnotmeetpodcast - Twitch - https://www.twitch.tv/retroxpizza 

Amplify your career through training and development solutions specifically designed for federal government professionals. From courses to help you attain or retain certification to individualized coaching services, to programs at home, your leadership skills, and business acumen. Management concepts optimizes your professional development. Online in-person, individually, or groups. It's training that's measurably better. Learn more at managementconcepts.com. That's managementconcepts.com. This podcast contains adult language and content.

The stories in this show can be frightening and disturbing for some. Listener discretion is advised. If you have a story to share, send it to Let's Not Meet Stories at gmail.com. Enjoy the show. My name is Andrew Tate and this is season six episode seven of Let's Not Meet, a true horror podcast. The following story contains some dialogue of sexual nature that could be troubling to some listeners.

Disgression is advised. I have never told anyone this story before, even though it happened just 10 years ago, because of the overwhelming sense of paranoia and violation that the memory still dredges up for me is almost too much. My therapist says I need to work on letting things out instead of bottling them up, though, and if any experience in my life has warranted a story for the podcast, it's this one. My name is Brandon, and I'm named for my father, who has always called me Junior. More than he does my own name. I grew up near Seattle, and since my mother

died from a long-term illness when I was seven years old, it's almost always been just dad and I. We're really close. Probably more than a lot of other guys are with their dads considering that we're all we've got in the world. Plus my dad is just really cool and funny. I was sick a lot as a kid, diagnosed with lupus and epilepsy pretty early on in life. So I've always felt a deep gratitude towards my father for the way he never complained about his entire life, pretty much revolving around me and my health issues after my mom passed away. He'd had it pretty rough himself. His dad was a piece of shit and the environment in which my

dad, Brandon Sr. grew up in, was enough to launch him headfirst into a life of drug and alcohol addiction. Crime, both violent and nonviolent, and a host of undiagnosed mental health problems by his adolescence. When mom got pregnant with me, he got his shit together and cleaned up his act.

Got released from prison on good behavior after a series of cocaine and theft convictions and discovered in his thirties that he's actually a very talented painter. He went to college and he worked steadily now, making enough for me to grow up in a safe and comfortable household, despite all my health issues as a kid, and he's always been very honest with me about his past, which has contributed to my appreciation for the man and father that he fought to become for me as an adult. I love my dad, and he loves me, and he raised me in a completely loving, honest, compassionate

environment with no judgment or resentment. and he loves me and he raised me in a completely loving, honest, compassionate environment with no judgment or resentment. So that's the backstory. One of our little traditions as Father and Son was this bonding time where we would spend the last weekend of every month camping. We leave right after school ended for me to make the three-hour drive to Willoughby campgrounds, which is this beautifully dense forest that stays green and damp all year. It's a popular place for campers, but it's so thick and lush and sprawling that you can easily feel as if you're the only one out there at night, commuting with nature. We'd usually arrive around 6 or 7 pm, just in time to set up our big tent and roast some sausages for dinner. We'd just set out there

for hours, talking quietly, catching up, sharing things with each other that might have been more awkward, closer to the crush of the city. He'd tell me about the mistakes that he had made over the years that still haunted him, and I confessed all my stupid teenage secrets and feelings that might have been embarrassing to share otherwise. Like when I was 13, and realized for the first time that I had a crush on another boy at school. I still remember the nervous catch in my voice, and the way that I couldn't bring myself to meet his eyes until he said, came here kiddo. And he held out his arms, and I knew how foolish I had been, to think that my dad could ever have been anything but a safe person for me.

So shit was hard sometimes, but we had each other and we had our camping trips and we were doing well until September of 2010 The last Friday of the month My dad had already packed everything for us by the time that I got home from school I was 15 that year and college was still a few years away But lately it had been praying on my mind. The anxiety I was feeling about leaving home, and my dad all by himself. He'd never remarried after my mom died, and he hadn't really dated much.

Mom had taken a big part of him with her when she had gone. I knew it, but I hated the idea of him coming home to an empty, silent house every night after I left home, but it was one of those things that could have only been discussed at Willoughby, while we fished and hiked and made our fire. We both had to go to the bathroom halfway there, so dad pulled into a gas station to fuel up and pee, and while I waited for him to come out of the public bathroom so that I could use it, a man approached me. He was older than me, older than my dad even. My dad was 42 at the time, so the man had to have been in his 50s or even early 60s. He was

entirely average looking with a ponchy belly and thinning gray hair in a creepy comb over. I figured he was waiting on the bathroom as well, so I stood there with my old-ass little 3G phone playing Tetris or whatever until he spoke. He was going camping, he asked. And that question alone set off alarms in my head, because unless he had been watching us when we pulled in, there was no way he could have known that I wasn't there with a girlfriend or a group of friends or whoever.

I was just standing in the lot of a fairly well-used gas station. So I wasn't particularly worried, plus Dad had our canoe mountain on top of the old car, and the fishing poles were clearly visible through the windows of our back seat. Yeah, my dad and I was all I said. That's nice. A boy spending quality time with his old man. Kids don't seem to do that anymore. I only shrugged, unsure of what to say to that. Are you guys headed to Willoughby? Again, a weirdly specific question. But we were driving in that direction with a car full of gear, so not entirely unfounded. "'Yep,' I said. There was nothing especially off about the guy, and something was still raising alarms in

my head, though. I couldn't place what it was. To this day, I think my dad felt the same way, because the second he stepped out of the bathroom, I sensed his hackles were immediately up at the sight of this man talking to me. He walked briskly over to me and inclined his head towards our car. Time to head out, Junior. I needed to use the bathroom as well, but the look on his face silenced any protests of mine, so I just got in and resolved to pee in the woods later. What the fuck was that? He asked. He wanted to know what happened when we were back on the road.

I don't know, some weirdo. Yeah, he was trying to make conversation with the kid all by himself in the middle of nowhere. Fuckin' creep. You gotta be more careful, kiddo. I thought my dad was maybe just being overprotective, but I should have trusted his instincts. We made it to our campsite with no issues. There weren't many other hikers or campers around, if any. The silence was so deep and peaceful that it was easy to open up and talk as we roasted hot dogs and made

smores. We also took a few pictures of some birds we saw just unwinding. It was getting light around 9pm and he was telling me a funny story about his time in art school when he heard a twig crunch. My dad was immediately alert, but I was kind of laughing at him. Like, come on, dad, just relax. That is until the guy from the gas station, an hour and a half south of Willoughby emerged from the brush around our campsite. There was no easy explanation for this one, and I felt my stomach clenched. My dad was on his feet, like a shot, and he said, what the hell, who are you, what the fuck are you doing out here? His anger didn't seem to phase the ponchy balding guy, not one bit, because he only smiled dreamily,

and just strolled right into our space. Just camping out here, same as you boys. Bullshit, get the fuck out of here. The man wasn't dressed for camping. He wore a mint-green polo and khakis. The man's attention was focused on me as he ignored my father entirely. Brandon, isn't it? He asked.

My blood ran cold. How the hell do you know my name? I asked. I camp out here a lot. I've come across your site several times over the years. Never got the chance to make friends, though." Jr. get in the car, my dad said, almost snarling. No friends to take camping instead of your dad, huh? The guy wanted to know, sneering,

or do you and your dad come out here for other reasons, to be alone together. What the fuck? My dad and I both exclaimed almost in unison. Our horror was super-nounced, but the man seemed entirely unbothered, however. He went on to make more lured comments about my dad and I. It was then that it hit me like a bullet to the gut. I told my dad about my crush on Peter at school over two years ago at this very campsite. There was no other way this asshole could have known about that conversation, save for his having been watching me and listening to us for years now.

Every single weekend, just hit in a way, watching. All the blood drained from Dad's face, and I knew the same realization had just struck him. He was on the guy in one breath, hauling off and punching him right in the face. The crack of his fist slamming into bone, the bridge of the man's nose. It echoed off through the trees and set the birds flapping wildly into the air, but the man seemed half-crazed by now, and he only laughed with blood pouring down his face. I already had my phone out to call the police, even knowing that it would have taken them some time to get there. I felt like I was going to throw up. Suddenly, aware that this fucking psycho had been hiding

around our side, watching us talk, sleep, and bond, doing God knows what in the bushes as he listened. We'd been going out there since I had been roughly ten years old. The man stumbled backwards, and that was when the second wave of disgusted horror seized me because it was very obvious he had been aroused standing there with his nose possibly broken. And my dad read me to dull out another beating. Get in the car. My dad yelled at me and I bolted

that the creep seemed to have the same idea. He fled into the bushes, flailing clumsily in his khakis and my dad seemed torn between chasing him and not leaving me there alone. In the end, he chose me, and we hauled our stuff back into the car without even breaking it down, jamming the tent into the back seat with the canvas just crumbled up, and the poles tossed onto the floor instead of folded up and tied neatly. He was dousing our fire with a bucket of water, when something seemed to catch his eye to the left. As I watched

from the passenger seat of our car with the doors locked, he walked over to it and stomped it. And immediately admitted the most aggressively violent sound I've ever heard come out of my warm, tiredly gentle father. It took me a full minute before I realized what it was. A cannon camcorder, presumably abandoned in the man's flight. I wanted to yell at him to save it. That it could be evidence if we needed to use it to press charges or something. I don't even know. But it was far too late. My dad had reduced the thing to plastic splinters. But some part of me was relieved even though I was sure that wasn't the only home movie the man had made of us over the years. Halfway home, my dad's knuckles wide on the steering wheel. It struck me. Dad, I said slowly.

Dad, I said slowly. We've talked about home before, out there. That guy probably knows where we live. It was clear that he had been thinking about this too because his jaw flexed as I spoke the worst of it out loud. I hope he does. He muttered darkly. I'll have a shotgun wing for that motherfucker, and I'll blow his fucking head off if he's got the balls to show up around my house. Well, that never happened. And we never went back to Willoughby again. Camping had been ruined for us. So our monthly bonding rituals

turned to movie marathons and museum trips instead. I almost forgot about what happened that day. But then, three years later, when I was 18, and I had just graduated high school, we got a postcard from the Willoughby gift shop, a photo of a clearing not too far from our campsite. There was no return address, no signature, nothing more than a single line scrolled on the back. Good luck at school, Junior.

I still don't go camping to this day. Psycho-pervert camps American Hospitality. It's always been my dream to offer lucrative commercial real estate investing opportunities to every American, not just the top 1%. Today you can invest in our portfolio of world-class hotel brands like Mary-Aden Hilton. Our investors are hard-working Americans just like you. Visit Phoenix American Hospitality at P-A-H-Invest.com looking forward to helping you create generational wealth. Amplify your career through training and development solutions specifically designed for federal government professionals, from courses to help you attain or retain certification to individualized coaching services,

to programs at home, your leadership skills and business acumen. Management concepts optimizes your professional professional development online in-person, individually or groups. It's training that's measurably better. Learn more at managementconcepts.com. That's managementconcepts.com. It was a cloudless, beautiful, early summer afternoon when I decided to go jogging at my local park. I live in a small town in rural northern California with a large heavily wooded park running parallel to the river. There's a playground, an amphitheater, and miles of paved trails. What I love most about this particular park is that it also has

miles and miles of branching and intersecting unpaved trails completely removed from the development part of the park. I enjoy jogging these so-called back trails because it is quiet and secluded and it makes me feel closer to nature. It's not unusual to wander these trails for hours at a time and never run into another person. This particular jog started out like any before. I parked my car in the large lot, walked past the playgrounds where children played while their

mother's watched and chatted on surrounding benches. As I walked the paved trail, an older gentleman walking his dog said hello to me. I said hello back. When I reached the unpaved back trails, I started jogging. I had my headphones in and let my mind wander, focusing only on my breathing and the path in front of me. After some time, I became aware that someone was jogging behind me at a distance. One of the odds, I thought to myself, you don't normally run into people on the back trails, and this guy just so happens to be jogging back there? On the same path, no less. I began to notice that whenever the path turned or forked, the man always chose the path

that I took. I can't explain why I began to feel uneasy about this, but I did. Call it a gut feeling. Still, the rational part of my brain tried to tell me that I was being silly or paranoid. I decided that a good way to prove that nothing was a miss would be to simply change my pace. The man had been about the same distance behind me the entire time, so if I slowed down, he would pass me. So I slowed my pace. And nothing happened. Stealing Glance is back at him whenever the path twisted or forked, I saw that he remained

the same distance behind me that he had been before. I slowed down again and he still didn't pass me. I finally just stopped jogging all together and then started walking. The man began walking as well. I was beginning to get that feeling that something was truly wrong. I began to take what felt like totally random turns and branches of the path. I slowed my pace more and more,

and still the man remained at the same distance behind me. I decided that this had to stop, so I stopped dead in my tracks at the side of the path. Surely he would pass me now. And I would be able to have a good chuckle about how silly I was being. Except he didn't pass me. He stopped as well. Just as I turned to look at him. It was then that I really noticed for the first time what the man was wearing. Baggy cargo pants and an oversized hoodie that concealed his body shape. Being early summer and northern California the

temperature was easily 90 degrees and I could feel sweat rolling off of me in my athletic shorts and tank top. For what felt like an eternity, we just did there. It felt like we were facing off. Maybe we were. A million scenarios ran through my mind. I was in a state of disbelief. There had to be a reasonable explanation for his attire and behavior. Suddenly, the man stretched his arm down into the pocket of his cargo pants and pulled out a pair of black fabric gloves. Maybe the kind of gloves you would put on if the temperature were 30 degrees instead of 90. As he slowly and carefully put the gloves on his hands, I reached into my own pocket

at the waistband of my shorts. I have always carried a pocket knife with me wherever I go. I don't think I ever thought I would have to defend myself with it, but it always winds up being useful at least. I opened the knife and gripped the handle with the blade extending beneath my corled fingers at the pinky. The way you're supposed to hold a knife, if you may need to stab someone. I took a deep breath and raised my arm, brandishing the blade at the man and feeling like an absolute crazy person. I thought, surely, he would say something, maybe laugh, react in some way that would reassure me that this was all some kind of big misunderstanding that I was overreacting that I was being paranoid. The man didn't laugh, he didn't say anything, and his expression remained neutral and flat. We stared at each other for another indeterminable amount of time, him with his thick gloves on and

me with my pocket knife. I stared into his face trying to memorize every detail in case I needed to describe him. Finally, the man moved. He began walking towards me. I kept the night up, ready. As I stared into his eyes, I tried with all of my might to convey to him that I was ready to stab him if I had to, as many times as it took. His eyes never left mine, and his expression remained

completely blank as he passed me, close enough to reach out and touch. He was further past me, and he looked straight ahead. As he continued walking down the path away from me, I watched his back as his arms moved. He removed the gloves and stuffed them back into his cargo pants pocket. I watched him with my knife brandished until he disappeared from my line of sight. I stood there until I could no longer hear his footfalls. I've folded my pocket knife, but kept my hand gripped tightly on it. I turned and ran as hard as I could in the opposite direction towards the parking lot. I felt relief wash over me as I got back to the paved path. I blew past the playground and the playing children and their watchful moms. When I reached my car, I got inside,

locked the doors and cranked up that AC. I put my hands on the steering wheel and just sat there for a while. When I finally shifted my car into reverse, I had almost convinced myself that I had just been overreacting. I told myself it was probably just some strange misunderstanding.

I still tell myself that sometimes, but I'll never forget that man's face or his blank stare as he passed me on that narrow path while I banished a knife at him. And I sincerely hope we never meet again. Amplify your career through training and development solutions specifically designed for federal government professionals, from courses to help you attain or retain certification to individualized coaching services, to programs at home, your leadership skills and business acumen. Management concepts optimizes your professional development, online in-person, individually or groups. It's training that's measurably better. Learn more at managementconcepts.com. That's managementconcepts.com. AT&T Fiber presents a straightforward moment. Your 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. Are you a gigillionaire? Yeah, I have AT&T Fiber. The straightforward pricing has inspired me to be more straightforward. Me too. Ugh, this wine.

I'll fetch you a better one. Straight forward is better. No equipment fees, no data caps, no price increase at 12 months. Live like a Giga-Gillionaire with AT&T Fiber. Limited availability in select areas. Visit ATT.com slash Hypergate for details. When I was in third grade, my parents relocated due to my father's promotion. It was a big step for our family. But despite the upgrade, we remained the have-nots, only

now residing in a more affluent town. As such, we all struggled to find a social outlet. My younger sister and I were snubbed by our peers, and our parents didn't have any means to join the local country club or anything of that sort. They eventually did join a church, and despite my skepticism, and general indifference towards the idea of God, I was dragged along, as I was not quite old enough to stay home alone. This became a social outlet for my parents as my dad joined the softball team and eventually became a trustee and Sunday school teacher.

My mom was very involved in activities there as well, coordinating talent shows or fellowship hall. It was a post-service coffee hour where a weekly volunteer would provide Edamon's mini-donuts and store-brand coffee, or or derfs of that nature. Being new in town and urged to fit in or maybe even assert their presence, drove our parents, as well as others, to remain for hours discussing ongoing issues or participating in suburban gossip, like who's leasing their car because they can't afford to finance,

whose husband got laid off and speculating about each other's credit card debts. Amensely bored, any kids left behind would play an innocent game like tag or hide and go seek as we got older and more curious though, we would venture into less explored areas of the church and get into whatever trouble we could find. As we approached middle school age, we had more of a leash and became a little more zealous about roaming the halls and closets of the church. Our church had four stories in one part of the building, and you could see down the staircase all the way to the basement. We had found a super ball and dropped it, seeing how high it would bounce back. My friend Ryan got the bright idea to throw paper airplanes down the staircase to see how far we could get them down and where they would land. A man appears in the hallway, maybe in his late 30s, early 40s.

We saw him walking down the hallway innocuously, but take notice of our airplane, careening down that same hallway, and hovering around his waist before landing at his feet. He looked up, and our eyes met. We thought we were in trouble, and we went to hide in a nearby classroom, hoping that he would just walk away. As we heard his footsteps coming up the stairs, we figured the jig was up, but as he opened the classroom door, he wasn't mad. In fact, he looked amused. We had even hid. We were ready to apologize when he asked

casually. What are you doing up here? We said, um, nothing. He raised his right hand. Well, maybe you were looking for this. He pulled out one of our paper airplanes from his sleeve, for this. He pulled out one of our paper airplanes from his sleeve, tossing it towards us. He laughed and said, you know, if you wanted to fly straighter and longer, try this. And he made one of his own on scrap paper, folding the nose of the airplane inward, and explaining that it gave the nose more weight. He let us know we weren't in trouble, and he wouldn't tell our parents, and eventually went on his way. We thought we had dodged a bullet, and naively felt safer around him. He started to pop up more and more often, observing our foundation and against, with a smirk and a laugh, but never getting us into any trouble.

This went on for a few months, and it never crossed any lines. We thought he was just lonely and bored like us. To prepare for a potluck dinner one afternoon, members of the church stayed after service to hang decorations, and this guy volunteered as well. He addressed me by name, and my father overheard. He immediately took me aside inconspicuously, but urgently and asked how I knew that man. I said I didn't even know his name, but I've seen him around. My father was immediately disturbed, but trusted me enough to leave it at keep your distance. This shook me because I never considered him to have any sinister intentions, but at this

age, I'm not sure I considered that anyone did. I figured my dad was overreacting. I didn't even know his name at this point, but later overheard a peer calling him Uncle Jeff, which only affirmed that my father was being overprotective. Later that year, our church hosted the annual and aforementioned talent show. My friend and I ducked out the back entrance between acts to head to one of our usual hangout spots when we heard footsteps trailing. Who else but Uncle Jeff, following at a distance? We headed towards the bathroom and barricaded the door with the trash can and waited. When my friend acknowledged that he too saw him trailing us,

we both looked at each other as if to say, yes, it gave us the creeps. Before we had time to say so, we heard and felt a push on the door and rushed to push it closed. Two kids no more than 12 years old, mind you. As I wedged the garbage can back in place, my friend opened the window, and we made a break outside. This was the middle of winter in upstate New York, and we were without our jackets. Shivering, we kept an eye on a nearby outdoor exit. I suggested we make a bunch of snowballs, and the second we see him, let him have it, then be lined back towards the other entrance, towards the stage where the parents were helping their kids prepare for the talent show. I'm not sure that this bought us any time, but

at least it maintained a safe distance between us and Uncle Jeff. If we were to walk back in those doors, we didn't know what kind of trouble waited for us inside. The door flung open, and there he was. But there was no aweshocks smirk on his face, no laugh, and no sign of anyone's parents in this dense parking lot. Under the glow of the dimly lit entrance, all I could see was a menacing grimace as if he was done playing around. Just us and him. We let him have it, and hit him with all the snowballs we had, maybe 10 or even 20. He flinched and covered

his face as they exploded against him. As we turned to run, his face went from annoyed to raging, and he ran full sprint behind us. At first we thought this was a bit of a game, maybe, perhaps an innocent gotcha, but the wolf in sheep's clothing had let down his mask. We saw him for what he really was. My friend and I were both athletes and easily beat him on foot to the other side of the building.

And maybe our years of wandering this building gave us an edge as we cut across the courtyard. We made it inside safely and met eyes with Uncle Jeff one last time as we left. With my parents, I snuck a glance at him, dripping wet with snow. He smiled and nodded, as if to say, we got away this time, but also, playing it off as a game or a joke. Now while I had written off this strange behavior as innocuous in the past, I look at my father's

warnings more seriously after that night. I count myself fortunate for having narrowly escaped what could have been an insurmountable trauma. This was the last time I recall seeing him, at least personally, until a few weeks later, when my parents went on the news. As this picture flashed across the screen, I heard that he had been a camp counselor. And in the course of a police investigation, he gave a written statement in which he described sexual assault involving several young boys. He was sentenced for crimes of satan-y of the first degree, aggravated assault, and the second degree sexual assault in the first degree, and endangering the welfare of a child, and sentenced to 54 years.

His earliest date of release is 2028. When that day comes, let's not meet. A TNT fiber presents a straightforward 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. Are you a Gigillionaire?

Yeah, I have a question. I'm not sure if I'm going to be able to do it. I'm not sure if what I'm doing before saying it's good. And I'll pretend I don't know you're pretending. Are you a Gagillionaire? Yeah, I have AT&T Fiber. The straightforward pricing has inspired me to be more straightforward. Me too. Ugh, this wine.

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Every now and then, my best friend and I would take off and go camping in New England, escaping this city life for just a weekend. We didn't tend to go to any kind of designated campsites. We liked to go off the beaten track, away from other people. It made us feel closer to nature. Anyway, this time we decided to go camping, deep in one of the New England forests. We were pretty excited in the week leading up to our long weekend away. This would be the most remote camping trip we had done so far.

For reference, my friend and I are both females and our 20s at the time. We had pretty full on hectic work lives in the city, but we were both outdoorsy people at heart. I think that's part of why we always clicked. We had booked the Friday off and planned to drive through most of the day. We would stay the night at a B&B, and then we would continue to drive on Saturday morning so that we could arrive and set up camp with plenty of daylight. This all went smoothly. We had an amazing drive that Saturday. It was early on him,

and the sky was a brilliant blue. It was still warm, but pleasantly so. The leaves on the trees had begun to turn gold, and it was stunning to drive through the winding forest lanes. My friend and I were both in high spirits, drunk on the beauty of the surroundings. I'm from the UK, so these New England autumn always took my breath away. We don't have anything like it. The both of us planned to park our car somewhere quiet and hike into the forest, but once we got there, we decided to camp near our car by the road.

We had a ton of stuff and didn't feel like lugging it around. The road was incredibly quiet and very far from the main roads, so we didn't think that this would be any kind of issue. We would still get the isolation that we wanted, too. There was a lot of fallen wood and stuff by the road, so it was hard to find a space where we could pitch our tents next to each other. We ended up pitching one by the road, and the other one 20 feet or so into the forest. You couldn't see the second tent from the road due to all of the forest debris.

I took the one further from the road. After we said everything up, we had a few beers and relaxed in camper chairs and enjoying the scenery. The light had begun to fade by this point and we decided to get dinner on. We'd been there for about five or six hours and hadn't seen one car come through. It was just one of those lanes that never gets used. We ate our dinner and then headed to our separate tents. Now before you ask why we slept separately, I'd like to explain that I'm a very fidgety sleeper. I move a lot in my

sleep and it drove my friend mad for the first few trips that we took together. From then on, we'd always taken two tents with us. It became pitch black, very fast in the forest, something I loved about being away from the city and nature. I always sleep very well without electricity. As I said, I was in a tent that was 20 feet into the forest, rather than one right by the road, which my friend took. She and I had made a path in the forest from her tent to mine,

just in case she needed to find it at night. I fell asleep quickly, lulled by the forest sounds and the darkness. Something in the night woke me up, though. I thought it was just a dream, but I heard a noise. I couldn't place it, so I sat up trying to orient myself. It sounded like a truck. It was loud and seemed to be making its way up the road, getting closer to our tents. I scrambled around for my torch, but I couldn't find it. My estimated that it had to be between midnight and 3 a.m. I remember feeling very uneasy about the idea of a truck passing, although technically it was a public road. I tensed up as the truck drew nearer. To my horror, I heard it start to

slow down. The engine became quiet, and then stopped altogether. I was frozen. If it had stopped where I thought it had, it would be right outside my friend's tent. What felt like an eternity passed. It was deadly silent. Then the engine roared up, and I heard the truck pull away. I realized I hadn't breathed in a long time, and finally exhaled. I was frozen to the spot. I wanted to run to see if my friend was okay, but I was still terrified. Out of nowhere, I suddenly hear footsteps running towards my tent. I remember, I sprang into a low crouch. I had no idea when I was doing. It was just fear and instinct at this point. Then my tent opened, and this high-pitched scream emanated from me. It was my friend at the tent door.

She looked very shaken, but she asked if I was okay. She explained that the truck had woken her up, and she just laid there, terrified in her tent, as it stopped right by her. We debated just getting into our car and driving, leaving all of our gear behind. However, we were both a bit graggy, a little drunk still, and pretty incapable of navigating at this time of night,

let alone driving. We decided there has to be some kind of reasonable explanation for what just happened, and we were being over-dramatic. We would get up at first light and decide what to do then. We did decide, however, that my friend would share the tent for the night. We wanted to be together, and it was good that the tent wasn't really visible from the road. wanted to be together, and it was good that the tent wasn't really visible from the road. After what seemed like hours, I fell into a shallow, fretful sleep. I remember feeling the dread before my mind worked out what was going on. It was that sound again, the low rumbling in the distance, getting louder.

The truck was back. It must be the same one. It sounded exactly the same. I could feel my friend tense up next to me. She was awake like me, but she didn't say anything. We both listened barely breathing. I swear you could hear my heart beating. I took my hand out of my sleeping bag and reached for my friend. She must have sensed me because she also reached out. We held hands, clenching each other, and fear as the truck finally came closer. The truck stopped. It stayed there just rumbling for a few moments. Then the engine stopped.

It was perfect silence. All I could hear was my friend's shallow breath. A door slammed, making us both jilt. It sounded like the driver had just got out of the truck. I was absolutely frozen and other other febeats of total silence. The next noise I heard really stayed with me all of these years. A gunshot ripped through the silence, and then another. We were both as rigid as statues in our sleeping bags. After what seemed like an age, the truck door slammed again

and the engine started up. The truck drove off. We heard it rumbling away, the sound getting smaller and smaller. We lay there, barely moving until light. We were in total shock, like zombies almost. When it became clear that it was morning, we opened the tent and made sure that the coast was clear. We made our way over to my friend's tent, almost in a trance. There were two bullet holes in her tent where the entrance was. Two fucking bullet holes. As you might expect, I have not gone camping since. My friend and I reported everything to the police, but nothing ever came of it. I have no idea why this person

wanted to fire bullet holes into our tent. It's deeply sinister. Anyways, crazy truck-driving guy in the forest, let's not meet ever again. 18T Fiber presents A Straight Forward Moment Your 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. Are you a Gagillionaire?

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The straightforward pricing has inspired me to be more straightforward. Me too. Ugh, this one. I'll fetch you a better one. Straight forward is better. No equipment fees, no data caps, no price increase at 12 months. Live like a Gagillionaire with AT&T Fiber. Limited availability in select areas,

visit AT&T.com slash Hypergate for details. If you're looking for ad-free versions of these weekly shows, as well as weekly bonus episodes, and a bunch more additional content, head over to patreon.com forward slash Let's Not Meet podcast or follow the link in the show notes to support the show and join today. Thank you for listening to this week's episode

of Let's Not Meet, a true horror podcast, this week you have heard. The pervert who stalked my dad and I for years by Brandon M. Look behind you by Colleen Clark, creepy uncle Jeff by Wild Bill Helium, and finally, why I will never go camping again by kit. 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. As always if you have a story to share send it to Let's Not Meet Stories at gmail.com I read everything that I receive. I'll see you all next week for a brand new episode of Let's Not Meet a True or a Podcast. Stay safe! 1 tbc sdmr 1 tbc sdmr 1 tbc sdmr 1 tbc sdmr 1 tbc sdmr 1 tbc sdmr 1 tbc sdmr 18T fiber presents a straightforward moment.

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