Let's Not Meet: A True Horror Podcast - 6x20: Lost Stories 4 - Let's Not Meet

Episode Date: August 16, 2021

Stories in this episode: -Man On The Couch - Anonymous. -Guy staring through my window - Paramedic433. -A Chase Never Truly Begins Until You Start Running - Ally-saurus. -The Bag Lady - Maltesepanda. -Rick The Long Haul Trucker - throwawayjenny_1968. -I Offered My Home Intruder A Cup Of Tea - Dlinkpower. -Andy - theyreouttogetus. -Murderer In The Woods - coldbeeronsunday. -She Acted Like She Knew Them - skitzofrenika. 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].  Don't miss the live video broadcast of the season 6 finale! Follow me at twitch.tv/andrewtatelive and join chat on August 21st at 7:00 pm PST!  Get access to extended, ad-free episodes of Let's Not Meet: A True Horror Podcast with bonus stories every week along with 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! This podcast is sponsored by BetterHelp and my listeners get 10% off their first month at betterhelp.com/MEET. Try EveryPlate for just $1.99 per meal by going to EveryPlate.com and entering code meet199.  Shudder has the largest, fastest growing human curated selection of thrilling and dangerous entertainment. To try Shudder free for 30 days, go to shudder.com and use promo code meet. Get an Echelon E-X-3 bike risk FREE for 30-days PLUS FREE shipping and assembly. To get this exclusive offer with these free bonuses valued at two hundred and fifty dollars, go to EchelonFit.com/meet. - Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/groups/433173970399259/ - Twitter - https://twitter.com/letsnotmeetcast - Website - https://letsnotmeetpodcast.com - Patreon - https://patreon.com/letsnotmeetpodcast - Instagram - https://www.instagram.com/letsnotmeetcast/ - Twitch - https://twitch.tv/andrewtatelive  

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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 20 of Let's Not Meet a True Horror podcast. The time has come for another edition of the Lost Stories. If you are new to the podcast, these are recordings of early episodes that are no longer available online. This time around, we went all the way back to the beginning.

I believe it was some time in 2017 I'm not exactly sure, but you'll definitely hear the age on these recordings. These are stories from the first four episodes I ever produced of the podcast. These were during the days when I would strictly narrate stories from Reddit. It was a whole process of reading hundreds of stories and reaching out to the authors individually, and hopes of getting a chance to bring their stories to life. I love bringing these old dusty recordings back for newcomers to listen to for the first time,

and for those that have been around since the beginning to relive some of these terrifying experiences. I will admit, I am a bit embarrassed of my delivery back then, but I did spend some quality time remastering the audio to the best of my abilities. And these stories are some of the most requested and infamous of the Let's Not Meet category. So I think you will enjoy this very special, very long episode of Let's Not Meet, the

Lost Stories Part 3. And don't forget about our season finale live stream this Saturday. It'll be at 7pm Pacific Standard Time at twitch.tv, forward slash Andrew Tate Live, the link will be in the show notes. We'll be streaming our video performances for everyone that night. Then the audio will be available the next day for download, just like any regular episode. But for now, enjoy the show. I'll start with a bit of backstory. My mom was dating an abusive prick at this time. We'll call him Ian.

And because of Ian and the crazy fights they had gotten into we couldn't lock up the house at all He had kicked in both the front and the back door of the house and they never fixed it My mother and Ian were both at the bar every day. I told you this only so you will know why the house wasn't locked up and where my parents were when this happened This incident occurred when I was around 12 years old and my little brother was around 10. I was a really small girl at this age and my brother was sick all the time, so he was very, very tiny and frail. My mother and Ian were at the bar as usual on this night. Now when you opened the front door to our house, it put you right in the living room, and

you could see to the back door. There was a hallway to the right that led back into the bedrooms, and that was where my brother and I were. We were in his bedroom, and the door was closed while we were playing something on PlayStation. It was around midnight, or 1 a.m., and we were playing and having a good time when I heard a weird noise. My brother didn't hear it and I didn't want to creep him out. I told him that I wanted to go get a drink and told him to stay in the room and I would

bring him something. Now to get to the kitchen you would have to walk down the hallway in front of both the front and back door because it was behind the living room. Now I kept hearing strange noises so before I left my brother's room, I told him to get into the closet and to work on our fort so that it would be ready when I was done getting our drinks and snacks. See, I raised my brother for the most part and took care of him. I had a terrible feeling and a sense of dread. I could tell something wasn't right, and this

was a way to get my brother to hide without scaring him. He frightened easily, and he had really bad asthma attacks, and at the time we had no inhaler or breathing treatment machine. I knew if he started having an asthma attack, on top of being scared it would not be pretty. Anyway, I left the back room and decided to see what was going on because I was such a bad ass at 12 years old, but I had to protect my brother. I start sneaking up the hallway as slowly and quietly as I could. I was terrified as I could feel that something was wrong. Before I made it to the end of the hallway, I heard a man. It sounded like he was growling. It was a deep

and terrifying sound. I can't explain the feeling that washed over me. It damn near-made me puke. So of course I froze. I have no one in this town. I don't know anyone and my dad is living in a different state. Also my mom is at the bar junk as hell. I was sitting there trying to gather the courage to see what was around the corner and going over my options when I hear my brother's door open. He sees me and the look of my face When I hear my brother's door open, he sees me in the look on my face and he freezes. I remember his eyes going so wide with fear because he must have heard the growl or whatever it was as well. I motion him with my hands to go back into the room and he does.

I then gathered the courage to peek around the corner and what I saw still freaks me out to this day. It was horrifying. My little brother was already horrified because of the growling noise this man was making. I am so thankful that he wasn't the one who saw what was out there. I muster my big brave sister face, and calmly told him that there was a man that I didn't know on the couch, and that he needed to keep very quiet and be brave and also keep his breathing in check.

Now my little brother adored me and he looked up to me so when I told him that he needed to be brave, he tried his best. I told him not to move and he didn't. The first thing I tried was the window, but it wouldn't budge. It was completely stuck. And now I'm making myself feel calm for my brother's sake, but I don't know what was sitting out there. So since the window was stuck, I decided to start looking for a weapon. My older brother lived here, and I know he had swords somewhere. And I don't remember where he was. So I'm looking for the weapon and I hear the man sing. I know you're here. Fuck. My stomach nodded up, the

hair on the back of my neck raised and I incidentally got a cold sweat. And then I hear it. My little brother started wheezing. An asthma attack. Fuck. Fuck. I hugged him. Reminded him about being brave and told him to sit still and focus on his breathing. I started frantically trying to get my window open, but it was stuck. I looked around and started moving the blankets. When I find my older brother's cell phone, he always forgot it. I remember thinking that I was so lucky and felt a bit of relief. I immediately called the police and told them what was going on. I was hysterical at this point, but still remaining quiet. The dispatcher told me to remain on the phone so she could hear what was happening, when the man started banging on the bedroom door.

It had been about 5 minutes into the phone call when this happened and I could no longer remain calm, I fucking lost it. I started screaming and I mean blood curdling screaming, the kind of screaming that would send chills down your spine if you heard it. I forgot to mention that our bedroom had the only working lock on any of the doors. Even though the door was locked, he was trying to get in and he was banging on the door. His banging got louder and louder. He was screaming for us to let him in when it went completely silent.

Then he did the creepiest, most terrifying thing ever. He started fucking laughing. You know, I could just bust down this door in two seconds, right little girl? There were three taps. Now he's lightly knocking on the door and asking for me to open it. His demeanor completely changed. And then I heard a scraping at the door. What I had imagined in my 12-year-old head was that he was scraping the door with his really long fingernails. But that just wasn't the

case. Then I hear the police start screaming at him to get on the ground and to put his hands up. I heard him putting up a fight, followed by more yelling, and eventual silence. After a few minutes, there was a knock at the door, but at this point, I was too terrified to open it. I thought that this nightmare guy was still there. So being in an hysterical state, I started screaming, no, no, please, over and over again, just sobbing and shaking.

I couldn't stay brave from my little brother anymore. I was on the floor holding him this whole time, convinced that we were going to die. Eventually I calmed myself down a bit, and this time the female officer was at the door, so I opened it. There were about five cops standing in the hallway, listening to me being hysterical. I refused to let go of my brother at this point, but we both ran into this female officer's arms, and collapsed sobbing hysterically. We had been so scared.

It turns out this guy had been completely wasted and high on drugs. I remember the cops walking me up to him and having me stand in front of him to ask me if I knew this man. I didn't, but I'll never forget standing in front of this huge man looking into his brown eyes that were completely bloodshot and filled with hatred. I'll never forget that growling noise that he was making, or the look of pure horror in my little brother's eyes. My parents were called and investigated for leaving us alone like that, and for all the

locks in the doors to be broken. Now, my mom is a different person, doesn't drink, and she's now married to be broken. Now my mom is a different person. Doesn't drink, and she's now married to a cop. She's completely changed. I remember asking her about it later, and she told me something that I didn't know. The man had a huge knife, and that's what he was scraping on the door. He also had some rope, tape, and a tarp. I still don't know how he didn't get to us or why he didn't just bust the door down to get to us. It

would have taken one half-ass kick for him to kick down that door. It was super thin. It still creeps me out to this day and I still have nightmares from it. My husband doesn't understand why he gets so furious with him when he leaves our doors unlocked that night. I work third shifts so I'll come home and the doors will be unlocked and this is infuriating because I have to go through every room in the house and check the closets and all the other places that a person could hide. See, I have two kids and they will never, ever go through what I did. So creepy, crazed, drugged man and product of my

nightmares. Let's never, ever meet again. The story takes place when I was about four or five years old. We live in a tiny town in North Carolina. It's a population of about 5,000. We lived about 10 minutes from town. Our neighbors are family, and they live about an acre away in each direction. We know everyone, and everyone knows us. When I was young, I had a particular fear of leaving my curtains up at night. I had to have my windows covered before I could sleep.

I was too young to verbalize it at the time, but the concept of waking up with somebody looking through my window was terrifying to me. After this incident in particular, this fear of mine was amplified. Now the type of place we lived, if anyone were to come onto our property, we would know who they were. So when my father and older brother started finding footprints that didn't belong to them, they got a little nervous. Living out as far as we did meant that police, fire department, or EMS would take much longer in a bad situation to get there. My father had taught my older brother and sister as well as myself on how to handle guns at

an early age. I was six and I was fairly proficient with my Daisy Beebegun. So obviously over the next couple of days they started to notice more boot tracks. Stuff in our barn was moved around. Then the building door was actually open one morning. So it was apparent that someone was snooping around at night. Since I was young, my parents didn't want to frighten me. However, my brother did. He told me that somebody had been creeping around the house, and one day I would wake up, and he'd be in the house. To put it lightly,

my brother was a total asshole. He always made fun of me, and the fact that I would not sleep with my windows uncovered. He told me that I needed to face my fears and eventually he convinced me to sleep with my curtains drawn back. I so craved his approval more than anything, so I agreed to do so. He said now was the best time to do it and I believed him. So that night I left my curtains drawn. It took a long time for me to get to sleep, but eventually it did come.

I was always a very light sleeper, and even the slightest gust of wind would wake me. I would always wake up four or five times in the night. That night I heard the porch just outside my window creaking. I tried to ignore it, thinking that it had to be my imagination. Then a shadow passed over the light coming from the lamp outside. I opened my eyes and sat up. A man was standing in the window, hands cupped, staring into the glass. In the process of running out of my room, I pissed myself.

I ran straight for my parents' bedroom. At the same time, the door knob on the front door started jiggling hard. He was trying to get in. I managed to get into the bedroom and tell my parents what had happened. My dad grabbed his gun and flashlight and headed outside, throwing the door open. Mom locked it behind him before waking up my brother. After nearly half an hour my father came back in. His face was sweaty and pale.

He sent my brother and I to bed, but we both set up and listened. My dad had found a tarp and some blankets about half a mile into the woods. This was just off the logging trail that had been dug some 20 years previously. The guy had been there for a while, and dad apparently tore the place apart. He said he had sighted the guy, but he lost him in the end. The police came back and took statements from my parents, then they had a look in the woods, but they didn't find anything. We never saw him again, and I always sleep with my windows covered, so creepy vans spying on a four-year-old boy

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Live like a gigillionaire with AT&T fiber. Limited availability in and select areas, visit ATT.com slash Hypergig for details. For many years, I spent my summers working in a major southern US city with a moderately high crime rate and some serious racial conflict. Now I grew up in New York City and lived there to this day, and I'm not overly afraid of walking around in some of my city's more infamous areas at night. But I think it's important to respect the city you're in. And I knew that this southern city was quite a bit more dangerous for me to walk around

alone in. Especially as I am a young petite woman. Five foot, 105 pounds. I'm pretty strong and a lot stronger than some people may think, but I know better to think that I would do well in a one-on-one fight. To be honest, in my summer city, I wouldn't normally even walk home alone at night after work, since I worked until about 10 p.m. or even later, even though it was just a 10-minute walk home. or even later, even though it was just a 10 minute walk home. It seemed silly to ask for someone for a ride when it was such a lovely and short walk home through a gorgeous city, but I also knew that I just didn't feel safe.

Really, I just felt the complete inability to feel confidently safe. I love my summers there, but I avoided being alone after dark at all costs. But as it often happens, we do make little compromises. It was midnight, and the only other person in the office was staying for another couple hours while one of the events we were managing was winding down. He asked if I wanted him to drive me home, but I knew that this would mean locking the entire building up, driving me like 2 minutes, and then 2 minutes back, and then disarming the security system again, etc. etc.

I just felt silly, like a scared little girl, so I said no, I'll be okay, I only lived a few blocks away, and I went on my merry way. I walked with my head up, my strides sure, my ears open, just like I always do back at home. I got one block and then another. It was a gorgeous night, and I let myself enjoy it and relax a little bit, as I hoped in vain for a gentle breeze to cool me off a little bit, and enjoyed the symphony of various insects that came out at night. It was ungodly humid and I didn't see a single other person. Definitely a different type of city than New York, but I could still hear the gentle

hum of the nightlife on the main drag just one avenue over. I got to the third block and then I saw another person. It was a man. Of course, I thought, as my anxiety kicked in and I instantly admonished myself for it. I was out walking alone at night after all. Why didn't a man have the same right? But, and this is never happened to me before, or since, something about the sight of that man, that specific man, it terrified me. I couldn't tell you why. He was in his mid-20s and had long shaggy hair. As the moonlight reflected off of him, I could see that it was blonde. Everything about him just struck me as sort of an anomaly. I didn't mean to have made such judgments. He looked like a surfer, not a stalker. He actually looked pretty cute, and yet I could hardly bear to look at him, because looking

at him filled me with fear and apprehension. I know that you can never tell, but I really struck me. How much this guy did not look, like the sort of guy that would terrify me and yet somehow he absolutely did. There was nothing objectively scary about him, and yet I just felt this sickening dread

as we slowly approached each other. It wasn't just that I was alone at night. I didn't know what it was, but I just knew he scared me. He was walking towards me, and I had to walk towards him to get home. We got closer, he got bigger and bigger as he approached me, and I felt smaller and smaller as I approached him. Maybe a minute passed, soon we were on the same block.

I willed myself just to get past him and get over with it, and yet he was about 20 feet away. I stopped. I don't know why, I just really, really didn't want to walk past him. It almost felt like I couldn't make myself go any closer. This is ridiculous, I thought to myself, and I even began to blush in the dark on that summer night, embarrassed by my behavior, but just to ease my mind, I crossed the street, feeling foolish. And then, I crossed the street, feeling foolish.

And then, he crossed the street. Don't come any closer to me, I said loudly, without even meaning too. It just came out of me, it surprised me how complete it was, how it was exactly how I felt, and exactly what I wanted most in the world at that moment. It just translated into words, don't come any closer to me. It was a command, not a request. I had never heard myself sound like that, so sure of anything before in my life, to be honest. My voice was the first real sound I had heard in several minutes, and I was surprised at how loud it felt. He looked like it startled him.

"'Don't be scared,' he said after just a moment, though he did stop walking towards me. "'I'm not scared,' I said. I just don't want you near me. We stood there for a moment. Just looking at each other. Please, he said. I got mugged. Someone stole my wallet and my phone. I don't have any money and I need to call someone to come get me. There's a gas station one block over on that avenue right there. I pointed to the right of us. They have a phone. I'm not from here.

I had too much to drink. I don't want to get lost, he said. I surprised myself with all the red flags I had noticed as soon as they went up. His clear and sober sounding speech, his local sounding accent, the fact that I was the first to speak, the one to initiate that dialogue, when he was the one that needed help. You'd think he would have said something first. The weirdness of someone going out alone and getting drunk on their own in a strange city, instead of hanging out with friends or drinking moderately or anything like that.

I know it's not impossible, I've traveled alone, and I've enjoyed the company of plenty of bars, but it all just seemed like a bunch of relatively less than common stuff. And all together, it made me wary. He continued, will you walk to the gas station with me, or can I borrow your phone? No, I said. You should turn right and walk until you come to the next intersection, and you'll be at a very busy road with a gas station on your left hand side. Please help me, he said. I'm not going to hurt you, I just need help. Please help me," he said. I'm not going to hurt you, I just need help.

He started walking again towards me, slow, like how you approach a cat. Seriously, what's wrong with you? I just need help. I thought of my leathermen and my flick knife, both of which I use regularly at work. Both of which were buried in the bottom of a hellishly messy purse. My fingers twitched longingly, but I didn't want to be distracted, so it didn't start fumbling around for them. I told you, I said raising my voice.

Don't come closer to me. I stepped backwards and hated myself for doing it. It felt sort of like a mini surrender. He took another step forwards. I won't hurt you, he said. I began crossing the empty street, walking backwards at first just to keep my eyes on him. And I said, all scream. There is a cop who is stationed on a bike four blocks away. He's there every night,

and he will hear me scream. He will be here in seconds. You really should just turn right at this corner. It will take you directly to the gas station. If you say so, he said, I felt the distinct and chilling question within myself, a whither, in his ambiguity, he was referring to the location of the gas station or the location of the police officer. He didn't start walking. I stood there on the other side of the street, wary of taking my eyes off of him, but he didn't start walking. So I did.

I walked until we were directly across the street from each other and then I walked further. I glanced at him over my shoulder after taking a few steps. He was just there watching me, going nowhere, just watching me. I walked a few more steps and glanced over my shoulder at him again. He was still standing there. I picked up the pace and went away further. Looking back, he was gone, just completely gone. He had to have moved quickly, a lot quicker than he'd been moving before when he was walking towards me. Just to reach that intersection and turn right towards the gas station in just a few steps. I couldn't stop wondering. Where else could he have gone, moving that quickly,

without me watching? I didn't think he could have crossed the whole street and managed to hide somewhere, at least not without me hearing it. I glanced at the sidewalk across from me. It was lined with trees and bushes. There were massive gardens all along it, all kinds of yards and stuff like that. There were almost no street lights, and so many shadows. He could be anywhere. I thought about turning down a side street and heading towards the main drag where all the bars and restaurants were. I glanced down one as I passed. No street lights at all, just sleepy, silent buildings all empty for the night.

And all the bright lights of the next avenue seemed just… impossibly far away. I kept going straight. I tried to tell myself to calm the fuck down. He was just someone walking all alone, just like I was. Nothing more. I even managed to work up some guilt over not doing more to help him. I like to think of myself as a good person and it bothered me that I'd been so rude to someone who really might have just needed some help.

But at the same time, I couldn't quite make myself relax about it. I wanted to run, but desperately didn't want to run. Maybe it's just a leftover superstition from childhood, but somehow I felt that a chase never truly begins until you start running. So I walked, quickly, and I did look back. I saw shadows. So many shadows. I walked quicker.

I looked back again, nothing but shadows. I wheeled myself to calm down, but I couldn't make it happen. Finally, I approached the block where the cop on the bicycle was always waiting behind a few trees. With that grove in sight, I broke into a run, if it ever would be. I sprinted, and then my panic grew, and I pushed even faster down that last block. The cop heard me running his way before he really saw me. Are you okay, Miss?

He asked as I approached him, still largely shrouded by the shadows of the trees around him, straddling his bike, he peered out at me. Yes, I replied, feeling silly. I'm sorry, I am fine, I just got scared. I smiled in apology and began to make fun of myself. The way we often do when we feel stupid, but But the cop was already looking behind me over my shoulder. Sir, he called loudly, finally coming out of the shadows so he could be seen fully.

Can I help you with anything? No thanks. I heard a voice say. I turned around and there was a man. Maybe 30 feet behind me, just staring and looking. I can only think that he followed me after all, slinking along in the shadows, that he walked when I walked, and eventually he ran when I ran, just to keep up, even though full on running meant, abandoning his quote unquote cover. Do you know him, the cop asked?

No, I said quietly. He told me he got mugged and he wanted me to help him, but I was scared so I didn't. I didn't want to help him. I didn't help him. Even in that moment, I felt a twinge of guilt. I waited for the man to come closer to tell the cop that he had been mugged and that he needed a phone. Just to prove that I wasn't a horrible person in this situation, he said nothing. He waved and then turned around and started walking the other way. He didn't look back. I waited

with the police officer and we watched him look back. I waited with the beliefs officer, and we watched him walk back for several minutes, and then I asked the cop to squirt me home. It was just a block away. When we got home in front of my door, the cop asked me if I was okay, or if I wanted him to make formal statement. I couldn't really think of what I would even say.

I was out walking alone, and I saw another person out walking alone. I yelled at him when he asked me for help, and then he followed me. And all I really know is he was blonde. And I was a bit shocked and stunned, so I said no, then just thank the cop for helping me home. I went inside and used my flashlight to get into bed, too scared to turn on the lights for fear that it would render me visible

from the street. It wasn't until I was already laying down, sweltering in my unair conditioned bedroom because I couldn't bear to open the windows. I found myself wondering if I hadn't run, if he had been forced to run and thus abandoned his silent, uneven cover of the shadows and the trees, would the police officer have seen him at all? Or would he have just remained hidden? Watching me, following me right up to my very doorstep, lurking in the bushes as I climbed up the stairs to the porch and fought to get the key into the lock. Would I have waved to the cop bravely, speed walking on the way home, willing myself not to run, with that man slithering behind me the whole time unseen by either of us. And if so, what then?

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As a child, my imagination was overcome with stories of creatures that come alive at night, and the safety offered by a home, and the light. I never had anything to base the spirit on until a night I decided to go with the buddy of mine to a baseball game and got stuck at a red light at 2am after dropping him off. Of course that night the game went into extra innings so I didn't get a chance to drop him off until well after 1am. Everything was fine on my way back home until I hit that light right before the street that led to my house. It was a T junction and I was just turning left. The light is one of those ones that you think is broken until it finally turns green when you decide

just to run it. Of course I pulled up right as the light turned red. I would have just ran the red light seeing as no one was there and it was closing in on 2am on a school night. But earlier that week I had heard the phrase, character is what you do when no one is looking, and for whatever reason, that was the night I decided to prove to myself that I was a man of character. It was a big mistake. I pulled to a stop at the light feeling good about myself, bordering on self-righteousness. When I happened to look out the window to my left and I noticed a lady sitting alone

on the bus bench. We made brief eye contact and I quickly looked away. It was too late. I could see movement out of my peripheral vision and I knew she was coming my way. I looked up the window and noticed she was carrying a bag. I quickly checked that my doors were locked and all my windows were up. I then moved my right foot above the accelerator, just in case, and braced myself for what was to come. I was hoping it would be an awkward exchange and was praying for a quick light change before she reached me.

So I could just get out of there. I knew that there was a slim chance of that. She walked right up to my window, put down her bag and began to tap on the window. I nervously looked up at her and she mostened for me to put the window. I nervously looked up at her and she most inched for me to put the window down. I had automatic windows so I just imagined pushing too hard on the window button and that thing just coming all the way down so I took a deep breath and lightly flipped it with my finger. The window moved down microscopically and she did not seem to notice her care. She then leaned in and began to talk. She said, my boyfriend beat me up. And I have a friend that lives down

the street. Can you give me a ride? She was small, skinny, and I was unable to determine her age. She was either in her mid-twenties and had lived a long, hard, twenty-plus years on the street, or she was sixty-something and she had lived a moderately hard life on the street. All that to say, just by looking at her, there was no way to verify her story. She looked beat up by life, not just a boyfriend, but there was something about her delivery. It was robotic and it seemed practiced, and like she was disconnected from the moment. That made my skin crawl, and after a brief moment, maybe even just a second, I debated on whether or not I should do it.

I told her that I had to get home home and I could not give her a ride. After my first refusal, she leaned closer and said, that same thing again. My boyfriend beat me up. I have a friend who lives down the street. Can you give me a ride? This time I felt more confident when I declined to give her a ride and I told her I had a curfew and I had to get home. She leaned in a third time and began her statement again. My boyfriend beat me.

At this point the light changed. I slowly lifted my foot off the break and started rolling forward and began muttering in apology. She didn't move. She just looked at the light, then looked down at me, leaned closer, and set by words that have haunted me ever since. She said, you made the right decision. Then she picked up her bag and walked towards the bench. I peeled out of the intersection and cried and screamed all the way home. I had no idea what she'd planned to do or if there were people waiting to jump into my car from the bushes,

had I had moved and let her in. But that encounter has haunted me ever since and has confirmed in my mind that nothing good happens after dark. So, back lady at the intersection, let's not meet. This happened in 1985, when I was 17 years old. I was the youngest of my graduating class, and all summer I had been looking at colleges across the region. This is long enough ago that there wasn't any internet, and if you wanted to go to college out of state, and you didn't have tons of money or connections, you'd actually have

to take a trip. I was born in Seattle, but at this time my family had been living in Mount Shasta, which is a small town in northern California. I was unable to attend college on time with the rest of my friends because I ended up having to stay home and take care of my mother. She had been diagnosed with cancer at the end of the summer, and my dad had to continue working 10 hour days just to pay the bills. So I took care of my mom for a year while my dad worked. Luckily my mom didn't have to suffer along. The

cancer had progressed so far by the time that they caught it that she just passed in the fall. After my mother passed away, my dad made sure that I started college as soon as possible. I knew I wanted to go to school in Seattle because of the big city life. It was just calling me. Dad basically handed me $500 and the keys to his old 1982 Chevy pickup and told me to go.

And that when I got there, he'd send me money to get an apartment so I could make my own way in the city before school started. He didn't want any other obstacles in my way when it came to school. He felt guilty for having kept me at home while my mother was dying. Not that I would have chosen to be anywhere else, but he was still feeling guilty. So in the middle of the fall, I ended up driving my dad's truck to North Seattle. The trip is basically a straight shot from Mount Shasta to Seattle on Interstate 5. It should have been easy, but about halfway through Oregon, the pickup broke down.

A coolant hose sprung a leak, and I was unable to repair it on the side of the road. Yes, back then, girls from small towns knew about cars. So I ended up walking on the side of the interstate northward in the direction of the next town. I had just passed a small town called Green a while back, and the map said that it was just south of a medium sized town named Roseburg. I couldn't be sure how far from Roseberg I was, but walking wasn't a problem for me, and Roseberg would have been much more likely to have a repair shop. So even if it might be a bit further away, it was totally worth the attempt. It was cold that evening, and the wind chill was cutting through my coat and causing me

to hate life. I decided it would be best to hitch a ride to Roseburg since it was quickly getting dark. See, I thought I looked pretty hot back then, but still, no one stopped to give me a lift. I kept walking north and putting my thumb out at every car that came up behind me. It wasn't until hours later when finally, one stopped. It was a big red 18-wheer that had no trailer attached. It pulled up in front of me and off to the side of the road and honked its horn. I ran up to the truck thankful that I could finally get out of the wind.

As I opened the passenger door of the truck I saw very friendly men at the wheel. He smiled and said, come on up inside as I climbed into into the passenger seat. He told me his name was Rick, and I introduced myself. He asked me where I was headed, and I told him I needed to get to Roseburg to get a tow truck. To pick up my vehicle, I had left it a few miles back. He told me that he'd been to Roseburg a few times on his roots, and that there wasn't a repair shop or tow truck company that would be open this late. He told me that he would get me to a motel so I could sleep that night, and then get a tow truck to pick up my vehicle the next morning. I thanked him for his considerate nature, as he really did seem like a kind and thoughtful person. We weren't

far from Roseberg according to him, which made sense because we could now begin seeing signs of civilization amongst the trees on the side of the interstate. He made small talk while we drove over the rest of the way, we discussed the cold weather, current events, and even sports. Somewhere in the conversation he told me that I was very pretty. It caught me off guard, but he didn't say it in a creepy manner, So I merely thanked him and continued talking about sports. He didn't say anything after that and just kind of let me continue talking. Now, you know that feeling you get when you realize you've been chatting on and on about

something, and the other person hasn't said a word in a few minutes? Well, I got that feeling because he hadn't said a word since he told me that I was pretty. I stopped and apologized for being so chatty and talking to Xerov. He looked at me and smiled and said it was all right. He liked to hear my pretty voice. That time he did say it in a creepy way. But sometimes that happens. I doubted that he meant to do that. I kept quiet and hopes that he would start talking and we could discuss something else. Instead, he didn't say a word. Neither of us did. He watched the road and I just sat there. In a minute, I began looking around the cab and I ended up looking in the back of it behind me.

What I saw puzzled me. In the back there was a large brown blanket, some clothes which I'm sure were dirty, and some shoes. Now, the thing that puzzled me was they weren't all his clothes and shoes. Two pair of the shoes were obviously little girl shoes, and some of the clothes were little girls' clothes. Something you would expect a 10-year-old girl to wear. He knew I had seen it and laughed. He told me that his daughter had left those in the cab after she had to company him on his route last week. He told me that he didn't get enough time to spend with her, so he took her on the route a week ago to spend some quality time together.

I said that was nice of him and asked how old she was. He paused for a second and then told me she was 13. That made me suspicious because not only did he hesitate before answering, but I've worked in a shoe store before, and I know those shoes must have belonged to a much younger girl. Both because of the size and the style. It didn't seem like the kind of clothes or shoes that a little girl would be wearing on a trip like this. It was weird, but not scary.

Also, having worked in a shoe store before, I was almost positive that those shoes were two different sizes. I told him that the shoes were cute and leaned back and grabbed one of them just to prove to myself that they had been different sizes. And no way does a little girl wear two totally different sizes. Still, I wasn't really scared. I just thought that he wasn't being totally honest, and that's his business so I really didn't mind it. It's just a weird thing to be dishonest about. Even to a stranger. I put the shoe back, and when I turned around, I saw this look on his face. He seemed half worried and half angry. I immediately apologized for touching his things and he said it was okay, although it

didn't look okay. By then we were just entering Roseburg. We kept driving through the town and he told me he knew a good motel far in the end of town and he'd let me off there. He asked me what I had brought with me in my backpack. It seemed like an innocent question, but it came off like he was interested in what I had on me. I told him I had enough, but I didn't tell him anything specific about the contents

of my backpack. I didn't have a weapon of any type, just some socks make up in my purse. We ended up passing a repair shop on the side of the road. He pointed it out to me and told me that this is the place I should go tomorrow morning to get the tow truck. It felt kind of strange because he didn't tell me it was coming up. He just pointed it out. I said I had missed it and asked what the name of the shop was. He responded just by telling me that it was straight south off the interstate, and I couldn't miss it, as if he didn't remember the name. At this point I began to get a little worried. I didn't feel threatened by Rick, but he didn't seem legit. As we kept driving, I noticed

we were now coming to the far north end of Roseburg and that soon we would be leaving the town behind. I asked him where this motel was and he told me it was north of the town. I told him that it was a little far from the repair shop for me and asked if there was any place closer for me to stay. He didn't answer. Now I'm a little worried about Rick's intentions for me. I got my backpack and put it in my lap. He looked over and saw it and asked me if I was okay. I looked over and smiled at him and I just told him I was okay. Just cold. You know those signs on the highway that tell you how far off the next rest stop, gas station, or motel is? Well, they had those back then too, but usually only on the outskirts of town.

It's the town's way of motivating you to stop at the next gas or lodging so that they can tax it, rather than continuing on and sleeping somewhere unincorporated. What we came up on one of those signs, it said there wouldn't be a motel for 20 miles, and we were leaving Roseburg. I knew then that Rick wasn't taking me to a motel. I didn't know what he wanted, but I didn't want it to happen. I looked over slowly at Rick and luckily he hadn't seen the sign, at least I think, because he was busy lighting a cigarette. I began looking frantically out the

window to see if there were any places I could make an excuse to stop at. Maybe I could ask to stop at a gas station or something for a drink and then run away, but there wasn't one open. I decided I'd have to pull out the big guns and ask him to pull over so that I could pee. I looked over at him and asked if he'd pull over to let me pee on the side of the road. He then pulled his lit cigarette out of his mouth and looked at me. He asked, you gotta go pee? And I just shook my head, yes. We'll go ahead and pee then, Jenny. He told me. I like the smell.

He smiled at me, and it sent shivers down my spine. I pretended to laugh, and he frowned at me. Don't fucking laugh at me, Jenny. He told me. I immediately stopped pretending to be fine and so did the brick. He could tell I was scared now and he just gave me this look like he wanted to hit me. I asked him where we were going and he told me not to worry about that. At this point I could actually see the end of Rosebird coming up ahead. No more lights after that, just woods. I immediately

heard my dad's voice in my head telling me to run. Not to worry about getting hurt, just woods. I immediately heard my dad's voice in my head telling me to run. Not to worry about getting hurt, just run. I opened the door and tried to jump out. The truck must have been moving 30-40 miles per hour as I moved towards the door. Rick grabbed my backpack. He had been trying to grab me, but I was pressed against the far end of the cab. I heard my dad's voice again telling me to run, and I tried to pull my backpack from Rick, but his grip was too strong.

I gave up and just fell back out of the cab. I fell into the grass, and the impact knocked the wind out of me. I rolled in the grass until I came to a stop. Immediately I set up despite the sharp pain in my back. I saw Rick's truck speeding up on his way out of the town. He didn't stop. I got up and limped my way back into town and ran up to the first home that I saw. I just pounded on the door. An old man opened the door looking very tired yet very worried. I begged him to call

the cops and when he saw the bruises on my face and the grass stains on my clothes, he threw the door open and let me come in. He sat me on the couch while he ran to the phone. His wife came down to find me on the couch crying and him on the phone telling the local sheriff to come as soon as possible. She got me a glass of water and a blanket, and they were both very nice to me. The sheriff arrived and expected me to be drunk at first. About halfway through my story, he realized I wasn't drunk, and there was truth in my story that I was telling. He called up two deputies who were asleep at home and had them patrol the north of the interstate looking for a big red

18 wheeler He even called up the next town and asked them to send out a patrol to go south They didn't find any red 18 wheelers on the road But they assumed he probably sped his way right through town before they were able to send out a patrol The nice old couple who had let me in ended up letting me stay with them. The sheriff kept the deputy outside of the house all night. The next day he took me to the station to fill out a report. He then drove me to the repair shop which happened to be just the one that Rick had pointed out

to me. He had them tell my truck and had the sheriff's department pay for it. They even got my dad's pickup running in no time at all and the sheriff's department pay for it. They even got my dad's pick up running in no time at all, and the sheriff asked me to stay in town for a few more nights. I was totally fine with that because I didn't want to meet Rick again on the road. I stayed with the old couple for three more nights and spent my days with the sheriff as we patrol the interstate and called nearby towns to see if any truckers had been pulled over matching the description. Wherever Rick is now, I hope he never really heard anyone, or at least I hope that he

never heard anyone again. But if he did, especially if he hurt the two little girls whose clothes he had in his truck, then I hope wherever he is, he's suffering and alone. So, Rick, let's not meet. This happened nearly five years ago now, but unfortunately the memory remains very ingrained into my mind. I live in a medium-sized city that, in 2011, was badly affected by a strong earthquake. Around 200 were killed and large portion of the city's older buildings were either outright destroyed or deemed uninhabitable. One such building was a mental

rehabilitation center, which was affectionately coined Sunnyside. Naturally, having a significant number of mentally ill patients without a roof over their head only made things worse for the city and short-term solutions were in desperate need. From my understanding, hospitals with the necessary facilities took the bulk of the load, while other temporary hospices and home stays were forced to become somewhat more of a permanent fixture, even if they lacked the security that previously would have been a necessity to house these patients. I would later come to learn that one of these temporary

hospices was less than a block from my house. My house, along with the majority of houses on the street, faced away from a small creek, which runs through the suburb. It is relatively common for neighbors to wait down the creek to visit those who live a few houses along, or on the other embankment, and virtually none of these properties have a back fence, which prevents access. So it's about four weeks after the initial quake, and things are beginning to return to a sense of normality. It was Sunday night, and I had gone to bed early because the next day it was going to

be my first day back to work in almost a month. At some point in the night, about 1.30 am, I began to stir as I realized the soft laughter I was hearing in my dreams was actually a physical, real life laugh. It was very faint. Childlike almost. A giggle. Sitting up in a dreary state, I assumed my brother had left the television on and the lounge, so dragging myself out of bed, I staggered down the hallway to switch it off.

However, as I approached the living room, I soon realized that the laughter isn't increasing in volume and upon reaching the room, I confirmed that, indeed, there is no TV or radio producing any sound. Suddenly, filling a bit foolish, I make my way back towards my room, where I hear no further giggling. Passing it off is my sleep deprived brain playing tricks on me, I get back into bed and soon fall asleep. and soon fall asleep. An hour later, I was again stirred awake, this time by soft plucking of a steel string guitar, my guitar, which I keep in the office at the other end of the hall. No discernible melody just random touches, feeling very frustrated at this point for being

woken twice in the night. I immediately fling myself out of bed determined to find the source of these irritating noises. Before I even make it two steps toward the door, the noise comes to an abrupt halt. I realized that it too was coming from my room. More perplexed than angry at this point, a whirl around to see what could possibly be producing this noise, and all at once, I feel like the wind has been knocked out of me. Sitting in the corner of my room, cross-legged, on a puddle of wet carpet is a large, shaggy man wearing soap clothes and holding my guitar. A million simultaneous thoughts go through my mind in this instant.

The obvious thoughts like, what the fuck? Who the fuck? Or how the fuck? We're very prevalent. But also a more bizarre thought processes like, God had annoys me when people touched my guitar without asking. All logical thought seemed to come to a complete stand still at that point, and for whatever reason some deep-seated social cue came roaring to life,

and my mouth sputtered out these words. Would you like a cup of tea? Because you know, obviously the first thing you do when someone comes into your house is offer them a cup of tea, right? The man seems pleased with this interaction. He perks up and nods brightly. Finally, the rational part of my brain awakens from this coma and I turn and sprint from the room,

slamming the door shut behind me. A scream from my brother to call the police while holding the door handle with all my might, dreading the desperate struggle that was sure to happen. There's a man in my fucking room. He comes running out and once he sees the look of terror in my face does not waste time in making the call. While listening to him, give the operator our address, and pleading with him to hurry, I hear a soft knock on the other side of the door. No sugar please, he says.

The word bamboozled comes to mind when I think about it at this moment. I fully expected to reach down, pinch my arm, and awaken from the most vivid dream of my life. The police arrived not long after, and my brother led them to me at the end of the hall. My knuckles were turning wide on the door knob. After mentally bracing myself, I let go of the handle and leapt backwards, letting the policemen do their thing. They rushed into the room, tasers drawn, chatting out this home invader to show himself. Their aggression was short lived, however, and I was still close enough to see why. The man was simply sitting on the edge of my bed now, amusing himself by playing with

one of my figurines. I think the officers were also taken aback by this, and they halted for a second before continuing a bit more gingerly. Now to cut a rather long-winded story short and to confirm what you probably have already deduced, yes, this man was a mental patient who had slipped out of his temporary hospice and waited along the river, looking for houses to explore. Muddyfoot Brents on my neighbor's deck confirmed that he originally tried to enter their houses. I was simply the one foolish enough to leave his house unlocked.

The police took him away, and they later gave me a follow-up call to say that he had been put in a much more secure location, but that I should still be a lot more vigilant when it comes to securing my house. In hindsight, I believe this man was totally harmless. Il, yes, obviously. But not malicious. There was ample opportunity when he could have harmed me at this man his intent. But he did not do so.

He simply took my unlocked doors and invitation to come in. It did not press charges as it did not want to damage the life of an already damaged person. The incident left me pretty shaken up, excuse the earthquake pun, for quite some time, and I still struggle to fall asleep sometimes. But for the most part, I have moved on. However, there is one thing that I have not been able to let go of. I believe this one detail has left the permanent scar on my psyche. As the police were leading the man out of my house,

he uttered a short giggle, the same one I had heard when I awoke and originally, and said, the man couldn't find me under his bed. So, let's not meet again. A few years ago, my brother-in-law bought another apartment complex in Florida. He owns a few apartment complexes in West Palm Beach, Miami. So when he told me that he bought another one and wanted me to manage it, I figured why the hell not. I had just graduated college with my degree and planned to get my master so I figured I could manage his place and do graduate school. When he booked my flight to Orlando, I was stoked.

I loved Disney and I dreamed about buying a year pass and checking out all of the neat parks. Then when I got there, we drove out of Orlando and I had a bad feeling. He bought the apartments in a town called Leesburg. I was a little disappointed that I was an hour away from Orlando with its nightlife, clubs, and whatnot. I made it work though, and soon settled into life,

managing a small apartment complex. I had my own one bedroom apartment in the corner, and then there were ten other tenants. Most were older folks, snowbirds, and retirees that spent their days golfing and swimming in the pool that we had. There were two military families, one with small kids, and then there was Andy. Andy was an enormous man. Now, I'm a pretty big guy, 6'4", 250 pounds. But he was at least 6' foot 6 and maybe 400 pounds plus. He walked with the cane and had long black hair that he put in a ponytail. He worked from home or so he said, but rumor was he was on disability after a horrible work accident. I really didn't

care. He paid rent on time. He was quiet and he kept to himself. That was only in his place once when his AC went out. He was pretty neat, no food containers or pizza boxes, beer cans etc. Nothing that I expected a big guy like him to have laying out. Things in our complex went pretty good for the next year, until one night in November. It was raining, like it always does in Florida, and it was about midnight when someone rang my doorbell. I looked out and saw it was one of my tenants, Joseph. Joe was one of the retirees who retired to Florida in his words to play golf and drink

beer. Normally, he was all smiles and jokes, but that night his face was pale, and he looked frightened. I hate to bother you, Sam, but something ain't right with Andy. I put on my jacket and falled him to his apartment as he was Andy's neighbor. He put his finger on his lip and motioned for me to listen. I put my ear up to the door and I heard Andy fighting with someone. It sounded like whomever he was fighting with was throwing things. I was taken aback as he had never had a guest over in the year that I had lived here. So I knocked and I heard him stomp over to the door and

open it. He looked normal. He was very well dressed, well put together, and like I said, wasn't messy at all. He answered in a shirt that had grease stains. His hair was limp and greasy and smelled like B.O. I peered behind him and saw that his place was a disaster. I asked if everything was okay. He seemed irritated and said yes, and then shut the door in my face. I sent Joe back to his place and told him to let me know if he'd heard anything else and went to bed. The next morning I decided to pay Andy a visit to see if he was okay, and so I went by his place and knocked. No answer, so I decided I would try back again later. I got busy doing other things and forgot all about it. December rolls around and I'm starting to get monthly rent checks.

None from Andy. That got me a bit worried as he was always on time with his checks, so I knocked on his door. There was nothing. I knocked again, and I heard grunting and moaning. Now I should have called the police first, but I didn't. I opened the door with my key ring, and was hit with the foulest smell ever. It smelled like piss, shit, vomit, and bio all rolled into one nasty smell. The walls were streaked with what I assumed was

shit and the place was thrashed. I start calling for Andy while dialing 911. I hear the moaning from the back bedroom. I can never unsee what I saw. Andy was naked and laying on the floor in his room with some dirty clothes. He was covered in his own shit and piss, and there were piles of vomit on the carpet. That was bad, but what was worse is he was covered in bites, human bites all over his arms, his legs, and he was starting to smell with infection. He was also bleeding from his rectum. I wondered who attacked him. Was it the woman we heard him fighting with? I didn't get my answer until a few days later. He had been rushed to the hospital and was

fighting for his life in ICU. The doctors talked to his sister who turned out to be his medical guardian, and things slowly came into place. Turns out Andy did that to himself. He suffered from multiple mental disorders. He stopped taking his meds in October. There was no other person there that night that he was arguing with. He was arguing with himself. Those bites, he inflicted on himself, the bleeding from his rectum, from inserting foreign

objects in there, and doing so much damage, he ruptured his internal organs. He ended up pulling through and went home to live with his sister. I had the task of cleaning his apartment, and what I found while cleaning pretty much freaks me out as much as finding him. He had a shoebox full of cutouts from magazines, old family photos, and even photos he obviously took of the residents in the apartments, including myself. All of the eyes were burned out with cigarettes, and some of them had X's put over where their mouths were. I'm not sure if that was part of his mental decline, or if he is always that creepy and I never noticed. All I know is Andy...

Let's not me. This happened circa 1971 or 1972. It was when my mother was about 14 or 15 years old. The incident occurred in a heavily wooded area in Alabama, close to Birmingham. My mother is the oldest of five children. She has three sisters and a brother who is the baby of the family. One weekend in the cooler months of the fall, my grandfather decided to take the whole family out into the woods for target practicing with a rifle. This included my grandmother, my mother, and all of my aunts and uncles, so seven people

total. My mother grew up quite poor, and they didn't always live in the best of neighborhoods, so my grandfather wanted to teach the kids how to defend themselves with the rifle if need be. And as I said, it was later in the fall, so the trees trees were bare and there were a lot of leaves on the ground. The wooded area was just off the dirt road, so this was a fairly rural area that they were in. Since it was so far off the beaten path, my grandfather became startled when he heard the roar of a car engine so deep in the woods. My mother remembers that the car was a blue Ford Galaxy.

Now despite the fact that my grandfather had a gun, he totally freaked out and told my grandma and the kids to hide under a pile of leaves in the woods. He then hid with them. The man in the driver's seat got out, dragged a woman's body out of the car, and just dumped her there in the woods, then eat her of away. After my grandfather was sure that the man was gone, everyone came out of hiding, then the woman sat up and stared them straight in the face. My grandfather asked the woman if she needed help. She said no, and that she would be fine.

She didn't seem to be injured and obviously didn't want help. She hadn't even put up a fight with the man when he was dragging her out of the car. Maybe she knew him. So my grandfather, he cut the shooting lesson short and decided to rush the kids home to safety. On the trail back to the dirt road where my grandfather had parked their car, they've passed the man in the blue Ford Galaxy driving out in the woods. My mom looked over and noticed that he had a huge machete laying across the front seat right beside him. My grandfather made sure that the man could see that he was carrying a rifle, but everyone

was careful not to give away what they had just seen. The man struck up some small talk with my grandfather, asked him how he was doing and what they were doing out in the woods. My grandfather explained that he had just taken his family out for some target practice with the rifle. The man told him to have a nice day and continue driving. The next day, my grandfather went back out to that spot in the woods. There was not a body there, however, he did find that the woman had left a wig, her purse,

some Kleenex, and a pair of eyeglasses. He collected the items and took them home. According to my grandfather, that area of the woods is known for having shallow graves and being a dumping site for bodies. My mother became hysterical when he walked in the door carrying all that stuff. She started screaming, he killed that lady, he killed the lady! My grandfather ended up taking the items to the police station, but my mom doesn't think that anything ever came of it She never heard anything else about it after that Well, she did hear one of the thing

Early the next morning my grandmother called my mom when she arrived at work just before the kids left her school She told them not to take the bus that day That she would come home and pick them up and drive them to school. When my mom asked why, my grandmother said, because that car is waiting for you at the bus stop. So man in the blue Ford Galaxy in the woods. Let's not meet. This is not my story, it is my grandmother's. She told me this after I was shared shared an equally horrific tale of my own.

I should tell you guys that my grandmother is part of a time period when a lot of southerners were migrating to the northern states looking for work and better pay to help them with their families, still living down south. This took her to New York where she found seamstress work, and that's where the story takes place. I should also add that my grandma is a tough old bird, and she's very paranoid about people she doesn't know, and situations that she has no control over. So the story came as a shock to me, and probably explains a little bit about why she's so paranoid all the time. I will also add though, she does not take and has never taken anyone's shit.

She's about 5'9", had muscles in her 60s, still rocks a crew cut and would kick someone's ass if it were necessary. She's not a typical granny at all, so if something scares her, it's really fucking scary. So my grandmother and her friend Judy worked down the street from each other. They were introduced by my grandma's boss and hit it off pretty well, and they started hanging out frequently after work. My grandma said that one night they went to the bar and were having a good old time. It was here that the men approached them. There were two of them, one tall, light-skinned man and one short, darker-skinned man.

Judy seemed to know them and seemed happy to see them. She introduced them to Meg grandma, so they all decided to hang out for the evening. After a while of drinking and having a good time at the bar, the men started asking Judy of her and her quote unquote, beautiful friend would like to come back to their house to continue the party since the bar was about to close. My grandmother declined as she's always been paranoid and said that the man we're giving off creepy vibes all night,

just doing stuff like whispering when they thought her and Judy weren't paying attention, giving the general creeper stare that as women become accustomed to noticing. A short dark man kept touching my grandma's waist. She said he was ugly as hell, and that he looked like an old, screw-faced beagle in her own words, and that he was so short she practically towered over him. At one point he tried to hold her hand, and she gave him the, I will fucking kill you look, and he just let go. The tall man persisted with the after-party idea, saying they could go play cards and dance some more at their big nice house. He promised there

would be others there that they could party with them play cards as well. Judy by this time was tanked and the man had her convinced, but she didn't want to go home with my grandma. She proceeded to beg my grandma to come with her. She tells my grandma to stop being paranoid and to trust her. That these guys are just friends and that it's okay. So my grandma against her better judgment left with them. She says that they drove for a good while, and the moment she looked out of the car window and didn't recognize anything at all, she asked the tall man where they were going, and

all he said was, upstate. At this point, my grandma knew that she was probably going to be in trouble. The two men sat in the front, and her and Judy were in the back. Judy keeps telling my grandmother to chill out, that they're gonna have a good time. So they get there, and it turns out this guy didn't lie. They pull up in front of a nice big house and some suburb. They go inside, and my grandma says she remembers the front door leading them into a long, dimly lit hallway. They were all walking single-file down the hallway in this order. Tall man, Judy,

grandmother, and short man. She says that at the end of the hallway, there was a door which they had to stop at while the tall man used a key to open it. Grandma said she saw a big rat in the spare room off the hall run across the dirty mattress with horrible brown stains all over it. She says that this is what initially creeped her out about the house. The stains looked like dried blood and it was the only thing in the room just lying in the middle of the floor. So while this tall man is opening the door, my grandma is about two seconds from losing her shit. The door finally opens, and here is where the story gets scary as fuck.

My grandmother said she barely got a glimpse into the room. The door pulled out slowly toward them, so she could see through the crack between the door and where its hinges and the frame meet as it opened wider. There were women of all ages, nude, in lingerie and garters, laying all over the furniture, playing cards

and smoking cigarettes with men, and she could hear someone screaming. My grandmother screamed and turned to run, knocking the shortman down in the process. She said that she was so much taller than him, that she barely even noticed running over him. The tall man had already grabbed Judy who was now screaming too, and with the help of the other man shoved her inside the room with the other women and slammed the door Then turned to help the short man chase her down the hall She said she could hear them behind her yelling catch that bitch and that they would kill her if they caught her

She managed to get down the hall and out the door She ran down the street screaming because she didn't know where she was or Where a train station was. She had to get away and they were still chasing her. She ran into a little old man who was opening a new stand by the grace of God. He asked her what was going on and when she pointed at the men, he pulled out a gun and started yelling at them to get the fuck out of there, and they high-tailed it back to wherever.

The new Stanman helped her find the train station and gave her money so that she could get back to the city. My grandma never saw Judy again. Her boss said that a light-skinned man had come and picked up all of her belongings from her place of work, which was also where she lived. In a nutshell, my grandma avoided being abducted into a human trafficking ring. She says that this has been going on longer than anyone in the world wants to know or admit. For those of you who are wondering, why my grandmother hadn't called the police?

You have to understand. My grandma didn't know where they took her, or if she'd been given real names. She didn't even know the address or anything that would have helped find Judy. Also, being from Alabama back then, she didn't have much faith that she would be helped, and was afraid of them and what the men might do to her from meddling. She says that she wishes she could have just convinced Judy not to go, and for a long time she felt guilty about being the only one who got away. I'm glad that she did. I might not exist if they had caught her.

So two men abducting women into a human trafficking ring? Let's not die. Don't forget if you're a Patreon subscriber, stick around after the music for your bonus section of brand new stories this week. I do hope you've enjoyed part three of the Lost Stories. This week you have heard, the man on the couch by a listener that asked to remain anonymous. Guy staring through my window by Paramedic 433, a chase never truly begins until you start running by Ali Soros, the bag lady by Maltese Panda, Rick the Long Hall Trucker by Threvaway Ginny 1968. I offered my

home intruder a cup of tea by Deleat Power, Andy by their out-to-gett us. Murderer in the woods by Coldbeer on Sunday and finally she acted like she knew them by Skizo Frenica. 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 make sure you send it to me at Let's Not Meet Stories at gmail.com.

And if you want to get access to the ad-free extended version of this week's episode, as well as past episodes, head to patreon.com forward slash Let's Not Meet Podcast to sign up and support today. I'll see you all Saturday night for your live stream episode of Let's Not Meet a True Horror Podcast. The link is in the show notes that 7pm Pacific Standard Time, this coming Saturday, if you can't make that, don't worry. The audio episode will be available the following day as any other regular episode of Let's

Not Mead. I'll see you all this weekend. Stay safe. This story takes place in the summer, going into my sophomore year of high school.