Let's Not Meet: A True Horror Podcast - 7x02: Romantic Movie Tropes - Let's Not Meet

Episode Date: September 6, 2021

Stories in this episode:  -The Jeweler In The Pool - endotron11.  -Untitled - Elias.  -Romantic Movie Tropes Are Horrifying In Real Life - Former Social Butterly.  -Not All Guests Are Welcome - KittyKatHasClaws.  -The First Time I Was Truly Terrified - Anon.  -Mexico - Anon.  Extended Patreon Content:  -Three Stories - vnavigator.  -Three Stories - RiaWildfire.  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 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!  Stop wasting time going to the Post office and go to Stamps.com instead. There’s NO risk. And with my promo code, MEET, you get a special offer that includes a 4-week trial PLUS free postage and a digital scale. No long-term commitments or contracts. Just go to Stamps.com, click on the Microphone at the TOP of the homepage and type in MEET. Make the switch to PrettyLitter TODAY! Get 20% off your first order by visiting Prettylitter.com and use promo code MEET. This podcast is sponsored by BetterHelp and my listeners get 10% off their first month at betterhelp.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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All designed to last a lifetime. Start customizing now at bullbibikew.. That's bullbbq.com and turn a bull loose in your backyard. 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 seven episode two of Let's Not Meet a True Horror podcast. Due to some factual inaccuracies, there was a story that I needed to remove from this week's episode.

Now, for some of you newer listeners, I didn't want you stuck with a short episode, so I went ahead and included one of the Patreon-only exclusive stories. This one is titled The Jeweler in the Pool by Indochron11. Enjoy the episode. When I was 22, my grandparents gave me a nice sum of money for Christmas. I was a student, and a practical one at that. I would have naturally spent the cash on groceries or rent, but my grandmother encouraged me to get something special for myself. Although I may have been a little disgruntled at the redirection of my funds, inwardly,

I appreciated being encouraged to spoil myself a bit. Relevant to the story, I was an amicable young woman with long natural blonde hair, a plump hourglass figure, and a symmetrical face, however, I thought of myself as overweight, and my poor self-esteem led me to utter obliviousness when it came to the attention of men. To please everyone I decided to get a gem pass. It seemed both practical and a treat, at least the gem that I picked was a treat. I chose the gem with the swankiest local hotel for two solid reasons. One, it was an easy three block walk from my place.

And two, it had a gorgeous indoor outdoor pool with a lovely hot tub. I've always been a water baby, and this pool was probably the most glamorous pool I had ever swam in. You could swim under a giant glass door to go in and out. I would float on my back and look at the clouds or at the stars if I came later in the day. And to be perfectly honest, I did very little on the way of exercise at that gym. I would arrive after class and rush through my workout so that I could get into the pool. I would arrive after class and rush through my workout so that I could get into the pool.

Then I would spend the next hour pretending to be a dolphin. Most of the time, I had the space to myself. And I relished it like a greedy ares. After splashing and doing some summer salts and handstands, floating in cloud gazing, I finished with the soak in the hot tub. It was pure bliss. I finished with the soak in the hot tub. It was pure bliss. At times as it is expected in a hotel there would be guests sharing the space. I was friendly and happy to chat with anyone who struck up a conversation and that included the jeweler from Montreal. When I climbed into the hot tub, the man in it had already been stewing for a while, probably watching me as I swam. He had huge liquid black eyes, very thin black hair, with a large bald spot, a mustache, and an oily body complete with hair on his shoulders. He wore a thick gold chain around his shoulders, and nearly every finger was studded with a large ring

with a prominent gemstone. Physically, he was repugnant to a 22-year-old me. Two old, two hairy, two bald, but he was friendly, and he seemed kind. He revealed that he was a jeweler from Montreal. He was in town on business. He had an indefinable accent and leaned back as he spoke and relaxed. Thinking of him as a trustworthy uncle sort, I was happy to tell him that I lived nearby and that I was studying at the nearby university, focusing on drawing and painting. He seemed delighted. He asked, could I draw gems, jewelry? Of course I could. I was full of confidence and any opportunity that could employ an artist and treat me. He continued to talk about how successful he was, how he had many jewelry stores, and how he needed an artist. He could fly

me to Montreal. I could see the jewels in person and draw them there. I started to get really excited. Creative employment. Travel opportunities. Yes, please. I began to imagine ditching school and starting my new glamorous life as a jewelry artist. and starting my new glamorous life as a jewelry artist? Well, I'll need to see how well you draw before I can make any promises. Can you do some sketches for me when you go home and bring them back to me at this hotel this evening? We can go for dinner and you can show me.

Any other person, this would have sent alarm bells ringing in their headmine out, but I implicitly trusted everyone, including this character. I didn't know how to hurt people. I didn't watch any crime dramas. There was no such thing as, let's read. I'd pretty much exclusively watched cartoons growing up. The Simpsons was as racy as my viewing got at the time, therefore I had no frame of reference. And I have to forgive my past self for what happened next. I scampered home and excitedly drew several rings and gyms, copying from the local jewelry store ad, to show off my mad art skills. I then selected a classy high-necked black dress and put on black heels and my

most impressive ring, a large cluster of Australian garnets, which had belonged to my great grandmother. I walked carefully down the dark streets in my heels, feeling confident with my tidy portfolio of fresh drawings under my arm. When I arrived in the warm lobby of this glitzy hotel, the man was waiting for me. He stood near the wall in an obviously expensive suit. As he spotted me, he smiled hungrily, with a new fierceness in these black eyes. He came over to me swiftly, talking about how nice I looked, and suddenly guiding me by my elbow towards the elevator doors. I went compilianly, although I was feeling a bit baffled. The restaurants were on the ground floor of the hotel, as far as I knew.

As we stepped into the elevator though, he explained, I just need to make a quick stop in my room. You can show me your artwork there. As much as my presence self wants to scream, can't you see the red flags waving in your face? The naive people pleasing girl that I was walked right into that hotel room with him, without giving it a second thought. He closed the door and walked past me, then turned to face me. The atmosphere suddenly felt thick and my blood began to roar in my ears. But I was here about a dream job, damn it.

I was going to be a pro. No alarm bells were going off yet, although they should have been. He just stood and stared at me with those eyes, clutching my portfolio against his chest. I smiled bravely into his oddly flat black eyes and squeaked. Would you like to see my drawings now? My question seemed to reach him and his mood shifted. He smiled warmly and spread his hands out wide, saying, please. I moved gingerly to the small hotel desk and spread the drawings out. We stood side by side, leaning over the sketches of the jewels and gems, he mumbled. Oh, yes, very nice. As he stood too close. I was acutely aware of his breathing, his large, moist, hairy presence.

He placed a hand on my waist as he leaned closer to the sketch. Fear clutched my guts, but I pushed through this panic, straining to be, quote, professional. I sidestepped his hand, and moved a few steps closer to the door as he looked. He lifted his gaze from the drawing and his eyes seemed more intense and blacker than ever. The tone of his voice dropped to a husky growl. You should go. I was caught off guard, as some stupid part of myself still expected dinner, but some other smarter animal part of myself was finally yelling at me to get out of there.

He continued, still mumbling, you should go. A beautiful girl like you, I have a daughter your age. I could do anything I wanted to hear in this room. Anything. By now my terror was complete. Although I wanted to run, I stood rigid until he repeated. You should go. I blanked out.

I don't even remember leaving the room. I have a feeling he may have resumed his gentleman's demeanor and handed me my portfolio. And put a hand on my lower back to guide me out the door, spewing pleasant trees about being in touch. Maybe I just left. I know I didn't run, though. I do remember exiting the hotel and walking directly home as fast as my heels would carry me. My vision narrowed with panic, and then widened as I sank into relief as I neared my place. As I unwound at home making myself a craft dinner or an evening meal,

I began to realize how foolish I had been. Who had ever heard of a jeweler needing a personal artist? Who offers to fly one across the country without even seeing their artwork? why had I gone into that elevator with him or into his room? What was it? He had even needed in the room. I was horrified beyond belief as I finally realized that I was the thing that he wanted to get in that hotel room. It was my innocent artistic intent that unsettled him, or my similarity to his daughter, maybe. I walked right into his trap and would have been an easy victim. But for one ever reason, I'm grateful that he changed his mind and decided to let me go. I can't say that I've learned my lesson from this encounter, but I was thankfully less naive moving forward, and most definitely have never entered a stranger's hotel room again. So creepy juggler from Montreal. Let's not meet.

This story takes place in my second year of middle school. I had recently moved to this new smaller town a year or so prior, and because of the size, I felt decently safe there. For some background, at the time, I was a shorter biological female. I identify as a different gender now, but that's not part of the story. On this particular day, I had received an invite to go out with some friends and accepted Meeting at a local cafe We were all girls same age and similar height

The only difference is that I have a much stronger build since I played sports After roughly an hour of walking around downtown we ended up sitting outside of a CVS with some snacks and drinks. I remember we were comparing our music tastes when it happened. A man walked up behind us nonchalantly as the sun was setting. He looked roughly in his 60s, his hair was already grey. He approached us and clearly tried to start a conversation. Me being the naive little shit that I was, I couldn't say no to beginning a conversation with him.

Trust me when I say I've had my experiences with creepy men, so of course I didn't feel comfortable in the situation that I was stuck in. At one point, the man tried to touch my shoulder, but my friend slapped his hand away. Thank God for her. The stranger's face turned red as if you were getting mad. I was scared for a moment. I thought that he was going to scream at us, but instead took three little packets out of his pocket and tried to hand one to each of us. Both my friends declined, but my dumbass took it. It was a small plastic baggy with a singular plastic coin inside.

It had a little clover engraved on it. I thanked him and felt both of my friends dragging me away from this guy. He waved this off and walked to his car. Looking back, I realized that he hadn't even gone into the CVS. He came up to us from the parking lot, meaning talking to us was his only intention. I didn't think much of it and just followed my friend. We walked across the parking lot, clearly with the sense of urgency. When suddenly my friend nudged me, causing me to turn around, and I realized that this man was following us in his car.

We broke out into a panic and sprinted back to the grocery store, to a panic and sprinted back to the grocery store. An alley that was too narrow for a car to get through. As we ran, his car seemed to hit the gas and make a beeline for us. We ran for our lives, too tired to even scream. We finally turned the corner to the back alley and heard him make a U-turn and drive off. We must have sat there for almost an hour before checking to make sure that the coast was clear, then heading into the CVS to explain what happened. To my shock, the Lady of the Register didn't even look surprised.

Yeah, we've been getting some complaints about stuff like that. Was all that she could say before turning to help the other customers. Shaking, we walked out of the store. We were crying as the adrenaline was leaving our bodies. We decided to cut the hangout short and call our parents to get us. I wish that were the end of the story, but sadly it's not. Roughly a month later, my friend who slapped the guy's hand away from me sent the group chat of an article.

When I opened the link, a gasped in horror. The link was to a mugshot. The face of the man we encountered at the CVS. He had been arrested for raping and beating a girl up, and a more populated side of the county. He was also a registered sex offender, even before we saw him. This sent chills down my spine. To the man who came up to me and my friends, what my gut felt was ill intent, let's not meet into all the females reading this, please stay safe out there. Don't let the summer heat bake in, road-grime any longer, hand to your nearby Zips Car Wash to clean up and cool off.

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visit AT&T.com slash Hypergate for details. When I was 19, I was a sheltered community college student, living at home with my parents and two little brothers. I had been raised extremely religious, expected to be a pure, virginal girl until marriage. But I was starting to experiment with Rebellion

as I planned to transfer to a state university. My version of Rebellion meant flirting with my classmates and kissing boys without being in serious relationships with them. Scandalist, I know. During my last semester at Community College, I befriended a talkative guy who worked at the sandwich shop on campus. His name was Jay. We ended up spending our lunch times together every single day, sometimes alone, but sometimes in a group with my other friends as well. He was short and stalky, but so was I, and I never felt intimidated by his presence when we were alone. Even after he expressed romantic interest, and I turned him down, I never felt intimidated by his presence when we were alone. Even after he expressed romantic interest, and I turned him down, I never felt danger.

This is probably because we were always together in public, and there was always somebody nearby. I was quite the social butterfly back then. I was also terribly naive, just like my parents wanted me to be. So when Jay invited me to lunch, on a Saturday off campus, I easily agreed. We exchanged phone numbers, made plans to meet at a nearby park, and didn't think to tell anyone about it, because it was no big deal.

Sure, we were a little flirty with each other, but I flirted with all of my friends and had been clear that I wasn't interested in dating anyone at the time, so this obviously wasn't a date. The park was totally empty when I arrived, and Jay had set up a beautiful picnic in a fairly secluded area, but it was broad daylight, so I wasn't the slightest bit worried. We ate, and talked, and had a lovely time together, walking the winding woodland paths of the park after lunch. Besides a bit of flirting, nothing really happened. The next week we made lunch plans together on another Saturday.

This time, at an Olive Garden. Again, I spent time alone with my guy friends all the time, so this clearly still wasn't a date. Even after we got caught in the rain and listened to music in my car afterwards, besides the bit of flirting nothing happened. So when I invited him to my house to hang out one day, I wasn't expecting him to kiss me. In hindsight, I can see how he thought it was a romantic comedy movie where persistence and sweetness would win the girl's heart. But I wasn't oblivious, idiot. I reminded him that I wasn't dating at the time, and he was visibly annoyed. He didn't understand why I wouldn't date anyone. I didn't know how to tell him that I was enjoying making out with whoever I wanted without

commitment. And he simply wasn't someone I wanted. So I didn't explain myself beyond I just don't want to. He left without saying anything else. So I padded myself on the back for clearing up that silly miscommunication, and we kept having lunch on campus, but I made sure to keep more friends around. One of these friends wound up teasing me in front of Jay about hooking up with the mutual friend, and the look Jay gave me was indescribably hostile.

That was the first time I had an inkling that I may have been in over my head, but I didn't address it. He began lecturing me about different philosophies on morality and theology whenever we were alone, challenging my religiosity and personal hypocrisies. and personal hypocrisies. I got the feeling that he was trying logic and reason to get me into wanting to date him. And I became less and less accommodating as time went on. I think it could sense me pulling away because as the semester was nearing its end, I was woken up in the small hours of the morning to a barrage of texts from Jay, all confessing his love for me and declaring that he would prove his devotion to me. He claimed that he had walked to my house, a quest to demonstrate the depth and seriousness of his commitment to me. He lived a 45-minute drive from me, so walking would have taken hours. He said he

was outside of my house right then. And when I looked at my window, I saw him on the front lawn, collapsed with exhaustion. I was utterly bewildered. What was I supposed to do? It was the middle of the night. How was this meant to be romantic? This was horrifying. What did he expect from me? Concerned for his safety, we both live in the south, where even our nights are sweltering hot. I got a gatorade from the fridge and woke up my parents. I explained that a boy I knew from school had walked to our house and might need help. My dad said that he would drive him home and then went outside alone. Jay was visibly agitated when I tried to tell him

that his behavior just wasn't appropriate, that I was sorry that he felt that I let him on, but I had been perfectly honest with him the whole time about my lack of intentions. The more I babbled, the angrier he got, and I went straight into fawning mode out of self-defense. I started crying, apologizing repeatedly, and saying that I knew he wouldn't believe me, but I really did care about him. My dad called myself on and told me to get inside of the house. That he couldn't protect

me if I were outside. I told Jay that my dad was offering to drive him home and he refused to accept. Looking back, I'm pretty sure he hit driven to my house and just parked his car out of sight, but in the moment I was too frantic to realize this was all a very stupid ruse. My dad opened the front door and called to me. I went back inside. My parents spent the next hour interrogating me. My dad demanded to know what I had done to front door and called to me. I went back inside. My parents spent the next hour interrogating me. My dad demanded to know what I had done to provoke this sort of attention from a boy. I said we were just friends, but he had kissed me once.

My dad demanded to know if I had kissed him back, as if all of this were entirely my fault. He wound up praying over me, asking God to forgive me for what I had done and forgive him for failing as a father, that I would seek such attention from other men. I didn't have the knowledge or language then, but the betrayal from my parents, victim blaming, hurt worse than anything else about the situation. The next day, I texted Jay that I never wanted to talk to him again, and that if he ever showed up at her house again, my parents would report him to the police.

He hurled abuse at me over text and voicemail for days swinging between vitriol and pleading, slut-shaming, as well as poetic, threatening and bargaining. I saved all of this in case I needed to report it. The communications stopped after about a week, so I thought maybe the worst was over. I was about to transfer schools, and he wouldn't know where to find me. Surely that would be it. During the summer before my transfer, I took care of my little brothers during the day while my parents were at work.

But on orientation day at my new university, a male friend who was also transferring to the same university as me picked me up from my house so that we could carpool to orientation together. As soon as we turned onto the highway, I got a text. It was from Jay. I see your fucking fill now. I hope you have fun letting him touch you. You whore. My stomach dropped. I felt the blood drain from my face. It wasn't the abuse of language. It was the I.C. Jay had been watching my house. He was outside of my house. My house where my brothers were home alone.

I had left my brothers alone, and he was outside of my house. I immediately called my dad shaking with terror. I explained what was happening. That Jay was watching the house, and my brothers were all alone, and should I go home to get them or call the police? My dad told me to stop panicking, that fear was exactly what Jay wanted, and the best thing I could do was ignore him. He would handle the situation, and I should go to orientation as planned.

I felt sick with the dread, but did as he asked. But nothing happened. If Jay stalked me, or the house after that, he never made me aware of it again. But I was terrified for years. I was constantly looking over my shoulder whenever I visited my hometown, wondering if he was still keeping track of me. I had horrible nightmares that he would show up at my door with the gun, no matter how many times I moved, and every time my paranoia would start to ease, he would do something

that would remind me. I was still very much in his mind. He called me about a year after the last threatening text, left the drunk voice malapologizing, but I never replied. He also emailed me about a year after that, an apology in the subject line, but I didn't read it. Finally, about a year after that, I received a text from an unknown number while on a date with a man who would become my husband. Who is this?" I asked. Who is this?" it asked. Who is this?" I asked back. I don't get an answer.

It asked. Not until I know who is asking, I replied. He sent a single name. Jay's very unique middle name that he had told me once, and I had always remembered for its peculiarity. That same stomach sinking feeling hit me, and I stopped dead in my tracks. Years later, and he was still haunting me. I blocked the number without responding and

was shaken up for the rest of the night. It's been over 10 years, and I still sometimes wonder if someday I'll see him in a crowd watching me. When I listen to true crime podcasts like this, I hear survivor stories so much more intense than mine. I wonder if I have any right to say that I once had a stalker, and question if I had any right to be terrified. But the fact is, it's because of the story shared on this podcast that I know how badly my story could have ended. I know how lucky I was. I know how lucky I was. And do in part two podcasts like this,

I don't assume everyone has good intentions anymore. I'm no longer naive. AT&T Fiber presents A Straight Forward Moment You're wine? Thanks. I'll pretend I know what I'm doing before saying it's good. And I'll pretend I don't know you're pretending. Are you a Gagillionaire? Yeah, I have 18T 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 Gagillionaire with AT&T Fiber. Limited availability in select areas.

Visit AT&T.com slash hypergig for details. AT&T 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 Gagillionaire? Yeah, I have AT&T Fiber.

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 Hypergig for details. I've been working for an independent hotel for just over four years now. We're the number one rated hotel in our city, and proud of it. I mostly work in housekeeping, but have done some time at the front desk as well. I love my job, and I've always said that my bosses are great. Now, being a housekeeper, I've seen some things. I've seen a room where someone snuck their dog, kitten, and chicken in. We don't allow pets. I once had a room that I was cleaning as a stayover that had tripod set up around the bed, professional camera equipment cases, and adult-sized pacifier on site, and an extra-large-sized children's diaper.

The two people that were in the room were in their early 20s. I've even had a room once that we had to call the cops on for a raid because they found meth. They found a lot of drugs, and guns in that room. But today, today is the first time I've ever actually felt scared to be in a guest's room. As I'm working on a room that's already been vacated, A man in the next room over catches me at my supply cart. He's set to be staying for several days and tells me, you can go ahead and clean my room now,

I'm down for breakfast. Excellent, I love getting my stayovers early on. It makes things easier for the people working laundry. The sooner we get the dirty laundry to them, the better. So, I pop over into his room. I'm opening it up and propping the door open with the stopper like we always do. The first thing I notice is that he has about 20 prescription bottles lined up on one of the two beds, along with insulin and needles. I'm nosy.

I'll admit it. And I wanted to see what he was taking. Oddly, it was only two different types of medication for all 20 bottles. About two-thirds of them were diabetes medications, and the rest were cholesterol medications. That's a little weird that he has so many bottles of the same meds, but whatever. I go to make the bed and see that some of the bedding has been stained. I sigh, knowing I'll have to change all the bedding now instead of just being able to turn down the sheets and blanket. So I leave the room, closing it behind me to go get the linens that I needed, and then

I head right back to the room. I prop the door open again and head to clean the linens on the desk chair. When I see out of the corner of my eye, two notes sitting on the TV stand. It wouldn't mean anything except that I caught the word kill, scrawled on it. I dropped the linens and took a closer look. When I read on the first note made my blood run cold. It read, you don't have to forgive her. You just can't kill her. You are here to take money and alcohol away from you. Get over having to kill her and you can safely leave. My heart was pounding. My eyes went to the second note, though. It had just looked like a to-do list at first glance, but in the end, it made my stomach churn. It read, Spray and wash, apply for Medicare. In subordination, the soul is

healed by being with children. Bank card follow up, inheritance, savings, Kauai pop, 10,500, map Montana. There will be a day of reckoning. Did you tell mom what I said? And finally, how did Bev get my address? It was too much. I quickly snapped pictures of them on my phone, so I could show my boss why I would not clean his room. I left the room quickly, closing it up behind me, as the door closes, I turn and I see the man just 10 feet away from me, coming back to his room. My heart is in my throat, but

I manage to smile and tell him, I need more supplies. I'll be back to your room in a bit." I take off straight for the elevator, having noticed our maintenance man, waiting for the slow transport. In a hushed tone I tell him what I found, and he sees that I'm shaken, not a normal state for me. He rides down with me, and I go straight to my boss and tell her for the first time in all these years. I'm not comfortable being in a guest's room. I show her the pictures, and her face is still in pale. She goes to the front desk and asks her general manager for a minute of her time and brings her into the office to show her. She agreed that this was not a safe situation

and took our maintenance man to go with her to inform the man he had one hour to get his belongings and leave the hotel and he was not welcome back. I spent a few minutes in the laundry room trying to calm down then my boss went back up to the floor with me until the man was officially out of the hotel. I don't know who Bevis. I don't know who the woman is that he didn't feel he needed to forgive but the man in room 422, let's not ever meet again. AT&T 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? Yeah, I have 18T 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 Gagillionaire with 18T Fiber. you a better one. I grew up in an incredibly small town of about 3000. It's the kind of place where everybody knows everybody and the kids feel safe everywhere. I was 11 at the time. This was the age that I started taking long walks with friends at night, just to give you a sense of just how small and safe this town felt. Me and a few friends were having a little going away get together for one of the other girls who was moving across the country. I barely knew her, but my best friend at the time wanted me to come.

There were only six of us, and we decided that we wanted to go to a local playground just to mess around like kids our ages did. It wasn't a fantastic playground. One of those small slide sets with the climbing sections and swings and those little animals with springs that are as staple in small town playgrounds. We were daring each other to go down the slide as it was rumored to have been a hot spot for sex when I started to feel uncomfortable. I was very socially awkward back then and I still am. So I just talked it up to being around a few girls that I didn't know. I looked up at the entrance of the playground, and that's when I knew

it wasn't social anxiety. To the right of us was an auto-part store, right next to the gazebo that was at the entrance of the playground. Standing around the corner of the store, facing us was a man, skinny and bald, maybe late 30s, smoking a cigarette and staring directly at us. I whispered what I had noticed to another girl, Hannah, who also saw him and got visibly uncomfortable. We made our rounds to all the girls whispering to each other like eleven-year-olds do about the creepy man watching us from the auto-part store. My best friend, Shally, who wasn't scared of anything, told us to calm down and to forget about the men. We all laughed and continued to mess around thinking that we were just overreacting.

I tried to force that uncomfortable feeling down, but it wouldn't budge. Ten minutes or so go by and he's still staring at us, smoking. So we finally all confessed how we're still creeped out and decided to leave. My house is only a block away and one street down to our left, so we decided to head there. As we start walking out of the park, I see the man flick his cigarette away and start walking behind us, maybe a hundred feet away. We decide to quicken or pace and walk faster as we round a corner, but it seemed like he did the same. We get halfway down the street when we all decide to run panicking as this man is following

us. I'm sure he started jogging too, so I just ran harder and faster until I tripped and started sobbing on the sidewalk. Hannah rushed to me and picked me up and we continued running down the street. We rounded one more corner, almost to my house, and Shelley noticed that he turned the opposite way from where we were going. We got to my house and called Hannah's mom, somehow piled into her yellow punch bug, and she took us back to the house where the get-together was being held. One of her parents called the cops, and we all had to give statements and pick him out of a photo line. When we were all done, we all found out. We all picked the same photo of

the same man, and that that man we picked was a registered sex offender, who was just released from prison six months beforehand. We barely spoke of this incident after it happened, and I never didn't learn what happened to the man. 11 years later, and this incident still haunts me. I've had other creepy run-ins in my small town, but this one is just burned in my memory forever. Thinking back on it now, I'm not sure if he was actually following us. What his intentions were, or how he would get what he wanted from a group of girls, but it doesn't matter. To the skinny bald sex offender who chased me in my friends that day, let's not ever meet. This story did not happen directly to me, but it happened to my first cousin, and it affected

me and my family personally. I won't say what town we're from, because some of us still live there. But it's a border town in Mexico to the US. In Mexico, we get any type of job just to make ends meet. That's how my cousin, who I'll call JR, started cleaning houses for money. It's normal in Mexico to clean and cook for the owner of the house, usually once or twice a week. for the owner of the house, usually once or twice a week. One of my cousin's customers loved his service and loved his cooking. He would go on later to start his own restaurant, with much success.

The customer ended up offering my cousin a full-time job at the time. He would come in early in the morning, cook him breakfast, clean the house, do any errands for him, and then cook him dinner and leave. This went on for months. The customer lived in a very nice house and a very nice part of town. That was the mistake that he made. One day, after finishing up his tasks and cooking dinner he left for the day. As he was walking out to his car, a van pulled up and three armed men hopped out. It took him by force. He was then blindfolded and tied. They drove him around for hours, as a tactic to confuse you of where you're at.

When they got to what we assume as a safe house, they started demanding money and valuable possessions. He told them he didn't have any, and that he was simply a housekeeper. They didn't believe him. Apparently the men had been watching the house for weeks and had seen him going in and out and even getting groceries and other personal items, giving them the impression that he was the owner of the house. He explained over and over that he was simply a worker and was running errands for this customer. They wouldn't believe him. They beat him every day and they even cut and tortured him, and he would keep repeating to them that

he didn't live there. He was simply a worker. That's when the phone calls to us started. They would demand money, or they would start sending fingers to us if we didn't empty the bank accounts and give up all valuables. My uncle and aunt pleaded with them, but they have no money, and he's not who they think he is. They held him hostage for a month and a half. The beatings and torture continued during that time. But on one day, the kidnappers began to wonder if maybe they did get the wrong guy. One of the men said to another guy out to watch the house for a few days. When he came back, he confirmed he did not live there.

The owner was still there and running errands as usual. The men then started talking amongst themselves as to what to do with my cousin. He could barely walk or talk from the way they had treated him. They gave him the bare minimum of food, just enough to keep him alive. A few days had passed, and the men come back to him, they yell at him, stand up. And they drag him for a while until he hears the van door slide open, the men throw him in, and they turn the van on and drive off. As they are on the road, one of them tells him to open his hand. He's bound at his feet and hands naked. He opens his hand. The man puts what feels like a piece of paper in his hand and tells him to hold onto it tightly. Don't let it out of your hands."

As he's saying this, someone opens the door of the van. He can hear the wind and feel the car is going very fast. He just waited to hear the sound of gunshots. He thought they were going to shoot him and throw him off the side of the mountain. But there was no gunshot. One man put his hands on his shoulders, then pushed him out with all of his strength. He hit the ground hard and rolled for what he said felt like a hundred times. When he came to his stop with his adrenaline rushing, he mustered up enough strength to pull the covering off his eyes. He saw that it was the middle of the day in a heavily populated area on a busy street.

Some cars pulled over because they saw when it happened. They rushed to him and called the police. Some bystanders grabbed blankets and water from their cars as he was naked and looking badly beaten and dehydrated. As they were helping him cut the ropes from his hands, he noticed he was still holding onto that paper that the kidnappers gave him. It was a 100-page oh-note. One by a standard said, it was most likely to catch a taxi. He was taken to the hospital where he also gave his statement to the police. We all went there to see him. He looked like he had been living in nightmare. The shit you see in movies does not compare to what he looked like in person.

He was released from the hospital two weeks later and went home. We didn't hear anything back for about two weeks. After the two weeks, we're contacted by the police. The owner of the house had been found on the side of the road. He had been cut into pieces and put into black trash bags. As you can imagine, my cousin has not been the same since. So, to the men who kidnapped my cousin tortured and beat him for being at the wrong place at the wrong time, and also killed that innocent man, my cousin wants me to tell you let's not ever meet again. Thank you for listening to this week's episode of Let's Not Meet, a true horror podcast

and don't forget if you're a patron, stick around after the music for your extended portion of this week's episode. This week you've heard, a story byer Elias Romantic tropes are horrifying in real life by former social butterfly. Not all guests are welcome by Kitty Cat has claws. The first time I was truly terrified by a listener that asked to remain anonymous. And finally, Mexico, by a listener that asked to remain anonymous. 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 reports online. As always, if you have a story to share, please send it to Let's Not Meet Stories at gmail.com and if you do want to gain access to the extended, add free episodes. Head over to patreon.com forward slash let's not meet podcast. I'll see you all next week for a brand new episode. Stay safe. Thanks for joining me on this Patreon onlyonly extended episode of Let's Not Meet a True Horror Podcast.

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