Let's Not Meet: A True Horror Podcast - 7x05: Cabin Creep - Let's Not Meet

Episode Date: September 27, 2021

Stories in this episode: -Cabin Creeper - Jo Lynne. -I Got Really Drunk One Summer Night - Charming Sport 4070. -My First Time Calling 911 - Anon Req. -The Near-Abduction Of 7 Year Old Me - Aspen. -Disturbed And Disgusting, Gift Giving Neighbor - Andrea. -That One Time I  Was Drugged And Stalked On The Beach - Poulomi. -Murderous Stepdad, Let's Not Meet - Kallie. Extended Patreon Content: -Creepy Internet Serviceman Who Robbed Me - Laila. -Chet - Jo. -My Housemate Suffered a Drug-Induced Psychosis - AceOfDiamonds.  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! Learn your dog’s inner secrets with Embark, the highest-rated dog DNA test. Right now, Embark has an offer on their Breed and Health Kit for our listeners! Go to https://shop.embarkvet.com/discount/MEET to get free shipping and save $50 off your Embark Breed and Health Kit with Promo code MEET. Framebridge makes it easier and more affordable than ever to frame your favorite things without ever leaving the house. Add a gallery wall to your home office or send the perfect gift. From art prints and diplomas to the photos sitting on your phone, you can Framebridge just about anything. Go to Framebridge.com and use promo code MEET to save 15% off your first order. You can pre-order the Wave 2 on the website, or you can still order the original Embr Wave, which would make a great gift for your mom this Mother's Day. You can save $50 on either product by visiting embrwave.com/meet.  Go to NordVPN.com/lnm or use code lnm to get 73% off your 2-year plan plus 4 bonus months for free. Be quick because this offer is for a limited time only! - 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  

You know it, your wife knows it, your friends know it. Yep, there's no getting away from the fact that there's an outdoor kitchen shaped hole in your life. And it's time to put things right. Thankfully, bull outdoor products are ready with everything you need to create a world-class outdoor cooking space. Bull outdoor kitchens and accessories add value to your property and extra fun to your world. If you're gonna do it, do it right. Turn a bull loosen your backyard. BullBBQ.com to 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 five of Let's Not Meet a true horror podcast. This story takes place in 2015 when I was 24 years old.

I'm a gay woman, and the girl I was dating and living with was 22. We'll call her Kelly. We had been together for a little over a year and were raising a child together. We decided to take a rare getaway for the weekend and drove down from Indiana to Tennessee. We were both from small towns and didn't travel a whole lot, so this was exciting. It was the middle of the winter, and we were so excited because the cabin had a hot tub, and we would send in it for hours and stay warm. The trees were snow-covered, and it was so peaceful and

relaxing. The first two nights were uneventful, but we had a great time sitting in the hot tub, walking around Tennessee and watching TV by the fire. On the third day, our hot tub stopped working in the early afternoon. Normally, we don't make a fuss, but this was important to us and the highlight of our stay. The cabin company sent someone to try and fix it, but it turned out there was an issue with the hot water heater. It had been a long day of maintenance men coming and going, so eventually the company offered to move us to a different cabin about 15 minutes away.

We were disappointed, but wanted to make the most of our last night there, so we agreed. We packed up our things and drove to the new cabin. We pulled into the end of a cul-de-sac, and the cabin was a lot bigger than the one we had previously been at. We were stoked because it felt like a free upgrade. We didn't take much of our stuff inside with us since we were only going to be there for one night. This turned out to really work in our favor. We got inside 8 and turned on the hot tub and let it heat up. It was around 10 pm and we made our way out back to get in. The hot tub was on the back porch.

Now unlike the last cabin where the back porch was elevated a story off of the ground, this one was ground level. We thought nothing of this, though, and just got in the warm water and started relaxing. About 15 minutes after we got in, we heard something rustling the leaves. It was a noise coming from the side of the house. We both looked at each other, alarmed at first, but then laughed it off because we were in the mountains after all. I figured it was a deer, or some kind of wild animal walking around. Then the noise stopped, when we were just talking about it. But once the

conversation shifted to something normal, we heard it again. This time it sounded closer, and it really sounded like someone walking through leaves. We were both alarmed at this point, so we quickly got out of the hot tub and ran in the back door, locking it behind us. We shut off the inside lights and stood at the far side of the kitchen table just staring at the back porch. There were double French doors with huge glass panes, but they were mostly covered with blinds. You could see out just a little, and we stood there, staring for what seemed like minutes.

All of a sudden, we saw a light outside of the door. We ducked down, gasped, and whispered that, maybe it was a headlight in the distance. I knew better though, because the back deck faced the woods. We saw the light again and quickly realized it was a flashlight. Without saying a word, we molded up the stairs and ran into the master bedroom locking the door behind us. We were both shaking at this point and trying to catch our breath. We were two young girls alone in the mountains, with absolutely nothing to protect ourselves. Worse, we hadn't even informed our families that we had switched cabins at the last minute.

They had the address of the one that we had previously been at, but not this one. We set up there for about 20 minutes, going back and forth between being absolutely terrified and then trying to talk ourselves down and convince ourselves that we were being ridiculous. Kelly said to me, we've just been watching too many day line episodes. We were probably just freaking ourselves out. Now about that time, we heard a thud. We couldn't tell where it came from except that it sounded like

it was on the back side of the house. I started crying and told Kelly that there was no way we could sleep there that night. But we were also too terrified to leave the room and too scared to leave in the middle of the night. We both sat there shaking and whispered to each other, that on the count of three, we would open the bedroom door, rund downstairs, get dressed, grab our bag, and then leave. We were scared out of our minds at this point. Unsure, if we were being ridiculous, or if there really was some kind of cause for alarm. On the count of three, we bolted down the stairs almost tripping over each other.

We turned the light on, and while Kim grabbed our bag, I grabbed a little steak knife from the kitchen drawer. We threw our clothes on and looked at each other for just a moment before going out the front door. Kelly flung that door open and we ran out to the driveway. I was right behind her. I slammed the door and went running as fast as I could, all the while welding a steak knife in my right hand. Neither one of us looked around, determined just to get to the car and go. She got into the driver's seat and I jumped in beside her. Go!"

I screamed. She floored the car backwards out of the driveway, and for a brief second, I began to feel relief that we made it into the car. She made it to the end of the driveway, and just as she put the car into the driveway, the beams of our headlights moved across the house, and that's when we saw it. On that side of the house, right around the corner from the driveway, was a man. He was dressed in all dark clothing, but you could see him crouched down and looking our way. We both screamed and she floored it. For the next five minutes or so, we were both shaking, freaking out and asking each other over and over if that really just happened. It was late, but we wanted to get as far away as we could.

We just kept driving for about an hour and a half and finally pulled off at an econ on-lodge and stayed for the night. To this day, we can't tell this story without getting chills up our spine, thinking about what could have happened to us if we would have stayed. So to the man creeping around our cabin with the flashlight laid at night, let's not meet. I got drunk enough one night at a dive bar that I misplaced my keys. I still live with my parents and I contemplated blowing up their phones at midnight to let me in, or at least find a decent spot in the backyard to sleep until morning.

Neither option caught the attention of my drunken self, though. I opened the side gate and wandered around, trying to come up with some more options. I tried the sliding patio door which was of course locked, why wouldn't it be. Then I remembered sober me. Yes, thank you, sober me. Yes, thank you sober me. Sober me would always leave my first story bedroom window open on cool California summer nights. I always preferred the breeze over the artificially cooled air. The only thing between me and my bed though was a flimsy window screen. I tried taking it off, but it wouldn't budge. I triggered one of the motion flood lights, so I was able to look around the patio and find a small gardening shovel.

I prided inside the small gap between the screen and the wall and managed to bend the frame of the window screen. The screen fell apart and landed on the grass. But that was the morning's problem. I climbed into the window and threw myself onto the bed, a sleep in an instant. That was a year ago. I never bothered to fix that screen and ended up throwing it away. Now I live in a good suburban area and I didn't see any need for the screen except to maybe keep mosquitoes out. I figured living on the first floor, if someone truly wanted to break in while I was sleeping, a flimsy mesh screen wouldn't prevent them from doing so. Now fast forward a couple of nights, we've been having a monsoon, like weather with lots of humidity and occasional storms.

I'd finished a late-night walk and had gotten rained on, so I decided to take a quick shower to get the stickiness off of me. Before getting into bed, I rolled up the blinds to the top and opened my screenless window, and I could smell that cool rain on concrete scent in the air. Needless to say, the mood put me to sleep in an instant. I woke up in the middle of the night, though. I was spacing my window. I could barely open my eyes. I didn't want to blind myself by reaching from my phone to check the time, but I could sense it was some time after midnight. I closed my eyes, hoping I could quickly go back to sleep. I then saw a bright flash of light hit my eyelids. Another short lightning storm must have been passing through my residential. Now a few moments went by, and I was almost asleep again when another bright flash struck

me. I talked myself out of getting up and closing the blinds even though they were right in front of me. I was too close to falling asleep. Then within the same minute, one last flash hit my eyes. I opened them to the sight of what was clearly the silhouette of a man within seconds of my eyes trying to adjust a flash went off in my face. This person was only two feet away from me, standing in my backyard with a cell phone in their hand taking pictures of me with their flash on. In utter horror, I couldn't speak or move. I sat still while my heart raced uncontrollably. The man turned around and I watched as he slowly started to walk towards the side of my house

slowly started to walk towards the side of my house when the floodlights turned on and illuminated him. He was wearing all black with a matching baseball hat. There was nothing particular about him that I could point out. He was just some man. I was in pure shock. I sat perfectly still, listening to the side gate open, and then close. He must have gone. I finally got up to close the window and the blinds, when the flood light turned off, indicating that nobody was nearby to trigger it.

I woke up my parents and explained what had just happened. We called the police in the middle of the night, and they did a thorough search of our property. They even crazed the neighborhood, hoping to find that man. Like most stories here, though, there's not much the police can do until a crime has actually been committed, and in my case I couldn't even identify what the person looked like, other than the color of his clothes. And in the eyes of the law, this person did nothing more than trespass and act like a creep. I immediately called a company to come to replace my window screen. For the next few days, my parents and I have decided to sleep at a friend's house

just to be safe. I also ordered some outdoor cameras, more floodlights, and a lock for that side gate. I have no idea who this person is, or what he plans to do with my pictures. I also assume I wasn't the only target by this guy either. Living in California, many homes are single story. But tonight, I'll be sleeping in the guest room of a two-story house miles away. It'll be difficult to get pictures of me a sleep from way up there, unless, of course, somebody were to get inside. 18T fiber presents a straightforward moment.

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online in person, individually or groups. It from me that I close up most nights. It's on a road that is a dead end, and only has about 12 houses on it. So it's the kind of road that unless you have a reason to be there, you wouldn't find any traffic on it. Now, I've seen all of the families that live on this road since they all walk their dogs up and down the road, and I've met a few of them after my dog decided to go on an adventure, and I had to knock on doors looking for her. So this night I had finished up and tossed my dogs into the car when it was starting

to get dark. As I was walking to the driver's side, I could hear someone screaming, and I mean like shrill screaming. At first I thought it might have been a kid, you know, sometimes kids let out these random battle cries. I pull out of the driveway, and to get off the road, you have to turn right, then make a left turn towards the dead end. Now, as I'm driving out, I can still hear the screaming, but I'm starting to realize it's not just someone screaming. It's someone screaming words.

I roll down my window and I can hear. Don't kill me, I don't want to die, don't kill me. I look to my left and I can't see anyone right away, but then slowly I see a very petite girl coming from out of the shadows across the street. She's just kind of shuffling, but then keeps turning towards this specific house and screaming at it, and then back to kind of just shuffling around, but starting to head towards my car. She was about 30 feet away from me. The thing is, though, I don't think she even registered that I was there. I was going to ask her if she was okay until I kind of connected the

thought that no one was coming out of the house to talk to her or try to contain her. So I called 911. Obviously it doesn't matter what the situation is if someone is screaming that they clearly need help. At this point, I had pulled out of the barn driveway and drove about 10 feet or so. I was facing towards the main road but still close enough to watch this girl. So I'm talking to the dispatcher, giving her all of the details that I can. The girl had started back towards the house and was now 60 feet away, and kind of behind some trees, but still screaming. And at this point, screaming in a conversational way, if that makes sense, screaming so loud

that the dispatcher could hear her on the other end of the call. All of a sudden, a minivan comes from the main road, driving extremely fast for this road, and pulls on to the driveway of the house that she was in front of. So I described this van to the dispatch. The lady on the phone is just wrapping up asking me some questions when I realize that it's completely quiet outside. I look in my rear view mirror and my heart stops

when I see two men, one with his arms crossed and one with his hands at his side, but kind of behind his back, walking to the back of my car about 15 feet away from me. I literally squeal what I'm seeing into the phone as the dispatcher is telling me to leave, throw my car in a drive, and peel out of there. Now a couple of days later, after some neighborhood investigation, it turns out that I interrupted an attempted burglary. The back of the houses on the side of the road that I mentioned are accessible from the

main road that runs behind it, so I guess that that girl was attempting to lure people out from the house while the men from the minivan broke in through the back. Needless to say, that night I went home and locked myself in my house, put all of these stools and shoes in front of the door, put a hammer beside my bed and dragged my trusty, lab and a bed with me and slept for maybe two hours that night. In January 1989, I was 7 years old when my family moved from southeastern Iowa to the suburbs of Minneapolis, Minnesota. I was in the second grade, and I didn't make friends easily in my new school, being the youngest in my class by several months.

At that age, six months makes a big difference, looking at it from a child development perspective. I was really missing my friends from Iowa after the move. We wrote letters back and forth for a while, but the attention spans of seven and eight year olds, being what they are, those had mostly stopped after just a few months. But in June, a letter came from my friend Jesse, saying that she and her father would be coming up to Minneapolis for a classic car show later that month, and would come visit me. I was ecstatic, and I'm sure it's the only thing I talked about for weeks. The day finally came that Jesse and her dad were due to arrive. I must have annoyed my mother with endless iterations of, when will they get here?

Is it time for them to be here yet? When will it be time for them to be here? It got to the point that she eventually sent me down to wait for them at the intersection of our street and the nearest major crossroad. I had walked by myself to and from kindergarten back in Iowa, about a mile each way. So I was used to this. I picked out a comfortable small boulder from a row of them that bordered a yard along a busy road, and I happily sat and waited. I waited and waited. I watched every car approaching this tea intersection from left and right, single-mindedly focused on watching for my friend's dad to arrive.

watching for my friend's dad to arrive. I noted, then dismissed, each modern car that passed. I only had eyes for Jesse. After about an hour, a small four-door car pulled up to a stop, just passed my boulder. It was tan, and this dark-haired man was driving. There weren't any other people in the car. I clandestatted, then turned my attention back to the continuous flow of traffic. But this car didn't leave. The man didn't even get out. Instead, he waved at me and beckoned for me to come over. I shook my head no at him. He wasn't driving a classic car, and Jesse wasn't with him, so I had no use for him. He still didn't leave, though. He waved a couple more times than leaned over and opened the passenger's side door. He shouted something and waved frantically.

I shook my head at him again, confused. I don't know him, he doesn't know me. I had a mission here, and he was a distraction. Why would need me alone? I never left my boulder. Eventually he shouted again, then slammed the car door and pealed out, tires spitting gravel at me where I sat. Around 3 p.m., my mother came walking down to fetch me. She had just gotten a phone call from Jesse's dad. His car had broken down somewhere along the way. They wouldn't be coming

to the car show at all. That was crushed. I never saw Jesse again, and never got another letter from her. It wasn't until about 30 years old that I realized the actual significance of this story. How close I had come to either the end of my brief life or to a life of ongoing what-ifs. And life, this will drive you mad if you let it. So let me just say, dark-haired man who tried to coax me into his car in 1989, I'm glad we never actually met. And let's not ever meet. Amplify your career through training and development solutions specifically designed for federal government professionals, from courses to help you attain or retain certification to individualize coaching services, to programs at home, your leadership skills and business acumen.

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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 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 Gigaigillionaire with AT&T Fiber, limited availability and select areas. Visit AT&T.com slash Hypergate for details. About 15 years ago, I lived in an apartment alone. I am a woman, and at the time, I was about 26 years old. I lived in a rural town where apartments were typically single-family older homes that had been modified as cheaply as possible to allow

for two to three units in them. The apartment was just that. An average two-story home that had been broken into two units, one being the att entire downstairs and the other being the entire upstairs, which is where I lived. I lived there for about a year. For reference, the downstairs part of the house had access to the front porch with the main door, and also a covered back porch with a door as well. But there was only one door to get in and out of my apartment. And that was accessed from an added-on staircase attached to the outside of the house from the back porch. When I moved in, there was already a tenant living downstairs. My quote-unquote neighbor, let's call him Bill. He was a single man in his late

50s or early 60s with an average Bill, Brown hair, and a generally unkempt look about him and his clothes. Bill didn't seem to have a job or go to work. If he did, he never really went anywhere for any length of time, or had any discernible routine. If I was at home, I might see him leave from my kitchen window only to return a short while later with a brown paper bag of fast food. At the time that I lived there, I had a pretty average and easily recognizable daily routine. Each day Monday through Friday, I would get up, get showered, do my hair, and be out the door around 7 a.m. to commute to work. I would get home around 6 p.m. Weekends were a little more up in the air, maybe my boyfriend would

come over, and we would leave for hikes with his dog. We would go someplace in his Jeep, or I would just be gone with my car. My neighbor had introduced himself to me as I was moving my things in and up the staircase with my boyfriend. He said he had been living there for a couple of years. He offered to help us move things to which I immediately said no. But thank you. For a little context and insight on me, I was raised by a father who had been severely abused by a stranger as a child, and as a result, it had made my dad hyper-aware, chronically worried, and certain of evil in other people.

And this sometimes understandable paranoia mindset of my dad's extended to how he raised me and my siblings. So yeah, I was guarded, but also questioned myself and wasn't as direct as I could have been at that age. They'll begin attempting to find other ways to interact with me. At first, he would come up my stairs, after I had gotten in from work, knock on the door, and ask obvious questions that had answers that could be found pretty much anywhere. One question was, can you tell me what you do with your garbage every week? I don't know what to do with mine. I'm out of loss.

I told him where I took mine. The town's municipal waste area, which in this small town was known by everyone, and typically what everybody did. Bill who always came prepared with a black magic marker and a notepad for these bullshit questions wrote down my response thanked me and then wondered if I needed anything else. Offering that he could help me with anything, if I ever needed it, I told him no thanks, and ended the conversation. I closed the door and thought, this feels like mullshit. How does he not know what to do with his garbage? He's been here for two years. I rolled my eyes and thought no more about it. As the weeks passed, though, Bill seemed to invent more and more reasons to come up to my door with idiotic questions like,

does your tap water taste weird to you? He always came with that marker and paper and hand and an overly helpful offer of, if you need anything, just be sure and ask me. Now, given my upbringing, not only was a baseball bat immediately within reach when I opened the door, but my response to him after these repeated offers to help me was always a firm no. My boyfriend, my brothers, and my dad can all be here in one second if I ever need anything ever, but thanks. Now, maybe people think that my response was a little too severe or just straight up overkill, but I always had my dad in the back of my mind telling me to watch out for other guys, and as a woman, I didn't like

repeating myself to a man several times when I told him that the answer was no. One day, Bill came up the stairs and asked me again, what do you do with your garbage? I felt myself getting irritated and responded with. I already told you. I take it to the town facility. I told you this when you asked me last time. Remember? I added that a little bit sternly to let him know I wasn't playing.

And if he was, I was on to it. He seemed a bit phased that I recognized either his blunder or his excuse to get me to open the door to him again. Bill's bullshit with me evolved from then. It turned into him being at the foot of my stairs, each and every single workday morning. Bill would fain surprise and marvel at this serendipity of our paths, crossing yet again, and attempt to engage me in conversation. I would walk down the stairs, and there he would be, crouched down, pretending to water

a couple of drab or dying flowers. I say pretending because one day my irritated gaze focused on the plastic water bottle that he had in his hand. It was tipped up right into the flower and I noticed that the bottle cap was screwed tightly on. He was faking watering the plants. I wonder they were dying. I was right I thought to, he is full of shit.

As I drove to work that day, I decided I would test his bullshit. That night, I decided to mix up my routine. I took a shower before bed and got ready quickly and very quietly the next morning, getting out the door at 6.30 a.m. instead of 7 a.m. As I locked the door the next morning, I quietly and gingerly made my steps down the back porch. As I got to the landing of the porch, I could hear what sounded like him tearing through the house to get outside as fast as possible. It sounded like chairs getting shoved and scraped against the floor. Whatever obstacle was in his way was obliterated and it made a sound.

Now hearing this, I book it to the porch stairs and clear the three steps off of the porch in a single jump, then jog to my car about 20 feet away. Just as I get into my car, I hear his back door, swing wildly open, slamming the screen door under the side of the house. I get into my car, lock the door, and cautiously look over at him, with the corner of my eye. I see him plainly standing there at the edge of the porch steps, and pure bewilderment, his hands listlessly hanging at his sights, and a clear expression on his face that read,

how did she get out of here without me knowing? A couple of weeks go by, and I don't see Bill day after day in the mornings anymore. I assume Bill was now aware that I was hip to his shit, that there was no reason to continue the ruse. Instead, a few weeks later I began finding things from him, left at my doorstep. And I noticed this whenever I would get home from work. The first gift was this set of NFL Buffalo Bills football team t-shirts, neatly folded in stacked with the sheet of paper with black magic marker scrolled saying, hi Andrea, these are presents for you. Enjoy! signed bill. I didn't know what to think. Why would you give me anything? I never wore any team clothes or sports gear of any kind. So it wasn't like I was a fan

and he was looking to give me something he knew I liked. I ended up tossing the shirts in the garbage can in my kitchen. Now the next gift, it was a knife. Just a plain, small-handed but sturdy, pairing knife that you might find in anyone's kitchen. This note, also in black marker red, enjoy, signed bill. I was truly perplexed and felt less annoyed and more fearful at this quote-unquote gift. In retrospect, I should have done something in that moment like call the cops, In retrospect, I should have done something in that moment like call the cops. And with them present at my side, knock on Bill's door for a change and fiercely tell him that he is forbidden to ascend the stairs to my door, and that he is never to leave anything for me anywhere. And basically to stop his bullshit because whatever this is ends now.

But I didn't. because whatever this is ends now. But I didn't. Maybe it was fear of retaliation, or the fear that in the middle of the night, he might find a way to get into my apartment while I slept. Or maybe it was because all this time, through every interaction. However strong my gut feeling was, I wondered if I was being too sensitive and paranoid because of how my dad raised me. Then the last present arrived a few days later. Again, I get home, walk up my stairs and I see a single styrofoam cup just sitting on the floor of the landing. The cup has black marker all over it and the marker is scrolled and swirled in. I guess you could say some kind of artistic fashion all in the outside of the cup, but

there were also words written in the marker as well. And though it doesn't make any sense, I remember it clearly as if I were looking at it right now. The cup read, this is Andrea's cup, the home cup, the cup of you. What in the hell does this even mean? I wondered. I was beyond annoyed and a little confused at what was basically garbage being left at my door.

I then looked inside the cup, and I saw a wadded up tissue at the bottom, and what appeared to be some kind of liquid. Disgusted, I dropped the cup, went inside, came back out with plastic bags to protect my hands, wrapped it in the bags, and launched it to the bottom of the stairs, landing it squarely at his door. I then went and feverishly scrubbed and sanitized my hands and wondered what the hell was it. Did he do what I think he did and leave it for me as a gift? Enough was enough, I thought. I didn't see Bill's car in the driveway, so I thought, fuck it, I'll leave him a note

of my own. I taped it to his door, the note read Bill. Do not leave any items of any kind at my door. I felt like this was a decent way to handle it, because I didn't know how to explain any of these small things that had been happening to an authority figure, without sounding like maybe I was crazy. And I wanted the message to be from me and not my boyfriend or brothers. It was me who was rejecting Bill, my decision, and no one else's.

That night, at around 8 p.m., I sat in the living room, TV on low, stewing about my neighbor, wondering what his next move might be. I then hear doors being slammed downstairs. I go to my kitchen and look out. I see Bill's car. He must have seen my note, I thought. I then hear a few more door slam, and I begin to hear yelling, but from outside in the streets. From my windows, I see him carrying a bundle of clothing in his arms to the middle of the

intersection. It's summer, so it's still pretty light out. As I watch him, Bill slams the clothes with dramatic force into the street in a flattened pile. He then bends over and starts screaming at the clothes loudly. I can actually see the color changing in his face to deep purple. He was screaming for so long. He then wags his fingers at the street clothes as if to scold it as if these inanimate objects did something to him and he was daring the pile to challenge his rage. I'm thinking, oh shit, this guy is either crazy or on drugs either way.

He is probably dangerous and I get ready to call the cops. But after his meltdown, Bill went inside his apartment, and I heard nothing else from him. The next day his car was gone, and in my delight, I never had to see him again. My landlord came about a month or so later with friends to move Bill's items out of the house. She told me Bill had been evicted a while back for not paying rent and took his time leaving. She said he left a ton of his crap in the house. They found a lot of mess in the basement. It was piled floor to ceiling with black bags of garbage. In the kitchen, inside of every cabinet were stacked containers of fast food hamburgers,

and lastly, the most disturbing thing was her discovery of child pornography to which she reported to the police. My landlord's friends made short work of cleaning that apartment, and hefted bag after black bag of garbage into their trucks and took it away. I think about Bill and his gross gifts from time to time when I hear stories about creepy interactions people have with strangers or neighbors, and I'm always brought back to one thought. The garbage. Why did he keep it all? Was he just severely, mentally ill or impaired by drug abuse? And maybe he decided to make hoarding garbage his hobby?

Or was there something in those black bags he didn't want anyone to find? Whatever the answer is, my hope is that Bill is in prison and unable to harm or exploit any children and therefore unable to ever meet me again, so Bill, you can fuck off and let's not meet. 18T Fiber presents A Straight Forward Moment You're wine? Thanks. I'll pretend I know what I'm doing before saying it's good. And I'll pretend I don't know you're pretending.

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 Hypergate for details. 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 AT know you're pretending. Are you a Gigillionaire? Yeah, I have AT&T Fiber. The straightforward pricing has inspired me to be more straightforward. Me too. Ugh, this 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 Gigillionaire with AT&T Fiber. Limited availability in select areas. Visit AT&T.com slash Hypergig for details. This happened to me sometime around May or June of 2017. I was freshly out of college and had moved into the city. And I was interning at this production house and this really upscale neighborhood. I had previously interned at other media companies that were close by, so I was pretty familiar with the area and felt comfortable stepping out at night by myself. I was looking for a place to stay nearby because I was working really

long hours and felt that commuting would tire me out further. I found someone on the internet who rents out rooms to college kids and young graduates like me. It's cheaper than getting your own place, but it was pretty awful living there for two months. But that's not the point. I shared my room with another person and two weeks into living there, I was very glad, to find out that this casual friend I knew in college had moved into the room opposite mine. She was a year older than me and had landed a job as a research assistant to a writer. We were so ecstatic to find each other. We immediately bonded, hanging out every single day after work, talking about our days,

listening to music, smoking weed, and cigarettes, and eating a lot of junk food. Just living the life of your typical New College graduate. Now, I wasn't a seasoned stoner yet, but I had consistently smoked every day for the past six months, and very rarely did I have a bad reaction to smoking weed. Never a physical reaction. This is important for later. I'm normally a very anxious person, and I found that smoking helped me with my anxiety, and lowered my inhibitions and made me chatterer and friendlier, and definitely less paranoid than what I usually was. So I knew I can handle my weed.

One day I was done with work early and decided that I would roll myself a joint and go smoke it on the beach alone. The beach was some 60 feet away from our apartment. Now I felt safe doing that. This was a good neighborhood. My friend was back early too, so I asked her to come along as I would have been weird to exclude her from my plan. It was a particularly breezy night, so we grabbed a towel and our joint and her Polaroid camera and went down to the beach. I should also mention that I'm notoriously forgetful. I'm constantly losing and misplacing my phone, and I forgot to bring my phone along this

time. Unfortunately, soacing my phone. And I forgot to bring my phone along this time. Unfortunately, so did my friend. This was around 9 p.m. and the crowd on the beach was getting too thinned out. This wasn't the main beach that was open to the public, but the beach front adjacent to the residential buildings. My friend and I found a spot on the beach and we put our towel down and lit up. Now we knew about the perils of smoking weed out in the open, seeing how it's not legal in our country, but what can I say? Twenty-one-year-olds are done as hell. We had been smoking and talking for about an hour, and there was hardly anyone around. That's when we saw a man walking towards us. We could tell he was a food vendor from his silhouette in the dark.

He carried his food crate with him. He approached us and asked if we would like to buy something. We politely declined seeing how neither of us had our wallets or our phones on us. We were halfway through the joint. This man insisted that we buy something from him, and we told him again politely that we don't have any money on us seeing as we live nearby. Really stupid to have shared that with him, I know. He then started talking about some random stuff that I don't even remember because I was very stoned at this point.

After he had been talking at us for some 10 minutes straight, he asked if he could smoke our joint. It took us by surprise, and it would have been rude to say no, especially since he was being so friendly. So we gave him the joint and told him he could keep it. At this point, we were starting to feel very uncomfortable in this man's company and said that we would be leaving soon. The man's vibe was just off.

He was too friendly. And as a woman, you know not to trust men who are too friendly. He was still talking. We didn't even know what he was talking about though. His village, the people he knows in the city, the drug dealers he's pals with, things he's seen at night transpiring on this beach. Now we were very uncomfortable at this point. The man then insisted for a third time that we ate some of his snacks that he was selling. I mean, it would only be polite seeing how we had so generously shared our weed with him. He said, we didn't have to pay him anything.

So we finally relented, and he gave us two servings of the snacks. Now, I keep saying snacks because I don't really remember what the food was. We ate it, me more than my friend, and we bit this man goodbye and started making our way back to our apartment. We talk about how this guy is so weird. It almost felt like we had witnessed some kind of performance. We goof around a little, taking pictures on my friend's polaroid, when we notice that this guy is now following us. He's been walking along the wall where the lights have now been turned off completely hidden in the darkness. And we only see him because of the polaroid's flash. It's bright. He shows up in the picture standing behind me, slinking by the wall. We freak out now and run back to our apartment.

Like I said, it's literally on the beach, so it takes us just a minute to get home. Once we're home, we start talking about how this guy was so creepy. Like, why would he so overtly, friendly, and why was he following us? We go into the kitchen to make ourselves some instant noodles for dinner, and that's when it hits me all at once. One second, I'm helping my friend make instant noodles, and the next thing I know, I'm on the floor, riding in pain. It was unlike anything I had ever experienced before. I was nauseous, I was dizzy, I couldn't feel my legs.

My stomach was cramping so bad. It made period cramps feel like a three on a scale of one to 10. I started throwing up all over myself. I then passed out on the kitchen floor. At this point, my friend was freaking out, because she's about 4'11, she's tiny. I'm 5'6", so she couldn't even help me up when she started to feel sick herself. She was experiencing the same exact symptoms I was. This could not have been

a coincidence, and it couldn't have been the weed because we had been smoking it for days now, and we had never had a bad reaction like this. She told me later that she rushed to our shared bathroom and started throwing up. Sometime between throwing up and passing out, she said she realized that we had been drugged. Some other people that lived in the apartment found us passed out in the kitchen and the bathroom and moved us to our beds.

They were pretty freaked out, but thought that we were probably just wasted with alcohol. I woke up the next day at around 8 a.m. completely disoriented and with no recollection of what had just happened after we got home. My friend was still passed out, so I didn't wake her up. I took a shower, saw that I had bruised myself, my whole body was sore, and that's when I realized that something had happened the night before. I went to work and forgot about the whole thing, because honestly

my workplace was incredibly toxic, and I barely had time to process any of what had happened. I spoke to my friend after we got back from work and she told me everything she recalled. She thinks that we were drugged by this guy who thought he could make a stay on the beach long enough with his bizarre stories until we were incapacitated. It's still freak out to this day thinking about what could have happened had I gone to the beach alone. Had we not completely freaked out and left? Had we stayed just long enough on this now deserted beach to pass out without our phones or IDs? We'll kind of sick monster drugs people on a beach. What were his intentions?

We never went to the cops, saying how we were engaging in illegal activities ourselves and didn't want the hassle. My friend ended up moving away to England for grad school, and I ended up moving into a neighborhood just 10 minutes away from the beach. I still go there sometimes. It's still one of my favorite places in the city, but to this guy who drugged me and my friend with the intention of doing God knows what.

Let's not meet. Also, please never ever accept food from a stranger even if it means being rude. 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 atct.com slash hypergig for details. While this final story doesn't provide any kind of explicit details, it does reference sexual assault and descriptions of violence. So listener discretion is advised. I'm a 29 year old female and this story takes place over the course of a year. It begins when I move in with my at the time boyfriend and his family at just 17 years

old. Let's call my boyfriend at the time Jason. I moved in with Jason, his mom, his older sister of 18, and brother of 22. My home life was difficult, and I wanted to finish high school with my boyfriend, so I moved in with him and his family to do so. When we moved in together, I had only been dating him a few months and had minimal interactions with his family, but I liked them enough enough and his mom was actually the one who suggested that I move in with them, so that I could finish up school since my home life was taking a toll on me. And this way, Jason and I no longer had to be

long distance. See, we met on my space. I know that shows my age. This way we would no longer need to be three hours away from each other. So Jason's mom, who I'll call Laura, was married to a man who was currently in prison and had been for eight years at that point, as I was moving in. His name was Fred. When Laura explained her situation with Fred to me, she was open with me that Fred was in jail because he was falsely accused of assaulting his son's girlfriend. This made me feel extremely uneasy, but Laura assured me that Fred was falsely accused of this crime and so did everyone else in Jason's family. They assured me this all happened because the son's girlfriend wanted to get back at

him for dumping her and accused Fred as an act of revenge. I wasn't sure I bought this story because as a survivor of assault, I believe victims. But as Fred was in prison and wasn't supposed to get out anytime soon, I didn't feel that this affected me, and chose to move in with Jason's family. Jason and Fred were close, and when Fred called from prison, he would look forward to their conversations. Eventually, Fred began to ask to talk to me on the phone as well, wanting to get to know his stepson's girlfriend. I stayed casual and quick during these calls, but honestly, he came off as very friendly,

and over time I didn't mind interacting with him. I know this seems wrong, and it was always in the back of my head that this man was convicted of assault, but you have to understand that during my time living there, Laura Jason and Jason's brother actively campaigned that Fred was wrongfully convicted and that he was innocent. They all seemed so sure, and I guess it wore down my guard for this man as well. Jason's sister, however, did not fight for Fred's innocence, like the rest of the family. However, did not fight for Fred's innocence, like the rest of the family. She stayed silent on the subject, which, in hindsight, makes a lot of sense. Fast forward six months, it was the night before Christmas.

Laura comes home, the most excited I've ever seen her. When I ask what's up, she simply replies, Fred is coming home early with the biggest smile on her face. Immediately, my stomach sank. It was one thing that he was in prison, and we had casual chats for a few minutes during his calls to Jason, but living with a convicted rapist was something I was not prepared for. As I didn't think it would be a possibility while I was in that home. I was anxious about the possibility of living with him and rightfully so. My boyfriend, however, was ecstatic, and I didn't know how to tell him that I was growing more and more

uncomfortable. So the family begins to plan for Fred's arrival, and everyone is pretty over the moon that he's coming home. Everyone besides Jason's sister Megan. Her behavior becomes withdrawn, and I could tell she was not as excited as the rest of the family. It's a few days before Fred is scheduled to be released, and Megan sits her mother down and confesses to her that, prior to Fred going to prison, he had assaulted her when she was young. My heart broke for her, and this is what it took for Jason's mother to understand that Fred was not falsely accused. The man was a rapist, and he had done this not just to his son's girlfriend, but also his own daughter. Laura divorces Fred and what felt like a day. And I really wish this was the last thing I had to say about Fred, but unfortunately things do get worse from

here. See, Fred gets out of prison, and he begins to integrate back into society. My boyfriend despite his own sister coming forward about her abuse still continues a relationship with Fred. Luckily for me, he cheated on me and I dumped him and moved back to my hometown three hours north, where coincidentally, Fred was also from, and is where he moves when he gets out of prison. This man moves not only to my extremely small town, but moves to the same fucking road that I lived on. I never ran into him, thankfully, but this may be because Fred's days on Earth are limited, and he won't be living long in my town. A few months after the breakup, I get a call from Jason's mother.

She tells me I need to Google Fred's name and read the articles that come up when I do. Fred had died. But this isn't the most shocking part. Fred was at a local bar that weekend and had gone home with a woman that he was casual acquaintances with. When the pair went back to her house, Fred assaulted her at ninth point and slid her throat. Fred then got into an altercation with the woman's adult son, and slit his throat as well leaving the pair for dead. Fred then left and drove head on into a semi-truck, killing himself. Thankfully, this woman and her son survived their attacks, as did the semi-driver, who Fred intentionally

ran his car into like a coward that he was. When I think about the times this man asked to speak to me on the phone, the fact that I was almost living in a home with him, and the trauma he inflicted in his wake, I get full body chills, and I feel sick to my stomach. While I'm grateful I never had to actually physically come into contact with him in person, I'm so sorry for the victims of Fred. And Fred, you literal piece of human garbage, I hope you're rotting in whatever unlucky hole in the earth they put you in. Let's never meet. Thank you for listening to this week's episode of Let's Not Meet, a true horror podcast. Don't forget, as always,

if you're a patron, stick around after the music for your bonus extended version of this episode this week you've heard. Cabin Creeper by Joe Lin. I got really drunk one summer night by Charming Sport 4070. My first time calling 911 by a listener that asked to remain anonymous. The near abduction of seven-year-old me by Aspen, disturbed and disgusting gift-giving neighbor by Andrea, that one time I was drugged and stalked on the beach by a polo me. And finally, murderous, stepped-ad let's not meet by Callie.

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 that to Let's Not Meet Stories at gmail.com. And if you want to get access to those extended versions, as well as a bunch of other bonus content and exclusive merch, head over to patreon.com forward slash let's not meet podcast to get access today and support

the show. I'll see you guys all next week for a brand new episode of Let's Not Meet, a true horror podcast. Stay safe. For a little backstory, I grew up in a fairly dangerous city. There were loads of crimes. 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 AT&T Fiber. The straightforward pricing has inspired me to be more straightforward. Me too. Ugh, this wine.

I'll fetch you a better one. Straight forward is better. No equipment fees, no data caps, no price increase at 12 months. Live like a Gagillionaire with AT&T Fiber. Limited availability in select areas. Visit AT&T.com slash hypergig for details. AT&T Fiber, limited availability in select areas, visit AT&T.com slash Hypergig for details. AT&T Fiber presents a straightforward moment.

Your wine? Thanks. I'll pretend I know what I'm doing before saying it's good. And I'll pretend I don't know you're pretending. Are you a Gagillionaire? Yeah, I have AT&T Fiber. The straightforward pricing has inspired me to be more straightforward. Me too.

Ugh, this wine. I'll fetch you a better one. Straight forward is better. No equipment fees, no data caps, no price increase at 12 months. Live like a gigillionaire with AT&T fiber. Limited availability in select areas. Visit att.com slash hypergig for details.