Let's Not Meet: A True Horror Podcast - 8x11: The Man in the Closet - Let's Not Meet

Episode Date: April 18, 2022

Stories in this episode: - The Man in the Closet, by Anon (0:48) - Groomsman Steve, by CC (4:35) - Why I Don't Flirt With Customers Anymore, by Macey (13:45) - Christmas Day Creep, by Jessica (23:37) - The Online Stalker, by Michelle (29:22) - I knew I smelled Burning Hair, by The Mail Lady (34:37) - The Construction Dude, by Auston (52:00) Extended Patreon Content: - My True Horror Story, by Layxs Stories - Mr. Gross, by SC - My Backpack Saved Me, by Kay Don't forget to check out this week's episode of my other podcast Odd Trails for your true paranormal fix at OddTrails.com or wherever you find your podcasts. 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 at a higher bitrate along with a bunch of other great exclusive material and merch at patreon.com/letsnotmeetpodcast. This podcast would not be possible to continue at this rate without the help of the support of the legendary LNM Patrons. Come join the family! This podcast is sponsored by BetterHelp and my listeners get 10% off their first month at betterhelp.com/MEET. Shudder has the largest, fastest growing human curated selection of thrilling and dangerous entertainment. To try Shudder free for 30 days, go to shudder.com and use promo code meet. Give all the “moms” in your life a meaningful gift you’ll both cherish for years. Go to storyworth.com/meet and save $10 on your first purchase! Make the switch to PrettyLitter TODAY! Get 20% off your first order by visiting Prettylitter.com and use promo code MEET. All time stamps are approximate and may not be 100% accurate after 90 days due to changes in ad placement.    - 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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That's dlpcapital.com-slash-wealth. This podcast contains adult language and content. If you have a story to share, send it to Let's Not Meet a True Horror Podcast. I live in an old-fashioned house that has ventilation tunnels with grates that lead into every room. The unit which supplies this ventilation is in the basement. Remember this, as it will be useful later. My parents went to a party and said that they wouldn't be back until about 3 a.m. This is because the party started at 8 and it was in New Jersey. We lived in Connecticut, so it took a while to get there and back. My parents told me to look after my 10-year-old brother.

I was supposed to be responsible for him because I was 15. After the parents left, my brother and I watched movies and ate a bunch of popcorn. We had just finished watching a movie, and it was around 11 o'clock. I told my brother to brush his teeth and to get ready for bed. While I cleaned up the popcorn kernels that were on the floor, my brother came back downstairs. He seemed shaken and looked quite upset, but I brushed it off, thinking that there was a spider or something in his bedroom. When I asked him why he was still up, he said that the boogeyman was in his closet and wanted to touch him.

He asked me to come and check it out. As his big sister, this was part of my job, scaring away any monsters. I was his personal ghost buster. I agreed and went upstairs. The whole time my brother was shaking. When I got to his room, I turned on the light and approached the closet. When I opened it, what I saw still haunts me to this day. A man maybe in his mid-forties with stubble and long greasy hair was sitting in the back of the closet. He didn't even acknowledge that we were there. He just sat there rocking slightly and whispering gibberish to himself.

What the fuck are you doing in my brother's room? I yelled at him. What the fuck are you doing in my brother's room?" I yelled at him. The man then got up and reached for my brother muttering, let me, let me. My brother was crying, so I yelled at the man again. When the man didn't respond, I punched him in the face, grabbed my brother, then ran and locked us in the bathroom. I called the police, telling them everything, and then called my parents. They were freaking out, obviously. When the police arrived, they didn't find the man, only my brother and I, in the bathroom. I didn't see the man again for several weeks, until one day my dad and I were watching the

news. On the news. On the news, a man was arrested for sneaking into a woman's house and assaulting her and her husband, the man who had been arrested was the same man who had been in our house. Apparently he had been caught in someone else's house. When they found him, they also found pictures of his victims, including a picture of my brother. All of the victims were sleeping. Even writing this, my hand is shaking.

Looking back, I wonder what would have happened if I hadn't believed my brother, if I had told him to go back to bed? If I did nothing. Well, I fear for the worst. So to the fucking creepy man who snuck into the 10 year old boys' room, I hope we never meet again. I'm a wedding photographer in central Texas, which means a lot of late nights and a lot of really rural places. This isn't normally an issue, as venues in my area have requirements for licensed bartenders and security.

However, during the pandemic, resourceful couples determined to keep their wedding dates, moved their events to private properties and Airbnb's. This allowed them to bypass regulations like mask requirements, occupancy limits, licensed bartenders and security. It was at one of these pandemic weddings that I met Grimsmann, Steve. It was at one of these pandemic weddings that I met Grumsman, Steve. I arrived at the sweet Airbnb for this wedding. I park in between two large pickups. I unload all my gear and go say hello to the groom and meet the Grumsman. As I'm chatting with the groom, I hear one of the Grumsman had already started drinking

whiskey. I'm suddenly lifted up and swung around, camera and all. I see the horror on the groom's face as well as the other Grumesman, as I keep a death grip on my camera, and I hear them all yell, Steve put her down. The second my feet hit the ground, I run for the patio door and make no secret of dousing myself and hand sanitizer. Remember, it's still at the beginning of the pandemic. Through the glass, I see the groom's men sit Steve down on a chair, and the groom gave him a good talking to. Steve's face looked crestfallen, like a small child who had gotten his favorite toy

taken away from him. The groom comes through the door apologizing profusely, saying, you guessed it, that was the groom's men who started drinking early, and he had a tendency to get rambunctious when he drinks. I told him I was glad that we got a handle on this situation before things got worse, reminded him that if Steve did it again, I'd be leaving per our contract, and got a guarantee from the groom and the other groomed men that Steve would not come near me for the rest of the night. They were right, Steve did not come near me

for the rest of the event, although he managed to stay within my eye line and kept scowling at me the whole night as he progressively got more and more drunk. I left the event excited about the images and feeling relieved that I never had to see Steve again. About 10 minutes down the road my phone blows up. The number had the groom's area code so I answered, hello? Where the fuck did you go? Excuse me?

I said where the fuck did you go. It was Steve. Very intoxicated, very angry. I hung up. My phone then blows up and I start to panic. The only thing I can think of to do is book it and get as far away from this venue as possible. However, I didn't notice just how winding and treeline this road was as I was driving up to the venue. Suddenly it seemed as though the trees were closing in around me, I got dizzy. My sensory overload was in full gear.

I pulled over to collect myself. I couldn't drive with my head like that. I'm taking some deep breaths and calming down when I hear it. The grinding of a big pickup truck. It was coming very quickly, my way. Terrified and unsure of who is maniacally driving down this dark dirt road, I look around for an escape route. There's a road ahead of me, a road behind me, and a driveway, barely visible,

just about 100 yards ahead. I put my 10-year-old car into drive and floor it to the driveway. I backed in and shut off the lights. I had my phone so no lights could be seen, just in case they called or texted. And I ducked down just enough so that I could see who would be tearing down this dark country road like that.

I also made a mental note of where my light stands are. They were going to be my best bet if things escalated. Thankfully, they were within reach. The truck gets closer. It's almost to the place where I was originally pulled over in part, and then it slows down. I peer over my dashboard and watch through the narrow drive opening, and I see one of the large pickups from the wedding, very slowly, drive by. They pause just as they pass the driveway, turn on their out trigger lights,

these are the mounted truck lights for hunting. They scan the road and the field surrounding the truck. The driver who has their windows rolled down starts screaming, screaming. Fuck! Fuck! I lost her!" It was Steve. He set there for a minute or two, talking to someone on speakerphone. I heard the person say, come back, just come back, buddy. He starts the truck, spends it around on the road and drives away. Thankful that he obviously didn't see the driveway I waited, crying silently, until I was sure it was safe to go. I looked down at my phone and there are 15 missed calls from Steve's number. Mist calls and over a dozen text messages from the groom, and a message from the bride

saying that they called the police and they're on their way to take Steve in. I pulled myself together, started my car, and drove down the dirt road as fast as I could. I saw a police cruiser, lights flashing, turning down the dirt road just as I reached the highway. I thought briefly about going back and giving them my statement, but my head just wasn't in a good space to do so, and I decided that if the cops needed something from me they would call me. So I drove home. The bride and groom called me the next day and apologized.

They didn't think Steve would get so inebriated that he would lose control like that. They compensated me for the trouble, and I get it, these things do happen, as I said before. They are extremely rare, these things do happen, as I said before. They are extremely rare, but they do happen. The police took Steve away that night, and his truck and possessions were gone the next morning. A couple assumed that Steve's girlfriend, humiliated and embarrassed, collected his things and went home. Yes, he had a girlfriend. The police did reach out to me for a statement which I gave them, but I never heard back about any outcome of what happened. And I never

asked. I'm personally grateful that I didn't have to see or hear what a heavy lightstand hitting someone feels like. Steve, I didn't know that I would fight back. And to Grimzman, Steve, wherever you are, I hope you never come to another wedding I'm shooting again. I still have those light stands. Let's not 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. Management concepts optimizes your professional development online in person,

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Learn more at managementconcepts.com. That's managementconcepts.com. I'm from the Midwest. When I was 16, I got my first job working as a kitchen attendant at a truck stop. The job itself was pretty simple. Make food to be put in the warmer, sometimes make food to order, and clean up at the end of the night. Usually, we would have regulars come in during the day, and sometimes, we'd get the occasional stranger. A lot of truckers would come in shower and then spend the night in their trucks, as there was a distribution center for a large chain grocery store in

that area. This particular night, I was closing with Natalie, who was our cashier for the night. We spent the night talking, usually, about what trouble her daughters were getting into, and things like that. At about 6.30 p.m., when it was just Natalie and I hit the truck stop. A man walked in. He looked to be in his late 40s with graying hair, and was wearing cowboy boots with a dirty t-shirt and dirty jeans. As soon as he saw me, he zoned in on me. He hadn't exuded any creepy vibes just yet, though. Well, hi there,

sweetheart," he said. He had a thick southern draw. Now, I tend to be a little flirty when it comes to customer service, but usually, it's with the regulars who I know, and they know that I'm messing around. I found that slightly flirting led to larger tips at the end of the night, so I put on my sweetest customer service smile. Hi there, what can I get you?" I said. He leaned on the counter between us, which made me take a step back.

But he was still uncomfortably close. He looks at the menu, then comes back to me. I'm not sure. Do you have a boyfriend? A pretty girl like you has to back to me. I'm not sure. Do you have a boyfriend? A pretty girl like you has to have a boyfriend." He said. Now, all our embells are finally ringing in my head as I make eye contact with Natalie. When I'm nervous, I giggle like a little girl.

Um, yes, I do. Do you know what you want to order? I ask again. He tries to come closer. I take another step back. How serious are you with this boyfriend? Is he going to come after me if I have a little fun with you? He's close now.

I can smell his cigarette smoke on his breath. I drop the smile. Do you know what you want to order? I ask again. Natalie is keeping a close eye on him now, too. He chuckles then looks at the menu. I'm just having a little fun with you. You know, I got a sleeper in my truck.

If you want to come and join me on your break," he says. I had had enough. I throw my pen and paper down on the counter. You can either order or go eat in your truck, or you can get the hell out. It's your choice. I said this very sternly. Natalie was now idly near the panic button that would immediately alert the police that we needed help. I can't eat in here and look at you, or does that cost extra? He laughed to himself. Order or get out. You're not eating in here.

Suddenly his whole demeanor changes, from smiling and being flirty to angry and disgruntled. Well, fuck. I was just trying to ask you on a date, but you have to be a little bitch about it. Can I at least get some fucking food?" He was practically shouting. Natalie warns him that if he doesn't lower his voice and fly straight, we'll have no other choice but to call the cops. In a huff, he orders a hot beef sandwich with the side of cheese balls.

I remember this because I intentionally made it the worst sandwich I had ever made, and I ensured that his cheese balls were still frozen in the middle. While he is paying, he's talking to Natalie about me, about whether or not I work till closing tonight She gives him no information. Thank God When his food is finally ready I

Practically throw it at him and I tell him to get out and eat it in his truck He exits the building without another word That night the kitchen closed at 8 p.m. And by 7.30 Natalie's husband Dylan had come to pick her up from her shift. She still had about an hour left, so he sat inside, and I made him some food. Dylan was a very scary guy who had just gotten out of prison. He wasn't someone to be messed with, but he was also one of the nicest guys I had ever met. We had told him about the guy that harassed me that day. We had seen that guy's truck pull out of the lot about 30 minutes after he left the building,

so we just figured that he was gone. One of my closing duties was to take the trash out to the dumpster that was behind the building. Also behind the building is where I parked my truck. The building and the dumpster were separated by a road that the truckers would use to exit the truck lot. If you stood at the door, you could see the row of trucks, and they could see you. I hope this makes sense because it is important. After I told Natalie and Dylan where I was going, I exited the building with trash in hand and looked over the truck glot, where I saw him.

The man from earlier had apparently come back and we didn't notice. The interior lights of his truck were on and his door was open. Then I noticed that he was standing in front of the truck, wearing only his underwear with a big, huge smile. He waved at me and gestured for me to come over to him. I got the fuck out of there, threw the trash at the dumpster and ran back inside. I told Dylan and Natalie what I saw and Dylan went to go check it out. When he came back he told us that the lights were off and the door was closed. He was nowhere to be seen.

Dylan then came with me to put the trash in the dumpster. We got in trouble if we threw it out the dumpster like I did. We then went back inside. Now I was a stupid 16 year old girl who believed that she didn't need help from anyone, so when Dylan offered to walk me to my car, I very stupidly declined. I told him and Natalie that I would call them more come back if I needed anything. So, we set our good nights and exited the building via the back door. As I stepped outside, I immediately checked my surroundings. I didn't see him at first, and I started towards my car. Then I heard a sound, like gravel, when you run on it.

I checked my surroundings again, and I see him. The man from earlier, completely naked now running full force towards me. I immediately booked it to my truck, keys in hand. I tried to unlock it. I didn't have a remote key to unlock it. I had to insert the key to get it, and it was taking forever to get into my fucking truck. I'm starting to panic because now my back's to him as I'm trying to open the truck door. I can hear him getting closer by the millisecond. My heart is beating out of my chest and I can't breathe. Finally, I get the door open. I get into

the car, shut it, and lock it before he can get to me. Once he reaches my truck, he's banging on my window, still fully naked, yelling at me to get my ass out of the car, calling me a bitch, and all kinds of other sexually explicit things that no one had ever said to me before. I turned on the truck, peeling out of the parking lot, while side-swiping him in the process. After I sped out, I could see him in my rear-view mirror cursing at me from afar. Once I'm on the road, I call Natalie to tell her what had just happened, and to close the store and call the cops. I told her to let me know when, and if he's captured, so I can come back and talk to the cops. I didn't even realize, at this point, that I had been crying until

I pulled over to the side of the road, three miles away from the truck stop, having one of the most extreme panic attacks that I had ever experienced. It was like I could feel the trauma unraveling in my mind. When the cops arrived, they found him in his truck pleasureing himself. I pressed charges on him and it turned out he was in fact a sex offender. He had a long rap sheet of charges from the past. He was sentenced to five years in jail. Last I knew he got out in 21, and he's now on parole. I'm not sure how it works legally,

but now that he is out, I intend to keep up on where he lives so I can make sure that it's nowhere near me. I'm now 22 years old, living three hours away from that town with plans to move even further at the end of the summer. I have vowed to never work in a truck stop or gas station ever again. I have PTSD from this event, but have learned how to deal with it and have moved on. I've accepted the fact that it's not my fault,

but I also don't flirt with customers anymore just to be safe. I'm not a bad guy, I'm not a bad guy. I'm not a bad guy, I'm not a bad guy. At Croger, you can find the highest quality products at a great price in every aisle every day with Croger, you can find the highest quality products at a great price in every aisle every day with Croger brand. So you can stock up on your household favorites that are tried, tested, and loved by you. Because when you get the products you love at great prices,

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Visit AT&T.com slash hypergig for details. It was Christmas Day and my family and I were staying out of vacation home in Southern Utah. It was a tradition to spend every Christmas there because of the sunny weather and outdoor activities. I'm a female and at the time I was a sophomore in college. My sister was a senior in high school. We had each gotten an iPod touch for Christmas and wanted to set them up as soon as possible. The house that we were staying in didn't have Wi-Fi so my sister and I decided to drive

to the McDonald's only a few miles away and use the Wi-Fi and the parking lot. We took my mom's car, drove to the McDonald's, and sat in the empty parking lot with our iPods with me in the driver's seat and my sister in the passenger seat. Since it was Christmas day, nobody was driving or walking around. It was very quiet. The McDonald's was closed. As we sat there, I noticed a black BMW circling the building. It drove through the drive-thru, circled around, then parked right next to us on the passenger

side of our car. The dark tinted window of the BMW rolled down and there was a middle-aged man who looked to be in his probably four-nies with salt and pepper hair. Emotion for us to roll down our window. I was hesitant because I was still very cautious and, you know, stranger danger. So I rolled the window down only a few inches and asked, yeah, what's up?

The man started making small talk with us. He asked us, where we were from since we had out of state plates. I told him that we were here with family, and we were expected back home soon. He then said, will you should come over and hang out with my roommate and I. We have a hot tub so you can bring your swimsuits. My sister shot me a terrified look, and I could tell that she was even more uncomfortable

than I was. She was only seventeen. I told the creep, no dude, it's Christmas and we have plans with family today. I looked back and I wish I had just gone off screaming at him calling him a pervert. But in that moment I was in survival mode. I didn't want to make him upset. I don't know what this guy wanted from us, but my gut told me it was nothing good. After I said that, the guy said, well, then Mary Christmas then rolled his window up,

backed up and peeled out of the parking lot. We immediately drove back to the house. On the way back my sister started crying and said, I feel like I need to take a shower or something. We told our parents what happened. My mom was concerned, but my dad made a joke out of it. The situation upset my sister and I for years, and we talk about it occasionally. Recently I found a news article about a human sex trafficking problem in Southern Utah. Police found that this ring would target young women in parking lot grocery stores and shopping malls.

Attractix traffickers used were very similar to the interaction that we had with this creep. It still scares me. I feel sick knowing that this guy could have hurt other women. Let this be a warning, and remember, to always listen to your gut, it always knows when something is up. So, to the creep in the BMW, let's not meet. I am a female, and this happened when I was 14. I was on Instagram. When I got a message from someone I didn't know, we'll call him Matt.

He has a lot of picks of him and his cat, either in the same top or not one at all. He was 17 and he was pretty fit for his age, so he was showing off his abs. I opened the message and it started off normal enough. We say hello to each other and we're telling each other what countries we live in. I just tell him I live in England. He says that he lives in Russia. We have normal enough conversations for the next couple of days, and then he asks to FaceTime. Me being a dumb kid, I say yes. He has his camera off, and mine is just looking at the window. He can't actually see me. Then he asks to see my legs. I know that doesn't sound like a lot, but it's the way that he said it.

It was in this demanding way with a course or rough voice. So, I blocked him. I didn't think anything more of it. I have the second account on Instagram. It has nothing on there to identify me. So there are no picks of me, not even a bio, or even a similar name on there. He messages me on that one, the same thing, a friendly greeting. I ignored him, and the messages got more threatening saying he was going to find me, he was going to

assault me, chop me up into little pieces and feed me to his dogs. I blocked him, and he didn't text me there again. I was on a chat website. I had been on there for a couple of months, and I had a nice enough connection with the people on there when I see that I get a message from a person named Matt. They have the same profile picture and they sent a picture of my house with me painting the walls. It scared me because I was painting the walls when I got that message, but I saw no one outside. Matt said, I know your home alone. This was true, but I had my dog with me, but she would probably run from danger. He said that if I showed my legs, he would leave.

I called the cops, and they arrested him. His name wasn't Matt. He wasn't 17. He used pictures of his nephew. He's now in jail, but to that man who said he was from Russia, and was found where I live. Let's never meet again. 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 Hypergate for details. AT&T Fiber presents a 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 Gagillionaire with AT&T Fiber, limited availability and select areas. Visit att.com slash hypergig for details. All names, dates, and addresses have been changed

to protect the identities of everyone involved in this story. I work for the USPS. And before I get into the story, I just like to say one thing. You can leave anything with postage and a mailing address on it out for your carrier, and they will take care of it. You got a letter? Throw a stamp on it, a box, print out some postage, up to 70 pounds, a return label. That's prepaid, baby. Scheduling a pickup and competing delivery services is like 13 bucks, and we do it for free because we love you.

Anyway, I'm a letter carrier, a good old-fashioned mailman. That person you see slinging letters and carrying your stuff in the snow to you, in the rain, the heat, and the gloom of the night, that's me. For a bit of background, I'm what they call a T6, which means I don't have my own route. I cover for other carriers on their days off. Five routes that rotate day to day for me. Due to this, a lot of the customers aren't as familiar with me, nor I with them. So that can sometimes come with one of two side effects. They're either a bit too

familiar or they're disrespectful and dismissive. This doesn't bother me, but it does require me to handle interactions that I have with them a bit more firmly. So I'm out on a route that is considered mounted. All of the other routes that I care for during the week are businesses and walking, but of the other routes that I care for during the week are businesses and walking. But a mounted route means that you get to drive the mail truck for the entire time, which is especially nice when it's raining, or you have extra mail that day. A large part of this route includes several cluster-style mailboxes all in a row. You all, as customers, get little door slots on the outside you open with your own personal key, but what you may not see is when we deliver your mail the entire front face of the box

opens and we're able to address every slot at once. One woman who receives her mail at this cluster box, let's call her Mrs. Johnson. It's quite old and sort of a strange ranger, as it were. She's not very nice. It is extremely particular about how her male is handled. But I'm happy to accommodate, since she sends out probably six to ten letters a day, paying bills, donating to charities, sending birthday cards, etc. The first time I ever met her, I had to require an ID from her when she asked me to pull the mail straight from the truck as she was driving by. She was annoyed because her regular carrier does it for her all the time, but I don't

know her like that. Anytime someone wants mail handed to them by a carrier, one must provide identification that correlates with the address or addresses so as not to hand off mail to just anybody. She made a big stink, and has always given me the evil eye sense, but she's pretty harmless just a bit cranky, an older lady. Her mail is usually politicians or organizations asking for money magazines, coupons, and most importantly, her Social Security checks. She has also accused me of delaying the male to spite her, and essentially, that I'm stealing from her. But I just not tell her that that's not the case. This does not stop her, though,

from continuing to let me know how bad I am at my job, while I doodifully ensure she's being taken care of. And it's just part of being a civil servant. You're put in positions like this. The American people are a hell of a crowd. Mrs. Johnson has two adult grandchildren, and while her granddaughter has presented me with her ID and an appropriate mail piece as proof of address in order to pick up her grandmother's mail, I've never interacted

with nor actually seen the grandson at all. Now something you also need to know about being a civil servant is that you become very quickly integrated into the lives of the people that you serve, and this includes the cleanliness of their houses, how they talk to their children and oddly enough, the smells. Sometimes a smell can occupy an entire block depending on what it is, for example, someone burned plastic somewhere among a few houses, and I could smell it for the entire time I was in the area.

Or on a nicer note, a particularly fragrant meal can be nice to walk through once in a while. I have a lot of Jamaican and Indian people living in a section of the neighborhood that I cover, and they always have something going on, sometimes even offering me food, which I always accept and enjoy. I was once given a piece of coconut cake, and I have not been the same since. On the day in question, while pulling into the first cluster box of a section, I could smell burning hair. This is a very specific smell. If you guys have ever been in a salon, where someone with very curly hair is getting a flat iron treatment, you know exactly what I'm talking about. It's something that hangs in the air for a very long time, and like many other

smoky or burning smells, it can even cling to your hands and clothes. And like I said, I'm used to working with this sort of stuff in my vicinity, and it doesn't really bother me. It's just part of the job. In fact, it often provides a bit of intrigue for the day, which is nice considering how repetitive it can get sometimes. Fast forward to me arriving at Mrs. Johnson's mailbox. The way the old school mail trucks are set up, they're called LLVs, by the way, they have right-hand drive. This way, pulling up to a mailbox while

driving on the right side of the road means you can just stick your arm out the window and keep on moving. This means at a cluster mailbox, I can throw the front face open and lean against the seat with the male in my hands without even having to step out. And yes, they're very fun to drive. I'm sifting through the male, sorting it into each respective slot. There's no outgoing male in the slot for the day, and Mrs. Johnson's male from the day prior is still there, which is not particularly worrying, but I did notice it, while I'm working a man whistles to get my attention as he's approaching.

Now, I used to work as a waitress, and anyone in the service industry knows one must smile and wave, or you don't get paid. In the case of being a male carrier, you have your own right as part of a union, as well as an encouraged aloofness. So while courtesy to our customers is important, we don't have to respond to unseemly behavior with any sort of enthusiasm. He whistles again and I turn my head. Hello, there young lady.

He sort of chuckles. I haven't seen your pretty face around here before. Relevant to this story is that I am attractive. Hi there. I reply in this typical male carrier voice. Inviting but distant. I'm not working for tips, but I am here to serve. Can I help you with something? He continues to climb up the small slope away from the apartments that are served by the mailbox I'm at. Yes, baby, can I get my mail? I look at him over my sunglasses. I ask, do you have a key? Oh, I just live

down the street down there. My last name is Johnson. I pinched my brow. I had never seen this guy before. Maybe the grandson? Do you have your key, I ask again. No, I lost it. He grins at me. Suspicious Mrs. Johnson always has her key.

If he were familiar with her, he would know that. I return to the mail that I'm sorting and say that I can't help him if he lost his key. His smile drops. I lost it," he says. Well, then you need to find it. Otherwise, I can bring it back to the post office where you'll need an ID and proof of address to claim it. Listen little girl. He's getting annoyed now. I live right there.

That's my house. You can't give it to me. I continue to fill the box, snapping my gum and shrugging. I'm not your regular carrier. I explained plainly. I try to seem indifferent behind my sunglasses, but the heat in my face and my neck reaches the tips of my ears. Maybe you and the other male carrier have a more familiar relationship. And if that is the case, you can ask him for it tomorrow, but I don't know you

when I can't do that without proper information. That's some bullshit, he says, as he steps closer. information. That's some bullshit," he says as he steps closer. I lift up my sunglasses over my blue ball cap, feeling a chill when I get a better look at him. He has a patchy beard and broad shoulders wearing a tank top and he's sweating in the summer heat. I began clicking the little metal arms that prop open the doors and lift the correct latches. The smell in the air bothers my nose.

I suppress a sneeze. Just give it to me." He says. I repeat myself, sir. Would you want me to be handing out your mail to a random person that knows your last name? He steps closer to me. I say my next words with the shaky voice.

Would you back up, please? You're always fucking up my mail. Everyone around here can't fucking stand you. He's I rate at this point, stepping even closer until he's almost at arm's length. Just hand me my fucking mail. It's right there. You just had it in your hand. I live in that house. Harassaga mail carrier is a federal crime, I shout loud enough so that other people outside can hopefully hear me. I want to pretend like I'm not scared, but the fact that this dude is getting so mad about the mail, it's just scaring me, it's freaky. My heart is racing, as he curses and snorls. Carriers carry dogs prey to fend off muts that might be aggressive or try to bite us.

We're supposed to attach it to the belt loop or a pocket, but mine was crammed against the vinyl lining inside of the LLV in case of inspection, just to prove that I have it. I considered stepping back into the truck to snatch it, just as a threat, but when I go to sit back into my vehicle so I can shut the door, I forget I'm still attached to the lock and the cluster via the chain connecting my key to the loop of my belt, and I'm jerked backward. I'm afraid he might get close enough to harm me and just start to look around for witnesses, so I can at least file a claim with the postal service that I was injured on the job. The smell of burnt hair is putrid as it occupies my nose and mouth.

I'm terrified he is a weapon of some kind, until finally another voice rings out. Hey, get away from her, a customer with whom I have had a few neutral interactions with, steps away from a stoop at his apartment on the other side of the street. Man, fuck you, mind your own business," he says. Fuck you, don't talk to a female that way that's half your size. The savior, customer yells back, getting louder. While the fraud, Mr. Johnson is distracted, I dip closer to the mailbox and shut it, turning the key and fraying myself

from the lock before I step into the truck and slam the sliding door shut with a loud metal clang. The lock inside is triggered by twisting a small metal latch, and I grab the dog spray while frantically rolling up the window. The two customers are now cussing each other out, but the rescuer is much bigger and eventually shoes the other guy away, who backs down, but hisses menacingly under his breath while eyeing me, slithering back up to the house he came from. Out of Mrs. Johnson's house. When I roll open the door, my savior customer has bent over picking up the letters that I had dropped in my panic, and he stands up to hand them to me. I'm shaking, and a few other people are walking over, giving some rendition of, are you okay?

And I saw everything. I take a huge breath and call myself down, trying not to sob in front of them, and just press my hand in my forehead while adrenaline runs through me like liquid lightning. I'm fine, I gasp, suppressing the tears in my eyes. Thank you." I say to the customer who saved me. If you ever need help again, I'm over at 1506, first floor apartment. I nod my head and sit back in the truck, thinking everyone, and immediately

notifying my supervisor as soon as the small crowd has dispersed. He calls me back into the office and has another carrier finish the last section of the route. A huge guy that trucks through his walking route every day and is always looking for extra overtime. I'm glad to drive away from that burning smell and Mrs. Johnson. As I said, I only do the root once a week, so it isn't until the following Thursday that I'm in the same spot. Every person in my periphery has me jumping out of my skin in my heart racing. Even a vaguely human shaped object makes my stomach flip flop.

When I open the cluster box I see that Mrs. Johnson's box is almost entirely full. And my fear is dashed when I'm filled with confusion. How strange! I look around and suck on my teeth, trying to find her before shrugging and continuing on to the end of my route. I manage to catch the route's regular carrier at the end of the following day, while we rack out the office or mis-sorted letters and place endorsed mail in its proper place. This can mean instructing a forward, marking the address insufficient, or refused mail, etc. Hey, I say to him. marking the address insufficient or refused mail, etc. Hey, I say to him, have you seen that lady on your route on Cooper Street, Mrs. Johnson?

She's always bugging me, but I haven't seen her in a while, did you get a change of address form? He looks at me and raises his eyebrows grimacing. Mrs. Johnson was killed. A gasp. No way. Her husband. He was caching in her social security checks. When she caught him, he killed her.

Oh my God, are you serious? Yeah, he was a drug dealer. I don't know what else happened, though. Another coworker chimes in from across the mostly empty office. I heard he stabbed her while she was sitting down in her house. They come over with their handful of mailed to sort. Can you imagine? She had her hot rollers in when they found her. A sense of dread washes over me, I stand there and shock, while the regular carrier stands beside me, laying out each letter and endorsing her male as deceased. So, to the angry guy who stabbed a customer on my route to death and then tried to assault

me, let's never meet again. 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 Hypergate for details. One sunny, warm day, about a year and a half ago, I was hanging out at this little park. The park was located in the center of one of our small historic townships, right on the

main street. The park had a small playground, with the swing set in a mini jungle gym with a slide. There were also some public restrooms and an old brick jailhouse that would fit maybe two people back in the day. Plus a large gazebo with a couple of metal benches, the gazebo was located right in the center of the park, which is where I was sitting, while, in broodering. Next to the park separated by a small road that led to the park's parking lot, there was a historic, two-story building. Outside the back of the building, a massive deconstruction and cleanup project was underway. I could clearly see what was going on from my position on the

gazebo steps where I was sitting. On the first day of the cleanup process, I noticed that the only dude left working there for the day seemed to keep staring over at me. At that time, though, I didn't think much of it. However, the next day, I also noticed the same dude kept staring at me. Every once in a while I would look over and I would catch him staring. As he was finishing up for the day, a friend that I was talking to at the gazebo decided to head over and asked the dude what was going on over there. As a result, the dude eventually worked his way over to the gazebo with my friend. They talked for a little while, but the guy lingered behind with me even after my friend had left.

Our conversation was pretty basic, just idle chit chat, you know, polite stuff but distant stuff. Stuff about the weather. Nothing deep. As we were talking, he noticed that I smoked when I opened up my sewing box. politely apologizing, he asked if I could smoke a little with him, so he didn't have to get up and walk to his car to grab some of his. I know he was just tired after a long day's work of physical labor, so I understood, but unfortunately I told him I was out myself at the moment, so he suggested that we both walk back to his car for a smoke.

As it intently I decided to walk to his car with him. We were out and broad daylight in public after all, but when we got to his car, and he had a quick glance inside, he realized that he had forgotten his smokes wherever he was staying. He's now turned back to me from his car, and I noticed him suddenly looking around, as if someone might be looking for him. What the fuck, a question? He then told me a rather lengthy story about how he was being stalked by a gang. He said that it's been going on for a couple of years.

That made me a little nervous, as his whole demeanor had just changed since telling me that story. So, trying to change a subject, he suggested that we go to where he was staying to smoke. He said it was only like five minutes away from the park. I declined politely, making up a lie about me having a ride coming for me at any time. But he tried pressing me more about it, emphasizing that it was practically just down the street. He said it was kind of lonely there, and it would be nice to have some company over. I once again politely refused his invitation, which seemed to frustrate him a little. As he was trying to talk me into it, I noticed that he had been leaning against his car

with one arm on it, as he was standing in front of me. Now I had my back to the car, but it didn't really start to bother me until he actually put his other hand on the other side of me trapping me there. I quickly ducked under his arm and stood more freely if you inches away. Right after I moved slightly, he got into the door panel of his open car and pulled out a large hunting knife. He must have understood the shocked look on my face because he sort of laughed a little bit and explained that it was for potential gang members that may be watching him at that time. I didn't know how to respond to that. At that moment, I started to think

about how I did have a good friend who lived just on the other side of the park in a small apartment building. But I knew that the dude would easily have watched me walk over there and could have potentially waited for me to come back to leave. So I started to make up an excuse that I should be heading on then. He should go home and he should relax and smoke, that I was sorry that I couldn't go with him. I really just didn't want to piss him off at that moment. But just as I was about to open my mouth to finish making my polite excuse, he stepped over in front of me and blocked me with his arms again. Come on, he pleaded with me. Just come back with me in my place a bit. We can hang out

and smoke. He reiterated once again that it was only five minutes away. At that point, though, I was done making excuses with this guy. I had already made it crystal clear that I was not going anywhere with him. And it was then that he pulled that knife out of his pocket again. Through gritted teeth, trying to mask his frustration, he said, look, I'm just a little lonely as all. He leaned in so close to my face that I could clearly see his yellowing crooked teeth barely inches away. I won't be keeping you long, he hissed in my face.

At that point, I started panicking internally, I froze, I didn't know what to say. But then, thank all sorts of goodness for another friend of mine, who suddenly appeared calling my name as he approached us. What's up?" he asked, walking up to the car. That seemed to do the trick, as the guy put his arms down and turned to face my friend. Upon releasing me from his dominance, the dude started to politely introduce himself to my friend, his whole demeanor had suddenly went back to normal. So as politely as I could manage, I started a casual conversation with my friend, and we began to slowly walk away from the creep altogether. We left that scary situation behind. I never did see that guy again, thankfully,

but I did avoid going back to that park for at least a few weeks after that incident. So creepy and coaching construction dude who was being gang-stopped and tried to take me out of public for you for whatever scary reason you had. Let's never meet again. Please. Thanks for listening to this week's episode of Let's Not Meet a True Horror Podcast, and don't forget if you're looking for the True Paranormal. Check out my other podcast, Odd Trails We Released a New Episode Today at OddTrails.com or wherever you get your podcasts.

This week you have heard, the man in the closet via a listener that asked to remain anonymous. Groundsman Steve by C.C. I don't flirt with customers anymore by Macy. Christmas Day CREEP by Jessica. The online stalker by Michelle. I knew I smelled burning hair by the male lady. And finally, the construction dude by Austin. All of the stories you've heard this week were narrated and produced with the permission

of their respective authors. Let's not meet. A true horror podcast is not associated with Reddit or any other message boards online. As always, if you have a story to share, send it to Let's Not Meet Stories at gmail.com and if you want to get access to the ad-free extended version of this episode and many past episodes as well as so much bonus content. Head over to patreon.com, what would slash Let's Not Meet podcast to support the show today. I'll see you all next week for a brand new episode of Let's I was around 11 or 12 years old when this happened.

It was a normal school day. The only thing different from the other days was that I... 18T 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?

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