Let's Not Meet: A True Horror Podcast - 3x14: Nigel - Let's Not Meet

Episode Date: February 10, 2020

Stories in this episode: Psycho Spitter Killer - Charles. The Encounter with Nigel - Daniel. Untitled - Anon. FYI: Sorry for the plosives. I didn't have my windscreen at the studio! Follow Let's Not Meet: Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/groups/433173970399259/  Twitter - https://twitter.com/letsnotmeetcast  Website - http://letsnotmeetpodcast.com  Patreon - http://patreon.com/letsnotmeetpodcast  Merch - https://www.teepublic.com/user/letsnotmeet 

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 in select areas, visit ATT.com slash Hypergate for details. This story took place in the early 80s when I was around 21. After spending a few days with my sister and her husband on their farm, I was traveling

back to my parents' house located in South Ohio. I was driving an old four-speed Ford F-150 pickup truck. A pleasantly basic vehicle with a long stick shift handle, large steering wheel, bench seat, with only the essential dials and gauges on the dashboard. It also had wings. Remember those? Wind wings?

They were those small triangle shaped window panes that sat on the front of the drivers and passenger side windows. You'd crack them open a bit, and they'd do a great job of sucking out cigarette smoke, or they could spin open and nearly backward, so they caught the air as you drove down the road, and the wind would rush in and cool you off on a hot day. Life then, and in my early 20s, was relatively uncomplicated, and I traveled reasonably light. Next to me in the cab was a red owl grocery bag that held some extra Levi's flannel shirts toothbrush, a little weed, and a half box of shotgun shells.

Leaning between me and that paper sack was a double-barreled side-by-side shotgun encased in a thick fabric case, but end on the floor. I smiled as I glanced at the gun case, reminiscing of hunting quail with my brother-in-law, and riding horses with my sister. Like I said, my life was pretty uncomplicated, and simple things brought me so much joy. Like the joint, and I was smoking as I told down that hot and muggy highway, little than I know that life was soon going to get very weird. Ashing the doobie out the window, I then placed the roach in the ash tray, turned on my turn signal, and turned onto a rest-stop exit ramp. I had several more hours to go

before home, and thought that I should take the opportunity to pee and grab a vending machine coffee. I loved those coffee machines, 50 cents would buy you a paper cup with poker cards printed on it, filled with fresh ground coffee. What a sack of shit, fresh ground coffee, my ass. I'm guessing that the machine had a little motor that made a whirling sound, that made me think something was being ground, but the coffee tasted pretty good. I'd push all the quote unquote extra buttons concerning cream and sugar. Returning to my truck, carrying my super fucking hot coffee, I saw that a guy was standing

near the passenger side door. Odd, I thought, since there weren't any cars near my vehicle. And when he saw me, he placed his hand on the door and said, Hey, can I catch a ride with you? What the fuck, I thought? That's rather bold. He looked to be about my age, and we were nearly identical in height and weight, six two medium-build, and we both had brownish hair. A little creeped out, but more flustered than anything, I answered. Probably not, I'm not even sure we're going the same way. Man, he said, with a look of contempt. There's only one way you can go in exiting, East, and that's the way I need to go. Trying to think fast, not wanting to give the stranger a ride, I stalled by staring out to the

freeway. They began to plead, man, come on, I've been waiting a long time, and besides, you're going my way. Only half-listening and standing near the driver's door, the coffee was burning my fingers. Come on," he said sternly again. Other than being a little forward, I didn't sense any danger from him. Then though I really didn't want to entertain anyone, I reluctantly said, okay. Opening my door, I set my coffee on the dash, slid in and reached across and unlocked the passenger door. He opened the door and got in. He then slammed the door, it had too hard, I thought, but said nothing.

I slowly reversed out of the stall, I then steadied my coffee with my left hand and put the truck through its forward gears and onto the freeway with my right." He said, never offering a handshake or his name. Along the way we conversed, but it was fractured, mostly one-sided questions from me. So where you headed? Ohio. Oh, Ohio. Cool, me too. You live there? Yeah, returning to live with my dad. Where from? I was in the army, and then around, you know, just around. It then lights up a cigarette, which I thought was rude, not because of the smoke, but because he never asked if it was cool. We rode in silence for a good while, and from time to time he'd rolled down his window and spit out a big lugee. However, as time went

on, his spitting became more frequent, more audible, making loud hacking noises as he accumulated copious amounts of flim to expel. With those actions, I was becoming unsettled. Again, I began asking questions, thinking it may distract him and reduce the slobber exiting my vehicle. So you're going to live with your dad? I asked. exiting my vehicle. So you're going to live with your dad?" I asked. "'What the fuck do you care?' he snarled and continued. And besides, I don't want to talk about my fucking dad.' "'Sorry, I won't mention your dad.' He then lights up another cigarette. As he smokes it, he flicks the ash onto the floor. And when he finished, he flicked the butt to my side of the cab, and it bounced, spraying

sparks and hot embers all around my feet. Shocked, I looked him, and his eyes, they were dark with an expression that said, "'Yeah, what about it? I could feel my butt pucker. It was then very apparent that I had made a grave mistake by allowing this man into my truck. My mind raced, and at that moment I decided that I would ignore the butt incident and put my attention back on the road.

Really, what else could I do? I couldn't take my hands off the wheel as we traveled 55 miles an hour. Thankfully, he turned his attention back to the accumulating and launching globs of snott. However, each time he rolled down the window and unsettling how of wind would fill the truck, and then How of wind would fill the truck and then he left it open. Wind and road noise then continually filled the cab. And when I looked over, I received the same, what the fuck are you gonna do? Look. It was then that I knew I needed to act, but how?

What? I didn't know. I could pull over, but how would that play out if he decided to attack me? The gun was useless to either one of us if we struggled. It would have to be un-cased and loaded with shells. Shells that were inside the red owl bag. And for that to happen, one of us would have to be incapacitated. What the holy fuck was it going to do? Suddenly an exit appeared and I abruptly turned and began the descent. What the fuck are you doing?

He shouted and continued, and he'd get to my dad, you fucking asshole. I need to eat, I replied with my voice crackling. He became more agitated and put his hand on the paper suitcase that separated us as he leaned closer to me, eyes burning into my head. Running the stop sign, I turned off the ramp, and thankfully a scally truck stop was right there and a quickly turned into the well-lit parking lot. The psycho man released his grip from the paper sack and set up fainting more of a relaxed look. He then said, yeah, I guess I'm hungry too. I guess I'm hungry too. I drove directly to the front entrance, stopped and said, I'll park the truck, and I'll be right in.

Get us a booth. Knowing he had little chance being that we were then very conspicuous, he put his hand on the door handle. But then he paused and looked at me with a slight sad look. Go ahead, I said, I'll be right in, I promise. He pushed the door open and got out. Before the door even shut, I jammed the vehicle into gear and roared away, spraying dirt and gravel all over the man. Fuck you, I yelled, opening my window as I sped off. Fuck you, you fucking piece of shit!" Tire squealed as my truck exited the gravel lot.

My middle finger raised out the window as I sped toward the ramp. Many years later, in 1991 and living in northeast Wisconsin with my wife and family, the evening news came on. An anchor woman said something to the effect of, breaking news tonight, Milwaukee police have arrested a man said to be connected to multiple murders throughout the Midwest. It was then that I recognized the man pictured on the news and my butt puckered again. It was the same man I had given a ride to many years ago. His name was Jeffrey Dahmer.

Dahmer was to become known as the Milwaukee Monster, who committed the murder and dismemberment of 17 men and boys from 1978 to 1991. I live in Brisbane, Australia. For those of you unaware of it, Brisbane is the capital city in the state of Queensland and the third most populated city in Australia after Melbourne and Sydney. With major cities, come the common crime issues, breaking in toers, assaults, drug activity and the like. Saying that, Brisbane and Australia on a whole is a relatively safe country, with low rates of murder and gun-related violence.

The story takes place back in May of 2000, when I was 16 years old. I had led a pretty sheltered life. Good Catholic education, caring and protective parents, your typical loud Italian-style family dinners every night of the week. My family lived in a new-ish estate and a northern suburb of our city. Houses were new with young families inhabiting them. Parents becoming fast friends, kids playing cricket in the street. It was all pretty much sunshine and lollipops. Crime was never an issue. And as kids, we'd spend all of our days out on our bikes and down by the creek resurfacing our meals, and then free you to roam the twilight and into the night with friends.

I was the youngest of three children, with a gap of six years between myself and my middle brother. Due to this, I was accustomed to being left at home alone from an early age. My elder sister moved out when I was thirteen, and my brother had a raging social life after high school. My parents did pretty well on the social front, also, and if I hadn't organized to sleep over with my friends, I'd often find myself sitting at home alone on a Saturday night. On a weekday that started out like any other in our quiet

neighborhood, the presence of police cars began to slowly increase. Then a matter of an hour, cars began to slowly increase. Then a matter of an hour, sounds of helicopters and police sirens caused widespread concern as residents poured out into their yards. My parents overheard something about a shooting in the suburb over, and were quick to turn on the TV and wait for the next news update. Breaking news came in thick and fast over the local TV stations. In the next suburb over, and only a few streets from our house, two police officers had been ambushed after responding to a dispute call. We'd soon find out that the resident in question was named Nigel Perodi, and he had come to meet the officers at their car when he lifted his silenced, sought off 22 caliber rifle and shot directly at them.

All three officers were critically injured, and Nigel escaped on foot. The man hunt was on, two days past with no sign of Nigel. Police presence increased, and the whole country was now waiting with baited breath as the story maintained momentum. This was a big deal for the country and our city, where scenarios such as these weren't common occurrences. Information spewed out about Nigel. He suffered severe psychological issues and was forced to live with his father. He constantly threatened his neighbors and had tried

to legally change his name to Jesse James as a tribute to the gun-toting outlaw. My teenage imagination ran wild as the thought of the crazed killer roaming my neighborhood quickly consumed me. Now I would walk about a kilometer to my best friend's house most days. The walk would take me through a bike trail and bushland, which ran by a creek and an old water tower. Despite the things going on and still no sightings of Nigel, the Saturday of that week I was set off to hang out and play video games for the day. Heading home at dusk, thoughts of Nigel started entering my brain. Pictures had been released of the wiery gunman showing off a toothy, sadistic grin, and wide eyes that seemed to look straight at you. I picked up my pace as I took the bike track

through the trees, and as my mind was playing tricks on me, I could hear rustling and laughter. I was now at full speed. I was glad to make it home, where a sense of safety washed over me. My mom told me that her and my father would be out for the night and that I could order pizza for myself if I felt hungry. As they left, I was feeling a bit tense. I tripled checked that everything was locked and made sure that all the blinds were closed. Trying to ease the tension, I headed to my older brother's room to see what new reading material he had acquired in his bottom drawer. I soon headed downstairs to our TV room and put on some light Saturday night entertainment. Hey, hey, it's Saturday.

To all you Aussie listeners out there, you get me. I eased into the couch and slowly got lost in the innocence of Variety TV. Then out of nowhere, four huge thuds that a clenched fist would make on the window right next to the couch that I was laying on. I froze. My heart was in my throat. My stomach was upside down and it went silent. I was paralyzed and I couldn't move. Twenty seconds must have passed, but it felt like an eternity. Then the banging again, the fists were frantically punching the side of the glass door on the main side of the TV room. Let me in, let me in."

I heard a voice yell. Time stopped for me. My fight or flight kicked in, and I flew. I headed straight up the stairs and bolted to the front door. In a flash, I unlocked it and headed right out. At breakneck speed, I started running, and I had no idea where I was going. I just kept running. I ran out of breath and stopped. My mind wasn't working.

What the fuck was that? The sensible thing to do would have been to find a neighbor and ask them to call the police. But no, I was paralyzed with fear and the only thing that made sense was for me to hide in the park down the street, to keep an eye on the house until my parents came home. I find a spot amongst the bushes, as I lay low. There he was. In the distance, I saw a shadowy figure looking around the front of the house, working his way around every window, every door looking for an entry point. I never locked the front door as I escaped. It would only be a matter of time before he worked that out. My heart was beating out of control. What if he ambushes my parents? All of the what ifs in the world. Do I go back there? Do I get closer? Do I somehow figure out how to save my parents. He must have worked his way into the backyard again as I kept my eyes close on the front door.

All of a sudden a car pulled into the driveway and I saw the silhouette of a man get lit up as the headlights passed over him. He jumped and darted over the fence and into the yard of a neighbor. It was my sister. My sense of relief was quickly overthrown with fear. I got up and ran toward her. Get back in the car, I screamed. She saw me darting at her and expressed confusion. What's wrong?

She grabbed me, and I pushed her into the car and got myself in. I couldn't get the words out as much as I tried I couldn't. I just told her to drive. She looked concerned. "'You didn't see him?' I said. "'See who?' I explained everything the best I could, but it must have sounded like jumble. She calmed me down and we drove to her boyfriends who lived a few suburbs away. From there we called the police who were quick to send out a patrol car moments later. Squads of cars followed as we went back to meet the police.

I gave a description and told them all of what happened. My sister said she had never seen someone as close to a ghost as I did that night. The police stayed with me and my sister until my parents returned where they were informed of my night. The next day a bush-walker found Nigel's body near that old water tower that I had walked by the day before. He had shot himself in the head, and the bulletin informed us that he had been dead for only six hours.

I'll never know if it was Nigel who tried one last ditch effort to find refuge, or perhaps involved me in some elaborate escape plan. But to this day, I always close the blinds and triple check the locks on all of my windows and doors. Nigel, I know we'll never meet again, but thanks for turning me into the security nut that I am today. 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. My older brother, Peter, was a troubled child growing up. Even though I was too young to understand what was going on, I knew that he was not in a good place. He would often hide in my room upstairs while my parents did their best to discipline him. My brother's problems reached a peak in high school.

He was 16, and that was eight. When Peter reached sophomore year of high school, my brother started hanging around the wrong crowd. We lived in a nice suburb neighborhood, but that didn't mean that there weren't a few bad apples here and there. These kids were your typical early 2000s grungy skaters. You know, those old commercials they used to show in school about saying no to drugs.

These kids were a prime example of the quote, drugies and those commercials offering drugs to other kids. In this new group of kids, my brother meets a girl named Hillary. She was a 19 year old senior at his high school and the designated pack leader of his new group of friends. My brother was young, shy, and easily influenced. I think that's what initially drew her to him, because she wasted no time in taking advantage of that.

My brother and Hillary quickly started dating. She was his first girlfriend, and he was soaking up every bit of attention that she gave him. As with most things at the time, my parents did not approve of Peter's relationship with her. Hillary was intimidating. She dressed in all black, chain smoked, and had dyed hair, which was pitch black. Since these things are mostly physical, my parents didn't speak up about their discomfort with her. She was polite enough in person, and Peter was head over hills.

The longer my brother hung out with this new group of friends, the worst his behavior got. My parents were starting to get worried about his health and safety and started to keep a closer eye on him. This is when they discovered my brother had been sneaking out at night to see Hillary. His room was the only one on the first floor, and it had a window that he could easily climb out of. For my parents, this was the final straw. My dad nailed the window shut, and they told Peter he was no longer allowed to see Hillary or that group of friends again. My dad had my brother join the wrestling team, which he was the coach of.

He figured this would help my brother with discipline and making friends that were better influences. My parents figured that the situation was handled, but it was merely the start of their problems. Soon after Peter broke things off with Hillary, things started happening to my family. I was oblivious to most of the stuff happening, but my mom recently filled me in after the subject of Hillary came up one day. One early morning, my dad walked out to his truck only to discover it had been vandalized in the middle of the night. Someone had keyed the word bitch into the side of the truck. It also looked like the hood of the truck had been beaten with a baseball bat. My parents

notified the cops, but there wasn't sufficient evidence that it was Hillary's handiwork. After my parents called the cops on the truck, they started receiving anonymous threats in the mail. The threats ranged anywhere from burning our house down with all of us inside to kidnapping my sister and I and brutally murdering us. At this point, my dad was working the night shift. This left my mom home alone at night with us three kids. She told me every night my dad was working and would stay up all night, sitting just inside the front door holding a kitchen knife. This continued for months.

Things did not stop with the death threats, though. I distinctly remember walking to the bus stop one morning in Hillary was standing on the other side of the street just staring at me. As young as I was, I didn't realize her intentions. When I came home from school that day, I casually mentioned seeing Hillary at the bus stop to my mom. After that, my mom started walking me to the bus stop and waiting with me. Hillary continued to show up at my bus stop a few more times before she realized my mom was going to keep coming with me. I always

wonder what would have happened if I had never mentioned Hillary showing up to my mom. One morning Peter came to my mom in a panic. He had found handprints on his window. Hillary had been coming to his window and watching him sleep. It also looked like she had tried to open the window, but couldn't since there were nails holding it closed. My family was living in fear of this girl. We never knew what she was going to do next, and the police weren't exactly helpful. One night, as my mom was putting my sister and I to bed, was putting my sister and I to bed. I heard a crash from downstairs. She raced downstairs, knife in hand, and came face to face with Hillary, standing in her kitchen. She had broken the glass on the back door so that she could open it. My brother was standing between Hillary and my mom. Hillary began pleading with Peter. She was trying to convince him to run away with her.

When she saw my mom with a knife in her hand, she ran. My mom decided that she was done with all of it, and that it could go no further. She reported the break-in to the cops, who now had enough evidence to link the previous crimes to Hillary. Hillary spent time in prison for the threats, vandalism, and break in. Just to be safe, my parents got a restraining order on her, and since she was an adult pursuing a minor, she has now a registered sex offender. Hillary has since been released and now has a husband and kids. She has not bothered us

since. Most of the kids in the group my brother hung out with died young from overdoses. My brother got his life together with the help of my parents and a much healthier group of friends. He married his high school sweetheart and they're both doctors. Hilary, if you're still Not Meet, a true horror podcast. This week you have heard Psycho Spitter Killer by Listener Charles, the encounter with Nigel by Listener Daniel, and finally, an untitled story by a listener who asked to remain anonymous. As always, send your stories into Let's Not Meet Stories at gmail.com if you'd like to hear them on the show, and email me any questions to Let's Not Meet Podcast at gmail.com

and follow me on Twitter at Let's Not Meet Cast. Don't forget to sign up for the Patreon if you'd like to hear additional stories and bonus episodes. Head over to patreon.com forward slash Let's Not Meet Podcast to join now and support the show. I'll see you guys next week for a brand new episode of Let's Not Meet. you