Let's Not Meet: A True Horror Podcast - 3x01: Stepmother - Let's Not Meet

Episode Date: November 11, 2019

Stories in this episode: The Phone Call I'll Never Forget - ThtGirlFromThatThing Beware of your bus drivers, folks. - woosername The guy living upstairs - missesgrinch I'm pretty sure my ex-stepmother was a psychopath... - SecondhandElephant Disclaimer: Sorry for the minor interference with the audio. I'm pretty sure it picked up some sweet waves from my phone. It isn't too bad, though! 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

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My name is Andrew Tate, and this is Season 3, Episode 1 of Let's Not Meet, a true horror podcast. This happened yesterday, and before anyone says anything, yes, I know I was stupid. I had just gotten home from work around 9pm.m. and I had barely had time to get my shoes off when I got a phone call from some number that I didn't recognize. I'm searching for new jobs and I thought that it might be one of the places that I was applying to calling me back. I pick it up and it's some guy who says that he's with some kind of third-party detention center, which, as he

explained it, was for low-risk inmates that were sent there whenever the local jails were busy or filled. That should have set off a nice big red flag for me, but for whatever reason, it just made sense in my tired brain. I'm getting ready to tell this guy that I'm not interested in making a donation or anything like that, but he asks if this is, and then says my name. I confirm, and he says that they're holding my boyfriend at this center, saying my boyfriend's full name and giving a dead-on description of him. saying my boyfriend's full name and giving a dead-on description of him. I ask what's going on since my boyfriend is supposed to be at work right now,

and the guy on the other end provides an explanation. He says that my boyfriend has struck a pregnant woman with his car on his way to work, and was four times the legal limit for blood alcohol. He said the woman was in critical condition, and that my boyfriend had broken a few ribs and his nose in the accident. I'm freaking out at this point and ask if I can speak with my boyfriend, to which the man obliged. I'm put on hold for a minute or two before my quote unquote boyfriend picks up the line. This person on the other end was panicking, saying how it wasn't his fault and begged me not to tell his parents, again using my full

name. It didn't particularly sound like my boyfriend, but I figured it was because of the broken nose that he supposedly had. And his tone really helped to sell it, because it all sounded so legitimate. The man from before comes back on the line before I can really ask any questions and explains that they had to sedate my boyfriend since he had began to panic and hyperventilate, which I was starting to relate to more and more by the second. The man on the other end tells me that I should come right away and that the bail is set at $2,000 cash only.

I stupidly tell him that I don't have that much and that I may have half of it. He tells me that that's fine, and that I can work something out with the front office when I get there, and just to bring whatever I have. And seeming like he's trying to calm me down, he's giving me the address, and I can barely hold a pen because my hands are shaking so badly, and I'm very poorly trying to hold back tears. All of a sudden, the door opens up, and in walks my boyfriend. Completely normal looking. No broken nose, but more than a little confused as to why I'm now crying. I'm still on the phone with the man and ask him what the fuck he thinks he's doing, telling

him how my boyfriend just walked in and he promptly hangs up. I tried calling back a few times but it went directly to voicemail. Find out the power to the bar my boyfriend works at had gone out, so his boss sent everyone home early, and I had never been so grateful for a power outage. My boyfriend slept on the couch to keep watch, but unfortunately I still couldn't sleep that night, so I decided to look up the name of the organization that the man worked for. Big surprise, that turned up nothing. I then looked up the address he had given me on Google Maps and see that it was some random abandoned strip mall in the middle

of a sketchy-ass area that was about an hour and a half out of town. What really freaked me out about this whole thing was that the guy knew my number, both me and my boyfriend's names, but didn't sound like anyone that I had met before. I have no idea what would have been waiting for me there, but I'm counting my lucky stars right now. So to the guy who wanted to meet, for God knows what at that sketchy-ass strip mall. Let's not meet. In my eighth grade year, I moved in with a family member

after my mother passed away. This family member lived pretty far into the country. Because of this I had to ride the bus to and from my new school. I used to live in town before the move, so this was my first time on the bus, besides schoolfield trips, but then there were other adults present. In the morning there were only about six or seven students on that bus, and I was the first person to be picked up, and the last to be dropped off after school. For the first few weeks of school everything seemed fine.

The students were quiet, everyone kept to themselves, headphones in, and whatnot. Being the first to get on, I always headed straight to the back of the bus to avoid everyone. Not that I had an issue with anyone, I was just socially awkward, and the more people I could avoid talking to, the better. As for my bus driver, we'll call him Tom. He seemed like a normal bus driver. He didn't say a word to anyone and just did his job. He began getting a little friendlier to me when he dropped me off since I was his last

stop. But it was never anything strange, just a smile and a see you in the morning or have a nice night. Nothing I would ever suspect. Things continued like this for a while. Nothing exciting happened. Until me being a 15-year-old girl who had just lost her mother decided to throw a giant tantrum and beg that I no longer wanted to live with this family member. I missed the more populated city, my old friends and my old school. So about two months into going to this school, I decided to move back home with another family member. This is where the story shifts. On the last week of my bus rides, I told Tom I would no longer be taking his bus anymore,

as I was homesick and moving back home. He asked me to sit up towards the front of the bus for the rest of that week so he could say goodbye better. I didn't think anything of it. He was 40 or 50 years old, and he never gave me any red flags. Anyways, I listened and moved to the seat right behind him so that he could look at me through the large mirror above him, and we could chat. It all seemed so innocent at first. He asked about my mother. Why I was leaving. What I wanted to do when I grow up, blah, blah, blah.

The last few days of writing his bus, the questions, however, got stranger. And I may have not been able to see the signs of a creep, but I knew the questions. Weren't things a middle-aged man should be asking a teenage girl. If anything, I thought he was just being nosy. He asked if I had a boyfriend. If I had my first kiss yet. And what an ideal date for me would be. I answered honestly, but with a weird feeling in my stomach.

Gut feelings are 500% real. On my final day of writing the bus, as I got on, Tom asked me if I would sit in the front again. But wait until everyone else was off the bus. I agreed, going back to my past seat in the back of the bus, and waiting until everyone got off. I moved to the seat behind him, but this time he didn't say anything to me. At first, I probably should have mentioned earlier, but from the last stop before me to

my stop, there was probably about a 25 to 30 minute driving distance. I'd say he didn't say a word to me for about 20 minutes of that time. I sat listening to my music until he pulled the bus over. We were on my road, and I knew my family members' house was close ahead, it he pulled over and stopped the bus. If I could explain to you the fear that ignited in me when that bus came to a halt, and Tom turned in his chair so that he was facing me with the smile on his face, I would. I had seen one too many movies, with creepy men doing things that they shouldn't be doing with teenage girls and expected the worst.

I was expecting to be assaulted, harmed, kidnapped, or even killed, but it never came to that. Instead, Tom told me to take my phone out and add his number to it. He said he would be here if I ever needed to talk about my mother, telling me the story of his own mother and things I can't really remember. I just remember being in an innocent conversation, no matter how weird you might think it is for a bus driver to offer a teenage girl his number. He dropped me off after that and we said our goodbyes. The years passed, and I was in 10th grade when I saw Tom again. I still had his number in my contacts, but I never contacted him.

Even when things were rough, because truly, what girl would call a strange bus driver when she needed help. Not me. I was at Walmart with a few friends, and decided to split up and to get things that we individually needed. I headed off to get a box of Qtips when I heard someone say my name. I could tell that it was a male's voice and I figured it would just be a male teacher that I once had.

It was Tom. But I couldn't tell it first. He had grown out his facial hair and I honestly had just forgotten about him. But once he said hello to me, I remembered everything. I wasn't necessarily scared. I just found it odd that this man who was my bus driver for a few months remembered me after two years. It was a simple conversation he asked how I had been and how high school was going for me.

And I answered, not really bothering to ask how he was. We said our goodbyes, and I met back up with my friends explaining to them the whole story of Tom to which they all found it scary that I never told anyone my bus driver gave me his number and asked strange questions. I explained that I thought it was him just being friendly because I truly did. I haven't seen Tom in person since then. Years have gone by, I'm in college. And I thought the story was over. Just some overly friendly bus driver. It could have stayed innocent, right? About a month ago, I was talking to someone that I went to school with at the other school.

And I mentioned to her how scared I was thinking about the bus out there because of Tom. She was in shock that I had mentioned him and asked for the full story. I told her the summary of it. The questions, the stopping the bus to give me his number, the encounter at Walmart. I told her he just gave me the creeps and I hoped that I would never see him again. This is when I found out that Tom had been arrested for sexually assaulting two miners. She not only showed me his mugshot, but told me what had happened. My story nearly lined up perfectly with these other two children. Bus driver who asked personal questions offered phone number, and comforted the children with trauma, then acted on it.

The only difference was I got out of there. If I hadn't moved back to my hometown, I still wonder what could have happened to me. I'm extremely lucky that I never contacted his number, and I feel sorry for the two kids that did contact him, feeling that they could trust this man. I know you're in jail, Tom, and are not getting out for a while, but please let's not meet again. When it comes to broadband internet, streaming, and mobile packages, choice overload is real. Whether you're upgrading or moving to a new home, smartmoved.us is a quick, easy, and

free way to compare packages. Explore all your options now at smartmoved.us slash discover. So this happened to me and my mom last year. We live in a pretty bad part of town and it's not unusual for us to encounter a couple of weirdos in our day to day life, but this one encounter really scared us both. We actually moved out shortly after this happened. So let's get straight to the story. My mom and I were just arriving home when we see a man standing in front of our main door. Very skinny and tall.

He looked like he was in his mid-40s. My mom questioned what he was doing and if he needed anything from us. He said he was our new neighbor and that he would be living upstairs. Usually, the landlord only rented the upstairs to tourists, so we thought that this was a little bit strange. He said he lost his key and asked us if we had a spare. My mom told him, of course, we didn't, and that he would need to contact the landlord about that. He continued standing there, and we kind of had to push by him to get to our house. My mom quite assertively told him to step away, and I guess he got the hint and left.

A couple of days go by. We haven't seen the man, but we have definitely been hearing him. He had been keeping us up basically every night. He was always knocking on the floor, like he was dropping marbles or hitting the broom on the wood. He would sing loudly in the middle of the night and just talk for hours and hours. He was either talking to himself or on the phone because there was never anyone else's voice. My mom is that type of person who doesn't put up with this type of disrespect, but she was trying hard not to start a conflict with

our new neighbor. Well, the breaking point happened when he threw a big block of cement down from his balcony to our garden. My mom caught him doing it while one of our cats was mining his own business, just chilling in the grass. He was obviously aiming to hit him, but thankfully he ran away just in time. My mom lost it and made her way upstairs. They got into a heated fight and our front neighbors ended up having to break it up. For this last part, let me just explain to you a bit about how

my house is built. We have our main door which is directed to the road and we have a back entrance, which is where we have a small garden. The garden is surrounded by a wall. It's quite high, but wouldn't be impossible to jump over. Now my bedroom door goes directly to the garden, and I usually leave my door cracked open so that my cats can come in during the night. You have probably already guessed where this is going. One night, while I'm already sound asleep, this guy jumps over our wall and creeps into my room. I woke up with him stroking my hair and cheek repeatedly.

I slowly woke up and took a while to adjust my sight to realize that it was him. I screamed very loudly and my mom rushed, swinging a lamp in her hand. He tried, talking his way out of it, saying that he just needed our help. My mom was not having any of it, and continued to swing at him. He ran back out the door. We didn't run after him. My mom just went straight to the door and locked it. We called the police and right after

our landlord. He wasn't dumb enough to go back upstairs because he knew for sure the police were going to come and get him. So we needed all the information we could get about him to tell the police. The landlord was very confused and said he hadn't rented it, and he had no idea what we were talking about. When the police arrived, they confirmed he had busted the door lock and had been living inside for the past two weeks. I didn't go upstairs, but my mom did. She said that it smelled so bad she almost threw up. He had basically been living in filth. Also he apparently had been in my room before because the police found one of my pajamas shorts upstairs. The police told us he had a couple of sketchy things in his possession and to be careful

not to leave any doors open in case he came back. It was never caught. We never saw him again. My mom swore once in a while that she could still hear him upstairs mumbling. We were both really paranoid and never really felt relaxed, living there again. About two months later, we moved out. The final story of this week's episode

contains depictions of abuse. Some listeners may find this a bit too troubling. Listener discretion is advised. So I had known this woman since before I could remember. She was really good friends with my mom and dad through high school, so I already knew her before all of this. Unfortunately, my mother was an alcoholic and pill addict,

which led to pretty bad neglect for several years when I was very young, which is a story for another day. After missing most of my third grade year, DCS got involved and my dad got custody of me. He was dating the stepmother at the time, and at first everything was fairly normal. She was like an older sister or a friend.

It wasn't too long before I noticed things started to change. One day when I was about nine, I was sitting on the living room floor, playing with my back against the couch. My stepmother crossed the living room to go down the hallway, and as she did, seemed to shoulder-check the doorway. As soon as she did this, she turned around and started yelling at me, accusing me of pushing her. I stared at her dumbfounded because I hadn't moved from the spot on the floor. She continued yelling, and accusing me of trying to rationalize it in my head.

Maybe I got up, I don't remember. But why would I push her? I really had no negative feelings towards her at this point. So it didn't make any sense, but she was an adult and I was a child. Surely she knew what she was talking about. My stepmother was a taller, skinny woman with long golden blonde hair straightened through at the end with those poofy 80s bangs on top. She typically wore high-waisted jeans and kept long pristine nails that would end up being horrifying symbol to me in my teen years. Things got worse as I got older.

I would speak to my mom on occasion over the phone or in a letter for the first few years, but each time I did, my stepmother would become more and more hostile towards me, claiming that my contact with my mother was making me misbehave. But I was always an introvert. I loved reading and school, and I was a bit of a nerd, and I hated getting into trouble, so this accusation didn't make sense to me even then. But what could I do about it? Before too long, I noticed that my stepmother looked for any opportunity, alone with me,

to treat me however she wanted. My stepmother quickly became extremely militant. Each morning she woke me up for school by bursting into my room and aggressively jerking the covers off of my body. Some mornings, even grabbing my feet, digging her nails in and twisting my toes. I was expected to follow a strict schedule on school mornings, 6.15 a.m. out of bed, 6.15 to 6.25, get dressed for school, 6.25 breakfast. At this time, I was expected to stand in the exact center point of the threshold between the kitchen and the dining room, ready to make my breakfast and sit at my spot at the table. 6.35 a.m. down with breakfast, 6.35 to 6.45am, finish getting ready for school

and finally 6.45am, be sitting cross-legged in the center of the living room, waiting for everyone to be ready. If I didn't follow this schedule down to the minute, punishment would be doled out. She would grab my hands, take my breakfast, twisting one or two of my fingers out of socket, pulling me close to grit her teeth at me, with glaring, hateful eyes. On a few occasions, she even broke my wood hairbrushes across my face, leaving busted blood vessels and massive bruises. When the damage was too obvious, she would try to hide me for a day or so, gently waking

me the next morning, acting as though I was sick and telling me that I was too ill to go to school, brushing my hair back and telling me to go back to sleep. This treatment rolled over into my days after school and would evolve into other aggressive behaviors. She made sure to conceal any sign of mistreatment from my father. to conceal any sign of mistreatment from my father. But still, some happened right under his nose. At the dinner table, she would dig her toes into my leg and scrape so hard that she would shave off chunks of skin from my shins with her toenails, even at church, placing what looked like an affectionate hand on my back, preceded by giving me an extremely painful and deep pinch to my back, leaving bruises in their place that no one would see.

I was given an hour and a half after school each day to do my homework. After that, I was expected to go to our play room where I was to entertain her daughter. My stepmother's daughter was between five and seven when things started to get really bad. I was expected to play what she wanted, when she wanted, and to buy it by any request made. This was never said but understood and later learned the hard way. One day during the summer, while eating lunch with her daughter in the playroom, she asked me to open her dessert.

She had a kid cuisine that she had merely taken two bites of. My stepmother would typically leave the plastic over her dessert as a system to encourage her to eat her dinner first. Of course, when she asked me to open it, I asked her if she was then eating her meal, passively addressing the fact that she had barely touched it. I was about 14 at the time, it seemed like a plausible thing to big sister her about. But when I didn't give her what she wanted, she got up in a huff to go title to her mother. As most six-year-olds would, stepmother immediately was enraged and barrelled down the hallway

in my direction. I don't even think I was out of view of her daughter when she grabbed me by the hair and started dragging me. I tried to keep up, but lost my balance and fell on the floor as she continued to drag me down the hallway by my hair. Once we reached my bedroom, she started kicking me in the stomach and then pulled me to my feet to face my bed.

She then began rummaging through my belt drawer and pulled out a woven leather belt that she had already used more than once and then proceeded to beat me with the belt, starting with my shoulder blades all the way down to my ankles, having for bid if I screamed, she would beat me more. The abuse also did not stop with physical as she seemed to get a kick out of bullying me. This, she wasn't so worried about hiding from my father as she would make it seem lighthearted and juvenile when he was around. One evening, while having a family dinner at one of our local go-to sit-downs, she started kicking me under the table, passing me horrible evil glares.

After a few minutes of this, she spoke up, cow she laughed. Why can't you chew right? Doesn't she chew like a cow? My dad chuckled, thinking it was meant light heartedly. But as he looked down at his meal again, her death glare, staring a hole through me with a tight jaw and gritted teeth told me otherwise. This became a new target for her abuse. She did this again later when she noticed that I had walked on the inside of my house shoes, kicking me in the back of the knees, making me fall to the floor, she began kicking me in the back, knocking the wind out of me, all simply over the way that I walked. This became my daily life, speaking out seemed ridiculous because of all of these punishments.

They just felt so absurd. I didn't tell anyone for a long time, but as I got older, people around me started to get wiser. When I was in middle school, my dad and stepmother were called in for questioning by my school. Two of my teachers were highly suspicious of my bruises and constant swollen fingers. My stepmother proceeded to put on an act, crying and acting hurt and shocked that they would even think that she could hurt a child. I changed schools after that year. Things only got worse once I went to high school as she seemed intimidated by my aging and gaining maturity. Male friends were off limits and my curves were to be hidden and horribly unflattering clothes. I didn't really mind so much as I really had very little interest in boys or displaying my womanhood to any degree. However,

one afternoon while taking a shower, she burst into the bathroom to remind me of my timing. As she whipped the bathtub curtain open, she saw a hair growing below my waist. Before I could react, she grabbed the hair and jerked it down, pulling out a handful of my pubic hair. She cursed me for not telling her that I had started maturing in that way. I couldn't tell anyone about that for years. After the belt beating, however, my stepmother's sister-in-law saw my backside and called my dad's work, cursing him and threatening to report it.

I started going to her house on the weekends after that. After this, I got braver and became less scared. Once I saw people reacting to what they saw of my stepmother's behavior, I knew I was in the right for sticking up for myself, so I did. In subtle ways at first, I brought jewelry and makeup to school and started to give myself space to express myself. Then one morning, while running a minute or two behind my breakfast, schedule my stepmother came into the kitchen in a rage.

Why wasn't I finished getting ready for school? Before I could turn around from rinsing the dishes, she was rummaging in the utensil drawer and pulled out a fork. She backed me against the kitchen counter, pressing the fork to my throat. I don't remember what she said to me in those moments, but I remember her hot breath in my ear hissing through her teeth at me, and I remember the chill of the cold, mental prongs and my throat. I was sixteen.

My last day there was Field Day at my junior year. I decided to wear a cute outfit that her sister-in-law had bought me for casual days. He was a cute, caps-leaved, striped t-shirt, cut femininely, to suit my curves with long, matching shorts. I knew that she wouldn't like it, but I also knew that it was completely appropriate for a girl my age. Even very conservative in comparison to my other peers, She saw me as I was walking down the hallway towards my bedroom, and I saw the rage fill her. She came at me, nails first, grabbing my arms, digging her nails in. This is when I snapped. I fought her off, shoving her into the wall,

rage filled me as I went into the living room to grab the phone. If you touch me again, I'm going to call the cops. She went pale. And suddenly I wasn't scared for myself anymore. I couldn't control myself. I laughed. You're scared, I said, suddenly enlightened. Her face went blank as she walked towards me. If you have to make your dad choose between you and me, it's not going to be you," she

said coldly. I ignored this sentiment, because I knew she was delusional to think something like that. I went to my bedroom, and packed my bags. She didn't stop me, but she did make sure to let me know that if I left, I wasn't welcome back. I ended up spending that summer in Florida with my stepmother's sister-in-law and moved in with my grandmother for the next several years. I only ever saw my stepmother once again in my 20s. She had left my dad by the time that I was out of high school for the man that she had been cheating on him with.

She and I spoke briefly over Facebook, and that next year, and I confronted her about what she put me and my dad through. Her response? I'm sorry if you ever felt unloved. I was just really stressed, and you were a pretty rebellious kid. Thank you for listening to this week's episode of Let's Not Meet, a true horror podcast. This week you have heard, the phone call I'll never forget, by Reddit user that girl from that thing. Beware of your bus drivers, folks.

By Reddit user, WooserName. The guy living upstairs by read it user Mrs. Grinch. And finally, I'm pretty sure my ex-step mother was a psychopath. I read it user's second hand elephant. Don't forget to send your stories in to Let's Not Meet Stories at gmail.com and for any questions email Let'sNot Not Meet Podcast at gmail.com. If you'd like to support the show and gain access to the bonus episodes, head over to patreon.com forward slash Let's Not Meet Podcast.

You can support me there and I release bonus episodes every other week, as well as one shot episodes in between. I'll see you guys next week for a brand new episode of 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 individualized coaching services, to programs that hone your leadership skills and business acumen. Management concepts optimizes your professional development, online in-person, individually, or groups.

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