Chilling Nighttime Tales of a Stepmother's Fear

Can't sleep? Welcome back to another bone-chilling episode of the Nighttime Scary Tales Podcast. This is where your deepest nightmares come to life. 

Tune in for a mix of spine-tingling horror fiction, terrifying paranormal encounters, and bone-rattling true crime stories that blur the line between nightmare and reality. We'll dive into the darkest corners of the supernatural, from ghostly sightings to otherworldly encounters that will leave you frozen in fear. These stories will haunt your mind far longer than that weird noise in your attic. We'll keep you on the edge of your seat, with your heart racing, as each tale tightens its grip on your imagination. After listening, we'd love to hear your thoughts—leave a review on your preferred podcast platform and let us know what sent shivers down your spine.

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Welcome to another episode of the Nighttime Scary Tales Podcast, where we explore the dark side of storytelling. Tonight, prepare for spine-chilling tales featuring original horror stories, eerie supernatural encounters, and real-life crime that reveals the darker aspects of human nature. Each story is designed to keep you on the edge of your seat long after it ends. We’d love to hear your thoughts! Share your most chilling moments by leaving a review on your favorite podcast platform. More haunting stories are coming, so keep your lights on and your doors locked. Sweet dreams… if you can find them!

Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:15):
To say. I've been happily married for two years. He's
almost a lie. I adore my husband, but there's something
that effectively ruins our relationship his daughter. I don't want
to sound like I'm the stereotypical evil stepmother. I'm not.
In many ways. Fair is a very sweet girl. She's

(00:36):
always outdoors, finding animals to play with. A cute quirk
she's had since she was a child was to sing
at the birds until they came to her. My husband
tells me, and it seemed to work. Robin's flood the
tree in the garden during winter, and we even have
the occasional swan wander over to our house. We live,
I should add in the center of a city, there

(00:57):
are some patches of wilderness behind our state. Fair spends
a lot of her time, too much. In fact, in
the past years, she's taken an interest in traps, snares, nets,
that sort of thing. Her father even bought her a
hunting knife for Christmas. The way she smiled was simply terrifying,
if I'm honest, and the fact that she now brings

(01:19):
it with her into the woods does nothing to soothe
my nerves. I've tried to mention it to my spouse,
but he seems determined to overlook any sign of his
daughter's well abnormality. He is also determined to ignore the
rotting smell that seems to emanate from her room and
the reports of missing cats in the local neighborhood. I
don't want to rock the boat, but I'm convinced it

(01:41):
was her. I think part of the problem is that
everyone thinks she looks too innocent. Dark hair, big eyes,
pale skin. She's like something out of a fairy tale.
But to me, only one word echoes around my head
when I look at her nightmare. She looks like a
dead thing, preserved princess from five hundred years ago. No

(02:03):
one else seems to see it, and if I'm honest,
I began to fear for my sanity the past couple
of years. How could any sensible adult actually be scared
of a teenager? But last week I had all my
subconscious suspicions confirmed. My husband has been away on a
business trip. I always hate being alone in the house
with Fair, but it was unavoidable. Besides, work usually meant

(02:26):
that I always arrived home late, so it's not like
we've had to eat together and play happy families or anything.
I give her space, she gives me mine. It works,
but any illusion of normalcy shattered. Last Friday, I'd forgotten
some files at home, important ones as always, and had
to turn around and go back home to collect them.

(02:47):
I thought Fair was at school, as I had always
been told that she went to school, though now I
can remember that I was never actually told which school,
and never saw her do homework, or get on a bus,
or go on a trip or hang out with a friend.
It's like her life is in the woods. It's the
only place in two years that I've actually seen her go.

(03:08):
I used to think she went there to seek some
sort of solace. I justified her weird habits with just
wanting to escape and have her own space. I should
add that Fare doesn't talk at all. She can sing,
I suppose, but apart from that, she doesn't really communicate.
I tried to take it in my stride, but the
silence when it was just the two of us hurt

(03:29):
my ears. Anyhow, I left work that day to pick
up the files. It was scarcely noon and the sun
shone high in the sky. I was annoyed getting stuck
in traffic, not being able to drink the coffee that
waited on my desk. The general discomforts of sitting in
a car, and my bad mood seemed to hover over
everything I passed. On the drive home, Occupants of other

(03:52):
cars were more aggressive. Birds seemed to swirl threateningly in
the sky. Clouds moved across the horizon, and I could
hear a distant underclap as it started raining. Gray pedestrians
walked at the edges of my vision, and my focus
tapping on the steering wheel grew louder. I thought I
was going to snap. The base of my neck buzzed.

(04:12):
I pulled into the driveway of my home, sharply wrenching
the wheel to avoid the mangy cat that darted from
underneath the bushes by the porch. For a second, everything
was fine. The tension eased, and I felt myself relax.
I knew this house, it was mine, and it was comfortable.
I was too distracted to notice that the front door

(04:33):
had already been unlocked. In my head, I was locating
the files, which briefcase, which desk, which room. There were
perhaps five seconds of standing in the hallway before my
train of thought derailed A thick coppery tang seemed to
hang in the air. Had something dyed in the vents.
I took one, then two steps in the direction of

(04:54):
the kitchen. From the angle I stood at, I could
see clearly in the space I had designed myself, smooth
marble countertops, weathered green cupboards, wide windows garnished with white blinds,
covered in what looked like a heaving mass of fur,
fur and blood. My ears gradually focused, and I could
hear noises, yowling, mewing, chirping, squawking, and above it all,

(05:19):
something much worse, chewing fair stood in the center of
the room, face buried in the stomach of a fuzzy kitten.
My brain tried to translate it as something sweet, a
cuddly gesture of affection, perhaps, But as my stepdaughter raised
her head, I saw blood smeared over her face, trickling
down her neck onto her neat little blouse. I took

(05:41):
two steps back, opened the door, quietly left the house
and drove to a nearby viewpoint. I inhaled, I stepped
out of the car. I exhaled, I vomited, wiping my
lips with a tissue. I dug my phone out of
my purse. Work now seemed distant, and the files I
considered so important equally so, I had memorized the phone number,

(06:05):
and besides, I was already a respected client of theirs
in the corporate kingdom. It always helps to know a hitman.
I didn't climb the corporate ladder by letting old men
decide whether I was pretty enough to promote. I got
to where I am through hard work and leveling the
odds where they needed to be leveled. If you're going
to criticize, I recommend spending a day in my heels

(06:25):
in evaluating how generous you feel at the end of it.
It's been almost a week. She should be dead by now,
But as I woke up this morning to go to work,
I found something lying outside my bedroom door, a human
heart with a bloodied polaroid picture lying next to it.
I've come to several conclusions. My husband isn't on a

(06:47):
business trip, my stepdaughter killed the professional I sent after her,
and my stepdaughter isn't human. I don't know what she is,
but I've locked myself in my room. The smell of
blood is steady, getting stronger, and I can hear her singing
from outside my door. The more I listen, the more
beautiful it sounds. I want to open the door. I

(07:09):
want to hear more of that voice. I'm writing this
while I can still think. I love her. She's so beautiful.
I want to open the door, open the door. I
love her. I apologize for my mental state yesterday. I

(07:30):
don't know how, but I think her singing somehow got
to me. I'm not wanted to throw words like trance around,
but that's the best way I can think of to
describe it, heavy hypnotic. I also want to thank you.
I'm currently in my car, no longer enthralled, and I
doubt i'd be here if it weren't for the persistence
of some of you and challenging my thought process. Alex plain.

(07:53):
I sat in my room listening to her for a
very long time, all of yesterday, afternoon and last night.
At least one point she stopped singing and started squeaking instead.
She doesn't talk. I have never heard her talk. At
the time, I found her voice beautiful, but playing it
back in my head, all I can hear is a rough,
scraping lilt, a voice like tree bark. The reason I

(08:16):
eventually got my senses back was when she started screaming.
If you can call it that, one of my ear
drums burst, I think, But I do know that I
stopped being able to hear everything. Even my surroundings seemed muffled.
I'd be leaning against the door, distractedly replying to messages
on my phone, and when I came to I was
slumped forward, bleeding from my ears, but no longer under

(08:39):
her spell. I'm not sure why she screamed. I don't
think it was pain. I obviously couldn't hear, but I
could feel thumps echoing through the house that made me
think she was having a tantrum. I also don't know
who she was talking to. All I saw, and I
know how insane this sounds, was the shadows of hoofs

(08:59):
through the crack under my door. Two neat, little cloven
hooves and slow replies to Fair's rough voice. I don't
know who it was, but they were. It was outside
my door for a very long time. I'm also unsure
why neither of them decided to break the door down
to fetch me. I'm going to assume that Fair wouldn't

(09:21):
want this leaked. I came to my senses and deaf
in both ears, and with blood leaking down my neck,
I realized that I needed to leave, and leave as
quickly as possible. I plugged my ears using the cotton
balls I keep on my bedroom table. Thank you for
the suggestion, which both soaked up the blood and made
everything feel more fuzzy. I could still feel fag thumping

(09:44):
from downstairs. It's an old house and you can feel
every movement and shake throughout the foundations, so I knew
I was being ignored right then, at least. I shuffled
over to the bedroom window, which was thankfully already open.
Closed windows create stuffy rooms, so I make it a
habit to keep them open. Tucking my phone into the

(10:06):
pocket of my jacket, I was still in my work clothes, yes,
even my heels. I checked to see if my wallet
was still in the pocket where it should be. Luck
wasn't on my side. I remembered leaving it on the
kitchen counter last night. My card was in that wallet.
If I was going to get out of here successfully,
I needed that card. It was my ticket to everything.

(10:28):
I could feel thumping directly below me. They were in
the living room, the opposite side of the house to
the kitchen. I crossed my room, grateful for the thick carpets,
and eased the door open as slowly as possible. More
thuds from below me. I tiptoed down the hallway, peering
down the stairs to the kitchen. Before I descended, the

(10:50):
banister shook in my hand as I descended. She was angry.
I slid into the kitchen from the stairs, avoiding the
squeaky parts of the floor to the best of mine ability,
and froze. Someone was stood in the center of my kitchen,
facing away from me, as someone with cloven hooves, draped

(11:10):
in a long black coat, with a hand that concealed
any possible outline that could give a clue to the
appearance of the figure. I shook on the spot, trying
to slowly make my way backwards. In a flash, the
creature's hand shot towards me. I flinched, my entire body tensing.
I opened my eyes to see my wallet and car

(11:32):
keys dangling in front of my face and my peripheral vision,
I could see a chunk of blackness where a face
should be. My next breath shook slowly. I extended my
hand and took hold of my belongings. The thing in
front of me, pointed at the front door, visible from
the kitchen, which stood open. I blinked. It hadn't been

(11:55):
open when I snuck down the stairs. I knew that
the creature gestured again angrily. My feet started moving of
their own volition, and I was at the front door
and unlocking my car faster than I could feasibly move.
Before I could take the time to properly process my
own actions, I had started the car and backed out

(12:15):
of my driveway. The last thing I saw in the
rear view mirror before I turned the corner at the
end of our street was a small white figure with
dark hair, crouched on the pavement outside our home. Red
soaked the dress she wore, and despite my deafness, I'm
sure I could hear her rage. I'm far away now

(12:36):
and safe. As you might have guessed, my stepdaughter clearly
isn't human. I can't remember much of what she was
saying to me, but looking at her actions, I'm going
to guess she's some sort of vampire, or at least
relies on blood. I know if it briefly mentioned her appearance,
but let me go into more detail than what I
mean when I say she looks dead. Her hair is very,

(13:00):
very dark, almost black. It doesn't seem to pick up light.
I've never seen it shine, and I've never seen highlights
picked out when she's outdoors. It seems melodramatic. But her
hair seems like a void, a cardboard cut out of
pure color. In childhood photos, she doesn't look the same.
You can see strands of gingery gold picked out in

(13:21):
photos of her in the sun as a toddler, and
you can clearly see that her face is freckled, which
has also changed because her skin is dead white. It's
like she rolled in chalk. There are no blemishes, no
patches of irritated skin, no scars, and definitely no spots.
In the two years I've lived with this girl, I've

(13:41):
never once seen her blush. There's no color in her
skin at all. Finally, her mouth, Her mouth freaks me
out the most. If I'm honest, I'm aware that it's
strange to hear an adult woman describe a teenager's lips
in detail, But if you saw her, you would notice
her lips are crusty in the scabbed, old blood kind

(14:03):
of way. They're deep red, and I don't think it's lipstick.
I've never actually been in her room. I generally tried
to avoid encroaching on her territory, but she doesn't strike
me as the makeup type. They also shine permanently, like
a fresh wound. I know it'll sound strange to you,
me allowing all these odd details to slip past for

(14:24):
two whole years. I never wanted to kick up a fuss.
My entire working life is arguing, negotiating, taking a stand,
and I wanted my marriage to be different. I didn't
rock the boat. I didn't ask questions when his daughter
was out late, or think too much about the twigs
in her hair in the mornings. I decided to let
him do the parenting. It wasn't my place to chime in.

(14:46):
I focused on my husband and spending time with him,
and I'm really beginning to regret it. I feel as
though there must be something I'm missing. I'm a logical person,
believe it or not, so I'm not jumping to conclusions
about what she is, and I'm not going to waste
my time debating my own sanity. If you can't trust
your own mind, can you trust anything at all? Explanations aside,

(15:09):
this is what I know Fair drinks animal blood. Her
voice can somehow draw people in animals to her. She's
always in the woods. She was talking last night. I
was told she couldn't talk. I've never liked your singing,
but yesterday I thought it was beautiful. Yesterday I genuinely
loved Fair. The Fair I know is not the same

(15:30):
Fair in those children's photos. She was talking to someone
with cloven hoofs yesterday. I don't know what she is,
but I'm assuming that she feeds off animals she finds
in the woods. I was told she went to school.
This was probably a lie. I think I can draw
a fairly detailed conclusion from all these strands, but they're
mostly circumstantial. I need proof. I never thought i'd be

(15:53):
the type of person to say this, but I need
my husband. He's been lying to me about his daughter
for years. Have to know why. As far as I'm concerned,
she's either inhuman or completely insane. What I know for
sure is that she's perfectly happy to kill people and
is capable of killing higher professionals. I don't want to

(16:13):
bring more people into this. Nobody should die that doesn't
have it coming. There's also the issue of the dark
figure with the hoofs. I don't want to speculate on
it just now. I don't think i'm ready, but I'm
sure of one thing, and I'm not sure how despite
their help, they want me dead. I usually enjoy shopping

(16:37):
big brands, shiny tags, that wonderful, good quality leather smell.
I like to look sophisticated, which is definitely not the
impression I gave the girl behind the checkout, wielding my
basket of iron nails, honey, a hammer, granola bars, chalk,
metal filings, a tough metal file, and several energy drinks.

(16:58):
I had already called work to form them that I
would be out of the office for a few days.
I didn't need to tell them why, and they were
too scared to ask. I had also called a chain
of people who owed me favors, and I gathered a
considerable amount of information of dubious legality. The most important
thing I learned was that Fair didn't exist at all.

(17:19):
She had no records anywhere my husband is registered, but
there was no mention of a child, let alone a daughter.
I checked around for any record of a marriage in
his name, hoping to find his ex wife, and instead
found a very interesting series of articles regarding a missing family.
A couple in their young daughter vanished from their home,
leaving no traces. After a three week search in numerous appeals,

(17:43):
the wife's body was found in the center of a
nearby forest, with her heart torn out. There was a
shallow grave near her body, around the size of a child,
leading to the official explanation that the husband murdered his
wife and child, burying his daughter. Wild animals could then
feasibly of dragged the body out of the grave, although
this theory didn't explain why the woman's corpse was left

(18:05):
alone or why no remains of the girl wherever found.
Simply put, the official explanation is weak. However, the case
is considered closed despite the fact that the culprit was
never caught. The official explanation allows for this too, saying
that he probably died of exposure in the woods after
the double murder. Needless to say, I'm not convinced, mostly

(18:28):
because they included photographs alongside the articles. Perhaps the change
in appearance is enough to convince the ineffect of police
in another county, but the photo was unmistakably my husband.
I didn't think he committed a double murder ten years ago,
which is exactly why I decided to ask him about
it myself, after stalking up on supplies, toiletries and a

(18:51):
cheap change of clothes. It's shockingly cheap to access information
on where a person has been within a very short
space of time. I had a list of all the
lookations my husband had been in the past week, although
there was no data from the previous two days. That
coupled with the polaroid picture, led me to his hideout.
The polaroid, by the way, showed an old telephone mass

(19:14):
decorated with missing persons photos. A section of a sign
belonging to the local car dealership behind the mast is
visible as well aspire in the distance. The photo looks old,
but is surprisingly still accurate. I searched up all the
locations of my husband's phone and found a small town
with a car dealership and a church in close proximity,

(19:34):
likely to be the place he was staying. I'm aware
that the link is weak, but the polaroid can be
no coincidence, which is why I am disregarding the logical
route in favor of a leap of faith special times,
special circumstances. Anyhow, I found him relatively quickly. Perhaps it
was deliberate. I don't know, and he's not currently in

(19:56):
any position to tell me. I drove to the the
journey taking up most of the morning. Pulling into the
first fuel shop I could find, I happened to glance
up into the greasy cafe attached to the petrol station
while filling my car, I didn't rush. I got the
sense that he had chosen the window seat so that
I could see him. I paid for my fuel, parked

(20:17):
the car in a bay, paid the parking fare, and
walked into the cafe, sliding into the booth seat opposite him.
There was none of that warmth in his face that
usually resided there, and his face seemed scrunched. Getting the
overwhelming sense that I was living out a scene from
a film, I opened my mouth to comment on something, anything,

(20:38):
I was cut off by a low voice as he
began to speak. Here's what he told me. Twelve years ago,
he and his wife had given birth to a little girl,
freckled and excitable. His tone softened as he described her
red curls, the games she liked to play, the toys
they'd bought her. They'd named her fair. She had died

(20:58):
at the age of two, choking to death on an apple.
Ten years ago. That fateful night, a hooded figure had
visited the distraught couple, promising to bring her back. His
voice broke as he described the scene to me. He
walked into the house so late at night, through the
locked door. We were terrified, and then we warn't, and

(21:21):
then it told us how to get fair back. Trailing off,
he stirred a finger absent mindedly in the cold coffee
sitting in front of him. I don't know how long
he'd been waiting. The coffee, such a normal object, seemed
to be teasing me with its plainness. What I'd give
to rewind and be having the same cup of coffee
in our kitchen. I could sense even then that the

(21:44):
possibility of another morning cup of coffee had already slipped
through our fingers like sand at a beach. Breath shuddering,
he stared deeply into his coffee and started again. He
told us to take her body to the forest, told
us to bury her shallow, and then she'd come back.
He didn't tell us there was a price. His expression

(22:07):
seemed to grow even duller, stealing itself against the memories
completely lifeless. He told me how the hooded figure had
appeared again, how it had Pinfair's mother to the ground,
carving her heart out of her chest with a jutting talon,
How my husband had watched in shock as the figure
uncovered Fair from her grave, smearing blood on her small face.

(22:30):
How Fair's eyes had opened, and how she had devoured
her mother's heart with relish, and how her horrified father
couldn't bear to kill her. I looked at him then,
trying to imagine raising a monster that you couldn't help
but love, turning a blind eye to the rotting smell
coming from her room. He turned from me, then, staring

(22:51):
intently out of the window. There's more, and I'm so sorry,
but Fair she needs blood to survive, and she needs
hearts to survive. I hope that she'd kill you while
I was away. But you're too smart, He faced me,
oblivious to the shock, and heard on my face, why

(23:13):
did you have to make this so damn difficult. The
flash of anger on his previously broken face betrayed the
twisted mind inside. My husband was insane, and with a jolt,
I realized that the cafe had emptied while he spoke,
it was only us and fair suddenly appearing out of

(23:33):
nowhere to stand behind her father. Her mouth spread into
a slow grin, and I flinched as she started to sing.
It was her turn to flinch as Li slapped her
hard across the face. They blame it all on me.
Of course, my erratic behavior, lack of logic, everything fits

(23:56):
the narrative. They want the evil stepmother unmasked that life.
Of course, I planned my stepdaughter's murder to coincide with
my husband being out of town. When she escaped me,
I tracked her and her father down in the village
where they hid. Nobody questions the inconsistencies, the holes in
the tidy little narrative. They just want a villain, an evil,

(24:18):
cold villain with the icy heart in the ruthless streak.
I suppose I'm lucky in a way. The aforementioned ruthless
streak has earned me enough influence to vanish. I've paid
my way out, which is what's expected of me. I
suppose I'll use my connections, disappear, be erased, whatever. It
doesn't matter, None of it seems to anymore. They can't

(24:42):
see that. In some aspects of her life, the wicked
stepmother has a heart, and that in others she can't
afford to. I suppose you can all see where I'm going.
Before I end this a final update into the void,
I'll tell you what really happened in that rundown cafe.
I won't match the new use reports of the abusive,
murderous stepmother that you read, the one that hallucinated her

(25:05):
own step daughter drinking blood and promptly tried to have
her killed. I'm not crazy. I can't believe I'm crazy.
Like I said, if you can't believe your own mind,
what can you trust. I'm aware I'm rambling, added to
the list of things I'm sorry for, and send it
on its way. Yes, I slapped Fair across the face.

(25:27):
It's the first time I've ever shown violence towards her,
despite what they'll say. Her lips already permanently swollen and scabbed,
split open, and blood spattered on the cheerful tiels beneath us.
I quickly inserted the tiny wireless earbuds I clenched in
my hand, soundproof ones that would prevent me from being
able to hear Fair singing. All I could hear was

(25:47):
the uncomfortably loud sound of my own blood thumping through
my veins. I raised my head to see my husband
lunging towards me, hands outstretched and face twisted into a snarl.
Flinging myself to the side, I practically fell out of
the booth as Fair spat blood on the ground behind
her father's seat, keeping the table between us, I backed up,

(26:10):
reaching into a convenient jacket pocket from my iron hammer.
As my husband shimmered out of the booth and lumbered
towards me, I swung the hammer as violently as I could,
connecting with his head. I couldn't hear, but I could feel.
I felt a hard resistance of skull give a way
too soft brain tissue. I felt the spattering of blood

(26:32):
and pulp spray my face. I felt the low, guilty
mumble of my conscience. What have I done? I loved
that man, and the overwhelming feeling of satisfaction that bastard
wanted me dead. I could also feel Fair scream. I
shivered and looked up to see her standing far too close.

(26:54):
Tears mixed with the blood on her face, creating a
blotched landscape of red on her cheeks, and for a second,
I felt hollow, How can I do this to her?
That feeling vanished as she crouched plunged her hands into
his chest, raking her nails into his flesh and tearing
it open. It was animalistic. I felt a bile rise

(27:15):
in my throat as she carefully raised her father's heart
into the air, blood still spilling onto the floor like
a demented waterfall. The stench hit my nose. It was
worse than the smell of decay in her room. It
smelled of something that should be alive. She locked eyes
with me and maintained eye contact as she tore into

(27:37):
a vital piece of her only parent, as though it
were nothing but yesterday's leftovers, as though he had never
been important to her. Blood flowed from the heart, dripping
onto the cute sea floral dress Fair had worn that day.
Blood lapped onto my shoes. My stepdaughter smiled at me,
bearing red teeth. Then she lowered her head to her

(28:00):
father's chest and rested it there, a macabre vision of
a normally familial gesture, a twisted father and daughter bonding moment.
Unfreezing myself, I swung myself at her as she lay there,
not sporting, but neither is eating your own parent's heart.
The iron hammer had connected with her, brushing along her forearm.

(28:21):
I could smell the burning off flesh and imagine the
sizzle as the iron burned her skin. Her eyes were
open in an instant as she snapped towards me, hands
reaching for my neck. I swung again, but she was
too close to me for it to work. Her hands
were on my throat, and I was already seeing black
spots by the time I was able to yank my

(28:42):
open tub of metal shavings from my pocket and fling
it upwards towards her face. Her face peppered with tiny
burning pieces of iron. She fell backwards with her eyes closed,
thrashing against the stinging enemy that assaulted her. I stood
in front of the entrance for a second, catch my
breath and preparing to swing at her one last time

(29:04):
with the earbuds in. I saw the blue lights before
I could hear the sirens, and I only heard the
sirens because the earbuds fell out as I was tackled
to the ground from behind. I found out later that
someone had heard the police and reported the screams. The
poor daughter, watching as her father was beaten to death.
The last thing I saw is the police dragged me away,

(29:25):
tearing the bloody hammer from my grip. Was Fair in
her slow, sweet smile, a princess decked in red, lips
as red as blood, eyes as red as coals, and
hands as red as someone who knows they've just gotten
away with murder. They won't prosecute me unless they catch
me again. I can't tell you who I doped to

(29:47):
or what I gave them, but I can tell you
that everything you read will be a lie. They will
tell you I'm insane, that I'm delusional, and imagine some
fantasy world in which my stepdaughter and husband were evil,
vain empire beings. As you can tell, they didn't believe
my rambled, confused explanation of why I beat my husband
to death with a hammer. Fair will be fine. They'll

(30:10):
listen to her. She's the poor little victim trapped with
an evil witch from a fairy tale, a villain, and
we all know that villains don't get happy endings. At
least this way, the villain at least gets to explain herself.
I'm the wicked step mother, but I don't regret a thing.

(30:37):
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(30:59):
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