It was almost 1:00 a. m. one night, and I was out doing DoorDash deliveries in the late-night hours.
It had been a quiet night, just a few orders here and there. I had dropped an order at an address not too far from me, and everything seemed all right. The house had been dark when I pulled up, and I dropped off the food at the door, took a picture, and left.
I eventually got another delivery soon after; it was a Taco Bell order. But when I looked closer, I noticed the address was the same one I had just been to. It struck me as odd, mainly because I don't usually see repeat deliveries like that, especially back-to-back.
But I figured they were still hungry and accepted the order. When I got to the address, it was still dark. The building looked more like a converted apartment complex than a house, with stairs going up on either side of the front.
I had already made one delivery here, so I figured it would be easy this time. However, the directions were to hand the order to the customer directly, with special instructions to come to the upstairs door. I immediately got a bad feeling; why would somebody order two small meals from two different places, especially so late at night, and pay double delivery fees when the restaurants were only 40 feet apart?
That seemed off to me, but I shrugged it off, figuring maybe I was overthinking things. Still, I decided to approach the house cautiously. I decided not to climb the stairs to the upstairs door and instead peeked through one of the first-floor windows.
I could see a muted TV flickering on in the living room and a candle burning on a table. The whole place looked empty, but I could tell there was someone inside. The phone on the end table buzzed when I sent a text saying I had arrived with the order.
Nobody came to answer the door on the lower level or go check the phone on the table. I had a weird sense of urgency building up, and honestly, I felt like I should just leave. I set the food down on the steps by the door on the first level since I didn't feel safe heading up the stairs to the second level.
I quickly took the required picture of proof of delivery and turned around to go back to my car. As I walked away, I heard a man's voice from inside the building that sort of yelled, "Hurry up; she's leaving! " Something about the voice sent a chill down my spine.
I didn't wait around; I ran the rest of the way back to my car and locked the doors. I put the car in reverse and started to back out, but my car's position was all wrong. I had to make a weird three-point turn to get out.
As I maneuvered my way out of there, I glanced back towards the house. Two figures were standing in the window looking out at me. They were big, but it was too dark to make out details.
It wasn't a good feeling. One of the downstairs doors was slightly ajar. I also noticed—I don't know why, but that seemed important.
I wasn't one to get paranoid easily, but everything about that situation felt wrong. Why would someone leave a note asking for me to come upstairs when they had just ordered food a few minutes ago to the downstairs door? Why had nobody answered the door, and why did one of those guys inside yell out that I was leaving?
It seemed like a setup, with maybe a person at each level of the house. I had a bad feeling that if I went up the stairs to the second floor to make the delivery, I would have been trapped with someone coming from the lower level and following me up. I had to call DoorDash support to let them know what happened.
Thankfully, they took me seriously and would mark the location as unsafe in their system. From now on, if I get a delivery to that house, or even near it, I'm going to decline it. It was my first week of delivering DoorDash in a new city, and I was still getting used to the city and where I was going.
I'd been assigned only a couple of small deliveries before. One afternoon, I had a scary order. Once again, I had no idea where the GPS was taking me, but by the time I pulled up to the address, I saw it was in a bad place.
Potentially, I had driven deep into an area that looked half demolished, and there was a huge building. It was a rundown place that looked like it had been abandoned for years. It was an old hospital, or at least I assumed it was; the windows were all shattered, and ragged curtains were blowing in the wind.
The whole place felt really eerie. The instructions for the order, which was only a single piece of pizza, were to deliver it to the courtyard in back. I was already scared at this point, but I figured maybe there was some hidden building that was in use behind the hospital.
I circled the block a couple of times before I found a narrow alley behind the hospital. It led into the courtyard, leading to a cracked, rusted gate. I parked on the side and got out of the car.
As I made my way towards the courtyard, I noticed how quiet everything was. It didn't seem like anything was going on there, and there wasn't a building to which a DoorDash delivery should be made. I slowed down and approached the courtyard cautiously.
The courtyard was a small overgrown patch of concrete covered in weeds and garbage. I looked around, trying to figure out where the customer would be. There was no car in sight, no sign of anyone.
After checking my phone to double-check this was the right address, I took a couple more steps forward and then froze in my tracks. I was still maybe 50 yards away from the courtyard, but I had moved far enough forward to see three men, each of them standing behind a pillar of concrete or bush in the courtyard. The only thing I could see was their backs; they were all facing away from me, peeking out of their hiding spots, waiting and staring at the main entrance of the courtyard.
I then realized how lucky I was that I had never been to this area and had no idea what I was doing. I clearly didn't find the main entrance, alley, or road to the courtyard, and I had taken a back way that ended up behind these guys. Somehow, I don't know if they had planned to just steal my car or something way worse.
I quickly and quietly walked back down the alleyway to my car and got out of there fast. I reported the incident to DoorDash and then went home for the day since I was a nervous wreck at that point. Now that I know the city much better and have become a regular Dasher, I recognize the red flag orders.
It's usually a tiny order with a huge bait tip, like a $25 offer, and when you get to the store, it's a single soda. Now that I know the city better, I recognize when these bait orders are being delivered to crappy rundown parts of town, and I just avoid these orders. I really hope that other people aren't accepting them or at least not going through with the delivery when they see where it takes them.
I really hope that the men I saw that afternoon were just some thugs trying to steal cars or money and not doing anything worse than that. I work at a local pizza place in a small town. One night, I had gotten stuck with a delivery to a trailer park on the edge of town.
A lot of the addresses there were tough to find because of how poorly lit the place was, but it was a regular customer for us, so I knew the layout well enough. I drove out after dark and parked outside the trailer, double-checking the address on the receipt. I walked up to the trailer and knocked—no answer the first time, so I knocked again, but still no answer.
I figured maybe he was in the bathroom or had fallen asleep, so I called his phone. The number rang, but he didn't pick up. I left a voicemail and said I was outside with his order and to come out and get it.
Basically, I knocked one more time, louder this time, just in case he hadn't heard me. At that point, I was getting frustrated, especially since it was already late and I was eager to head back to the restaurant. I went back to the car, grabbed the receipt, and made sure the address was correct again.
Sure enough, everything lined up. I left a final message on his voicemail and then left the order outside and headed back to the restaurant. I was in for some news, however.
Once I got back to the restaurant, apparently while I had been driving back, the guy whom I had just delivered to had called the store. He had been angry and yelled into the phone, threatening the restaurant and the drivers. He also said something along the lines of not to send any more delivery drivers to the trailer park or he would murder them.
This wasn't the first time a customer had called our store upset about something, but this time was by far the worst. I don't know if he was angry that he had missed the delivery or if he was mad that I left his order outside and didn't wait longer, but I felt like what I had done was pretty reasonable. I had tried to contact him multiple times.
Our manager decided that we would no longer deliver to that address, but we couldn't really avoid the trailer park altogether because there were other customers who lived in the park whom we delivered to. A few days later, more drivers started asking other customers from the trailer park about the guy who had threatened us. Apparently, the guy wasn't just angry; he had a reputation.
Word on the street was that he was an alcoholic who had a history of schizophrenic episodes. He'd also been known to have guns, which made everyone uncomfortable. We weren't the first delivery service in town to get threats from him, but we were the most recent.
Us delivery drivers were always nervous to make a delivery to the trailer park from that point on. To this day, no one has ever gotten hurt, but I don't think any of us felt totally safe there. Multiple drivers, including me, have seen the guy standing in the windows of his trailer, staring out at us while we're driving by his place.
I'm not sure what would have happened if I had stayed longer at that guy's house the night of the delivery when he threatened the store and our drivers. Maybe nothing would have happened, but it seemed like he was having one of his schizophrenic episodes that night, and who knows if he would have confronted me? Every time I drive by his place now, I glance over and hope that he won't be there, staring at me through his blinds, waiting for a good chance to kill me or something like that.
After graduating college, the first thing on my mind was relocating somewhere new. So, I made plans to move across the country and start a new life. I was a 23-year-old woman at the time, with all the options in the world.
Everything was in order; I had quit my job, and a friend of mine agreed to take over my lease. I had been living alone in a townhouse since my previous roommate graduated, so my friend moved into the other bedroom while I was preparing to move out. About a week later, at 10 p.
m. , the two of us were watching TV when there was a knock at the door. My friend got up to answer; he came back with a bag of food from a sandwich delivery place, assuming I’d ordered it.
But I didn’t order anything. We thought that maybe it had been delivered to the wrong address, but it had my name and address on the receipt. The phone number on the receipt, however, was unfamiliar.
I called the number, and someone answered, but they never spoke. I could only hear the normal sounds of a room and breathing. I searched for the phone number, and it appeared to be through an app.
I convinced myself this was some kind of prank or misunderstanding. A few nights later, there was another knock at the door. My friend insisted on answering again, and I heard him telling a delivery person that this was a mistake.
The driver responded, saying that they had taken the order themselves over the phone and spoke to a man who simply asked for the specials and ordered the first one. It was the same number on the receipt as last time. I called again, and again, I heard someone listening on the other end.
After that, the deliveries kept coming every few nights. My move was delayed for unrelated reasons, and the longer I stayed, the more it began to really scare me. Why would someone do this?
Not to mention the amount of money they were spending on this for the food and deliveries. One time, I called the number after another delivery, with my friend sitting next to me. The stranger picked up the phone as usual, but this time we heard a faint voice, which said, “She definitely still lives there,” followed by an abrupt silence.
I didn’t recognize the person speaking, but I realized I shouldn’t have been calling from my own number. I never called again. My friend tried, but the person on the other end never spoke aside from that one time.
Eventually, most of the deliveries stopped, but someone continued harassing me for months in various ways. The phone number began calling at all hours of the day and night—sometimes 30 calls in a row. They usually would call my phone but called my friend’s sometimes as well.
If we answered, they would immediately hang up and call again. I began getting random friend requests on every social media platform, with messages such as “Don’t you remember meeting at the party last night? ” even though I hadn’t left my house in a week.
Most disturbingly, someone also started throwing eggs at the townhouse, which suggested that the stalker was local and knew where I lived. Maybe he was watching every time a delivery was dropped off; maybe he was watching other times too. The only thing I ever learned was that he knew I hadn’t moved.
By this point, I stayed inside as much as possible, but you must leave the house sometimes. I was terrified until finally I moved and blocked the number. My friend elected not to take over my lease, but I was always thankful he stayed with me those last couple of months.
This was about eight years ago now, and I still don't have the faintest idea who it could have been. My former co-workers and a few college friends knew I was moving, but I couldn't think of anyone who would have a reason to keep track of whether I had moved yet or not. Also, the fact that I didn’t recognize the voice—the one time I heard it—ruled them out.
To this day, I refuse to answer unknown phone numbers or unexpected knocks at the door; even contactless delivery gives me anxiety. I'm always half-expecting to hear back from my stalker from many years ago. A few years ago, I moved back to my hometown with my kids after a divorce.
About a year after I moved back, I got a job at a local boutique. My workspace was in the back, where the deliveries were and where the clothes were stored before being put out front to sell. Soon after I started working there, I realized all the girls were creeped out by our local FedEx driver.
When the girl workers saw the truck pull up outside, they’d usually yell, “He’s here! ” My body would literally hide in her office so she didn't have to talk to this guy, and it didn't take me long to figure out why. I'm a very friendly person usually, and I like to treat everyone the way I’d want to be treated.
This driver, who I’ll call Jeff, would come in to drop the boxes off, and he’d always linger. He would make conversation, and his conversations got progressively weird. The first time I met him and introduced myself, he said, “Oh, did you used to work at the funeral home?
” It was a little strange to me, but it’s a small town, so I just said yes, and that was it. I hadn’t given him my last name, so I just figured he remembered my face. One of the next times he was there, he told me that he just dropped off some packages at my house.
When I looked at him and asked how he knew where my house was, he just laughed and said, “It’s not a big city. ” It made me feel. .
. Weird! When I told my boss about it after he left, she agreed it was weird but just let it go.
One of the next times he came in, he made a remark about a big box he delivered to my house. He said, "I know you don't have a big man to get the box inside your house. Do you want me to come and help you get it in the house when you get off of work?
" I immediately replied, "No, thanks," and that was the remark that creeped me out fully. Jeff was either watching my house or paying attention to the names in the mail; either way, it was enough for me to warn my girls not to answer the door if he came to our house. I eventually started doing everything I could to avoid Jeff by trying to take my lunch break around the time he made his delivery at the shop.
The last incident was one evening when I heard a knock at the door of my house and then the sound of packages being left on the porch. I waited a minute or so and then went to get the boxes. Jeff was parked in the church parking lot across from my house, watching.
As soon as I came out, he grinned and waved and then started to get out of the truck like he was going to approach my house again. I quickly went back into my house and shut the door. He didn't knock, but his truck was in the parking lot for another 15 minutes or so.
My daughter watched him from her bedroom window and told me he kept looking at the house, and I figured he was waiting to see if I'd come back out. I decided to call the local FedEx facility to report it. I explained the whole story, and the manager told me they would look into it and thanked me for letting them know.
I figured nothing would be done. A couple of days went by, and I got a call from a manager at the FedEx facility. He told me that Jeff would no longer be a problem and apologized for everything.
I assumed maybe they changed his route or something, but the next driver happened to be a high school friend. When I jokingly told him that I was glad he was our new driver and that the last guy was kind of a creeper, he informed me that Jeff had gotten fired. The new driver told me that they had confirmed Jeff was stalking people—mostly women—and it made my blood run cold.
I watched out for him for months afterward, but thankfully never saw him. It's possible he was just overly friendly, but I don't think so. I used to feel bad that he lost his job, but he crossed too many lines, and obviously, FedEx found something out that was bad enough to fire him for.
