My name’s Tom, and I’ve lived through my share of stress. I’m 35, a software developer, and after burning out from a tough job, I was finally able to find a place of peace. It was a small, cozy ground-floor rental in a quiet cul-de-sac.
he kind of place where you could breathe easy, surrounded by tall trees, far away from the noisy rush of city life. The upstairs apartment was empty when I moved in, and for two whole months, I felt like I had the world to myself.
That was, until Marie moved in.
It happened on a Saturday morning. I woke up to the sound of a moving truck pulling up. There was a woman directing the movers—she looked tired but determined, like someone who had been through a lot. She had short brown hair, with dark circles under her eyes, and two teenage boys were helping. They looked a little out of place, as if they hadn’t slept in days. I decided to introduce myself.
I stepped outside, greeted by the noise of boxes being carried up the stairs. “Hi there! Need a hand?” I asked.
She turned and smiled. “Hi! Thanks, but we’ve got it covered. I’m Marie,” she said, pointing to the boys. “These are my sons, Jake and Ethan.”
Jake, who was tall with an easy confidence, gave me a half-smile. “What’s up?”
Ethan, the quieter one, just nodded and muttered, “Hey.”
“Welcome to the neighborhood,” I said. “I’m Tom, downstairs. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.”
Marie smiled again. “Thanks, Tom. I’ll be starting night shifts soon, so I won’t be around much. The boys can manage, though.”
“We’ll keep things under control,” Jake added with a grin, his voice a little too relaxed.
They seemed nice enough. I thought nothing of it and went back inside.
But then, things started to change.
It was three nights later when I first noticed something was off. I was jolted awake by loud, thumping music. At first, I thought it was thunder. But the sound was different. It was music. A deep bass vibrated through my walls, and I could hear people laughing and walking around above me.
I threw on a hoodie and climbed the stairs, determined to talk to them. Jake answered the door with his usual grin.
“Hey, man,” he said, looking like he was trying to act cool.
“Hi,” I said, keeping my voice calm. “The music’s pretty loud. It’s late, and I’ve got work in the morning. Could you turn it down?”
Jake shrugged. “Sure thing.”
But no sooner had I returned to bed than the music blasted back up. It was even louder than before.
The next few nights were worse. Jake’s late-night parties were becoming a regular thing. By Friday, I was fed up. I had to knock again. This time, the music was so loud I couldn’t even hear myself think.
“Hey, neighbor!” Jake greeted me, as if this was normal.
I clenched my jaw. “Look, I’ve asked you before. Can you please turn down the noise? It’s after midnight.”
Jake pretended to think it over, then nodded slowly. “Yeah, totally. My bad.”
But when I turned to leave, I saw Ethan standing behind him, looking uncomfortable. He glanced at me for a moment, then quickly looked away.
“Ethan, shut the door,” Jake ordered sharply, still grinning at me.
That night, I had had enough. I grabbed my phone, recorded the music, and snapped pictures of the trash left in the yard. I emailed everything to Mr. Grant, the landlord.
“This needs to stop,” I wrote, hoping he would take action.
Mr. Grant responded the next day. “Thanks for letting me know. I’ll talk to them.”
I felt a brief sense of relief. But it didn’t last long.
The parties didn’t stop. In fact, they only got worse. I emailed Mr. Grant again, but this time, his response was different. “Marie says the boys are well-behaved. She doesn’t want to take sides.”
I stared at the email, completely shocked. “She doesn’t want to take sides?” I thought. “What about the noise? The trash? How can she not see it?”
Meanwhile, Jake’s behavior was escalating. One morning, I stepped outside to find an empty beer can on my porch. When I looked up, Jake was leaning out of the window, laughing.
“Not mine!” he shouted down at me.
Ethan stood nearby, his gaze flicking between me and Jake. When our eyes met, he looked like he wanted to say something but quickly turned away and walked off.
Ethan wasn’t like Jake. I’d catch him glancing at me with an apologetic look. Once, after Jake had left a pile of trash outside my door, Ethan mumbled, “Sorry,” before hurrying off.
Despite how guilty he seemed, Ethan never stood up to Jake. And that’s when I realized—I had to get out of town for a while.
I went to a conference out of state, hoping to find some peace of mind. When I returned a week later, I felt lighter than I had in months. But my relief vanished the moment I saw a piece of paper taped to my door.
“Notice of Termination of Lease,” it read. I froze.
The letter explained that multiple noise complaints had been filed against me while I was gone. The complaints said there had been disturbances every single night. I couldn’t believe it.
I immediately called Mr. Grant. He picked up after the second ring. “Tom,” he said, his voice tired, “I know this is upsetting, but—”
“You know?!” I interrupted. “I wasn’t even here, Mr. Grant! I can prove it.”
I rattled off the details of my trip: my flight itinerary, hotel receipts, and even photos with timestamps showing exactly where I had been.
Mr. Grant hesitated before saying, “Bring everything by, and we’ll figure this out.”
The next morning, I sat across from Mr. Grant in his office. I laid out all the evidence: my plane ticket, receipts, and even selfies from my trip. He frowned as he looked over the papers.
“This doesn’t make sense,” he said quietly. “Marie’s complaints are really detailed—specific dates, times, and descriptions of the noise.”
“They’re lying,” I said firmly. “Marie’s kids. They’ve been making my life hell for weeks.”
Mr. Grant didn’t seem convinced, but he sighed. “Let’s go to the property. If it’s still going on, we’ll deal with it.”
When we pulled into the driveway, I could already hear the bass from the music. The windows of the house rattled with the sound. As we walked up the stairs, voices and laughter spilled from the open windows.
Mr. Grant’s expression hardened. “Unbelievable.”
He knocked loudly on the door.
A few moments later, Marie opened it. She still wore her scrubs, her hair pulled into a messy bun, and looked completely exhausted. “What’s going on?” she asked, clearly irritated.
“We need to talk,” Mr. Grant said, his voice firm.
Marie sat down, crossing her arms defensively. Jake leaned against the wall, looking bored. Ethan sat next to his mom, nervously staring at the floor.
“Tom has brought serious complaints against you,” Mr. Grant began. “This can’t go on any longer.”
Marie shook her head, defensive. “I don’t know what he’s told you, but my boys aren’t causing trouble. If it’s about the music, it’s during the day. We’re not doing anything wrong.”
Jake scoffed. “Yeah, man. Don’t know why you’re making stuff up about us.”
I clenched my fists. “You’re lying,” I said. “Every night, there’s noise, music, trash everywhere. I’ve got proof.”
Jake shrugged. “Where’s your proof?”
I pulled out my phone and played the audio recordings—loud music, shouting voices, and furniture scraping across the floor. Then, I showed him the pictures of beer cans on my porch and trash piled up outside my door.
Mr. Grant turned to Jake. “Do you have anything to say for yourself?”
Before Jake could respond, Ethan shot up from the couch, his voice shaking. “It’s true,” he said.
The room went silent.
“Ethan, what are you doing?” Jake hissed, his face going red.
“I can’t do this anymore,” Ethan said, his voice cracking. “It was us, okay? We had the parties. We made the noise. We didn’t think it’d go this far.”
Marie stared at her son, her face pale with shock. “Ethan, is this true?”
Ethan nodded, unable to meet her eyes. “Jake made me do it. He got into your email and filed complaints against Tom.” His voice faltered. “We didn’t mean for it to get this bad.”
Jake groaned. “Come on, Ethan. You had fun too. We can do whatever we want when mom’s not around!”
“Enough!” Marie snapped, her voice full of fury. She turned to me, her face full of regret. “Tom, I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”
I couldn’t even look at her. I just sat there, feeling completely drained.
“I’m sorry, too,” Ethan said quietly. “I should’ve stopped it.”
Mr. Grant stood up. “Marie, your family will need to leave the property. You’ve got 30 days.”
Marie nodded, her shoulders slumping with defeat. “We’ll go.”
Jake rolled his eyes, but Ethan, for the first time, looked relieved.
As they left, Marie turned back to me. “I’ll make this right,” she said softly.
I didn’t say anything. I just watched her leave, the door clicking shut behind her.
The next morning, I found a note slipped under my door. It was from Marie.
“Tom,
I’m so sorry for everything my family put you through. I had no idea what was happening, and I take full responsibility. Thank you for your patience. I hope one day you can forgive us.”
I didn’t respond. I just held the note in my hand, feeling like the weight of everything had finally lifted.
