Every Time I Returned to My New Apartment, I Found Notes with Threats — When I Saw Who Was Leaving Them, I Froze

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From Dream Home to a Nightmare: A Chilling Tale of Secrets and Scares

My dream apartment quickly became a nightmare when I started finding terrifying notes, each one scarier than the last. Discovering who was behind them shook me to the core, and my life was forever changed.

I’m Samantha, 35, and this is the story of how my perfect home turned into a place of fear. Just two weeks ago, I was on cloud nine. After years of saving, I finally got my dream apartment—a charming two-bedroom place in a historic area, complete with vintage touches and a balcony overlooking the park. I spun around in the empty living room, my laughter bouncing off the walls. “Can you believe it, Mom? It’s all mine!” I shouted, filled with joy.

My mom, Christie, stood in the doorway with a tight smile. “It’s… nice, honey. But are you sure about this? It’s so far from home.”

I brushed off her concern. “Mom, I’m 35. It’s time I had my own place. And it’s only a 30-minute drive.” She nodded, but her worry was clear. “I know, I just… I’ll miss having you around.”

I quickly hugged her. “I’ll visit all the time, I promise. Now, help me pick out some curtains for these beautiful windows!” I said, holding up a floral fabric sample as we sorted through the options.

Everything was perfect. My new apartment was a dream—cozy corners, a little office space, and a balcony garden that was just beginning to bloom. Mornings were peaceful, filled with coffee, sunshine, and the excitement of a new day. But then, things took a dark turn.

One morning, as I was heading out to work, I saw a crumpled piece of paper stuck to my front door. My hands shook as I unfolded it, revealing a threatening message: “Move out or you’ll regret it.”

At first, I hoped it was a sick joke or a mistake. But as the notes kept coming, my fear grew. Each one was more ominous than the last: “This apartment will harm you,” “Get out before it’s too late.” The handwriting was different each time, but the messages were always chilling.

One evening, after a long day, I found another note as I unlocked my door. My heart pounded as I turned on the lights, half-expecting to find an intruder. But everything was just as I had left it—my cozy living room, my reading nook, my tiny home office.

I sighed and went to the balcony for some fresh air. That’s when I saw it: a dead pigeon lying in the middle of my garden. “Oh my God,” I whispered, stumbling back in horror. This was the second dead pigeon I’d found that week.

My phone buzzed with a text from Mom: “How’s the new place, sweetie? Everything okay?” I stared at the message, unsure of what to do. Should I tell her about the notes and the dead birds? No, she’d just worry. Instead, I typed back, “Everything’s great! Just getting settled in. Talk soon!” I hit send, all the while wondering who was trying to scare me out of my home and why.

The next morning, there was another dead pigeon on my balcony. I was terrified, constantly on edge. Every little noise in the night made my heart race. I couldn’t sleep, and I even considered moving, but I’d worked too hard to let someone scare me away. So, I decided to set up hidden cameras to catch whoever was doing this.

Two days later, the cameras arrived. I spent the evening setting them up—one by the front door, one in the hallway, and one on the balcony, hidden behind a plant. For the next week, I watched the footage obsessively, jumping at every sound and shadow.

My friends noticed how stressed I was. “You look tired, Sam,” my coworker Lisa commented. “Everything okay at home?” I forced a laugh. “Just getting used to the new place,” I said, wishing ghosts were my biggest problem.

Then, one night, as I reviewed the footage, I saw a figure approaching my door. My heart raced as I leaned closer to the screen. The person turned slightly, and my stomach dropped. “NO,” I gasped. “IT CAN’T BE.” But there was no denying it—the person leaving the notes was my own mother.

The next morning, I called Mom, trying to keep my voice steady. “Hey, want to come over for coffee?”

“Of course, sweetie!” she replied cheerfully. “I’ll bring those muffins you love.”

An hour later, we were sitting at my kitchen table. Mom chatted about her book club, but I couldn’t focus. All I could think about was what I had seen on the footage. Finally, I couldn’t hold it in any longer. “Mom,” I said, my voice shaking, “I need to talk to you about something.”

Her face filled with concern. “What is it, honey? You look pale.”

I took a deep breath. “I’ve been finding… notes. Threatening notes on my door.”

Her eyes widened in shock. “Oh my God, Sam! That’s terrible! Have you called the police?”

I shook my head. “No, because… I know who’s been leaving them. I set up hidden cameras.” Her eyes grew even wider, but she stayed silent.

“Why, Mom?” I asked, my voice cracking. “Why would you do this to me?”

Her face went pale. She stared at me, her mouth opening and closing as if she couldn’t find the words. Then, suddenly, she burst into tears. “I’m so sorry, Sammy,” she sobbed, burying her face in her hands. “I didn’t know what else to do!”

I sat there, stunned, as Mom began to pour out her heart. “Samantha, honey, I miss you so much. The house feels like a tomb without you. It’s so quiet, so empty. I thought if I scared you a little, you might come back. I know it’s wrong, but I just… I just miss you so much.”

She wiped her eyes, still crying. “I know it was wrong,” she hiccupped. “I just… I miss you so much, honey.”

A wave of sadness washed over me. “Mom, why didn’t you just talk to me?”

She shook her head, looking ashamed. “You seemed so happy here. I didn’t want to burden you with my feelings.”

I reached across the table and took her hand. “Your feelings aren’t silly, Mom. But this wasn’t the way to handle it.”

She nodded, squeezing my hand tightly. “I know. I’m so, so sorry, Sammy. Can you ever forgive me?”

I took a deep breath and met her tear-filled eyes. “I can, Mom. But we need to find a better way forward. For both of us.”

As we talked, I felt a weight lift off my shoulders. The mystery was solved, but then I remembered something. “Oh, what about the dead pigeons on my balcony?”

Mom looked confused. “Dead pigeons? I don’t know anything about that.”

Just then, I noticed Ginger, the neighbor’s tabby cat, casually strolling across my balcony with a limp bird in his mouth. The culprit behind the unfortunate gifts was finally revealed. Despite everything, I couldn’t help but laugh. “Well, I guess that solves that mystery.”

Mom laughed too, and for a moment, it felt like old times. We had a long way to go, but as we sat there, laughing through our tears, I realized that sometimes the scariest things are just cries for help. Love, even when it takes a wrong turn, can find a way to bring us back together.

This experience taught me an important lesson about how vital communication is, even when it’s hard, because even the people who love us can make mistakes.

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