Tom thought he’d finally found peace after years of burnout and stress. He had just moved into a quiet rental apartment, the kind of place that felt like a sanctuary—until everything changed when the new neighbors moved in.
My name’s Tom. I’m 35, a software developer, and after a long struggle with work and life pressures, I needed a break. I found it in a cozy ground-floor unit of a two-story house at the end of a peaceful cul-de-sac.
The place was perfect—surrounded by tall trees, no noisy traffic, and, best of all, the upstairs apartment was empty when I moved in. For two whole months, I enjoyed the calm, relishing every quiet evening and peaceful night.
That peace came to an end when Marie moved in.
I first noticed the moving truck one Saturday morning. A woman in scrubs stood directing movers. She looked a bit frazzled but determined, with short brown hair and dark circles under her eyes—the kind you get from years of hard work. Behind her, two teenage boys were lugging boxes.
I walked outside and waved, eager to introduce myself. “Hi there! Need a hand?”
She turned and smiled, looking relieved at the offer. “Hi! Thanks, but I think we’ve got it covered. I’m Marie,” she said, pointing to the boys. “This is Jake and Ethan.”
Jake, tall with a smirk plastered on his face, nodded. “What’s up?”
Ethan, the quieter one, mumbled a quick “Hey,” not meeting my eyes.
“Welcome to the neighborhood,” I said. “I’m Tom, downstairs. If you need anything, just let me know.”
“Thanks, Tom,” Marie replied. “I’ll be working night shifts soon, so I won’t be around much. But the boys are pretty good about managing things.”
Jake leaned on the truck with his usual grin. “We’ll keep things under control,” he said confidently.
I nodded, heading back inside. They seemed friendly enough, so I didn’t think much of it at the time.
But just three nights later, I was jolted awake by a pounding bass that rattled my walls. At first, I thought it was thunder. Then, I heard the loud sound of laughter and footsteps stomping above me. Music blasted so loudly that I could feel it in my bones.
Frustrated, I threw on a hoodie and stormed upstairs. When I knocked, Jake opened the door, still grinning from ear to ear.
“Hey, man!” he greeted me casually.
“Hi,” I said, trying to stay calm. “The music’s too loud. It’s late, and I’ve got work tomorrow. Can you turn it down?”
Jake gave a shrug. “Sure thing.”
I turned to leave, but the moment I returned to my apartment, the volume shot back up again.
The noise didn’t stop there. Every night, it got worse. By Friday, I had to knock again, but this time, the sound was so deafening, I could barely hear myself speak.
“Hey, neighbor!” Jake greeted me like nothing was wrong.
“Look,” I said firmly, “I’ve asked you before. Can you please stop the noise? It’s after midnight.”
Jake tilted his head like he was thinking it over. “Yeah, sure. My bad.”
Before I could say anything else, Ethan appeared behind him, nervously looking at the floor. He gave me a quick glance before quickly looking away.
“Shut the door, Ethan,” Jake said, his tone sharp. Then, he smirked at me. “See you around.”
By Saturday morning, I’d had enough. I grabbed my phone, recorded the music, and snapped pictures of the trash that had been left in the yard. Then I sent everything to Mr. Grant, the landlord, with a simple message: “This needs to stop.”
Mr. Grant responded the next day. “Thanks for letting me know. I’ll speak with them.”
I felt a moment of relief, but it didn’t last long.
The parties only got louder. The next time I emailed Mr. Grant, I got the same response: “Marie says the boys are well-behaved. I can’t really take sides.”
I couldn’t believe it. How could he side with them after everything I’d reported? I just wanted some peace.
Things escalated further. One day, I stepped outside to find an empty beer can on my porch. I looked up and saw Jake leaning out of the window above, laughing.
“Not mine!” he shouted, as if it was some sort of joke.
Ethan stood nearby, watching silently. When our eyes met, he looked like he wanted to say something, but then he just turned and walked away.
Ethan wasn’t like Jake. He seemed uncomfortable in his own skin, often glancing at me like he wanted to apologize but never finding the courage to speak up. Once, when Jake had left a pile of trash outside my door, Ethan had mumbled a quick “Sorry” before rushing off.
I felt bad for him, but it didn’t change the situation. Jake was the one causing the chaos, and Ethan, though he seemed guilty, was too scared to do anything about it. I was about to leave for a conference in another state, so I decided to take a break and escape the madness for a while.
When I returned home a week later, I felt lighter than I had in months. A few days away had worked wonders. My shoulders no longer ached, and for once, my jaw wasn’t clenched from stress. But all of that changed the moment I stepped onto my porch.
There, taped to my door, was an envelope. I opened it quickly, heart pounding, and the words “Notice of Termination of Lease” leapt out at me. The letter claimed there had been multiple noise complaints while I was gone.
I stood frozen. How could anyone have complained about me when I wasn’t even home?
I immediately called Mr. Grant, my frustration bubbling over. “Mr. Grant, you’ve got to be kidding me,” I said. “I wasn’t even here! I have proof!”
I rattled off the evidence: my flight itinerary, hotel receipts, and photos with timestamps that showed exactly where I’d been during the supposed disturbances.
Mr. Grant sighed. “Bring it by. If you’re telling the truth, we’ll figure this out.”
The next morning, I walked into his office with all the evidence laid out in front of me. Mr. Grant studied it carefully, frowning as he processed the information.
“Something doesn’t add up,” he muttered. “Marie’s complaints are too detailed—specific dates, times, and descriptions of the noise.”
“They’re lying,” I said, my voice tight with frustration. “It’s all coming from Marie’s kids. I’ve been dealing with this for weeks.”
Mr. Grant didn’t seem convinced, but after a long pause, he sighed. “Let’s go check things out. If the noise is still happening, we’ll deal with it.”
When we arrived at the house, I could already hear the music blasting from the car. The bass was so loud, it rattled the windows. As we climbed the stairs, the sound of laughter and shouting filled the air.
Mr. Grant’s face hardened as he knocked on the door.
Marie answered, still in her scrubs, looking tired and confused. “What’s going on?” she asked, rubbing her eyes.
“We need to talk,” Mr. Grant said firmly.
Inside, Jake was lounging against the wall with his usual cocky attitude, while Ethan sat next to Marie, looking miserable.
“Tom has brought serious complaints against you,” Mr. Grant began. “This situation can’t continue.”
Marie shook her head in disbelief. “Look, I don’t know what he’s told you, but my boys aren’t causing trouble. If it’s about the music, well, it’s daytime. We’ve done nothing wrong.”
Jake scoffed. “Yeah, man. I 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, and trash everywhere. I have proof.”
Jake shrugged. “Where’s your proof?”
I pulled out my phone and played recordings of the loud music, the voices, and the unmistakable sound of furniture scraping across the floor. Then I showed pictures of the trash and beer cans that had appeared in my yard and outside my door.
Mr. Grant turned to Jake, frowning. “Do you have anything to say for yourself?”
Before Jake could respond, Ethan jumped to his feet.
“It’s true,” he said, his voice shaking.
The room fell silent.
“Ethan, what are you doing?” Jake hissed.
“I can’t take it anymore,” Ethan admitted, his face red with guilt. “We had the parties. We were the ones making all the noise. I didn’t think it would get this bad.”
Marie stared at him, her eyes wide with shock. “Ethan, is this true?”
Ethan nodded without meeting anyone’s gaze. “Jake made me do it. He got into your email and filed complaints against Tom. We didn’t think it would go this far.”
Jake groaned, rolling his eyes. “Oh, come on. You had fun too. We can do whatever we want when mom’s not home!”
Marie snapped. “That’s enough!” She turned to me, her voice shaking. “Tom, I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”
I couldn’t even look at her. I just sat there, drained and frustrated.
“I’m sorry too,” Ethan said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I should have stopped it.”
Mr. Grant stood up. “Marie, your family needs to vacate the property. You have 30 days.”
Marie nodded, defeated. “We’ll go.”
Jake rolled his eyes, but Ethan simply looked relieved, like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.
As they left the room, Marie stopped and turned back to me. “I’ll make this right,” she said, her voice full of regret.
I didn’t respond. I just watched them go, the sound of the door closing behind them echoing in the silence.
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 stood there, reading the note. Part of me wanted to forgive her, but I wasn’t sure yet. Time would tell if things could ever go back to normal.
