My bestie Jenna and I found the perfect vintage apartment with a seemingly sweet landlord, Mr. Whitaker. But things took a bizarre turn when his daily “inspections” and unsolicited advice crossed the line into creepy territory.
Hello! My name is Andrea, and anyone who has had to deal with a crazy landlord will relate to my story. So, here we go.
A few months ago, my bestie, Jenna, and I found this adorable two-bedroom apartment. It had that vintage charm, as well as brick walls, slightly creaky hardwood floors, and just this amazing cottage-core potential in the middle of the city.
A beautiful apartment living room | Source: Midjourney
The landlord, Mr. Whitaker, seemed like a sweet old guy, too, with gray hair and a kind smile. He looked a little like the grandfather from “Up,” except not grumpy.
I thought it was perfect, so we took it right away and signed the lease. For the first few months, it was bliss.
We decorated with quirky thrift store finds and turned every windowsill into a mini jungle. We even posted our journey on Instagram and did a lot of DIY craft stuff for more decorations. But then… things got weird.
Two people making crafts | Source: Pexels
It started innocently enough, so we didn’t have time to control things before they exploded. Let me explain a little better.
Mr. Whitaker showed up one day with a toolbox in hand. “Just checking the plumbing!” he said with a smile. That was amazing, right?
It was good to have a proactive landlord, one we didn’t have to call every day for a simple fix. But then he was back the next week. And the week after that.
An old man carrying a toolbox | Source: Midjourney
Soon, it was every. Single. Day. And his excuses got more and more ridiculous.
“Gotta inspect that wiring!”
“Those smoke detectors won’t check themselves!”
“Need to measure the air quality!”
I kid you not, he actually said this, and I had to Google if that was a real thing. Apparently, it was, so Jenna and I didn’t know what to think.
A woman with a puzzled expression | Source: Pexels
At first, we tried to be cool about it. We were like, “Maybe he’s just thorough? Or bored? Or really, REALLY into property maintenance?”
But nope, this issue got so much worse.
He came by another day without any kind of excuse and just looked around. Suddenly, he started critiquing our cleaning.
“You know, a little vinegar would get that stain out of the counter right out,” he said, pointing at a spot we didn’t even know existed.
Kitchen counters | Source: Unsplash
He also made these passive-aggressive comments about our lifestyle. “Back in my day, young ladies dressed much better with pretty sundresses, not sad, tight pants,” he muttered to me.
I was literally in my work clothes.
And sometimes he just… sat there. In our living room. Watching us like we were some kind of reality TV show.
He wasn’t exactly creepy yet, but Jenna and I were uncomfortable. If I wanted an old grumpy man to complain about my life and choices, I would’ve stayed at home with my parents.
A woman worried and uncomfortable | Source: Pexels
We had to start tiptoeing around our own apartment. It felt like he was here even in the rare times he didn’t show up.
Jenna and I even began to wonder if he was letting himself in when we weren’t around. Now, that was a creepy thought. But we had no proof.
One time, he showed up while Jenna was in the shower, and insisted on checking the bathroom sink right then and there.
I had to play bodyguard outside the bathroom door. Still, Jenna finished and came out quickly, and Mr. Whitaker got to work like this was perfectly normal.
A woman drying herself | Source: Pexels
Mortifying didn’t even begin to cover how we were feeling, and I was about to reach my breaking point.
Days later, he decided our furniture arrangement was “damaging the floor,” and tried to move our couch himself, nearly throwing out his back.
We had to help him sit down and get him some water. Eventually, we started keeping a log of his visits.
An old man on a couch drinking water | Source: Midjourney
It was our own bizarre diary:
Monday: Checked lightbulbs. Commented on dust.
Tuesday: Inspected windows. Criticized our choice of curtains.
Wednesday: ‘Fixed’ a door that wasn’t broken. Left it squeaking.
You get the idea. We were going nuts, but we were also kind of scared to confront him. What if he kicked us out?
A woman confused and worried | Source: Pexels
The rental market was brutal, and we loved this place (when he wasn’t in it).
Then came The Day.
It was a sunny Saturday morning. Jenna and I were having our weekend coffee, planning a day of brunch and thrift shopping.
I reached for the sugar and my elbow knocked over my cup. Coffee spilled over our cute little IKEA table and onto the floor.
That was no big deal, but before we could even grab a paper towel, we heard keys jingling.
Keys on a lock | Source: Pexels
The door flew open, and there was Mr. Whitaker. His face changed so quickly at seeing the mess and got so red, I swear he could’ve stopped traffic.
“WHAT’S GOING ON HERE?!” he demanded, and his eyes almost bulged like a cartoon. “YOU’RE RUINING MY PROPERTY!”
I tried to calm him down. “I just spilled my coffee, Mr. Whitaker. We’ll clean it up, no worries!”
“JUST COFFEE?!” he screamed. I’m pretty sure I saw steam coming out of his ears. “DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH DAMAGE THAT CAN CAUSE?! IT’LL SEEP INTO THE FLOORBOARDS!”
An old man yelling | Source: Midjourney
Jenna and I shared a look that said, “This is it. We’ve reached our limit. No more Ms. Nice Tenant.”
As soon as Mr. Whitaker stormed out (but not before giving us a 20-minute lecture on the “proper way” to drink coffee), we started thinking.
What could we do to stop this?
We spent the rest of the day researching tenant rights, reading our lease agreement with a fine-tooth comb, and coming up with a battle plan.
Reading a document | Source: Pexels
And we decided to use a secret weapon: a security system. (Yes, it’s legal in most cases for tenants to install their own security cameras.)
We had someone install it as soon as the system was delivered. It came with motion sensors, cameras, and a loud alarm. It also connected to the internet.
Jenna and I installed the app, and we were ready. It was definitely out of place, considering our decor and general style, but Mr. Whitaker had forced our hand.
A phone with several apps | Source: Pexels
So, the next day, we activated everything and left for our respective jobs.
Lo and behold, around 11 a.m., my phone started buzzing like crazy. The alarm had been triggered. I checked the cameras, and as expected, it was Mr. Whitaker, who had let himself in.
I called Jenna, and together we decided to call the cops, although we only used the non-emergency line. Then, we each left our jobs early.
A woman at work making a call | Source: Pexels
When we got to our apartment, Mr. Whitaker was in a heated argument with two very unimpressed-looking police officers.
“This is MY apartment!” he yelled, his face matching the color of a ripe tomato. “I have every right to be here! I OWN this building!”
The younger cop looked so done, so we approached and introduced ourselves.
“Sir,” he said slowly, “you may own this place, but you have tenants. You can’t just enter whenever you want. That’s not how this works. They have a right to privacy.”
Cops working a case | Source: Pexels
When Mr. Whitaker began sputtering, I pulled out the lease agreement, pointing out the clause about 24-hour notice for non-emergency entry.
The older cop nodded at me as if he already knew that clause would be there. Jenna and I thought this moment was great to point out how Mr. Whitaker often barged in, not taking no for an answer, and made us uncomfortable.
The officer’s frown increased the more we talked.
A cop with his arms crossed | Source: Pexels
After a huge sigh, he turned to Mr. Whitaker. “Sir, you’re in violation of the lease terms. These young women have a right to take this matter further.”
I was expecting the old landlord to complain some more, but he deflated like a sad balloon. He probably felt cornered.
He mumbled something about just trying to take care of his property, and I decided to lay it out for him.
“Mr. Whitaker, we appreciate that you care about the building. But there’s caring, and then there’s… whatever this is. We’re responsible tenants. We’ll let you know if anything needs fixing. But you can’t keep barging in like this. It’s not okay.”
A woman with a worried look | Source: Pexels
Mr. Whitaker avoided my eyes.
Jenna added her two cents. “Being a good landlord doesn’t mean invading our privacy. We just want to feel comfortable in our own home. That’s not too much to ask, is it?”
The old grump nodded, but I could tell it was a begrudging agreement, so the cops gave him an official warning. They explained that if it happened again, he could face legal consequences.
Mr. Whitaker nodded again, but it was more serious, although he still looked like a kid who’d been told Santa wasn’t real.
A sad old man | Source: Midjourney
I felt bad for the sad, old man. He might have been lonely, but I don’t regret it because it’s been blissfully quiet since.
He has stuck to the lease terms like they’re glued to his hands. Not only that, but he schedules visits in advance, keeps them brief, and actually waits for us to let him in.
So here’s what I learned: Know your rights as a tenant. Document everything. Don’t be afraid to stand up for yourself. And a good security system is worth its weight in gold!
Two women laughing on a couch | Source: Pexels
3 Incredible Stories Where Money Caused a Rift in the Family
Money has been called the root of all evil, but these lifeless pieces of paper don’t change anyone; they change on their own. In the following stories, people showed their true nature when faced with large amounts of money.
One of the three people in the following tales tried to monopolize her husband’s life and money by kicking his son out, while another tried to bring a feuding family together using finances. A third got a life insurance policy and pretended to be dead. Read on…
A family sitting around a table filled with money | Source: Midjourney
1. My Stepmom Tried Kicking Me Out Only to Discover Something Shocking About Our House That Turned the Tables Around
Returning from work, I was wiped out. College classes by day, gaming store shifts by night… it was endless. I never wanted this part-time job, especially since Dad’s income could cover my expenses.
But my stepmom, Karen, insisted, claiming it’d “teach him responsibility.” When I walked in, my father and stepmom were on my case. Karen was on me immediately, asking, “Why are you late? You were supposed to clean today!”
An upset woman | Source: Midjourney
I tried to keep calm.
“I had a long day. I’ll clean tomorrow.”
My stepmom folded her arms, her voice sharp as she questioned, “Tomorrow? That’s not how responsibility works, Marcus.”
I couldn’t hold back. “You’re home all day. Is cleaning really that hard?”
Her face flushed red. “How dare YOU speak to ME like that!”
Just then, Dad entered the room, looking between us. “What’s going on?”
“Marcus refuses to clean,” Karen said, crossing her arms.
“I’m not refusing. I said I’ll do it tomorrow. I’m tired,” I explained, swallowing back my frustration.
An upset boy | Source: Pexels
Dad sighed, glancing at Karen. “He’ll do it tomorrow. Let’s leave it at that.”
Relieved, I turned toward my room, but Dad stopped me. “Don’t go anywhere tonight, son. We have news to share.”
Nodding, I headed upstairs.
When Dad came to get me later, I dragged myself down to the table, where a cold plate of leftovers waited. As I picked at my food, I felt Karen’s and Dad’s eyes on me.
“What’s this big news?” I asked, glancing up.
A boy looking ahead at the dinner table | Source: Midjourney
Dad shared a quick look with Karen. “We’re pregnant!” they announced together.
I froze, almost choking. “Uh… congratulations,” I managed, forcing a smile.
Dad looked thrilled, but Karen’s expression stayed cold.
Turning somber, he started, “Son, I don’t know how to say this… but…”
“Actually, Marcus,” Karen began, cutting my dad off, “YOU need to move out.”
“What? Dad, what is she talking about?!” I stammered, looking at Dad, shocked.
A confused boy | Source: Mijdourney
Karen’s look didn’t waver. “My baby is on the way, and we need to prepare the house for it, maybe do renovations. You’ll just be a burden and in the way. We need space for our child.”
“Dad? Where will I go? I can’t afford rent… I work part-time and study! And… God, this is my home too! Dad, say something! Please!” I looked at him, feeling a wave of betrayal.
Dad shifted uncomfortably, looking at me and back at Karen, but stayed silent.
Realizing I was on my own, I said, “You know what? You two can go to hell!” before storming off to my room and slamming the door!
An angry boy storming off | Source: Midjourney
That night, I lay there, feeling lost and abandoned. They couldn’t just toss me out like this, I thought desperately. As their muffled voices drifted through the door, I pressed my ear against it.
Dad sounded hesitant as he said, “Maybe he should stay until he finishes school…”
Karen’s reply was sharp. “Tom, we’ve been over this. He has to go.”
At that moment, I felt utterly alone.
An upset boy | Source: Midjourney
Karen’s voice cut in, “You have three days to figure it out,” she insisted, having walked into my room without even knocking.
I felt heat rush to my face. “I’m a student with a part-time job! I can’t afford a place, let alone in three days!”
But I was talking to my stepmom’s back as she walked away.
Then I thought of Grandma Rose. Maybe she’d help. I dialed her number, hands shaking.
“Grandma Rose? It’s Marcus,” I choked out.
“Marcus? What’s wrong?” she asked, concerned.
An upset woman on the phone | Source: Pexels
I spilled everything, barely holding back tears.
Rose listened quietly, then said, “Do nothing, sweetheart. I’ll be there soon.”
The next day, my late grandmother’s sister arrived at our door, eyes blazing. She didn’t wait a second.
“Everyone to the living room. Now.”
Karen’s glare met Rose’s, but my grandma spoke first.
“How dare you throw a child out of his home?” she demanded, her voice like steel.
An upset woman shouting | Source: Freepik
“Marcus isn’t a child,” Karen snapped back.
“Until he finishes school, he is,” Rose replied. “But none of this matters. This is Marcus’s house. He isn’t going anywhere.”
I blinked, shocked, as Karen scoffed. Rose’s next words shut her down.
“My late sister left the house to Marcus before she passed. It’s been his since he turned eighteen.”
Silence followed, and Karen’s face twisted with anger. But Rose wasn’t finished.
“And by the way, Karen, how’s that wine you were drinking? Odd for a pregnant woman.”
A guilty-looking woman | Source: Midjourney
Karen’s face went pale. “What? How do you know about that?”
“I saw you this morning at the café with your friend on my way here,” Rose replied.
“There is no baby!” Karen blurted, horrified by her slip-up.
Dad looked at her, stunned. “You lied?” he whispered.
Karen tried to recover, but Rose’s calm voice cut in. “Pack your things and go.”
An angry woman shouting | Source: Midjourney
Within minutes, Karen was gone. Dad looked at me, regretful.
“I’m sorry, son. I don’t know what came over me.”
For the first time in a long while, I felt safe. I hugged him, feeling the relief of finally being home.
A father hugging his son | Source: Midjourney
2. Hate Tore My Family Apart Until My Grandmother Brought Us Together One Last Time with a Great Revelation
Scott and I drove to Grandma Eleanor’s for her 80th birthday, the first time in years the whole family was gathering because we hated each other. My husband parked, and as we stepped out into the chilly air, he grumbled, “I still don’t get why we’re here.”
“It’s Grandma’s birthday,” I reminded him. “She’s the only truly kind person in this family, and she wanted us all together.”
He sighed. “I could be working right now. You know we need the money.”
A couple walking toward a house | Source: Pexels
“It’s one evening,” I said, instinctively patting my stomach. “Do you think they’ll notice?”
Scott chuckled. “If I didn’t know, I wouldn’t notice. But what about telling your grandma?”
“Maybe at the end of the night,” I whispered.
As we headed toward the door, my brother Michael and his wife, Stacy, called out, “Hey! Wait up!”
Stacy hobbled in heels, complaining, “I can’t run in these!”
Scott and I exchanged a look, rolling our eyes. We all knew Stacy only stuck around for Michael’s money.
Scott nudged me to press the doorbell. “Can we just get this over with?”
Someone pressing a doorbell | Source: Midjourney
At the door, Grandma Eleanor’s warm smile greeted us as she hugged each of us. Inside, the table was loaded with food.
“Why did you make so much, Grandma?” I asked, touched by the spread.
“Oh, I love doing this,” she said, smiling.
As we settled in, Michael asked, “Mom’s not here yet?”
“She’s not sure she can make it,” Eleanor replied, a touch of sadness in her voice.
“Typical,” I muttered. “She never has time for us.”
Michael shot me a look. “Stop. She’s our mom.”
A man looking at someone | Source: Pexels
“Yeah? And she hasn’t wished me a happy birthday in years,” I snapped.
Michael’s face hardened. “You act like you’re perfect, Camilla! She had her career as an actress to focus on!”
“And she put it before us every time because it’s the only thing she cared about!” I fired back.
Scott put a hand on my shoulder, “Camilla, maybe just…”
I ignored him. “You only have those restaurants because Uncle handed them to you!”
Michael clenched his fists. “You’ve always been jealous of me, haven’t you?”
“Jealous of what? That you’re alone with a wife who’s only there for your money?”
An angry woman | Source: Midjourney
“And you have it so good?” he sneered. “Your husband can barely hold a job, and how long have you been trying for kids… five, ten years?”
“Go to hell!” I shouted, standing up.
“Enough!” Grandma Eleanor’s voice cut through the chaos as she stood. “This is my birthday. I brought you here to celebrate… not to argue! And as for the inheritance…”
My head snapped toward her. “Inheritance?”
Eleanor’s voice was stern. “Your grandfather left something, and I have plans for it too, but I’m not leaving a penny to either of you until you prove you deserve it and earn my trust.”
A close-up of an upset woman | Source: Midjourney
“What?” Michael demanded. “How do we prove it?”
“Show me you deserve it,” she said quietly, then turned and left.
Needing air, I walked outside, hands cradling my stomach. Michael followed.
“So we might have an inheritance,” he said, glancing at me.
“If you hadn’t ruined things as usual,” I shot back.
“Me?” He looked stunned. “You started it!”
“Michael, I need this inheritance. Scott and I…” I hesitated.
He raised a brow. “Why should I step aside? I need it too. Stacy’s about to leave if I don’t fix things at the restaurants.”
“Maybe she should,” I muttered, turning back toward the house. “I’m not giving up on this.”
Two people talking | Source: Midjourney
Michael followed me back in, muttering, “Not fair, Camilla.”
I found Grandma in her room. “Grandma, I’m sorry we ruined tonight. Let me help you with anything.”
“Is this how you think you’ll win an inheritance?” she asked with a raised brow. “Do you really need it, Camilla?”
I placed a hand on my stomach. “Because…”
Just then, Michael burst in, interrupting. “Camilla’s lying about me, Grandma!”
“We weren’t even talking about you,” she said dryly.
An annoyed woman | Source: Midjourney
Then, just as we returned to the dining room, Mom arrived, swooping in with open arms. “My darlings!”
“Oh, Camilla,” she said, eyeing me critically, “have you gained weight?”
I rolled my eyes and turned back to the table. More bickering followed between my brother, me, and our mother as we tried to prove who deserved the inheritance most. Then suddenly, Grandma’s face turned pale. She clutched her chest, and we heard a loud thud as she collapsed.
“Grandma!” I screamed before clutching my stomach. “Call an ambulance!”
A woman holding her pregnant belly | Source: Pexels
My husband rushed to my side, gripping my hand. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s starting,” I gasped.
Scott’s eyes widened. “Labor?”
“Yes!” I shrieked.
Michael shouted, “You were pregnant?!”
Our mother commented, “I’m going to be a grandma?!”
And I demanded they call 911!
We’d become so estranged that I didn’t even want to tell them when I got pregnant. I didn’t want to bother because Mom would ignore her grandchild as she ignored me. The madness in our family is why Scott and I moved far away.
An ambulance at work | Source: Pexels
The only person I truly loved was my Nana. She was there for me all the time, the only light in this crazy family, and now she might be gone.
In the hospital, I refused to give birth until I knew about Eleanor. Scott pleaded, “Camilla, focus on the baby!”
After an agonizing hour, our baby girl was born, and when I woke up, Michael entered looking somber. That’s when I found out Grandma had passed away while I was in labor.
“We found a note addressed to the family in your grandmother’s belongings,” a nurse who came in said.
A handwritten note | Source: Pexels
The note revealed Nana had known I was pregnant, and she’d left her whole inheritance to Scott and my child. She urged Michael to divorce his wife, who had opted to stay behind at the house. And lastly, she pleaded with our mom to do better for us and her grandchild.
Michael remorsefully confessed, “I’m sorry for what I said, Camilla.”
Our mom looked guilty, whispering, “Could I… be a real grandma?”
“Maybe,” I said, holding my newborn and feeling like our family was turning a new leaf as I announced, “Her name is Eleanor.”
A woman holding a baby | Source: Pexels
3. I Thought My Father Was Dead, Only to Find Out a Sinister Truth When We Tried Burying Him
I climbed out of the car, standing in front of the church, and felt the weight of losing Dad crash over me. “We couldn’t even give him a proper funeral,” I thought. Bella’s sudden bark interrupted me. She was his dog and was usually calm with staying in the car, but not today.
“Bella!” I turned, watching her agitated at the window.
I gave a hand signal to calm her, and she lay down, though her eyes stayed fixed on me.
A man sitting in a car with a dog | Source: Pexels
“Stay, Bella,” I whispered, patting her head through the window.
Leaving her whining behind, I walked inside. Dad’s casket lay at the front, roped off since he’d died of an infection. I settled beside my mother, knowing I’d never get a true goodbye.
As the final hymn started, Bella’s bark echoed through the church. She’d managed to get out of the car and jumped on the casket, flowers crashing to the floor as she barked and scratched at the lid!
A closed casket | Source: Pexels
Sensing something was wrong, I jumped up. “Open the casket!” I yelled.
Murmurs rose, but I didn’t care; I threw it open myself.
It was empty!
Everyone gasped, but I barely heard. I turned to the funeral director, demanding, “Where is he?!”
My mother’s knees buckled, and I caught her just as she fainted. I rushed her to the hospital, my mind racing. “How could Dad’s body be missing?” I wondered softly.
A man deep in thought | Source: Midjourney
That night, I called the police. Detective Bradshaw came over.
“The coroner confirmed your father’s death and released the body to the funeral home,” she said. “Could your father have been in trouble, Mr. Hayes?”
Dad had been a model businessman who ran his own dog training and rehabilitation center. I doubted he’d ever take a risk that would threaten our family. Still, with no leads, Detective Bradshaw left. But I wouldn’t wait. Leaving Bella at home, I went to the morgue for answers.
A morgue | Source: Pexels
At the desk, a nurse informed me, “The coroner resigned, and no replacement has been assigned.”
When I asked for Dad’s file, she refused until I slipped $1,000 onto the counter. She turned a blind eye as I entered the coroner’s office, but Dad’s file was gone.
Frustrated, I returned to Dad’s office, opening his email only to find every message deleted! Right then, Dad’s lawyer, Mr. Stevens, walked in.
“Ryan,” he greeted me, his tone grave. “You’re the new CEO of the company.”
A man talking to someone | Source: Pexels
“What happened to Dad’s things here?” I asked, noticing two missing dancer figurines.
Mr. Stevens shook his head.
“Your father supposedly took them home, though I don’t think he ever found the third one. The collector wants half a million for it.”
I knew the dancers weren’t at home; I’d searched thoroughly through my parents’ house while packing away Dad’s things.
But Stevens went on to reveal something else: we were in severe debt, and investors had been pulling out since Dad had been missing meetings for months.
A shocked man | Source: Midjourney
Then he added, “And there’s something you should know. I believe Arnold was having a relationship with his new secretary.”
Trying to ignore my anger, I spent the day placating investors. Then, I tracked down Dad’s secretary, Miss Pearson. That evening, I tailed her to her house and, when she drove off, I snuck inside her closing garage and made my way into her house.
In her room, I found a framed photo of her kissing Dad!
A photo of a couple kissing | Source: Midjourney
Then I checked the coffee table, discovering a manila envelope. Inside was Dad’s $7 million life insurance policy with Miss Pearson as the sole beneficiary! I drove straight to the police with the evidence.
Hours later, they confirmed she was booked on a flight to Morocco, which had no extradition treaty. Detective Bradshaw assembled her team for the airport, and they searched the crowd. But Miss Pearson was gone.
A busy airport | Source: Pexels
I refused to give up. My last lead was the third dancer. I tracked down its collector and paid the outrageous $750,000. I scheduled an auction, hoping Dad would hear about it.
At the auction house, I watched from the shadows. Then, at $1 million, a familiar voice called out. Dad. I blocked his way as Detective Bradshaw handcuffed him.
He glared at me. “Ryan? You set me up!”
“You faked your death to run off with your mistress, leaving us to grieve over an empty casket!” I spat, horrified.
An upset man shouting | Source: Midjourney
Dad’s face fell as he confessed. He’d faked his death for a new life. I stared coldly.
“You taught me a man should do what’s right, not follow his own selfish interests. I hope you remember that.”
Bradshaw assured me Miss Pearson wouldn’t get far. As they took Dad away, I knew he’d finally face the consequences.
A man getting arrested | Source: Midjourney
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
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