oh. My. FUCKING. **GOD**
Jun. 19th, 2008 11:43 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
akujunkanThis is not pretty.
Flashback: 1.5 weeks ago.
It is mid-morning. I am loading my dirty clothing into the washing machine when I hear someone moving stealthily through the house. I try to slip downstairs to make it out the basement door.
"Hello?" I hear.
It is Kul, an elderly Indian man from down the street who, apparently, has a house key. He kisses me on the cheek in greeting and informs me that he has come over to borrow an extension cord.
It is now 6pm. I am downstairs, studying for Korean when I hear what I think are footsteps moving across the floorboards. Good ole nephewBlowme Buddy's car is not in the drive; nor are the unmarked conversion vans. Blowme Buddy has realised, however, that rats have infested the apartment, thanks to the fact that he and his workers have been leaving rotting food around in the kitchen, living room, dining room, and sun parlor while often forgeting to shut doors and windows after them when they leave. (Incidentally, he tells me they are squirrels. But I know they are rats. I have seen them and chased them out of my area.)
I hadn't realised he'd known until one evening when I went up to get the mail and felt grit between my feet, which started to burn.Blowme Buddy has coated the carpet with rat poison pellets.
Later, I will hear the frantic squeakings and skitterings of rats in their death throes over my bed and kitchen, for several days. Which is what I tell myself this is. But no, they are footsteps. I hear cupboards and drawers being opened and closed throughout the house. I call my parents.
They urge me to call the cops. I demur, because that would likely mean losing my housing, as I am most likely an illegal tenant. They stay on the phone for me for half an hour after I hear the last footstep, and I go up into the second and third levels of the house, weapon in hand, opening all the doors, closets, and shower curtains, and looking under all the furniture. No one is there. I am sure I heard footsteps.
Half an hour later, the footsteps return. Good ole nephewBlowme Buddy's car is not in the drive; nor are the unmarked conversion vans. I evacuate and call my parents, who urge me to get a neighbor. I resist, not wanting to be that hysterical girl who jumps at every shadow. They tell me to get a neighbor or else. The first person I try isn't home. I knock on the other neighbor's door (she is involved in a low-level drainpipe feud with Landmom), and keep knocking, waking their colicky toddler (who'd just been put to sleep) in the process. The upshot is that the husband comes over (after I embarass him by walking in on him shirtless) and walks through the house with me, opening all the doors, closets, and shower curtains, and looking under all the furniture. No one is there. I am sure I heard footsteps. I am that hysterical girl who jumps at every shadow. I keep telling him, "But I heard them! I know I did!"
Two hours later, the landmom calls to inform me that her niece had been over to get the mail. She is letting me know so that I do not freak out when I notice that the mail is missing. I refrain from telling her that in both sweeps of the house, including one with the neighbor with whom she's having the drainpipe feud, I did not notice that the mail was missing, although I did fucking notice the footsteps.
I have no idea to whom the third set of footsteps belonged. I start carrying my phone with me at all times, sleeping with it in my bed.
Interlude.
The workmen have not showed up for four days. I am able to sleep in past 6:30, start to feel safe leaving my phone on the desk when I go to the bathroom, and, after three days, stop barricading myself into the apartment whenever I am in it. I have started, however, jumping and doing the helium shriek whenever the curtain blows, the pipes clank, the house settles, or a dust mote floats across the corner of my vision.
Fast forward to tonight. I am lying in bed, mostly naked, the doors to the apartment open to dispel the dank scent from its being continuously closed for the past two months, my phone somewhere in the other room. I begin to realise that I'm hearing faint metallic clinkings from upstairs.
Ah. I'd put a load of wash in earlier. Although the laundry room door to the back yard does not lock, the door to the house does, and I lock it religiously after me whenever I enter or leave that room, and check to see that it's locked nightly. And anyway, I have started jumping and doing the helium shriek whenever the curtain blows, the pipes clank, the house settles, or a dust mote floats across the corner of my vision. I'm just paranoid because I went out there earlier to do laundry. I know I've locked that door.
The clinking continues. It is unlike a sound any rat or mouse has ever made. I begin to wonder if I have closed and locked the door. I remember noticing thatBlowme Buddy left the garage door open. Although one has to be in the patio area to get to the door, it would not take much to hop the patio fence, and who would notice, in the dark, if someone did. And I did not check the garage to make certain that no one was hiding in it, waiting for the house lights to go out.
But I am making it up. I am the hysterical girl who jumps at shadows, dust motes, pipes clanking...
Then I hear the footsteps. It is 10:40 at night. I am mostly naked in bed, the doors to my apartment wide open, my phone...elsewhere.
I creep out into the living room, patting around for my phone. There are no footsteps for awhile.
I wait. The footsteps wait. The footsteps blink first. I call my mother. No one answers. I call![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
bran24_7. But what can Bran do? I call my mom again. No one answers. I call my dad. One of them has to be up. No one answers. I swear. The footsteps stop. They head toward the stairs.
I call my dad again. No answer. I try to call the house phone but can't remember the goddamn area code. My hands are shaking. I creep back into my bedroom and throw on the first mismatched pair of pants and t-shirt I can find.
I stand half in and half out of my door, run back in, grab my wallet, slam some furniture in front of the nearest of the two doors. The footsteps start again. Finally, in a moment of animal terror I start punching in numbers I'm sure are in the area code, in some order, into the phone. On the fourth try, I get it right.
My mother answers, half asleep, as I run out, screaming and crying, into the street, having seen people moving around in the darkened house upstairs.
She tells me to call the cops. I'm still running down the street. Finally I calm down, decide to call the landmom. She, groggy with sleep, tells me to call Kul and call her back. I tell her I can't--his number is in the house with the people in it and I am not fucking going back in there.
Meanwhile, next door neighbor lady with whom she has the drainpipe feud, whose husband went through the house with me the previous time this bullshit occurred, has apparently seen me go dashing into the street, screaming and crying, in what are obviously the first clothes I could find, and continue running for my life down the block. She gets her husband.
Apparently, it is Kul and his wife who were in the house. I feel like the biggest tool in the book. Landmom gives them a talking-to on the phone. I thank next door neighbor lady of the drainpipe feud, although I can't bring myself to look her in the eye, having now cemented my reputation as hysterical girl who jumps at shadows. Kul and his wife get off the phone. I apologise. They apologise. I go over to their house for a drink. They are nice people. The drink helps; nevertheless I feel angry as fuck that people's inability to tell me what the fucking hell they're doing in/to my fucking apartment means I'm the one who always ends up scared shitless.
Half an hour later, I go home. I am far, far too wired to sleep, so I cry instead. Awesome.
ETA: So the whole time I was talking to Drainpipe Feud Lady and Kul and his wife? Massive gobs of Clearasil all over my face. It doesn't get any sweeter.
That will be fucking all.
Flashback: 1.5 weeks ago.
It is mid-morning. I am loading my dirty clothing into the washing machine when I hear someone moving stealthily through the house. I try to slip downstairs to make it out the basement door.
"Hello?" I hear.
It is Kul, an elderly Indian man from down the street who, apparently, has a house key. He kisses me on the cheek in greeting and informs me that he has come over to borrow an extension cord.
It is now 6pm. I am downstairs, studying for Korean when I hear what I think are footsteps moving across the floorboards. Good ole nephew
I hadn't realised he'd known until one evening when I went up to get the mail and felt grit between my feet, which started to burn.
Later, I will hear the frantic squeakings and skitterings of rats in their death throes over my bed and kitchen, for several days. Which is what I tell myself this is. But no, they are footsteps. I hear cupboards and drawers being opened and closed throughout the house. I call my parents.
They urge me to call the cops. I demur, because that would likely mean losing my housing, as I am most likely an illegal tenant. They stay on the phone for me for half an hour after I hear the last footstep, and I go up into the second and third levels of the house, weapon in hand, opening all the doors, closets, and shower curtains, and looking under all the furniture. No one is there. I am sure I heard footsteps.
Half an hour later, the footsteps return. Good ole nephew
Two hours later, the landmom calls to inform me that her niece had been over to get the mail. She is letting me know so that I do not freak out when I notice that the mail is missing. I refrain from telling her that in both sweeps of the house, including one with the neighbor with whom she's having the drainpipe feud, I did not notice that the mail was missing, although I did fucking notice the footsteps.
I have no idea to whom the third set of footsteps belonged. I start carrying my phone with me at all times, sleeping with it in my bed.
Interlude.
The workmen have not showed up for four days. I am able to sleep in past 6:30, start to feel safe leaving my phone on the desk when I go to the bathroom, and, after three days, stop barricading myself into the apartment whenever I am in it. I have started, however, jumping and doing the helium shriek whenever the curtain blows, the pipes clank, the house settles, or a dust mote floats across the corner of my vision.
Fast forward to tonight. I am lying in bed, mostly naked, the doors to the apartment open to dispel the dank scent from its being continuously closed for the past two months, my phone somewhere in the other room. I begin to realise that I'm hearing faint metallic clinkings from upstairs.
Ah. I'd put a load of wash in earlier. Although the laundry room door to the back yard does not lock, the door to the house does, and I lock it religiously after me whenever I enter or leave that room, and check to see that it's locked nightly. And anyway, I have started jumping and doing the helium shriek whenever the curtain blows, the pipes clank, the house settles, or a dust mote floats across the corner of my vision. I'm just paranoid because I went out there earlier to do laundry. I know I've locked that door.
The clinking continues. It is unlike a sound any rat or mouse has ever made. I begin to wonder if I have closed and locked the door. I remember noticing that
But I am making it up. I am the hysterical girl who jumps at shadows, dust motes, pipes clanking...
Then I hear the footsteps. It is 10:40 at night. I am mostly naked in bed, the doors to my apartment wide open, my phone...elsewhere.
I creep out into the living room, patting around for my phone. There are no footsteps for awhile.
I wait. The footsteps wait. The footsteps blink first. I call my mother. No one answers. I call
bran24_7. But what can Bran do? I call my mom again. No one answers. I call my dad. One of them has to be up. No one answers. I swear. The footsteps stop. They head toward the stairs.I call my dad again. No answer. I try to call the house phone but can't remember the goddamn area code. My hands are shaking. I creep back into my bedroom and throw on the first mismatched pair of pants and t-shirt I can find.
I stand half in and half out of my door, run back in, grab my wallet, slam some furniture in front of the nearest of the two doors. The footsteps start again. Finally, in a moment of animal terror I start punching in numbers I'm sure are in the area code, in some order, into the phone. On the fourth try, I get it right.
My mother answers, half asleep, as I run out, screaming and crying, into the street, having seen people moving around in the darkened house upstairs.
She tells me to call the cops. I'm still running down the street. Finally I calm down, decide to call the landmom. She, groggy with sleep, tells me to call Kul and call her back. I tell her I can't--his number is in the house with the people in it and I am not fucking going back in there.
Meanwhile, next door neighbor lady with whom she has the drainpipe feud, whose husband went through the house with me the previous time this bullshit occurred, has apparently seen me go dashing into the street, screaming and crying, in what are obviously the first clothes I could find, and continue running for my life down the block. She gets her husband.
Apparently, it is Kul and his wife who were in the house. I feel like the biggest tool in the book. Landmom gives them a talking-to on the phone. I thank next door neighbor lady of the drainpipe feud, although I can't bring myself to look her in the eye, having now cemented my reputation as hysterical girl who jumps at shadows. Kul and his wife get off the phone. I apologise. They apologise. I go over to their house for a drink. They are nice people. The drink helps; nevertheless I feel angry as fuck that people's inability to tell me what the fucking hell they're doing in/to my fucking apartment means I'm the one who always ends up scared shitless.
Half an hour later, I go home. I am far, far too wired to sleep, so I cry instead. Awesome.
ETA: So the whole time I was talking to Drainpipe Feud Lady and Kul and his wife? Massive gobs of Clearasil all over my face. It doesn't get any sweeter.
That will be fucking all.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
on 2008-06-20 04:42 am (UTC)no subject
on 2008-06-20 04:51 am (UTC)You really don't want to know. You really don't.
They are, as best I can tell, making homemade yoghurt in the landparents' oven. YEAH.
And thanks for the anger on my behalf. It really helps.
no subject
on 2008-06-20 04:54 am (UTC)In the middle of the night?
I sure hope your landlady told them never EVER to come in without asking again.
...though I kinda think you should have after the first time. >.>
no subject
on 2008-06-20 04:59 am (UTC)Everyone I've been dealing with is elderly and while they have all lived here for 5-6 decades, know everyone, have keys to everyone's houses, know who has the keys to their house....I don't freaking know any of that. So hopefully, if there's one good thing to come out of tonight's freakout, it's that it brings these facts home to them.
no subject
on 2008-06-20 04:54 am (UTC)no subject
on 2008-06-20 05:02 am (UTC)And also, thanks^^;;
no subject
on 2008-06-20 05:06 am (UTC)*glomps* No thanks are needed. <3
this is me just noticing
on 2008-06-20 05:19 am (UTC)Re: this is me just noticing
on 2008-06-24 03:26 am (UTC)It's held up pretty well, wouldn't you say? ;-)
no subject
on 2008-06-20 05:16 am (UTC)You have no reason to feel unneededly hysterical--this shit is for real. Just--wow. This whole thing is a lesson in psychological warfare.
And I hope Blowme gets a fucking clue. Soon.
no subject
on 2008-06-24 03:27 am (UTC)no subject
on 2008-06-20 01:08 pm (UTC)I may be far away, but email me and I'll get you my phone # too, so at least you'd have someone to talk to.
no subject
on 2008-06-24 03:25 am (UTC)no subject
on 2008-06-20 03:16 pm (UTC)To enter a house without alerting the tenant you *know* is living there.... And who the hell goes into a neighbour's house that late at night? Or after dark, rifling through cupboards and drawers? That thing about them being neighbours for decades just doesn't cut it.
Two hours later, the landmom calls to inform me that her niece had been over to get the mail.
And obviously the stupid does not stop with Blowme. Either your landmom or the niece should have had enough nous to let you know niece would be picking up mail, especially after all the shit you've gone through with Blowme's antics.
You are not a tool for being scared. You did the most sensible thing you could by calling someone and vacating the house. I'd say more, but *SO ANGRY*.
{{{{{{{{{{{HUGS}}}}}}}}}}}}}
OMG!
on 2008-06-24 12:39 am (UTC)And I wholeheartedly agree with everyone posting. WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH THE PEOPLE IN THE NEIGHBORHOOD?
It's geriatrics of the corn!
Re: OMG!
on 2008-06-24 03:29 am (UTC)lucky you're a lady tonight....
on 2008-06-25 09:42 pm (UTC)