The Worst Neighbors Of All Time
Neighbors are a fact of life, and under ideal circumstances, we'd all be the best of friends with those who live nearby - or, barring that, at least have some kind of mutual non-aggression pact.
However, real life is rarely ideal, and as such, bad neighbors are bound to pop up more often than we'd like. Here are some of the best stories we've found online.
A Greasy Guise
A few years back, I lived in a typical suburban cul-de-sac. On trash day, everyone would line their cans along the curb so the mechanical arm on the garbage truck could grab them easily. One neighbor in particular had a thing about this—if anyone didn't pull their cans in immediately after the truck left, she’d get furious.
Trash day fell on a weekday, which meant I couldn’t get my cans in until after work. Naturally, this drove her up the wall. At first, she’d just spin the can around or nudge it in front of my garage. Over time, her antics got more extreme—she started tipping it over or pushing it all the way across the street into a small park. And I’m at work, so what could I even do?
Eventually, I’d had enough. I picked up a tube of marine grease—seriously intense stuff that’s meant to endure the elements and is nearly impossible to wash off without kerosene. I lathered the handles, slipped on a pair of gloves, and rolled the can out before heading to work.
When I got home, sure enough, the can had been moved a few feet. And there it was: a perfect imprint of her little hands, left in the thick grease for all to see.
Hear No Evil
My former neighbor genuinely made me doubt my own sanity. For nearly two years, there was constant drilling coming from his apartment—hours a day, day after day. When we finally confronted him about it, he calmly denied everything. He asked what we were talking about, suggested we might be imagining things, and even hinted that we should consider therapy or psychological help. The strangest part was how normal he seemed: polite, articulate, and outwardly friendly.
Then, after almost two years of this, he suddenly moved out. Not long after, our landlord pulled us aside and told us what had really been going on. The neighbor had caused extensive damage to the apartment—walls, floors, and ceilings riddled with countless small holes from drilling.
The landlord explained that the man had been taken to court over the damage. He wasn’t convicted, though; he was deemed not responsible due to severe mental illness and was institutionalized. After the case wrapped up, the landlord told us the truth: the neighbor had believed government surveillance devices were hidden throughout the apartment, and he’d been drilling to find them.
Nightmare Fuel
The most frightening moment of my life came from someone who genuinely believed he was helping me. A neighbor from a couple of streets over—well known for being unstable—decided it was his responsibility to "look out for me." One night, after noticing my front door hadn't been locked, he let himself into my apartment while I was asleep.
I woke up at around two in the morning to complete darkness and the sound of someone standing close to my bed, repeatedly flicking a lighter that wouldn’t ignite. I hadn’t opened my eyes yet, but I was instantly wide awake, heart racing, mentally preparing myself for what I thought was a break-in and deciding how I might survive it.
Then, finally, he whispered my name. I recognized his voice immediately, and the rush of terror was replaced by a sickening mix of shock and anger. He calmly explained that he’d come inside just to make sure I was “okay,” as if standing over someone in the dark while they sleep was remotely normal behavior.
Under Pressure
A new neighbor moved into the apartment next to mine about four months ago, and we share a wall where the bathrooms line up. Almost every single time I turn on my shower and stay in it for more than a minute, they turn theirs on too. Because the building is ancient, the moment they do, my water pressure drops and the temperature swings cold.
What makes it unsettling is that there's no pattern to when I shower. I work from home, so it could be mid-morning one day, early evening the next, or close to midnight. It doesn’t matter. If they’re home, it happens nearly every time. I’ve even tested it—turned the shower on without getting in and just listened through the thin wall. Without fail, a minute later, I hear their water start.
They usually keep it running until just after I turn mine off, even on days when I know they’ve already showered. The only exceptions are when they’re clearly not home or when it’s extremely late and they’re likely asleep. I’m not taking long showers either—usually less than ten minutes—so it’s not like I’m hogging the water.
I mostly just needed to vent. It’s such strange, irritating behavior, and it completely ruins what should be a simple, relaxing shower. People can be incredibly weird, and this one really gets under my skin.
True Grit
Our next-door neighbors seemed friendly at first—odd, but pleasant enough. During the very first conversation I had with the wife, she repeatedly mentioned (at least half a dozen times) that their house was slightly larger than ours. It struck me as strange, but I brushed it off. Things only got weirder from there. She casually mentioned that she could tell we'd removed an interior wall and said she could see the change from her bathroom window.
We had just moved in during the spring after closing in February. Almost immediately, we applied for a fence permit, and the township requested clarification on a few things. They sent us an official survey map with a stamp. That’s when the neighbor explained that, according to the previous owner of our house, the property line for the past 17 years had supposedly followed a line of bushes between our homes.
The township survey showed something very different. Our lot actually extends about 20 feet farther than the neighbors believed. Because we’re on a curved street, the extra land is shaped like a narrow wedge. From the moment she realized this, the neighbor’s wife made it very clear she was unhappy. She repeated over and over that this was "new information" and that “for 17 years it’s always been this way.”
She kept insisting that such a long-standing belief should somehow outweigh the legal survey. She then began telling me where and how my fence should be installed, suggesting it be set back anywhere from six to ten feet from the actual property line. The township said the fence could legally be placed as close as one inch from the line. I compromised and planned for about two feet, just enough room to run a mower.
That wasn’t good enough. She then said, “That window there is my teenage daughter’s bedroom, and we don’t want her looking out and feeling like someone is right on top of her.” This was said by the same woman who openly admitted she’d been looking into our home from her bathroom. I understood that the land revelation was upsetting, but it wasn’t my responsibility to correct misinformation they’d relied on for years. I pay property taxes on that land, and I intended to use it.
Our lot is only about a third of an acre. The backyard is modest, but the side yard is relatively wide. The township suggested I use a metal detector to locate the property pins, so I did. While I was out there, the neighbor came over and began yelling, insisting the boundary wasn’t disputed and claiming my actions were “inappropriate” because her daughter was upstairs studying.
I didn’t engage. I walked away. We later had a licensed surveyor come out, and what he told me was almost unbelievable. The property actually extends another ten feet beyond what we originally thought—meaning they were losing a total of about 30 feet they assumed was theirs. The surveyor later pulled me aside and asked, “What’s going on with your neighbor?” Apparently, she’d been yelling at him too, accusing him of digging up her lawn and insisting the land belonged to her.
Meanwhile, her husband was on the phone with the township. Shortly after, he texted me asking to meet and “have a neighborly discussion.” I replied that while the surveyor had been out, we weren’t comfortable meeting right now. I explained that we’d followed the proper process, spent additional money to ensure accuracy (based on their earlier suggestions), and that our priority was simply space for our child and dog—not acting out of spite. I also noted the hostility we’d experienced and said we wanted to avoid further confrontation.
He responded by saying there was no hostility and that they just wanted to discuss the fence because any changes along that line affected their daily life, especially given their work-from-home setup and their teenage daughter. He emphasized they weren’t opposed to a fence—just wanted input on where it went.
In other words, they wanted control over it.
In the end, I installed the fence three feet inside the property line and planned to plant greenery in the gap. But that didn’t stop them. Next, they demanded I move my Ring spotlight. The husband claimed the light shined directly into his daughter’s second-floor bedroom and into their kitchen. There’s no realistic way that’s true.
I’ve since stopped communicating with them entirely. The last time I tried, I was yelled at for standing on my own lawn. They continue to bring up their daughter, though I’ve never actually seen any sign she exists. Recently, they messaged me claiming my dog was outside barking all morning.
I checked the camera footage. She wasn’t. When she did bark, it was because the husband was slowly walking his dog along my fence while shouting at her. To top it off, his dog relieved itself on my lawn—and he didn’t bother to clean it up.
Just One More Day
My new neighbors moved in just three days ago. On Day 1, my husband and I returned from a quick food run and were about to pull into our driveway when we noticed their small kids riding bikes in it. Our driveway isn't shared—it’s entirely ours. Not a huge deal, so we politely asked them to move and parked.
Day 2, the kids were out again, this time riding bikes, power wheels, and even little dirt bikes down our street. We live in a large, family-oriented neighborhood, and I have four kids myself. Hoping to start off on the right foot, I called my kids out to introduce themselves so they could meet the new neighbors. Ten minutes later, they came back saying the new kids had been rude and they didn’t want to play with them. Fair enough—not everyone clicks immediately.
Day 3, I was sitting on the couch watching TV when I noticed someone walking around in our backyard. We have a six-foot privacy fence with a gate, so entering would’ve required intentionally opening it. I stepped out onto the patio to ask who it was and what they were doing. The boy explained they were playing ball, it had gone over the fence, and he’d come to retrieve it.
I calmly told him he needed to knock next time, not just enter our yard, and asked if his mom was home. At that moment, our dogs came running out the dog door and bolted straight for the gate he’d left open. Before I could react, one of them got hit by a car. Thankfully, she’s okay—just bruised. But I was shaken. I immediately took her to the vet, leaving home for a couple of hours.
When I returned, the mom still wasn’t home, so I used a padlock to secure our gate. Eventually, I spotted her and tried to bring up what had happened. She immediately started screaming at me, insisting I "never speak to her son again."
It’s only Day 3, and I can’t even imagine what Day 4 will bring.
Dial F For Family
I'm a combat veteran and was working as a school teacher at the time, as was my wife. About 12 years ago, we bought our first house in a modest, working-class neighborhood. The backyard had a pool, and my parents had gifted us a hot tub for our wedding/housewarming.
Two weeks after moving in, we came home to find strangers swimming in our pool—an older woman, her teenage daughter and son, and a few other teens who appeared to be friends or boyfriends. When we told them to leave, the mother insisted that the previous owner had given her kids permission to swim anytime. I explained that I was now the owner, didn’t know them, and that any injury would be my liability. She immediately started yelling, faking tears, and claiming I was a "bad neighbor" for making her kids sweat in the summer heat. I told her to leave and never return.
Over the next couple of weeks, I posted “No Trespassing” signs and got to know the other neighbors, who reassured me to ignore her complaints. That’s when things escalated. I began noticing signs that someone had been in the pool and hot tub when we were away—cans, towels, and other evidence.
I installed cameras and soon caught the daughter, her brother, and a few others swimming late on Friday nights while we were out. After discussing it with my wife, we decided to confront them. The following Friday, we parked our cars a street over and waited. Soon enough, the same teens returned, hopping into the pool and hot tub with all the trappings of a mini-party.
After letting them get comfortable for about 45 minutes, I stepped out with my weapon held at the ready, pointing at the ground but prepared. My wife turned on the backyard lights, and I ordered everyone to freeze while she called the police. The teens froze in shock; the daughter immediately claimed they had permission. I warned them that any movement toward me or their property would be considered aggressive and that I would defend myself.
I told one girl I would return their clothing, but instead, I threw all their clothes, phones, and purses into the pool. They scrambled in panic to salvage their belongings. Ten minutes later, police arrived. I showed them the video evidence, the No Trespassing signs, and explained that I had warned them repeatedly. The teens were cited for trespassing and other charges. The officers advised me to leave my weapon secured in the future, but confirmed I was in the clear because the videos showed I never pointed it at anyone.
As the teens were loaded into cruisers, the mother appeared, screaming and trying to open a squad car door. Officers threatened to detain her if she didn’t back off. Eventually, she left. The teens’ charges were reduced to community service, fines, and probation, and we obtained a restraining order against the mother and her children.
I sent her a $400 bill for draining, disinfecting, and refilling the pool, plus professional cleanup. Her check arrived promptly, avoiding any legal escalation. About a year later, the entire family moved away, and we never heard from them again.
Is She Possessed?
I installed a doorbell camera yesterday. Since then, I've woken up to 45 new motion alerts. One of them showed my neighbor throwing herself down the stairs, which explains the persistent thumping I’ve been hearing in the hallway. She hasn’t stopped moving around either—constantly setting off the camera.
On top of that, she regularly stands outside our door, staring into our apartment for no apparent reason. At this point, I’m left wondering how long this has been happening without me realizing it.
Water, Water Everywhere
We'd had more than our share of strange neighbors over the years, but my favorite pair were J and Y—an elderly Cuban couple who drank heavily and got into screaming matches almost every night. Their arguments were loud, dramatic, and impossible to ignore.
One afternoon we were late paying our water bill. In the U.S., that means the water company can shut you off without much ceremony. A truck pulled up, the worker stepped out, opened the small metal access door in the sidewalk, turned off our water, closed it up, and drove away.
Within seconds, J burst out of his house wielding the biggest wrench I’ve ever seen—honestly larger than a small child. He was shouting furious curses in Spanish at the retreating truck as he ran to the front of our house. He ripped open the sidewalk access, cranked our water back on, slammed the cover shut, then stomped back to his place, still muttering angrily, and slammed his own door behind him like nothing unusual had happened.
Caught Red-Handed
I once lived in army housing—small apartment units, each with a narrow balcony facing the others. Across from me lived a woman who had a habit of inviting men over while her husband was away at work. It wasn't exactly subtle.
One afternoon, she outdid herself by bringing home two German law enforcement officers. Whatever she thought was going to happen didn’t last long. Her husband unexpectedly came home early, and chaos immediately followed.
The two officers scrambled in a panic, diving over her balcony railing while hurriedly pulling their shirts back on mid-air, desperate to escape before being caught. It was over in seconds—and easily one of the most unforgettable scenes I ever witnessed from army housing.
Outwitting The Raccoon
I once lived in a townhouse complex with stacked units and a shared backyard. One evening, I stepped out for a smoke and heard a loud commotion. A strange middle-aged woman was yelling at her upstairs neighbor, claiming they'd stolen her raccoon. Apparently, she had been leaving out sugar for it—some kind of raccoon delicacy.
The raccoon was perched on the neighbor’s balcony, so the woman built a precarious "staircase" from overturned trash cans, broken chairs, and random debris to climb up. Armed with only a hula hoop, she attempted to capture the raccoon. Somehow, she made it to the top of the pile and tried to trap the animal with the hoop.
The upstairs neighbor eventually came out, and a physical confrontation broke out, with the woman even getting bitten. Authorities were called, but the raccoon was never seen again. It was one of the strangest neighborhood incidents I’ve ever witnessed.
Got That Dawg In You
My neighbors allow their kids to shriek at full volume, the kind of screaming that sounds like someone is being seriously injured. My service dog reacts to it every time. He'll give three short alert barks, clearly distressed, because to him it sounds like children are hurt. I don’t stop him, because once he barks, the screaming usually ends.
These kids don’t just yell—they scream at a piercing pitch like something out of a horror movie. When it happens, my dog becomes visibly anxious. He truly seems to think the kids are in danger. I’ll let him outside, he runs to the shared fence, barks a few times until the noise stops, then settles down calmly beside the fence.
Honestly, my dog does a better job managing the situation than their own mother. This played out again one morning: screaming starts, my dog barks, the kids quiet down. Then one of them begins crying—and that’s when things escalated.
Their mother stormed over to my house, furious. I answered the door politely and asked what was wrong. She said my dog scared her children. I told her my dog was reacting because it sounded like her kids were being hurt, and that the screaming happens frequently. She snapped back that kids are just being kids.
I explained that I’m a kindergarten teacher and a parent myself, and that this level of screaming is excessive enough to alarm neighbors. She insisted they weren’t that loud, so I offered to play the audio from my Ring camera. You can’t see their yard, but you can absolutely hear everything.
That’s when she threatened to report my dog. I told her she could try, but my dog is a professionally trained seizure-alert service animal, and his behavior was recorded—three brief barks, no aggression, then lying down. I suggested she focus more on the screaming than blaming my dog. She left even angrier than when she arrived.
I immediately contacted our local service dog trainer to give them a heads-up in case she tried to file a false complaint. Thankfully, with cameras everywhere—installed so my husband can monitor my seizures—I can always prove exactly where my dog is and what he’s doing.
Thanks, Jerk
I just moved into my new house a week ago, and my neighbor, Linda, has been overly involved in my yard. She's been pressuring me to trim the trees that shade her vegetable garden and also complained about my trumpet vine climbing along the fence between our properties. I told her I’d think about it.
This morning, I stepped outside and saw that all the vines were wilted and had been cut at the base. Someone had clearly come over in the last few days while I wasn’t home. My yard is fully fenced, so I have no idea how she got in. There’s even a possibility she might have a key to my house.
Didn't See, Didn't Hear
I've never had problems with neighbors—until now. I moved into a new house at the end of February 2020 and, as usual, introduced myself and my family. Most neighbors were fine, but one next-door neighbor immediately became a headache. Within a month, he started building a massive concrete block structure right near the property line and close to his own back porch.
I approached him, concerned about permits and setbacks. He admitted it probably wasn’t allowed and agreed to stop—but two days later, construction continued. Checking with the city, I learned the setback rules required at least 12 feet, and his structure was under four. The city also revealed that he had no permits for multiple additions, porches, fences, or other structures on his property. He was in clear violation and was issued notices, but he ignored the city’s repeated requests for information.
The situation worsened with his dogs. Initially, they seemed manageable, but after the city notices, he began leaving them outside constantly, barking almost nonstop from 5 a.m. to 11 p.m. The yard’s layout meant most of the noise came right up against my property, and with everyday household noise, it was overwhelming. More recently, he started keeping one dog in a tiny kennel on his back porch, barely 4×6 feet, where it yelps and barks for hours in extreme summer heat.
In December 2020, I tried to speak to him about the dogs. His response was infuriating: he denied there was any problem, even as the dogs barked non-stop, then told me I’d already cost him too much money and to get off his property. His wife joined in, screaming and cursing from inside the yard, and he even tried to provoke a fight. I calmly walked home to avoid a confrontation.
The dogs’ barking continues nearly every day. The city inspector recently told me that because he’s been noncompliant for over a year, his notices have escalated to a citation requiring a judge. The inspector may need police assistance to access the property. I’m considering reporting the constant dog noise separately, which could result in fines, but he’s clearly unwilling to resolve anything through conversation.
At 40, I’ve had plenty of neighbors without issue. This one, however, has shown that he believes he can act with total disregard for rules or common decency. Between the ongoing construction violations and relentless dog noise, he’s finally facing the consequences of his behavior—but I still just want a full night’s sleep.
Vroom Vroom
I have a double driveway that fits three cars, and I usually park a fourth car in front of my own house. My neighbor, however, is upset that I leave a single car on the street. Keep in mind, they monopolize all the on-street parking in front of their two next-door neighbors' houses and the house directly across from them. My house happens to be right next to that house across the street.
To make matters worse, they also park a car in front of my house, yet they’re still outraged that I leave one of mine there. She insists I should keep it in my driveway because "she really needs the space." Meanwhile, they own a total of twelve vehicles. I shouldn’t have to rearrange my cars every time someone in my household needs to go somewhere just to accommodate someone with a dozen cars.
Mess Around, Find Out
I live above a shop in the town center with two friendly neighbors, and luckily, I have off-street parking. Over the last few months, a man from a nearby block of flats decided to start using our parking spaces. He'd just moved into a rental with no assigned parking and spent $12k on a flashy car.
We told him repeatedly he couldn’t park there, but as three single women (aged 46, 60, and 83), my neighbors have been intimidated by his size. He avoids talking to me directly but leaves aggressive notes on my car. I had no clue what he was planning—until the police called me in.
At the station, they showed me CCTV and photos claiming I had damaged his car. Turns out, he’d installed a camera pointing at our property without permission. The footage actually gave a clear view into my bedroom and my neighbor’s bathroom. It did show me passing his car with a wheelie bin, but the alleged scratches were on the opposite side. I also had photos of the car undamaged—another strike against him.
He claimed he had written permission from the landlord to park there but couldn’t produce it. I had an email from the landlord denying any permission. The result? I left the station cleared, and he received a formal warning for misusing CCTV and providing a false statement. Now he has to find somewhere else to park.
No Ordinary Tape
I live in a 20-unit complex, and I'm one of the few with an assigned parking spot right by my front door, clearly marked with my unit number. Most neighbors respected it, but a new tenant started parking there regularly, sometimes overnight. I asked him not to, then went to the landlord, who sent him a letter. He ignored that too.
I decided on a little payback. He had a predictable routine: park in my spot in the afternoon and leave around noon the next day. I remembered a childhood book of mischievous pranks—stuff like baby powder in donuts and tape tricks—that had always brought me joy. I grabbed a roll of heavy-duty double-sided tape and some extra-large bubble wrap, then waited until his car was parked overnight.
With a neighbor as my accomplice, we worked under the dim light of the complex at night. We covered the back tires with tape, then layered bubble wrap over and around them, tucking extra between the front and back wheels so it would get crushed when he reversed. The back bumper hid most of it, making it unlikely he’d notice. I monitored everything from my inside cameras, one aimed straight at the parking lot.
The next day, right on schedule, he approached his car. As he reversed, the bubble wrap erupted with the loudest, most startling racket I’ve ever heard. From inside, I could see his reaction: screaming, ducking, and hopping out of the car to inspect, muttering a storm of curses. Other neighbors came to watch, and I faked concern: "OMG, what happened?" “Who did this???” I insisted I had no idea—after all, I was “in a wheelchair” and couldn’t possibly do such a thing.
He spent hours trying to peel off the industrial-strength tape and remove the wrap. Even after, his car rattled and squeaked like gum stuck under a shoe for days. Best of all, he never parked in my spot again.
Naughty Or Nice?
This is how I dealt with my worst neighbor.
For nearly all of my adult life I've owned my own home, except for a short two‑year stretch right after my son was born, when we rented while saving for our next place. During that time, in a larger town, we lived next to a deeply unpleasant couple in their mid‑50s. They were comfortable financially and endlessly judgmental. They didn’t just watch us—they monitored us. Staring, sneering, whispering to each other. Their grown kids and even their grandkids did the same thing.
They lived immediately to my right. If you so much as cleared your throat outside, one or more of them would appear, lock eyes with you, mutter something under their breath, then slowly shake their head in disapproval before turning away. If you looked back, the head‑shaking intensified. After three months of this nonsense, I’d had more than enough.
At the time I was a big guy—6'4½", just under 300 pounds, with a long biker beard. You’d think that might discourage them, but it didn’t. So I decided intimidation wasn’t the answer. Psychological warfare was.
Since they were permanently miserable, I chose the opposite approach: weaponized cheerfulness. Whenever I caught one—or both—of them staring, I’d suddenly march straight toward them with an overly loud, booming "HI!!!” I’d get uncomfortably close and forcefully start chatting. If they tried to answer, I’d interrupt immediately and talk right over them. Anything they managed to say, I’d explode into exaggerated laughter before they even finished.
It escalated quickly. I’d wave my arms, grin like an idiot, and act absurdly enthusiastic. This became an almost daily routine for a couple of weeks. Slowly, they stopped lingering outside. The staring dropped off dramatically. Victory seemed near—until one afternoon, things took an unexpected turn.
I was in my front yard when a close friend drove past. It took me a moment to recognize him because he was in a rental car. The neighbors were sitting on their porch at the time. He honked, I looked up, recognized him, and—true to our long‑standing joke—he flipped me off and yelled “Screw you!” as he drove by.
That’s when inspiration struck.
The neighbors had seen everything.
I immediately yelled back, “You’re done!” and sprinted inside. I grabbed my weapon, tossed it onto the front seat of my truck, then ran straight onto my neighbors’ porch. They jumped back, startled. I barked at them, “WHO WAS THAT? DID YOU SEND HIM?”
They were frozen, completely silent.
I bolted back to my truck, spun the tires pulling out, and tore down the street after my friend. I caught up to him, got him to pull over, and explained exactly what I’d just done. He already knew about the neighbors’ behavior and nearly lost it laughing. Together, we planned phase two.
About twenty minutes later, I returned home. The neighbors were still on their porch, pretending not to stare while absolutely staring. I ignored them, went inside, grabbed a large beach towel, and headed back out.
Knowing full well they were watching, I pulled the weapon from my truck and began deliberately wiping it down with the towel. I exaggerated everything—glancing nervously over both shoulders like I didn’t want to be seen. Then I wrapped it up, hustled around the back of the house, and went inside.
I quickly locked the weapon away. Then I grabbed a baseball bat, wrapped that in the towel, and headed back outside. I loudly opened the shed, banged around, and grabbed a shovel. I could see them now—watching from an upstairs window.
I dug a small hole, dropped the towel‑wrapped bat inside, and buried it with dramatic finality.
From that day forward, the neighbors never stared at me again. They never spoke to me. They might as well have ceased to exist.
Nobody Messes With The Cat
My cat didn't show up for dinner one evening, which was odd—he’s usually the one demanding I open the tins first. I checked all his usual spots: closet, garage—nothing. I went ahead and ate, expecting him to appear any second. Still, no sign of Frank, my mostly indoor, lazy cat who occasionally wanders outside.
A month or so ago, my neighbor had already yelled at my wife about Frank supposedly pooping in his garden. Fair enough, I get it—but we have a litter box, and I’d tried to keep him from being a nuisance. I even bought dirt, catnip, and created an outdoor area for him to do his business, showing it to the neighbor, and tried keeping Frank inside more. But after eight years as an indoor/outdoor cat, he’s sneaky and determined.
Now I’m wandering the streets, calling for him, worried he might have gotten hurt—or worse, that the neighbor did something. Approaching his driveway, I hear Frank meowing. Sure enough, he’s trapped in the neighbor’s garage. I try the door—it’s locked.
I knock and explain the situation. The neighbor, probably around 65, looks at me and says, "Yep! Bye," and tries to shut the door. I knock louder. “Man, let him out, thanks,” I say. “No,” he responds. I block the door with my foot, repeat the request, and he says no again. I ask if I should break the window to get him out. He pulls out his phone and claims I’m threatening him. I insist: “You have my cat, let him out.” He still refuses.
I knock so hard the door pops open. He yells at his wife to call 911, slams the door, and locks it. Within seconds, the first squad car arrives. I give my ID, explain that my cat is in the garage, and show a picture of Frank. More officers arrive, five total, one in SWAT gear. They watch the cat meowing inside and question the neighbor. He admits taking the cat but insists, “He poops on my property!” pointing to a tiny dirt patch.
I explain I’m trying to train him, and the situation spirals. SWAT officer notes that the neighbor called a break-and-enter because he thought I was sneaking around. Eventually, Frank is released and runs home. The officer remarks on how ridiculous the whole thing is, the neighbor apologizes, and I reassure him I’ll cover any mess and continue trying to keep Frank from bothering the garden.
Even with all precautions, I’m still anxious about the next time Frank gets out.
Lawyer Up
I bought a townhouse last year, and within six months, I had to sell it because of a neighbor from hell. He was severely mentally ill, and the situation quickly became unbearable. Threats to me and my family, constant pounding on our shared wall, and bottles being thrown at us made it impossible to stay. The authorities couldn't help, and the HOA did nothing—so we had no choice but to sell.
What’s worse, this neighbor was never disclosed to us during closing, either by the seller or the HOA. It was clear he’d been a problem for years before we even moved in. What should have been an exciting chapter—renovating a beautiful townhouse, settling into a three-bedroom home, and planning a family—turned into a nightmare. I still struggle with PTSD from the experience.
My lawyer, who had handled both my purchase and eventual sale, was so affected by this case that he added a provision to all his future contracts—named after me—requiring full disclosure of any social issues with neighbors when buying a home. Maybe it’s the pregnancy, but I can’t stop crying thinking about it. I did everything I could to save my home, but in the end, one person destroyed everything I had built.
They Sound Lovely
I was involved in a car accident as a child, around eight years old. I was sitting in the back seat with my two sisters—one older, one younger—while our babysitters, who were close family friends, were in the front. We were driving on our own street, which already had a reputation for accidents, when the car jumped a curb and rolled several times. It was deep winter in northern Vermont.
There was snow everywhere, and the cold was intense. Thankfully, the crash happened at low speed and none of us were seriously hurt. Still, the impact crushed the doors of the Jetta inward, trapping us inside. The only possible exit was the windshield, which had cracked but wouldn't budge despite our babysitters’ efforts. Eventually, the homeowner whose yard we had landed in came outside. He was kind and tried to help, but couldn’t get us out either. He told us he would go get his parents, who lived nearby.
When he returned with them, I noticed an immediate change in the mood. Our babysitters looked shocked and uneasy. They were Black, and these parents happened to be their next-door neighbors—people well known for extreme prejudiced behavior. On holidays, they would fire guns into the air and toward the babysitters’ home while yelling nationalist slogans. One year, they even shot through multiple layers of fencing the babysitters’ father had installed to protect his children.
As they stood there looking at our overturned car, their expressions were a mix of contempt and cruel amusement. I will never forget one of them saying they weren’t going to help "people like that," before laughing and walking away. Their son looked mortified and apologized to our babysitters for his parents’ behavior.
Not long after, a fire truck arrived and responders forced the doors open to rescue us. I remember shaking from the cold and fear, my sisters just as stunned. That moment—watching adults refuse to help injured children because of hate—never left me. It’s something I’ve carried with me ever since.
Absolutely Relentless
I managed a triplex for a while, which brought me into contact with all kinds of people, but one tenant in particular was absolutely unforgettable. He was easily the most aggressive, rude, and unhinged person I've ever met. If anyone in the building left a ground-floor window open while cooking or watching TV, he would storm over and shout through the opening, claiming they were making too much noise.
When I warned him that entering the property counted as trespassing and that I would take legal action if he did it again, he didn’t step back. Instead, he stayed on his side of the fence and yelled even louder in the direction of whatever open window caught his attention. And to be clear, the tenants weren’t especially loud. There was a modest three-foot fence separating his property from the triplex, so he didn’t even have to climb anything to make a scene.
But it didn’t stop there. Anytime we did yard work—or hired someone to do it—he would grab debris from his side and toss it onto the freshly maintained lawn, insisting we had left it there, which was never true. Often he would wait until a section was completely finished before throwing something onto it, just to ruin the effort.
If tenants sat on the back patio, he’d call the police with noise complaints, even when there was no music and they were just talking. Once, officers showed up because someone reported a party with escorts. They focused on a young woman living there—arguably the most striking person I’d ever seen. She burst into tears while her boyfriend had to explain that she was a tenant, not hired entertainment. The officers left without confronting him, but the moment they were gone, he came up to the fence and said something chilling: "If you didn’t want the cops called, you shouldn’t have been dressed like that."
He even tried to pick a fight with her boyfriend, who happened to be an MMA competitor. By the end of the summer, he went so far as to hire someone to cut down every tree on our side of the fence—not just trimming branches, but taking down the entire trees. With my professional reputation on the line and living in a small city, there was unfortunately very little I could do to stop him.
Sprinkle Sprinkle
My neighbor recently sprayed the hedge between our properties with something that completely killed it. We had originally planted it along her cyclone fence to block the view into her yard, but now everything we put there ends up dying—and it always starts from her side. She's ridiculously nosy and constantly peeking out her window, which is exactly why we planted the hedge in the first place.
On top of that, she has repositioned her in-ground sprinklers so that they extend onto what I’m pretty sure is our property. They reach our driveway, and she sets them to run in the middle of the night while our cars are parked there. She refuses to adjust the timing to when we’re at work because it would "interfere with her yard work schedule." The result is huge, white, amoeba-shaped water stains on our vehicles. I even paid someone $250 last year to remove them with acid, and the marks were still faintly visible afterward. She even had the audacity to suggest that our son park there because the color of his car wouldn’t show the spots as much.
Meanwhile, her husband patrols the backyard fence, whistling to provoke our dog into barking, and then she complains to us about the noise. Truly a delightful pair.
When You Know What You're Doing
Our family had called this place home for four decades. During the peak of the real estate bubble, the property directly behind ours was purchased by a pair who drastically overpaid. Once the economy slumped and their home value plummeted, they turned their resentment toward the rest of us. While the rest of the block consisted of long-term residents who frequently collaborated on yard work and home repairs, this couple became increasingly hostile.
For the next two years, they engaged in a bizarre territory war. They would drive wooden markers into our lawn, claiming the land was theirs, and even attempted to hack away at our lilac bushes. They went as far as clearing trees on their own lot that had previously prevented our yard from flooding. They even erected an unauthorized fence against a different neighbor, simply because they found that neighbor's vehicle an eyesore.
The breaking point came when I spotted one of them prowling through our backyard after dark with a measuring tape. I realized it was time to take decisive action. After contacting the local police and the municipal council—who issued a stern warning for them to stay off our land—I hired a professional surveyor for $700 to establish the legal boundaries once and for all.
The results were perfect: I actually gained an extra six feet of yard space. Furthermore, the surveyor flagged their illegal fence, resulting in a formal fine for the couple. Seeing the official stakes in the ground and watching them deal with the consequences was easily worth every penny of that $700.
Seriously, What's Your Deal?
While we were attempting to put our home on the market, our neighbor's nephew became a total nightmare. Every time we stepped out to allow for a showing, he would linger around the property in a way that deeply unsettled potential buyers. He even took it a step further by wandering into one of our open houses to actively discourage people from making an offer. Despite living just a short distance down the road, his motives for wanting to ruin our sale remained a complete mystery to us.
The situation escalated dangerously when he collapsed in our driveway. My sister rushed over to assist him, but instead of being grateful, he began directing threats toward her. That was the final straw. We contacted the police and forced a legal agreement: he had to sign a document stating that any future trespassing would result in immediate jail time. With that legal boundary in place, the interference stopped, and we finally managed to close the deal on the house.
A Full-On Crime Scene
It was late on Christmas Eve when my husband, our toddler, and I returned home from a holiday visit with friends nearby. As we reached our apartment building, we were met with a gruesome sight: the main glass entrance had been smashed to pieces. Thick smears of blood were visible on the doorframe, and a distinct crimson trail stretched across the floor toward one of the units on the ground level.
We immediately contacted the police. While we stood by for their arrival, the female tenant from that unit emerged and began frantically scrubbing the floor to erase the trail of blood. Once the authorities arrived, they separated the woman and her partner for interrogation, and we gave our statements as well. The couple couldn't keep their facts straight; first, they claimed he tripped, then they said she bumped into him, and then they admitted to a violent dispute where he smashed the door in anger.
The truth eventually surfaced: they were running an illegal cannabis grow operation in their spare room and had gotten into a nasty fight over their expected profits. During the scuffle, she shoved him, and he crashed through the glass door. His elbow hit the pane with enough force to shatter it, causing deep lacerations to his arm and torso. Because of the investigation and the extensive cleanup required by specialized crews, we weren't allowed back in and had to spend the rest of our Christmas Eve in a motel.
Going Too Far
The person living two doors down from me used to be someone I considered a decent acquaintance, maybe even a friend. At the time, he was actually my employer, but our relationship took a sharp turn for the worse. I had already noticed a troubling pattern with him; he had a habit of helping himself to other people's belongings without permission, like the time he used a coworker's woodworking equipment while they were away.
I tried to be proactive and set clear boundaries. I told him straight out, "I don't mind lending you things, but you have to ask first. Also, don't just show up at my house unannounced—send a text or call me beforehand." I wanted to be certain he understood the rules if he ever needed to borrow my tools again. Around that time, I had let him take a 17 mm impact socket.
When two weeks passed without him returning it, I figured he’d lost it and decided I was done lending him anything. Then, a few days later, he casually mentioned, "Since you weren't around, I went ahead and swapped that socket for something else." It turned out he had jumped my fence in broad daylight, let himself into my garage, dropped off the original socket—which was now badly scuffed and damaged—and walked off with a different set of my tools.
He shared this with me a full week after it happened, acting as if trespassing and taking my property was perfectly normal. That was the final straw. I lost it and told him in no uncertain terms to stay away from my family, my home, and my belongings forever.
Figure It Out
Across the street from my house lived a bachelor in his fifties who had a very bizarre cycle when it came to his romantic life. He would get into a relationship for six months or maybe a year, and during that time, his girlfriend's vehicle was a permanent fixture in his driveway every night. However, once they hit that half-year or one-year milestone, he would inevitably flag my wife and me down for a conversation while we were out in the yard.
The script was always the same: "If you catch sight of my girlfriend’s car at my place from now on, you need to call me immediately. She's been banned from the premises." Then, like clockwork, a few days would go by and he would give us an update letting us know that she was actually allowed back over after all. We watched this exact drama play out with at least four different women over the years.
Less Than She Thought
After we moved into our new apartment, our neighbor made it a point to tell us that half of the driveway belonged to her. We didn't mind at first; the space was massive, and there was plenty of room for everyone to park comfortably. However, about a month into our lease, she decided to mark her territory by placing a line of stones right down the middle. Again, we didn't make a fuss because we still had enough space.
The real trouble started over the next couple of months. She began inching those rocks further and further toward our side, slowly shrinking our area. It eventually reached the point where we couldn't even pull our car in or out without getting out to manually relocate her border wall.
Fed up with the constant shifting, our landlord finally ordered an official property survey. The results were a total surprise: she actually had zero legal claim to any portion of the driveway! Once the truth was out, she was barred from using it entirely and had to start parking on the street. It was a satisfying bit of justice after she spent months lying to us and trying to push us off the property.
Interesting Neighbors
I didn't just have one bad neighbor; my entire street was populated by a collection of nightmare residents. Presiding over the block was a self-appointed "neighborhood watch" captain who would stalk my friends' vehicles and sit at the entrance of the road, interrogating visitors to see if they were headed to my house. He’d also drive by my home and lay on his horn, only to speed off before I could confront him.
Further down, there was a couple whose dog never stopped barking, and they had a grown son who bizarrely chose to sit in their front window completely naked at night. Across from them lived an elderly woman who was losing her grip on reality and filled her lawn with strange cinder block structures. My immediate neighbors were even worse, constantly filing police reports against my brother and me for everything from noise complaints to alleged theft.
During one investigation, an officer told us the neighbors were convinced we were criminals who were "trashing" the area. The irony was revealed the very next day: the actual thieves were friends of the neighbors' own son. Despite the proof, the mother remained incredibly arrogant, refusing to admit her son’s circle was responsible or offer any kind of apology.
However, the neighbor directly across from me was the most unhinged. He spent his days making as much noise as possible with his motorcycle and truck. On our first day there, he aggressively warned us never to park in his driveway—something we had zero intention of doing anyway. Over the following months, the police showed up at my door at least twelve times because of his false reports, ranging from theft to claims that our cars were obstructing his path.
The officers eventually realized he was the problem and became quite sympathetic toward us. He even threatened us with a weapon and constantly reminded us that his yard was a high-tech surveillance zone. He went so far as to photograph my friends' license plates, calling the cops to report things as trivial as an expired registration sticker. After we officially served him with a trespassing notice, he doubled down on his harassment. Now, the police are at my house weekly, and they are just as exhausted by his nonsense as we are.
Take The Message
One of my neighbors was obsessed with coordinating massive play sessions for the local pets. She constantly attempted to cram more than 20 dogs into the tiny, 50-by-50-foot fenced enclosure at our apartment complex. If you chose not to participate, she'd actually show up at your front door and ask for permission to take your dog down there herself.
My dog gets overwhelmed when surrounded by a pack of much larger animals, and I certainly didn't appreciate her trying to dictate my pet care routine. He is perfectly content and in great health as he is. I just wish she would stop pestering me and leave our doorbell alone!
Parrots Are Truly Something
I suspect I'm currently the "nightmare neighbor" in my building, even if the people living around me haven't figured it out yet. For the last sixty days, a persistent chirping from a supposedly broken smoke detector in the corridor has become a source of shared frustration for everyone on my floor. Despite several attempts, the maintenance crew has been unable to silence it.
The reality, however, is that the actual alarm only beeped for the first few days. Every chirp heard since then has been a performance by my parrot. She found the noise so fascinating that she’s been perfectly imitating it around the clock. None of my neighbors even realize I own a bird. In fact, the lady in the next unit is convinced I have a dog, because my feathered little menace also enjoys barking at the wall and then loudly reprimanding herself for the noise.
Living The BBQ Life
I returned to my place to find it completely blanketed in smoke. Since I couldn't identify the source of the fire myself, I immediately dialed emergency services. As it turned out, the people living below us had decided to set up a charcoal grill directly on top of their kitchen stove to host an indoor barbecue.
It was an unbelievable lapse in judgment. My only comfort was knowing that a friend had taken my dog out for a walk earlier, so at least I knew he hadn't been breathing in those fumes all day.
That's My Spot
Years ago, I was renting an apartment that came with two designated parking spaces. I used one for my vehicle and the other for my bike. My neighbor owned a newer Eclipse and a massive 4x4 truck that was almost too large for the allocated spots. One morning, I walked out to find her Eclipse had drifted completely over the line, invading the space where I kept my motorcycle.
I tried to be patient, thinking it was a one-time thing, but over the next week, she kept inching further into my territory until she was practically touching my bike. I decided I'd had enough. I relocated my motorcycle and parked my car right up against her driver-side door, leaving only an inch of clearance while staying perfectly within my lines.
A couple of hours later, someone was practically trying to break down my front door. I opened it to find my neighbor—a very large, aggressive woman—screaming and swearing at me. She was livid because she was headed to work and claimed I had blocked her in. I kept my cool and suggested she simply crawl in through the passenger side. Given her stature, this was clearly an impossible feat, and the suggestion sent her into a total tailspin.
She threatened to call the building manager to have me towed, but I just pointed out that I was parked legally within my own boundaries and encouraged her to make the call. She then had the nerve to argue that because she had two "actual" cars that didn't fit in her spots, she was somehow entitled to my extra space because I only had a bike. I just laughed and went back inside.
I watched through the window for a few minutes as she stomped around, making frantic phone calls and eventually crying to her boss because she realized she was going to be incredibly late. Once I saw she was thoroughly defeated, I finally went out and moved my car. She squeezed herself into her seat and sped off without a word. We lived next to them for a few more months until they nearly leveled the building by starting a kitchen fire, but she never dared to cross that parking line again.
A Little Bit Invasive
Behind my parents' home lies a dense stretch of woods where my brother and the local kids frequently spent their afternoons playing paintball. On one particular day, as my brother headed home still decked out in protective gear and splattered with neon paint, a woman in the neighborhood spotted his paintball marker and immediately contacted the police. While it was a bit of an overreaction considering he was clearly a child playing a game, I could understand a neighbor being cautious about seeing something shaped like a weapon.
The police arrived, had a quick chat with my brother, and explained to the woman that he was just a twelve-year-old with a toy. That really should have settled the matter, but it only seemed to fuel her fixation on us. From that day forward, she began stalking us. Whenever she saw our car leaving the neighborhood, she would pull out and tail us.
Our community is generally very safe and family-oriented, with people frequently out for evening strolls. However, whenever my mother went out for a walk to enjoy the fresh air, this woman would follow closely behind her. She also made a habit of standing on her porch, staring intently at my father every single time he stepped out for a cigarette.
The strangest encounter happened when she followed me into our own driveway after we both turned into the development at the same time. She claimed she wanted to "introduce" herself, but then immediately started grilled me with inappropriate questions. The one that really stood out was when she bluntly asked, "So, how much longer are you people planning on living here?"
Sounds Like A You Problem
Our neighbors actually had the nerve to demand that we install a gate between our backyards so they could access our above-ground pool whenever they wanted—specifically for when they were hosting guests. When we turned down their ridiculous request, they threw a tantrum and looked for a way to retaliate. At the time, our pool was unfortunately dealing with some costly leaks that were spilling water into the lawn.
They seized the opportunity to "punish" us by threatening to report us to our strict HOA. Their excuse was that the runoff was flooding a section of their yard they hardly used and that their dog was supposedly falling ill from drinking it. To avoid a massive headache with the association—and because we were tired of the standing water attracting frogs in our own yard—my father spent his birthday laboring in the intense Texas heat. He spent his entire day off digging a drainage trench and laying pipe to redirect the water.
Throughout the entire process, the neighbors stood outside and heckled him while he worked. They kept shouting that all this effort could have been avoided if he had just put in the gate they wanted. Honestly, considering their entitlement and lack of respect, it was incredibly tempting to use that shovel for something other than digging.
C'mon, Don
Years ago, I lived next to a man who made a habit of walking his leashed dog onto our property specifically so it could use our lawn as a toilet. One time, my mother instructed me to toss the waste back over onto his lot, and he actually had the audacity to report us to the police for it.
The real climax happened a few months later when my family was heading out for a vacation. We had just pulled away from the house when my mom realized she'd left something behind, so we looped back around. As we pulled back up, we caught him red-handed.
There was our terrible neighbor, standing right in the center of our front yard with his dog on a lead, watching the animal leave another mess on our grass. I’ll never forget the sight of my mother rolling down her window and screaming at the top of her lungs, "Go to hell, Don!"
Siren Dude's A Real Character
In the neighborhood where I used to live, there were plenty of eccentric personalities, but the "Siren Guy" was easily the most bizarre. He was a thin, bald man in his late thirties or early forties who spent his days wandering the streets. He always pulled a small wagon behind him, filled with whatever random items he'd collected, while constantly mimicking the sound of an emergency siren with his voice.
His schedule was completely unpredictable. Some days he’d be the reason I woke up at 7 AM, while other times I’d spot him making his rounds in the middle of the afternoon or even at one o'clock in the morning. He had perfected a high-pitched wail that sounded exactly like a police cruiser pulling someone over. You could hear the noise approaching from several blocks away, getting louder until he eventually passed your house and offered a friendly wave. Interestingly, if you mimicked a siren sound back at him, he would just keep moving along without missing a beat. It was truly one of the strangest things I’ve ever witnessed.
No Room At The Inn
In my town, there is a woman who owns a home but chooses to live entirely out of a vehicle parked in her own driveway. I'm fairly certain the car is completely inoperable. About once a week, she can be seen patrolling the neighborhood, gathering every piece of litter she comes across. Instead of disposing of it, however, she hauls it back and adds it to a massive heap in her backyard.
The mound of refuse has grown so enormous that it would likely overflow a commercial-grade dumpster. It’s honestly surprising that the local authorities haven't stepped in with fines, though for all we know, she might already be dealing with them. She is a total mystery to the community because she never utters a word. We aren’t even sure if she’s capable of speech; whenever anyone tries to strike up a conversation or ask a question, she simply offers a silent smile and keeps on walking. It’s incredibly unsettling.
What's Wrong With It?
Growing up in a suburban New Jersey town before heading off to college, there was a specific park behind a local church where all the kids spent their free time. It was a great spot, featuring several baseball fields, a jungle gym, hoops, and a snack bar that did a brisk business on Saturdays.
The layout was a bit frustrating, though, because there were only two official entrances located about a half-mile apart. To avoid a ten-minute detour, most of us took a shortcut that led directly past the residence of a man we nicknamed "the water guy." From the start of spring through the middle of autumn, he would be out there every single day. He'd just sit on his bike at the edge of his property, warning every person who walked by, "Don't drink the water."
His voice had a distinct quality that reminded me of Herbert from Family Guy, just without the high-pitched whistling. Eventually, concerned parents began filing reports with the local government. But as it turns out, simply being eccentric isn't a crime, and because he never left his lawn or did anything other than repeat his four-word warning, the authorities couldn't do a thing. He remained a permanent, bizarre fixture of my childhood for as long as I lived there—easily the strangest person I’ve ever encountered.
All That For A Broom?
There was a specific family on my street that seemed to have at least ten people packed into a standard-sized row home. One winter, after a particularly massive snowstorm, I spent a good while digging my car out using a shovel and a broom to clear off the roof. Once I finally managed to maneuver my car out of the space, I left the tools leaning right there on the curb—which happened to be in front of their house—while I went to find a better parking spot.
I realized almost immediately that I'd left them behind, so I looped back around the block to grab them. In the few minutes I was gone, the shovel had already vanished. Standing exactly where my things had been was their young daughter, maybe twelve or thirteen years old, clutching my broom. When I told her it belonged to me and I wanted it back, she actually looked me in the face and demanded I "prove" it was mine. I was absolutely livid.
I ordered her to put the broom down and go get her parents. Instead, she bolted inside the house with my broom and bolted the door shut. I stood there hammering on their door for ten minutes straight, but nobody would come out. I couldn't wrap my head around why anyone would go to such lengths to steal a basic household broom. My only guess was that they desperately needed it to tidy up the disaster inside their home; I’d seen the state of the place because they always left their front door standing wide open whenever they were hanging out on the porch. Thankfully, they eventually moved away.
Winning The Lottery Is Supposed To Be Good
I had a neighbor who hit the jackpot for roughly $800,000 after taxes, and the windfall went straight to his head. He acted as though he was untouchable. Coupled with a serious substance abuse problem, he would stay awake for days on end, blasting music that echoed through our small mountain community. Eventually, he abandoned his husband of nearly a decade with a "Dear John" letter and began making terrifying, violent threats against him.
The police stepped in, and he was hit with domestic violence charges. However, things escalated quickly: despite the legal restrictions against him, he decided to purchase a gun. He lied about his criminal status to acquire the weapon and then contacted his ex to tell him his life was over once the weapon arrived. Shortly after, he skipped his court hearing to go party in Portland, which resulted in a judge issuing a warrant for his arrest.
On the Friday of St. Patrick's Day weekend, he was back at it, cranking the volume on his stereo. I called in a noise complaint, but I suspected he was listening to a police scanner because he would always silence the music right before the patrol car arrived. After the officers told me for the third time that they couldn't intervene without hearing the noise themselves, I mentioned that the man had an outstanding warrant. Their entire demeanor changed, and they took him into custody on the spot.
Since he had already squandered his entire fortune and burned every bridge with his friends, there was no one left to bail him out. He spent the entire holiday weekend locked up with the rest of the holiday offenders. About twenty-one days after that, a "For Sale" sign appeared on his lawn. Getting him out of the neighborhood remains one of my proudest moments.
Slip Slidin' Away
The man living next to us seemed determined to keep a bonfire blazing every single day. Eventually, he decided to enhance his outdoor setup by placing a television directly in front of the flames, protecting it with nothing but a plastic garbage bag whenever the weather turned sour.
He also acquired an enormous banner emblazoned with "USA" slogans, which he repurposed as a makeshift slip-and-slide. To keep the fun going, he had a heavily patched-up garden hose running along the exterior of his home. He used this leaky setup to hydrate his garden and saturate the slide, both of which were positioned in a bizarrely dangerous layout right next to his active barbecue grill.
Always Get Your Permits
I successfully had my neighbor's house declared unfit for habitation and eventually demolished. It took some time to orchestrate, but the payoff was incredible. The property adjacent to mine actually contained two separate dwellings. The owners had begun a total interior demolition on one of them, but they simply left the resulting mountain of debris piled in the front yard, right against my property line. That junk sat there for an entire year, and since the owners lived elsewhere and just used the property as a rental, they completely ignored my repeated requests to clear it out.
Fed up, I eventually reached out to the city to investigate their renovation permits. I made a stunning discovery: not only was there no paperwork for the remodel, but the city had no record of the house even existing. It had been constructed illegally without any filed blueprints and was essentially "pirating" utilities from the other house on the lot.
I took this information to the city planning department. They dispatched officials to issue a formal stop-work order—though, ironically, no one had touched the place in over twelve months. More importantly, they officially condemned the structure. The city offered the owners a deal: they wouldn't face legal prosecution or heavy fines as long as they tore the building down themselves. Given that the house was already a hollowed-out shell without doors or windows, and the city refused to grant them permission to fix it, they had no choice. That is the story of how I managed to get an entire house leveled.
Granny's Got A Grudge
Our incredibly bitter and elderly neighbor had been locked in a dispute with my grandparents since they first arrived in the neighborhood over three decades ago. This woman actually contacted city officials during my grandfather's home renovation, convinced he was working without the proper paperwork and hoping to get him penalized. She was stunned to find out he was fully permitted. Undeterred, she filed another complaint claiming our front yard was a disaster.
In our municipality, there are codes against keeping "attractive nuisances" like old tires or engine components on your lawn. However, we had replaced our grass with a lush, full garden to eliminate the need for mowing. When the inspector arrived, he dismissed her claim as nonsense, noting that a well-maintained garden is hardly an eyesore. Interestingly, she was obsessed with cleanliness herself; she would spray down her driveway even after it rained and washed her car every fortnight, which was bizarre considering she was in her eighties and her vehicle rarely left the garage.
She was also a perfectionist about her own lawn, demanding it be mown in precise diagonal lines; she once had a total meltdown, screaming at her daughter for cutting the grass in the wrong direction. Every time a house on the block sold, she would make a point to "caution" the newcomers about my family. We never learned exactly what lies she told, but we knew she was doing it because of how she treated the next people who moved in.
A young couple with two sweet kids moved in right next to her, completely unaware of her reputation. She harassed them with passive-aggressive behavior until the situation finally reached a boiling point, resulting in the husband and the old woman having a massive shouting match in the street. This is a very upscale area, so seeing people screaming at each other on their lawns is virtually unheard of.
While they were mid-argument, my grandmother was quietly tending to her flowerbeds nearby. The neighbor suddenly pivoted and shrieked at my grandmother to mind her own business. That's when my grandfather stepped out and shouted back, telling her she was the one who needed to stay in her lane since we were on our own land. A bit later, the young father came over to chat, and he confirmed our suspicions: she had warned them specifically never to speak to us.
Meet Ken
Back when I resided in the city, there was a man named Ken. The only reason I even knew his name was because our landlord pointed out his house on the day we moved in. I never actually spoke to Ken, but I became a frequent observer of his life from a distance, as my bedroom window provided a direct line of sight into one of his rooms. I could never quite tell if it was his kitchen or his bathroom, which led to two very different possibilities.
Either the man insisted on washing every single dish by hand while completely nude, or he spent thirty minutes every night standing in his bathroom giving himself a remarkably thorough scrubbing. My partner and I used to have a few drinks and find the whole thing hilarious. There were even times when we'd be in the middle of an intimate moment and one of us would whisper, "Ken’s at it again," and we’d both just start laughing.
The strange part was that he always kept his blinds tightly shut during the daylight hours, so I never got a look at the rest of his place. He was a quiet guy who kept his distance, and we did the same. But like clockwork, every evening he would spend ages vigorously cleaning something with his curtains wide open, seemingly challenging the neighborhood to witness his strange, exposed routine.
This One Rocks
My home sits on a corner lot where the street forms a T-junction, and for a long time, I dealt with the constant frustration of drivers cutting the turn and tearing across my lawn. The situation became dangerous when a car nearly struck my dog. Fed up, I purchased a massive boulder—weighing somewhere between 300 and 400 pounds—and positioned it strategically right at the edge of the corner.
During a severe snowstorm that winter, the trap was set. A driver in a lifted Dodge came speeding through, attempted to cut the corner, and slammed into the hidden rock at about 20 mph. The impact completely totaled the truck. Ever since that incident, I haven't had a single person try to drive through my yard.
Keep Your Distance
There was a girl in my old neighborhood who was completely unhinged. She was known for wandering the streets barefoot and harbored a deep resentment toward me because I had dated a guy she liked—who also lived on our block. On several occasions, she showed up at my front door late at night to harass me, specifically timing her visits for when she knew my parents weren't home.
One night, when I ignored her and refused to step outside to engage, she lost her temper and hurled a rock through a car window. It was a relief when I finally moved away; I'm incredibly grateful that she is a part of my past I'll never have to revisit.
Next-Door Nightmare
My aunt was raising her kids as a single mom and operating a licensed daycare out of her home when she found herself living next to a complete sociopath. Following a severe ice storm, the husband from the house next door came over and helped her clear away the heavy branches that had crashed into her yard—a simple act of kindness between neighbors. To show her gratitude, my aunt gifted him a case of beer.
His wife, however, misinterpreted this gesture as a romantic advance and launched a relentless, one-sided campaign against my aunt. The details are a bit fuzzy since it happened years ago, but some of her actions were truly depraved. On one occasion, she actually attempted to hit my aunt's dog with her vehicle. Later, she filed a malicious report with child protective services, falsely claiming that my aunt was a sex worker who saw clients in the home while the daycare children were present.
The most terrifying incident occurred when my aunt discovered a scorched patch of grass right against the side of her house. She happened to be close friends with the local fire inspector, who examined the site and confirmed that someone had intentionally used an accelerant to try to start a fire. My aunt eventually took her to court over this pattern of harassment. While I can’t recall the specific legal outcome, I know for a fact that a restraining order was put in place to keep that woman away.
Smells Like Burning
One of our neighbors managed to burn something in his oven, but his way of handling it was incredibly thoughtless. Instead of simply cracking his own windows to clear the air, he propped open his front door, allowing the smoke to pour into the hallway and trigger the entire building's fire alarm system.
As a result, every resident was forced out into the bitter New England winter during a January cold snap. We all stood shivering on the sidewalk while the neighbor stayed warm inside his unit, watching us through the glass. When the fire department finally arrived and located the source, they had to open his windows for him and didn't hold back in telling him exactly how foolish he had been.
Even after the cause was identified, we were stuck outside in the freezing temperatures while the firefighters performed their required safety sweeps to confirm there were no other hazards. It was an agonizing wait in the middle of a deep freeze, all because one person lacked basic common sense.
Bad Vibrations
I used to work a brutal shift that required me to be up by 2:30 AM to make it to my job by 4:00 AM. My neighbors in the unit below me had a habit of blasting music late into the night, sending bass vibrations directly through my bed frame and making sleep impossible. I eventually went down to speak with them, and after a polite request, they seemed perfectly willing to lower the volume.
However, the moment I crawled back under the covers, they cranked the music even higher than before and kept it thumping until nearly 1:30 AM. They clearly thought I was a pushover, but they were mistaken. Before I headed out for work at 3:30 AM, I took my guitar amplifier and flipped it over so the speaker was flush against the floor. I maxed out the volume, rested my guitar right on top of it to trigger a permanent loop of electronic screeching, and headed off for a twelve-hour workday.
When I finally returned home that evening, the high-pitched feedback was still wailing through the floorboards. After that day, I never heard a peep from their stereo again.
Lights Out!
I reside in Puerto Rico, where a massive portion of the island has been trapped in a blackout for two months following the devastation of Hurricane María. Because the government utility company has been incredibly sluggish with repairs, many communities in my region have taken matters into their own hands by hiring independent electrical contractors. I managed to locate a crew ready to restore our local grid, but the project required every single household to agree to the costs and the legal authorization.
While almost everyone was eager to get the lights back on, two of my immediate neighbors blocked the plan. When the rest of the block pressed them for a reason, their explanation was absolutely staggering. They flatly admitted they wanted the neighborhood to remain in the dark so that the lack of electricity would eventually force us all to move away, ensuring they'd never have to look at our "irritating and miserable" faces again. Their refusal effectively killed the deal with the contractor.
A week later, however, the real truth came to light. It turned out these neighbors had a personal connection within the power authority. Their friend had instructed them to keep private companies out of the area so the government could eventually swoop in and take all the credit for the restoration once they finally got around to it.
Follow Your Instincts
My next-door neighbor always gave off a very unsettling vibe. He was constantly inviting us into his home under the guise of playing with his cats. When he was finally preparing to move out, he approached me—I was only about ten years old at the time—and offered me an Air Force One jacket. He told me that if I wanted it, I had to get into his car and drive to some other person's house with him to pick it up.
As soon as I told him I needed to go inside and ask my mother for permission, he left immediately and vanished. Looking back on that encounter as an adult, I am convinced he was attempting to abduct me.
Was He Hank Hill?
I lived next door to a man who was absolutely obsessed with his lawn, to the point where he mowed it every single day without fail. He was "considerate" enough to wait until 8:00 AM to start, though I'm fairly certain that was only because local noise ordinances prohibited him from starting any earlier. He was just as relentless with the weather; the moment a rainstorm cleared, he’d be right back out there with the mower.
At the time, my work schedule was grueling—I wouldn't get home until 2:00 or 4:00 in the morning, meaning I often didn't fall asleep until 6:00 AM. Being jolted awake by a lawnmower just two hours later was miserable, and even heavy-duty earplugs couldn't drown out the constant drone. It was an exhausting way to live, and I made it a priority to move out as quickly as I possibly could.
A Feast For The Eyes
My next-door neighbors had a daughter struggling with addiction who visited quite frequently. Her appearance was unforgettable; she looked like Mickey Rourke in booty shorts, typically paired with a tiny tank top and a platinum-blonde, heavily teased mullet. To her credit, she was always pleasant to me and often helped her elderly parents with their landscaping, but her presence always brought chaos.
Her arrivals were almost always marked by loud, aggressive screaming matches with whatever group of friends accompanied her. Her tiny dog would add to the noise, yapping incessantly while leaving messes all over the property. It wasn't uncommon to find drug paraphernalia discarded in the yard, and on several occasions, I witnessed her and her associates stashing what appeared to be illicit substances or stolen property in the backyard shed.
The visuals were just as surreal—I once looked out to see her mowing the lawn wearing nothing but a sheer negligee. She showed up in a different vehicle with a different cast of characters nearly every time she visited. While the rest of the neighborhood was perfectly ordinary, looking out my back door felt like having a front-row seat to a very bizarre, high-stakes zoo.
Good Job, Mom
The family living next to us was constantly in the midst of a crisis. They were in a volatile, on-again-off-again relationship marked by nightly screaming matches and physical violence. The father struggled with severe alcoholism, to the point where the local police knew him on a first-name basis. One night, we were shaken awake by the frantic cries of their young son, who was my little sister's best friend. Moments later, he was pounding on our front door, begging my mother for help.
My mom pulled him inside, and shortly after, the mother arrived—badly beaten and covered in blood. Terrified that child services would take her son if the police were involved, she refused to call 9-1-1. My mom didn't push her; instead, she locked the door, pulled out the sofa bed, and prepared a meal for the woman while the two children finally fell asleep together.
The peace didn't last long. About an hour later, the father arrived at our house, screaming and kicking at the door. My mother stood her ground, arguing with him through the wood for over an hour until he finally gave up and retreated. The next day, under the cover of night, my mom drove them to a women's shelter over an hour away.
For the next two weeks, my mother acted as their lifeline, sneaking supplies and support to them in secret. She didn't stop until she helped them secure a local apartment where they could finally be safe from him.
Doggone Inconsiderate
My current neighbors are absolutely unbearable. As I'm in the Navy, I spend long stretches at sea, which unfortunately leaves my wife to handle their nonsense on her own. Recently, they brought home a Staffordshire Bull Terrier, but instead of actually walking the animal, they simply toss it into their yard to relieve itself. Predictably, the dog eventually ran out of clean space in its own garden and began jumping the partition to use our yard as its personal toilet.
This has become a major issue because my son is terrified of dogs and no longer feels safe playing in our own backyard. Since I'm away, my only recourse has been to reassure my wife that I'll handle it upon my return. However, the situation escalated when the dog began growling at my wife on our property; it spends so much time in our yard that it has clearly become territorial. Frustrated, I told my wife to simply leave our side gate open—if the dog wanted to jump into our yard, it was free to keep wandering right out into the street.
The following day, my wife was met with the neighbor screaming at her on our doorstep. He called her a "witch" and blamed her for his dog running away, claiming it could have been hit by a car. He went as far as to threaten both my wife and my son before finally storming off. My wife immediately contacted the police. To her utter disbelief, the neighbors told the responding officers that we were being "unreasonable" for refusing to let their dog use our private property as a bathroom.
The authorities weren't amused. He was issued a formal warning and a strict order to secure the dog by installing a proper fence; otherwise, he faces the dog warden seizing the animal permanently.
Tough Times Call For Tough Measures
In my old townhouse complex, we had one neighbor who treated every lawn in the development like her personal dog park. She allowed her pets to relieve themselves on everyone's grass and flatly refused to clean up after them. We tried the civil approach first, asking her to be more considerate, but she completely ignored us. We even tried gathering the waste and leaving it on her doorstep as a silent hint, but even that didn't change her behavior.
Eventually, one of my other neighbors reached their breaking point. They picked up some of the mess and smeared it across the front of her house. It was a disgusting, drastic move, but it finally got the message across—she started picking up after her dogs immediately after that.
Classic Crossed Wires
Living in Greenpoint, Brooklyn, and working a job in midtown Manhattan that offers plenty of overtime means I keep some pretty grueling hours. I usually wrap up work around 11:45 PM and catch the late trains, which puts me through a 45-to-60-minute commute. By the time I finally unlock my door around 12:30 AM, I'm absolutely drained—I typically just kick my shoes off and toss them, along with my duffel bag, wherever they happen to land near the entrance.
When I first moved in, I kept hearing this aggressive banging coming from the apartment below me. I was genuinely baffled, thinking to myself, "Is this person serious? Who does home renovations at one in the morning?"
It wasn't until about three weeks ago that the realization finally hit me: the neighbor wasn't working on their apartment; they were reacting to me. Apparently, our floor plans are staggered, and their bedroom sits directly beneath my living room. Since that lightbulb moment, I’ve been much more mindful. I now carefully remove my shoes and set my gear down gently on the sofa to keep the peace.
Still, even though the neighbor has never actually come up to talk to me about it, I find the whole situation hilarious. I can’t help but picture them lying in bed, clutching a broomstick like a weapon, just waiting for the slightest pin-drop so they can spring into action and start stabbing at their ceiling.
Driveway Drama
My current neighbor is convinced we should tear out our entire driveway because she's unhappy with the natural slant that allows water to roll downhill. It’s a ridiculous demand. The driveway was installed by professionals twenty-five years ago and is fully up to code. Nevertheless, she threatened to sue us because her property happens to sit at the bottom of the incline.
Last year in Georgia, we experienced an incredible amount of rainfall—far beyond the seasonal average. Predictably, she ended up with about three inches of standing water in her yard. She claimed she had consulted a lawyer who told her she had a "solid case," and she even tried to use our neighbor across the street—who happens to be a builder—to corroborate her claims and intimidate us.
When her legal threats failed to move us, she decided to take matters into her own hands and installed a fence along the property line. I think she intended for it to be a slight or some form of aggressive "punishment," but honestly, it was the best thing she could have done. As the saying goes, "good fences make for good neighbors." Since that barrier went up, she hasn't bothered us once, and we’ve actually managed to remain quite civil with one another.
Things Got Heated
Just three days ago, a terrifying incident occurred when my neighbor's dog mauled mine right in the middle of the street. My dog was properly leashed, but theirs was roaming free and came charging at us without provocation. The attacking dog looked to be a 60-pound Pitbull mix, and since I had no idea if it was vaccinated or diseased, I wasn't willing to risk a life-altering bite to myself or my pet. I drew my weapon and fired a single shot to stop the attack; the dog immediately bolted and ran off.
The gunshot woke the entire neighborhood, and the owner came outside screaming at me—apparently convinced that letting my dog or myself be torn apart was the more "reasonable" option. Three police officers arrived on the scene, turning the whole thing into a massive neighborhood spectacle. As a result, I’ve been cited for discharging a weapon within city limits and have a court date pending. Honestly, I’m actually looking forward to my day in court to lay out exactly what happened.
Sounds Spooky
For two decades, I've lived just two houses away from a family that has remained completely invisible. It’s not just me, either; in twenty years, not a single person on our block has actually laid eyes on them. We know they exist, but they’ve engineered their lives to ensure they are never seen.
The house functions like clockwork: the garage light turns on at dusk and shuts off at dawn. Their daily departures and arrivals are handled with military precision. They enter the garage, close the door, and only then exit the vehicle. When leaving, they remain inside the car with the doors locked, opening the garage door only when they are ready to pull away immediately. To make them even more elusive, their car windows are finished with a dark tint that makes it impossible to see the driver.
They never answer the door, and every Halloween, a "No Candy" sign appears to ward off visitors. They don’t even have a mailbox at the curb; all correspondence has to be slid through a slot in the front door. Even the property maintenance is handled by hired crews, so they never have to step outside to mow the lawn. After twenty years of this level of secrecy, the neighborhood consensus is leaning toward one of two things: they're either in witness protection or they’re serial killers.
Making Themselves At Home
In a neighborhood where million-dollar riverfront estates and a prestigious country club are just a few doors down, you wouldn't expect to see a property in total disarray. Yet, these neighbors seemed determined to lower the property value for everyone. They completely ignored basic upkeep, never mowing their lawn or shoveling snow, and had essentially turned their backyard and the adjacent alley into a private landfill for old mattresses and piles of garbage.
Their social habits were just as disruptive. They frequently hosted "meetups" in the front yard, which involved guests parking their cars across the sidewalk and lighting bonfires. The situation turned from a nuisance to a security concern last summer when I caught one of them rummaging through my shed at 2:00 AM. Living just a block away from luxury homes didn't stop them from treating the neighborhood like their own personal junkyard and scouting grounds.
That's Not Cool
While watching Doctor Who around 5:00 PM, my sister and I were startled by a series of horrific, high-pitched yelps coming from the house next door. We rushed outside and peered through the brush to investigate the source of the noise. What we saw was stomach-turning: our neighbors had hung their pet dog by its hind legs, supposedly as a form of "training."
Horrified, we immediately called 911 to report the abuse. When the police arrived, they discovered that this wasn't an isolated incident; the neighbors had a history of animal mistreatment. However, it wasn't until we caught them in the act and alerted the authorities that they were finally taken into custody.
Very Florida
When we relocated to Florida, we found ourselves living next to the most dysfunctional people I have ever encountered. The list of their antics is endless, but the highlights are truly disturbing: they threatened to poison our family dog, constantly hurled debris into our yard to bait us into a confrontation, and even mounted two webcams in their window aimed directly at our house.
The situation reached a bizarre peak one afternoon while I was thirteen. I was swimming in our pool when a shoe flew over the fence and splashed into the water. Naturally, I just picked it up and tossed it back over the fence. I was stunned when the police showed up a short time later. My neighbors had concocted a complete fabrication, claiming that I had intentionally beaned their grandmother in the head with the shoe while she was innocently watering her plants. It was a serious accusation that nearly landed me in major legal trouble.
To this day, the motive for their hostility remains a mystery. We were perfectly friendly toward them right up until they launched their campaign of harassment; we never did a single thing to provoke such toxic behavior.
Classic Crabapple
After over a decade of being a constant "crabapple," my mother's neighbor finally crossed the line. Instead of just talking to my mom, she called the city to report our dividing fence, hoping to force my mom into paying for repairs. The fence did need some minor work, and my mom was actually already in the process of gathering quotes—she would have handled it immediately if the neighbor had just been civil.
When the city contacted my mother about the maintenance violation, she asked a very specific question: "Am I legally required to have a fence at all?" The city official could clearly sense the direction this was headed and confirmed that while rules exist for maintaining a fence, there is no law requiring one.
In a brilliant move of malicious compliance, my mom hired a contractor to tear the entire fence down and haul it away. A few days later, the neighbor approached her to ask when the "new" fence would be installed. My mom’s response was perfect: "If you want a fence so badly, build it yourself!"
A couple of weeks later, a beautiful new fence appeared—entirely paid for and installed by the neighbor. It was a bit petty, but seeing the neighbor foot the bill for the very thing she tried to force my mom to pay for was absolutely hilarious.
Chaos Unleashed
I could go on forever about my current neighbor; she is a case study in entitlement. On one occasion, she decided she personally disliked the bush growing next to my mailbox, so she simply took it upon herself to tear it out of the ground.
Her behavior as a pet owner is even worse. She has four dogs, yet not one of them is ever on a leash. They treat the entire neighborhood as their personal bathroom, and she never bothers to clean up after them. She even lets them roam freely in the street; when drivers are forced to slam on their brakes to avoid a collision, she has the nerve to give them dirty looks, as if they are the ones inconveniencing her.
The situation has become a major problem for me since I brought home a new puppy. I'm a responsible owner, so I keep him on a leash in our front yard, but her pack will frequently charge at him. It terrifies my dog, sending him scrambling up the porch steps to get back inside. When I finally confronted her and asked her to keep her dogs on a leash so they would stay out of my yard, her excuses were pathetic: "They don’t like being on a leash," and “Your dog just needs to get used to other dogs.”
It’s infuriating—her "logic" is basically that everyone else should have to accommodate her poor training and lack of basic courtesy.
Every Neighborhood Has A Karen
When I was about ten years old, my neighbor developed a bizarre obsession with my mail. She would actually lurk nearby and watch me open our mailbox just to see if my latest GameStop magazine had been delivered.
Every time she caught me, she would threaten to call the authorities, claiming it was a federal crime for a child to check their parents' mail. She was so convincing and intense about it that I actually lived in fear of being arrested for checking the mail until I was fifteen years old.
An Innovative Solution
Growing up, we lived next to a family that was truly the bottom of the barrel. They were loud, obnoxious, and seemingly incapable of basic decency—constantly blasting music and treating our lawn like their personal trash can. To make matters worse, they owned a Great Dane that frequently charged onto our property to leave massive messes, sometimes right on our front porch. Whenever my dad tried to talk to them about it, they simply shrugged and claimed there was "nothing they could do."
Fed up with the excuses, my dad took a more "proactive" approach: he started using a shovel to catapult the dog's waste back over the property line. However, the ultimate karma came courtesy of their kids, who were just as unpleasant as their parents.
One summer afternoon, the kids were playing in a large inflatable pool they had positioned on a slope in their yard. My siblings and I were watching them from a distance when, suddenly, the inevitable happened: the pool lost its footing and tipped over. The entire volume of water, along with the kids, went sliding down the muddy hill. They finally came to a stop at the bottom, completely drenched and covered from head to toe in the very "presents" their Great Dane had been leaving all year. It was, without a doubt, the best day of my childhood.
Garbage Watching Garbage
A retired woman on our street has developed a bizarre, self-appointed mission: she follows the garbage truck on its route and immediately drags everyone's empty cans off the street because she considers them an "eyesore." While that might sound helpful in theory, her execution is a nightmare. She leaves the bins right in the middle of our driveways, creating a massive logistical headache for those of us returning from work.
Our street has a strict "no stopping" policy during rush hour, so when we get home, we have two bad options: park a block away, walk back to move the bin, and then go retrieve the car, or risk a heavy fine by stopping in the road for a few seconds.
Because our houses are positioned so closely together, we didn't even realize she was the one behind it until we actually hit our own garbage can. She had tucked it just far enough back in the driveway that it was impossible to see from the street, and we only discovered her "community service" when we turned in and felt the crunch.
Life Finds A Way
My grandmother's neighbor was a piece of work. For years, he refused to chip in for repairs on the aging fence that divided their lots, stubbornly insisting that the structure sat entirely on her land and was therefore her problem. While annoying, she accepted it as his right to be difficult.
However, after my grandmother suffered a fall and was hospitalized for several weeks, she returned home to a shocking sight. Not only had the neighbor finally built a new fence, but he had positioned it five feet deep into her property. To top it off, he sent her a bill for the construction, claiming he had discovered the "true" boundary line and that the original fence had actually been on his side.
Refusing to be bullied, my grandmother hired a professional surveyor. The results were exactly what we suspected: the neighbor had blatantly stolen a five-foot strip of her yard. By this point, she was frail and lacked the energy for a prolonged legal battle, but she wasn't about to let him win. She devised a plan for a slow, organic "invasion."
She planted blackberry bushes along the new fence line. Within two years, the entire structure was swallowed by thorny vines. Every season, she would walk the perimeter and casually toss handfuls of seeds over the fence into the five-foot "no man's land," reclaiming her soil one berry at a time.
It has been several years since my grandmother passed away, but her "revenge" is more alive than ever. The blackberries have completely overtaken that section of the yard, acting as a permanent, prickly ghost haunting her neighbor. He spends his weekends fruitlessly ripping up the vines on his side, but because the roots are firmly established on her property, they simply reseed and roar back every spring. It’s her final, living victory.
Buried Ties Tell No Tales
Growing up, my family lived next to a man who suffered a loss in his family. On the day of the funeral, he came to our door in a pinch and asked my father if he could borrow a tie. Feeling a sense of neighborly duty and wanting to help the man during a difficult time, my dad handed over a high-quality, black silk tie—the perfect choice for a somber occasion.
Later that day, we attended the funeral to pay our respects. As we scanned the room, we noticed the neighbor wasn't actually wearing the tie he had borrowed. The mystery was solved when we approached the casket: there was the deceased, dressed for eternity in my father's favorite black silk tie.
Not wanting to create a scene or be disrespectful during a wake, we all stayed silent. As a result, the tie was buried along with the neighbor's relative, never to be seen again. It was certainly a generous gift from my father—even if it wasn't exactly the one he intended to give.
You Never Truly Know Your Neighbors
I lived directly behind the notorious Bob Berdella in Kansas City for five years. Because he was the head of our neighborhood watch, I spoke with him daily and found him perfectly pleasant. I had no idea that while we were discussing local safety, he was living a horrific secret life, kidnapping and murdering young men.
The day his crimes finally came to light, it was because one of his victims managed a desperate escape, running down the street wearing nothing but a dog collar. Since I had been listening to tapes and CDs in my car all day, I hadn't heard the news on the radio. When I drove home that evening, I was stunned to find the neighborhood swarming with police and investigators. Like so many others caught in the orbit of a monster, I found myself saying the cliché: "But he was such a quiet, nice guy..."
The investigation was massive. They brought in excavators and backhoes to tear up his yard looking for remains, and in the process, they even tore down my fence. Berdella was eventually sentenced to life in prison, where he later died. His house was sold and eventually demolished, but the details that emerged were chilling. He had actually run a stall at a local flea market where he displayed four skulls in the window with a sign that read "Final Four." We later learned that one of those was a human skull belonging to one of his victims.
A Disgusting Lesson
My great-grandfather was among the last in his town to transition to indoor plumbing, which meant he still relied on an outhouse in his backyard. For years, the local kids made it a Halloween tradition to sneak onto his property and knock the building over, leaving the cesspit exposed. Eventually, he reached his breaking point and decided to put an end to it.
The night before Halloween, he came up with a clever trap: he moved the outhouse forward a few feet, leaving the open pit exactly where the building used to stand. He then carefully covered the hole with burlap and camouflaged it with a layer of leaves and grass clippings. In the dark, the ground looked perfectly solid.
On Halloween night, he sat quietly inside the outhouse and waited. Not long after sundown, he heard the unmistakable, heavy "splat" of a few kids falling directly into the muck. He stepped outside, lowered a ladder into the pit, and offered them a deal: he would help them out, but only if they promised to never touch his outhouse again.
The kids, thoroughly humiliated and covered in filth, honored their promise. They even spread the word throughout the neighborhood that the outhouse was officially off-limits. From that night on, my great-grandfather never had to worry about his outhouse being toppled again.
Use Pennies Next Time
During my college years, I had a neighbor in her fifties who developed a bizarre habit: she would knock on my door at least once a week to ask me for money. It was incredibly awkward, especially since she was employed and I was a visibly broke student just trying to get through my degree. I repeatedly told her I had nothing to spare, but she simply wouldn't take the hint.
One day, I finally reached my breaking point. When she showed up for her weekly "collection," I changed my tune and said, "Yeah, actually, I have some money for you this time."
I asked her to hold out both of her hands, and then I proceeded to dump about two dollars worth of loose nickels from my change jar into her palms. I guess the sheer awkwardness of standing there holding a handful of heavy pocket change from a struggling student finally clicked for her. Surprisingly, she never bothered me for a "loan" again.
99 Problems
In college, I lived on the top floor of a notoriously sketchy house—the only place willing to let seven of us rent together. The red flags started almost immediately; during our first week, a SWAT team conducted a full-scale raid on one of the lower units, complete with kicked-in doors and flashbang grenades. Another unit in the building constantly reeked of urine and saw a revolving door of people coming and going to purchase illicit substances.
Security was practically non-existent. Our keys barely fit into the locks because they had been mangled by so many previous break-in attempts. Then there was the utility situation: when our cable and internet suddenly died, we called a technician out to investigate. He led us to the junction box outside and pointed out nine separate lines that neighbors had spliced into ours to steal our connection.
I could go on forever about the chaos of that place, but it did have one bizarre "perk": we could launch bottle rockets down our own hallway without a second thought. It wasn't like anyone in that building was ever going to risk calling the authorities on us.
Origin Story
My father was casually chatting with our neighbor about his plans to repaint our home. As a joke, he remarked, "Well, I might as well paint the old house blue." The neighbor's reaction was immediate and strangely aggressive. He became visibly angry, snapping, “You can't do that! A blue house? How stupid and annoying! Don't be dumb.”
The neighbor’s attempt to dictate my father's choices had the opposite effect. My dad, never one to be told what to do by a "crabapple," decided right then and there to make the joke a reality. And that is exactly how I ended up growing up in a bright blue house.
Ding Dong Ditch
For about a month, someone was "doorbell ditching" our house, and we were completely baffled as to who it was. We eventually discovered it was our neighbor—a retired police officer in his fifties. Apparently, he was furious because our dog's barking was disturbing his peace, but rather than just talking to us like an adult, he decided to launch a month-long campaign of pranks. Since he never actually communicated the issue, I didn't feel particularly guilty, but my wife and I were determined to catch the culprit in the act before we moved out.
The opportunity finally came on one of our very last days at the house. The doorbell rang, and my wife and I locked eyes. Without saying a single word, we launched a perfectly synchronized pincer movement: I sprinted out the front door while she doubled back through the rear exit to cut off the escape route. I was honestly impressed by how we instinctively knew how to trap him without a verbal plan.
I caught up to him quickly—a shirtless, very intoxicated middle-aged man who immediately threw his hands up in surrender and muttered, "Okay, you got me." When I demanded to know what on earth he was doing, he finally confessed, through his drunken state, that the dog’s barking had been driving him crazy. He ended up apologizing, admitting that he should have just had a conversation with us from the start instead of playing games.
A Possible Threat
I rented a house with a basement suite that was originally intended for a single occupant, but a mother and her two adult sons crammed themselves into the one-bedroom unit regardless. Their presence was a constant disruption; they were perpetually fighting, and their habit of burning food sent a foul stench rising into our living space.
However, the real nightmare was the mother's dog—an incredibly high-strung, yappy creature that never seemed to stop barking. One afternoon, my five-year-old son, who had apparently picked up some random trivia from a TV show, innocently told the woman that he’d heard "yappy dogs have short lives."
She took it as a personal threat rather than the musings of a kindergartner and was deeply offended. From that second on, she gave us the silent treatment, which was honestly a bit of a relief. Not long after that "curse," the whole family finally moved out, and we regained our peace and quiet.
Bouncing A New Idea
While visiting my aunt outside of Phoenix, Arizona, I discovered that the common brick wall separating her yard from the neighbors wasn't providing much protection. Her neighbors had several children who had turned "throwing things over the wall" into a daily hobby.
It wasn't just harmless debris like twigs or pebbles; they were hurling rocks, broken toys, garbage, and even knives into her yard. It was so dangerous that my aunt had to move her kids' trampoline to the far side of the property just to avoid the incoming projectiles. My aunt had already tried the civil approach by speaking with the parents, but the behavior hadn't changed at all.
Deciding to escalate things, I went online that night and filed a formal report with the local authorities, citing the specific address. The impact was almost immediate. A couple of days later, the neighbors left a long, apologetic note at my aunt’s front door promising it would never happen again. True to their word, the "airborne garbage" stopped immediately.
Role Reversal
I had a downstairs neighbor who acted as if he were the only person in the building, completely ignoring the fact that our walls and floors had zero sound insulation. He blasted music all day and well into the night for months, and despite numerous complaints, the landlord hadn't lifted a finger. One afternoon, however, he apparently discovered a profound obsession with Gnarls Barkley's "Crazy."
He decided the most appropriate way to enjoy the track was to loop it half a dozen times in a single hour. That was my breaking point. Since I worked as a karaoke jockey and had all my professional gear on hand, I decided to give him a definitive lesson in volume. I rigged my speakers to my console, but I didn't play the original hit. Instead, I went hunting for the absolute worst "karaoke cover" of that song I could find.
I eventually settled on a version recorded by a man who was spectacularly, painfully off-key. I laid my speakers face-down on the floor to ensure the sound would penetrate directly into his living space and cranked the volume to the max. I played that horrific cover three times in a row, ensuring he felt the full brunt of his own lack of respect.
The results were instantaneous. Not only did he never play "Crazy" again, but his overall volume levels became much more conservative. He moved out that summer, and I never had to hear his music—or that song—ever again.
That Escalated Fast
After a full year of being a quiet and respectful neighbor, the guy living above me chose the worst possible time to change his personality: finals week of my senior year. He started cranking his music so loud that the bass was literally rattling my windows. I tried the civil approach and knocked on his door twice to ask for a bit of quiet, but both times, he waited just a few minutes before turning it up even louder than before.
By the third time, I realized talking wasn't going to work. I called the authorities, and they arrived to issue him a formal citation. I thought that would be the end of it, but as soon as the officers left, things took a dark and dangerous turn. He rounded up three or four of his friends and they started trying to kick my apartment door down.
The situation only de-escalated when I was forced to point my pistol at them through the window. Seeing that I was armed and prepared to defend my home was the only thing that made them back off and leave. Between the stress of finals and a near-home invasion, I have never been so happy to graduate and leave a place behind.
A True Legal Eagle
When I was very young, our neighbor became obsessed with our septic tank. He was an absolute jerk about it, constantly hounding my parents and demanding we move it because he was convinced it was partially on his property. My dad is a naturally laid-back guy, but after months of being harassed, he finally hit his limit.
He decided to settle the matter once and for all by having a professional property survey done. The results were a complete "checkmate." Not only was our septic tank safely within our own property lines, but the survey revealed a much bigger problem for the neighbor: the corner of his house and a significant portion of his driveway were actually built on our land.
My dad didn't miss a beat. For the next few months, every time he saw the guy, he would casually ask him exactly when he planned on moving his house off our property. The neighbor's demands about the septic tank vanished instantly, replaced by the terrifying realization that he was the one in major legal trouble.
Earning That Burger
Growing up, our neighbor had an incredibly annoying son whose friends treated our yard like a public park, constantly running through and breaking our things. Since talking to the parents didn't help, we decided to let our dog, Molly, handle the "security."
I started a specific routine: every time Molly needed to go, I'd put her on a leash and walk her right up to the edge of the property line. I made sure she dropped her "landmines" just inside our boundary. Since the mess was technically on our land, the neighbors didn't have a leg to stand on if they wanted to complain.
The payoff happened during the kid’s birthday party. His parents sent a group of bratty friends outside to play, and, as expected, they immediately charged into our yard. I watched from the window as three or four of them stepped directly into Molly’s hidden traps. The chaos that followed was glorious. After that day, they never set foot on our property again. Molly was the hero of the hour—she got plenty of belly rubs and a celebratory hamburger that night.
Unforeseen Results
The drama started at 1:00 AM when the eldest son, clearly under the influence of something, got into a massive, explosive fight with his mother right on their front lawn. The neighbors had no idea that he was also wanted for multiple federal offenses, making the situation much higher stakes than a standard domestic dispute.
When the officers arrived, they mistakenly swarmed your house instead. My very irritated father was woken up by the sounds of the police banging on our door in the middle of the night. He had to step outside to set them straight and point them toward the actual crime scene two doors down. Once they had the right house, the son was apprehended, ending his streak of federal evasion right there on the grass.
Brought It On Herself
I heard a loud banging one evening and found a woman on her phone with a fire extinguisher lying on the floor. After I put the extinguisher back and returned inside, the noise started again. I opened the door to find her using the fire extinguisher to beat on the door of the apartment across from mine.
She was the ex-girlfriend of a friend of my neighbor and was convinced he was inside the unit. I called the authorities to report the disturbance. My neighbor later informed me that she was charged with driving while intoxicated that same night following an unrelated incident.
Take The Power Back
My upstairs neighbor was frequently disruptive at 2 AM, blasting music and pacing heavily. Despite multiple conversations, he dismissed our concerns, eventually buying us earplugs and telling us to "deal with it."
Because the building's breaker box was located inside our unit, we worked with his roommates—who were also frustrated by his behavior—to identify the specific breaker for his room. Whenever he became disruptive late at night, we would cut the power to his area. He never suspected us and attributed the outages to general electrical issues. Our landlord, who was already aware of the neighbor's behavior, agreed not to investigate the guy's complaints about the power. Following an aggressive confrontation with one of his roommates, the neighbor was evicted at the end of his lease.
That Seems Illegal
Growing up, my next-door neighbor was bipolar-schizophrenic and frequently engaged in invasive behavior, such as repainting our front door purple while we were away on vacation. After his wife left him, he parked his car directly under our balcony, doused it in gasoline, and set it on fire.
The fire department arrived quickly to extinguish the flames, but a subsequent discovery revealed a much more disturbing detail: the neighbor had installed a deadbolt lock on our fire escape prior to starting the fire.
Now That's A Mailbox
My old boss dealt with a recurring issue where intoxicated drivers would hit and destroy his mother's mailbox. Tired of the constant repairs, he instructed me to reinforce it so that it would stop any vehicle that struck it. I installed a six-foot-long steel post, leaving less than three feet above the ground, and anchored it deeply in concrete before mounting the mailbox.
The next time an intoxicated driver hit the mailbox, the reinforced post stopped the vehicle immediately, preventing the driver from continuing down the street and damaging any other mailboxes.
An Uneven Trade
I started mowing our lawn when I was 11 or 12 using a push mower. Our next-door neighbor eventually offered to let me use his riding lawn mower whenever I wanted, provided I returned it with a full tank of gas. My father then instructed me to mow that neighbor's lawn as well in exchange for the favor.
Shortly after, my father decided that I should also mow the lawn of the neighbor on the other side of us to avoid showing partiality and to ensure the grass heights across the three properties remained even. Consequently, I spent every Saturday mowing three different lawns totaling over four acres. This arrangement continued for a couple of years until a new neighbor moved into the third house and chose to maintain his own yard.
Is This Even Revenge?
There was a fit man in his mid-50s who frequently rode through the neighborhood on a bicycle while wearing 1990s-style wind suits and playing a boombox.
Initially, his setup consisted of small speakers bungee-corded to the bike's rear rack, but he eventually upgraded to a custom, encapsulated audio system featuring integrated lighting. He spent hours riding or sitting in place while listening to Motown and early hip hop.
At Least It's A Happy Ending
After seven years of being a peaceful neighbor, a local man remarried, and his new wife's adult daughter moved in. While she was relatively quiet, a series of disturbing events began shortly after. We found our one-year-old cat dead in their garden; at the time, we were unsure of the cause and assumed it was a natural occurrence.
Two months later, our new kitten returned home after being shot with a bullet. Our gardener reported seeing the neighbor firing a pistol at pigeons just minutes before the cat was wounded. Following surgery, the cat survived and recovered fully. We have had no contact with those neighbors since the incident.
Litter On The Litterers
Whenever my parents went out of town, the neighbors would host loud parties that left the street and our lawn covered in litter. Because our property was located near a public bus stop, we began receiving complaints about the mess.
Late one Sunday night, I put on gloves and collected the debris. I then moved into the neighbors' yard and scattered the trash around their pool, garage, and back door to ensure the parents would see the evidence when they returned home. The parties stopped after that.
A Big Fat Nope
Approximately 15 years ago in Fort Wayne, Indiana, my family befriended a neighbor and her two children. During a visit, I noticed the son had significant bruising and a large knot on his head, though I didn't think much of it at the moment. That night, the mother came to our house and confessed to my mother that she had killed the boy, providing graphic details with no apparent remorse.
As soon as the woman returned to her home, my mother contacted the authorities, and the neighbor was arrested shortly thereafter. During the process, the woman threatened to kill my mother once she was released from custody. In response to the confession and the threat, my family relocated to a different state.
Things You Can't Unsee
I lived next to a man who acted as the self-appointed "mayor" of the block, constantly critiquing my lawn maintenance and recycling habits. He even provided me with a four-page typed guide on the proper timing for crabgrass prevention.
One evening, while he was lecturing me about landscaping on my deck, my 13-year-old niece stepped out from the outdoor shower area in a robe and hung her swimsuit over the fence to dry. I ended the conversation, sent her inside, and closed the sliding door. Realizing I had left the hose running, I stepped back out and noticed her swimsuit had fallen off the fence. When I looked over the edge of the deck, I saw the neighbor on his hands and knees in my grass, sniffing the crotch of the swimsuit. I confronted him and informed him that he was coming with me to the police station.
Over The Line
I lived in an apartment complex with assigned parking, and the owner of a white Honda Civic consistently parked over the line into my spot. In response, I began parking progressively closer to her vehicle each day, eventually mastering the ability to leave only a tiny gap without making contact.
One morning, as I walked to my car for work, I found her cursing while climbing through her passenger-side door to reach the driver's seat. She made eye contact with me while scrambling over the center console, then started her car and drove off. Since that encounter, she has parked correctly within the lines of her own spot.
Read The Signs
I moved into a duplex with a shared driveway where parking was coordinated among all residents except for one neighbor. Two days after we arrived, she left a note demanding I stop parking near her home, claiming it was "in front of her door" despite being 15 feet away and the only available non-blocking spot. After I replied with a note of my own, she arrived at my door at 11 PM to scream insults and demand I remove my car.
When the landlord confirmed I was parking correctly and told us to ignore her, she began barricading the spot with her trash can, a birdcage pedestal, and a bench. I had to move these daily, which became difficult after I broke my elbow. Eventually, she began coating the items in Vaseline to discourage me from touching them. I started using my foot to push the items back toward her house without damaging them.
She contacted the sheriff's department and falsely reported that I was smashing and vandalizing her property. The responding officer initially mistook me for a "teenage girlfriend" and lectured me aggressively on local standards of respect. After fifteen minutes, we were able to explain the situation and clarify that I was the leaseholder. Upon realizing he had been misled, the officer's demeanor changed; he advised us to call the police rather than moving her barricades ourselves to avoid further false allegations.
The landlord sent her a formal warning, which prompted another insulting note from her. We reported the note to law enforcement and the landlord, resulting in another police visit and a final warning from the property owner.
Fight Fire With Fire
While living with his mother and sister, my boyfriend kept his bedroom curtains open to let in light, even while dressing. Because of the window's height, only his upper half was visible to anyone looking in. A neighbor confronted his mother, claiming he was a "disgrace" and accusing him of exposing himself to her daughter. My mother-in-law informed the neighbor that he was entitled to privacy in his own room and suggested they simply stop looking into his window.
A few days later, the authorities arrived at the neighbor's house. It was revealed that the neighbor had been filming and photographing my boyfriend to build a case for the housing office to evict the family. Instead, the housing office reported her to the authorities for voyeurism and illegal recording. The neighbor and her family were subsequently evicted from the estate.
RIP, Yard
In our first house, our neighbor disliked us because we had purchased the home from his family friends following their divorce. He frequently harassed my wife by parking across our driveway, throwing wood over the fence, and leaving his dog's waste on our lawn. After he dismissed my attempts to resolve the issues verbally, I decided to retaliate.
Knowing he was very proud of his lawn, I waited for a rainy day and threw a box of bouillon cubes into his backyard. As the rain dissolved the cubes into the soil, his dog began digging aggressively to find the source of the scent, eventually destroying the yard. I made a point to comment on the state of his lawn whenever possible until we moved shortly thereafter.
Props To The Old Lady
A friend of mine spent years looking after an elderly neighbor who appeared to have no family. He visited her daily, assisting her while she lived with her three heavily pampered cats. When she eventually passed away peacefully in her sleep, my friend discovered he had been named in her will.
At the reading of the will, he met three women in their 20s who were revealed to be the woman's estranged daughters. It turned out she had moved across the country years prior and cut off all contact with them.
The woman left my friend 19 million dollars. She entrusted her cats to a lifelong friend from her home state and donated her physical belongings to the Salvation Army. Her daughters were each left a single used litter box and its contents, along with a 20-dollar bill, which the will stated was to give them a "last taste of all she was to them."
It Was A Different Time
I grew up in a rough neighborhood during the 1980s where we were allowed to ride our bikes as long as we stayed away from the "lower part" of the street, which was known for dangerous activity. Eventually, my family moved to a safer area, but I continued to see our old neighborhood in the news for various incidents.
Years later, a news report stated that a woman in that neighborhood had been found deceased in her home, having been there for a month. When authorities investigated, they found a large concrete slab in the backyard. A neighbor reported that the woman would frequently sit by the slab and talk to it at night.
Investigation revealed that the woman's husband was buried beneath the concrete. Because they were not legally married, she had hidden his death to continue collecting his monthly Social Security checks, claiming to others that he had moved to live with out-of-state relatives. We had frequently ridden our bikes past that house while he was buried in the yard.
That Took A Turn
When I was 14, I spent time with a neighboring family that had about 10 children, often riding snowmobiles with the younger sons. One morning, while waiting for them at their kitchen table, I heard moaning coming from upstairs. When I asked about the noise, the youngest son told his mother to show me something.
The mother took a piece of toilet paper from the refrigerator and unrolled it on the table. Inside was a small leg with a formed toenail. She explained that one of her daughters had undergone a pregnancy termination earlier that week but continued to feel unwell; the remains had allegedly passed while she was using the bathroom at home.
I immediately left and went home, eventually telling my parents a few days later. In our small town, rumors suggested that the daughter had been impregnated by one of her older brothers. The mother appeared to be keeping the remains as a point of conversation rather than for medical or legal reasons.
When Fate Smiles On You
My cousin parked her car on the street near my house, only for my neighbor to come outside and yell that it was her specific spot.
Rather than engage in an argument, my cousin simply moved her vehicle. A few hours later, a neighborhood child accidentally rode a bicycle into my neighbor's car while it was parked in that exact location.
HOAs Are The Worst
In 2019, I purchased a home from my uncle in a neighborhood with an HOA. My uncle had never joined the association, meaning the property was not subject to its rules—a fact he warned me the HOA president would likely challenge. Shortly after moving in, the president visited under the guise of a welcome gift and tried to trick me into signing HOA membership papers. When I refused, her demeanor shifted, and she falsely claimed membership was mandatory.
Tensions persisted as neighbors aligned with the HOA treated me as an outsider. In early 2020, anticipating supply shortages, I stocked up on toilet paper, sanitizer, and disinfectant via online orders. As these items vanished from store shelves, I shared my supply with friends and family. However, when neighbors who had previously shunned me began demanding handouts or offering to buy my stock, I refused. The HOA president eventually came to my door, demanding I "set an example" by distributing my supplies. I told her to leave.
While I was at work a few days later, my security cameras alerted me to a break-in. A woman in a mask and spandex was forcing entry through my back door with a crowbar. I called the authorities and rushed home to find the HOA president being led away in handcuffs. She had been throwing my supplies into the backyard for her children to bag and carry away.
She was sentenced to six months in jail. During this time, her husband reached out to apologize and revealed he was filing for divorce and seeking full custody of their children, citing her history of legal issues and her use of the children in the burglary. He eventually won custody and we became friendly, even working together to repair the door his ex-wife had destroyed. Recently, I spotted the former HOA president working as a grocery bagger in another city; she recognized me and refused to make eye contact.
Go Away, Greg
After making small talk once in our elevator, my neighbor, Greg, became fixated on me. He eventually chased me down the street to ask where I was going and tried to invite himself along for coffee. Despite my efforts to remain distant, he managed to get my phone number from the building's doorman by falsely claiming I had authorized it.
When the constant texting became too much, I finally messaged him to clarify that I am in a long-term relationship and 15 weeks pregnant, and that I would be moving into a house with my partner in October. Greg responded by accusing me of "making things up" to avoid him and claimed he never wanted to sleep with me anyway.
Since that exchange, other residents have informed me that Greg is spreading rumors throughout the building, telling people that I am lying about my pregnancy and relationship status because I am "bitter" about not dating him. While my other neighbors recognize his behavior for what it is, the situation has made common areas of the building incredibly uncomfortable.
Dan Gray
