I was living in a little apartment in a complex with maybe 9 other apartments. I got to know and trust almost all of my neighbors, and we kinda rallied around the fact that were all stuck in a crappy building with a property manager who was a bitch who we later found out was pocketing the money the owner gave her for repairs that were never done.
Anyway, it was actually a nice place to live, because of the neighbors. I would kick back with my door open on warm days, left some of my things outside on my front step (barbecue, bike, etc). So, this goes on for about 7 months, and finally the family next door to me on my right moved out (this was not a bad thing - some of the few people I never got to know, and they lived maybe 8 people in a 1 bedroom apartment, and were constantly screaming at each other. I think it was a chick and her 4 or so kids and here various boyfriends and layabouts living there. I hated them, but hey, they moved.
This is where it gets good.
So the guy who moves in after them - this HUGE guy named Vincent who looks like he used to pop roids, but then got remarkably fat. I never speak to the guy for the first month or so he lives there. Suddenly, one day he comes to my apartment at about 11 at night, and starts WAILING on my door and flat out screaming "GET OUT HERE!!! HEY!!!" So, I answer the door and the guy is beet red, covered in sweat, and his face is about 4 inches from mine. He points this pudgy finger at me and growls, "I don't like you!".
Now, I'm like, "What? Excuse me?"
He then goes on to explain to me (with varying amounts of violent gestures, spitting, and yelling) that I have friends coming in at 3 in the morning, yelling and cussing, and that we blast music including "Gangster rap shit" and other sorts of things I've never so much as considered listening to. I tried to explain him the truth - I hadn't had much of anyone over for weeks (nobody lived in the area!) and when I did, I knew for a fact that they were quiet as hell outside (if they said so much as a word or made a peep) and that, to the best of my knowledge, I didn't even own a stereo, and didn't have much by way of CDs, and when my friends DID come over we abruptly left because my apartment was boring as hell. Also, I kicked them out by midnight because I was in school and needed to sleep. his response to this was "Don't fucking call me a liar, son - I'll tear you in half" or something to that effect.
Eventually, by some miracle, I calmed him down, and he proceed to lean against his car not far from my place and ask me if I was from New York. I said no. He then asked me "You a boxer? You look like a boxer." I was in better shape back then, but I didn't look like a boxer. The night ended with him concluding that I was an "Okay guy" and that the world needed more people like me - nice, respectful young me.
I returned to the safety of my apartment and had a frikkin heart attack. I almost cried. I honestly believed that that man was going to kill me.
But hey, he likes me now, right?
Wrong.
A couple days later, I'm headed to school and I see him washing his car, and I give a friendly and respectful "How are you doing, sir?" He says, with what I can only describe as contempt as he pointed at me accusingly - "Don't talk to me - I don't like you"
Alriiiight.
So for the month, I'm extremely careful to not make a peep walking past his apartment - and if he was outside, I simply didn't go home. A friend of mine coming over encountered him, and he asked him if he knew me. He asked my friend "You from New York? You look like a boxer" as well, before offering a friendly boxing match. The conversation ended with Vince telling him that "Tony's a good kid - I like him" Eventually, I had another encounter with him not unlike my first. This time, he explained to me in no uncertain terms that I am not enter his apartment anymore, or he will kill me. I call the cops, this time. I'm not certain exactly what they did, but one officer I spoke to told me that if I have to defend myself, to do it in my apartment to keep myself from getting in trouble. He said if I kill an intruder, it's no big. Wow.
So, I talk to two of my neighbors about him. He hasn't been hassling anyone else, it seems, but he HAS been talking about ME.
This is where it gets EPIC.
According to Vincent, apparently, I'm an FBI agent - planted in my apartment specifically to spy on him. Even though I'd lived there for more than half a year before he showed up. I sneak into his apartment when he's gone and steal his things, he has apparently seen me wearing his clothes (the man weighed maybe double what I did, mind you) and the real reason he hated me? Oh, you know, I'd molested his children. All of them. Possibly at the same time.
Guess what? To my knowledge and the knowledge of my two neighbors, the man had no children. I was an FBI spy from the future who was molesting his children who didn't exist. Man, I'm an asshole.
My neighbors also corroborated my claims that he would start his car (that I swear never left his parking space) at about 5 in the morning, rev the engine loudly for literally maybe 30 minutes, before turning it off and leaving it alone. He never went anywhere.
So, after a couple months of locking the hell out of my door and living in fear, I move. He set up a video camera poking through the slats of his blinds, that followed me and my family and friends as we walked back and forth with boxes. He set an empty three liter bottle of mountain dew outside of his door, right in the middle of the path. Two minutes later, it was gone. At one point, he walked out side, poured a little milk out of a glass (not all of it, mind you - just a splash) and went back inside. Later, he simply stood in his doorway, arms crossed, watching us.
Frikkin scariest neighor ever.
