My bestie Jenna and I found the perfect vintage apartment with a seemingly sweet landlord, Mr. Whitaker. But things took a bizarre turn when his daily “inspections” and unsolicited advice crossed the line into creepy territory.
Hello! My name is Andrea, and anyone who has had to deal with a crazy landlord will relate to my story. So, here we go.
A few months ago, my bestie, Jenna, and I found this adorable two-bedroom apartment. It had that vintage charm, as well as brick walls, slightly creaky hardwood floors, and just this amazing cottage-core potential in the middle of the city.
A beautiful apartment living room | Source: Midjourney
The landlord, Mr. Whitaker, seemed like a sweet old guy, too, with gray hair and a kind smile. He looked a little like the grandfather from “Up,” except not grumpy.
I thought it was perfect, so we took it right away and signed the lease. For the first few months, it was bliss.
We decorated with quirky thrift store finds and turned every windowsill into a mini jungle. We even posted our journey on Instagram and did a lot of DIY craft stuff for more decorations. But then… things got weird.
Two people making crafts | Source: Pexels
It started innocently enough, so we didn’t have time to control things before they exploded. Let me explain a little better.
Mr. Whitaker showed up one day with a toolbox in hand. “Just checking the plumbing!” he said with a smile. That was amazing, right?
It was good to have a proactive landlord, one we didn’t have to call every day for a simple fix. But then he was back the next week. And the week after that.
An old man carrying a toolbox | Source: Midjourney
Soon, it was every. Single. Day. And his excuses got more and more ridiculous.
“Gotta inspect that wiring!”
“Those smoke detectors won’t check themselves!”
“Need to measure the air quality!”
I kid you not, he actually said this, and I had to Google if that was a real thing. Apparently, it was, so Jenna and I didn’t know what to think.
A woman with a puzzled expression | Source: Pexels
At first, we tried to be cool about it. We were like, “Maybe he’s just thorough? Or bored? Or really, REALLY into property maintenance?”
But nope, this issue got so much worse.
He came by another day without any kind of excuse and just looked around. Suddenly, he started critiquing our cleaning.
“You know, a little vinegar would get that stain out of the counter right out,” he said, pointing at a spot we didn’t even know existed.
Kitchen counters | Source: Unsplash
He also made these passive-aggressive comments about our lifestyle. “Back in my day, young ladies dressed much better with pretty sundresses, not sad, tight pants,” he muttered to me.
I was literally in my work clothes.
And sometimes he just… sat there. In our living room. Watching us like we were some kind of reality TV show.
He wasn’t exactly creepy yet, but Jenna and I were uncomfortable. If I wanted an old grumpy man to complain about my life and choices, I would’ve stayed at home with my parents.
A woman worried and uncomfortable | Source: Pexels
We had to start tiptoeing around our own apartment. It felt like he was here even in the rare times he didn’t show up.
Jenna and I even began to wonder if he was letting himself in when we weren’t around. Now, that was a creepy thought. But we had no proof.
One time, he showed up while Jenna was in the shower, and insisted on checking the bathroom sink right then and there.
I had to play bodyguard outside the bathroom door. Still, Jenna finished and came out quickly, and Mr. Whitaker got to work like this was perfectly normal.
A woman drying herself | Source: Pexels
Mortifying didn’t even begin to cover how we were feeling, and I was about to reach my breaking point.
Days later, he decided our furniture arrangement was “damaging the floor,” and tried to move our couch himself, nearly throwing out his back.
We had to help him sit down and get him some water. Eventually, we started keeping a log of his visits.
An old man on a couch drinking water | Source: Midjourney
It was our own bizarre diary:
Monday: Checked lightbulbs. Commented on dust.
Tuesday: Inspected windows. Criticized our choice of curtains.
Wednesday: ‘Fixed’ a door that wasn’t broken. Left it squeaking.
You get the idea. We were going nuts, but we were also kind of scared to confront him. What if he kicked us out?
A woman confused and worried | Source: Pexels
The rental market was brutal, and we loved this place (when he wasn’t in it).
Then came The Day.
It was a sunny Saturday morning. Jenna and I were having our weekend coffee, planning a day of brunch and thrift shopping.
I reached for the sugar and my elbow knocked over my cup. Coffee spilled over our cute little IKEA table and onto the floor.
That was no big deal, but before we could even grab a paper towel, we heard keys jingling.
Keys on a lock | Source: Pexels
The door flew open, and there was Mr. Whitaker. His face changed so quickly at seeing the mess and got so red, I swear he could’ve stopped traffic.
“WHAT’S GOING ON HERE?!” he demanded, and his eyes almost bulged like a cartoon. “YOU’RE RUINING MY PROPERTY!”
I tried to calm him down. “I just spilled my coffee, Mr. Whitaker. We’ll clean it up, no worries!”
“JUST COFFEE?!” he screamed. I’m pretty sure I saw steam coming out of his ears. “DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH DAMAGE THAT CAN CAUSE?! IT’LL SEEP INTO THE FLOORBOARDS!”
An old man yelling | Source: Midjourney
Jenna and I shared a look that said, “This is it. We’ve reached our limit. No more Ms. Nice Tenant.”
As soon as Mr. Whitaker stormed out (but not before giving us a 20-minute lecture on the “proper way” to drink coffee), we started thinking.
What could we do to stop this?
We spent the rest of the day researching tenant rights, reading our lease agreement with a fine-tooth comb, and coming up with a battle plan.
Reading a document | Source: Pexels
And we decided to use a secret weapon: a security system. (Yes, it’s legal in most cases for tenants to install their own security cameras.)
We had someone install it as soon as the system was delivered. It came with motion sensors, cameras, and a loud alarm. It also connected to the internet.
Jenna and I installed the app, and we were ready. It was definitely out of place, considering our decor and general style, but Mr. Whitaker had forced our hand.
A phone with several apps | Source: Pexels
So, the next day, we activated everything and left for our respective jobs.
Lo and behold, around 11 a.m., my phone started buzzing like crazy. The alarm had been triggered. I checked the cameras, and as expected, it was Mr. Whitaker, who had let himself in.
I called Jenna, and together we decided to call the cops, although we only used the non-emergency line. Then, we each left our jobs early.
A woman at work making a call | Source: Pexels
When we got to our apartment, Mr. Whitaker was in a heated argument with two very unimpressed-looking police officers.
“This is MY apartment!” he yelled, his face matching the color of a ripe tomato. “I have every right to be here! I OWN this building!”
The younger cop looked so done, so we approached and introduced ourselves.
“Sir,” he said slowly, “you may own this place, but you have tenants. You can’t just enter whenever you want. That’s not how this works. They have a right to privacy.”
Cops working a case | Source: Pexels
When Mr. Whitaker began sputtering, I pulled out the lease agreement, pointing out the clause about 24-hour notice for non-emergency entry.
The older cop nodded at me as if he already knew that clause would be there. Jenna and I thought this moment was great to point out how Mr. Whitaker often barged in, not taking no for an answer, and made us uncomfortable.
The officer’s frown increased the more we talked.
A cop with his arms crossed | Source: Pexels
After a huge sigh, he turned to Mr. Whitaker. “Sir, you’re in violation of the lease terms. These young women have a right to take this matter further.”
I was expecting the old landlord to complain some more, but he deflated like a sad balloon. He probably felt cornered.
He mumbled something about just trying to take care of his property, and I decided to lay it out for him.
“Mr. Whitaker, we appreciate that you care about the building. But there’s caring, and then there’s… whatever this is. We’re responsible tenants. We’ll let you know if anything needs fixing. But you can’t keep barging in like this. It’s not okay.”
A woman with a worried look | Source: Pexels
Mr. Whitaker avoided my eyes.
Jenna added her two cents. “Being a good landlord doesn’t mean invading our privacy. We just want to feel comfortable in our own home. That’s not too much to ask, is it?”
The old grump nodded, but I could tell it was a begrudging agreement, so the cops gave him an official warning. They explained that if it happened again, he could face legal consequences.
Mr. Whitaker nodded again, but it was more serious, although he still looked like a kid who’d been told Santa wasn’t real.
A sad old man | Source: Midjourney
I felt bad for the sad, old man. He might have been lonely, but I don’t regret it because it’s been blissfully quiet since.
He has stuck to the lease terms like they’re glued to his hands. Not only that, but he schedules visits in advance, keeps them brief, and actually waits for us to let him in.
So here’s what I learned: Know your rights as a tenant. Document everything. Don’t be afraid to stand up for yourself. And a good security system is worth its weight in gold!
Two women laughing on a couch | Source: Pexels
Woman Arrives at the Farm She Inherited from Her Grandfather to Sell It, but a Farmhand Stands in Her Way — Story of the Day
Rebecca arrives at the farm she inherited, ready to sell it and move on. But a stubborn farmhand refuses to let her make an easy sale. He challenges her at every turn, forcing her to confront not just him but the memories and responsibilities she thought she left behind. Their clash will decide the farm’s fate.
Early in the morning, Rebecca got into her car, the sun barely peeking over the horizon. This wasn’t part of her usual routine, but something unexpected had come up, and she had to deal with it.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
Leaving her small business in the hands of her assistant, she set off on a long drive, heading out of the busy city.
Rebecca was on her way to her late grandfather’s farm, which he had left to her in his will. She hadn’t been there in years. As a child, she spent summers there, running around and playing, but once she grew older her visits stopped.
Rebecca always assumed her grandfather would pass the farm on to one of his workers, someone who truly needed it. Now, she had no intention of running it herself. Her plan was simple—check things out, find a buyer, and sell it as quickly as possible.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
Rebecca parked near the farmhouse and stepped out, glancing around. As she turned, she noticed a man on the porch. He stood up quickly, smiling.
“Hey there,” he said. “You must be my new boss. I’m Derek.” He stepped forward, offering his hand.
Rebecca shook it, frowning slightly. Something about him seemed familiar. “Hi, Derek. But you’ve got it wrong. I’m not your boss.”
Derek tilted his head. “Well then, may I at least know the name of my non-boss?”
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
“Oh,” Rebecca said, realizing she hadn’t introduced herself. “I’m Rebecca.”
“Wait a minute. Are you the same Rebecca who let all the chickens out so the dog could have fun?” He chuckled.
Rebecca’s eyes widened as the memory came back. Derek was the son of one of her grandfather’s workers, and they used to play together when she was little. “And you’re the same Derek who taught me to chase them with a slingshot?”
“Guilty as charged,” he said, raising his hands in mock surrender. They both laughed, easing the tension.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
Derek’s expression grew serious. “So, what do you mean you’re not my boss? The farm was left to you, right?”
Rebecca’s smile faded. “Yes, but I don’t plan to keep it. I’m here to sell it.”
“What? Sell it? To who?”
“I don’t know yet,” she said, shrugging. “Whoever wants to buy it.”
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
“Even if they tear it down?” he asked.
“Well… yes.”
Derek stepped closer, his voice rising. “How could you do that? Your grandfather spent his life on this farm! It was everything to him.”
Rebecca felt a pang of guilt but tried to stand her ground. “He’s gone, Derek. And I have my own life. Being a farmer wasn’t part of my plan.”
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
Derek’s eyes searched hers. “What about the animals? The people who work here? You’re just going to let them lose everything?”
She hesitated. “The new owner will handle that.”
Derek’s face darkened. “You don’t care at all, do you?”
“I care. It’s just… not my responsibility anymore,” she said quietly, turning to walk toward the house.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
Derek’s voice followed her. “You heartless witch!”
Rebecca winced but didn’t turn back. She quickened her pace, heading inside, trying to ignore the doubts his words stirred.
The next morning, Rebecca was startled awake by a knock on her door. She groggily got up and opened it to find a man standing on the porch.
“Good morning, Rebecca,” he said, nodding politely. “I’m Travis. I manage the fields here. Something’s happened, and I think you’ll want to see it.”
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
Rebecca rubbed her eyes. “Morning. Just give me a moment to get dressed.”
She quickly threw on the first clothes she found, then followed Travis outside. They walked through the farm until they reached one of the main fields. Rebecca’s heart sank when she saw the crops. They looked weak, wilted, and sickly.
“What’s wrong with them?” she asked.
Travis sighed, his expression grim. “Hard to say. Maybe someone spread something to damage them. Could be competitors. But if we don’t act fast, we’ll lose the entire crop.”
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
Rebecca’s face tightened. “I don’t care. I’m selling the farm. That’s my plan.”
Travis glanced at her. “You’d get a lot more money if you sold it as a working farm. Not just land.”
Rebecca knew he had a point. She hesitated, then asked, “So, what do you need from me?”
“I need an extra worker. One of our guys is out sick, and we don’t have enough hands,” Travis explained.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
“Alright,” Rebecca said. “I’ll find someone to help.”
Rebecca spent the entire day making phone calls, trying to find someone to hire. She went through a long list of contacts, but every answer was the same—nobody was available.
By evening, she was exhausted, her energy completely drained. She felt like a squeezed lemon, with nothing left to give.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
Tired and frustrated, Rebecca found herself wandering toward the stables. She remembered how, as a child, she would sit there for hours, surrounded by the soft sounds of the horses.
It always calmed her. She gently petted their noses, fed them some hay, and felt a wave of comfort wash over her. She sighed, thinking, who would have imagined this farm could bring her so many problems?
“Oh, I didn’t know princesses visited stables,” Derek said, his tone icy as he stepped inside.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
Rebecca turned, frowning. “What’s with the attitude?”
Derek folded his arms. “How else should I talk to someone who doesn’t care?”
“For your information, I spent all day trying to find a worker for Travis,” she snapped. She wasn’t sure why she felt the need to explain herself, but his accusation stung.
Derek’s lips curled into a bitter smile. “So you can sell the farm for a better price. That’s what Travis said.”
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
Rebecca rolled her eyes, trying to ignore the guilt building inside her.
“I can help Travis,” Derek said, “but I need support with the livestock. That’s my job.”
“There’s no one available to work,” she said.
Derek stepped closer, his gaze steady. “You could help.”
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
Rebecca blinked, surprised. “Me?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Or are your hands too soft for real work?”
“I know how to work,” she shot back. “It’s the only thing I’ve ever really known how to do.”
“Good,” Derek said, turning toward the door. “Then it’s settled.”
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
Rebecca stood there, still processing, as he walked away, wondering how she’d just agreed to help.
For the next few weeks, Rebecca found herself doing things she never expected. She woke up early each morning, pulling on boots and gloves, ready to work. She helped the workers in the fields, fed the animals, and even joined them in the kitchen, cooking meals after long days.
At first, she thought it would be a struggle, but the workers were patient and kind, teaching her the tasks step by step. They treated her like part of the team, and she started to see how much they cared about the farm.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
Rebecca began to question if selling the farm was the right decision. Every night, she fell into bed exhausted, but it was a different kind of tiredness. The farm, once just a burden, was slowly becoming a place she was starting to care about.
One evening, as she walked back to the house, she spotted something unusual—small surveillance cameras mounted on poles, pointing straight at the field. Why hadn’t she noticed them before?
After asking around, she learned from Sarah, a longtime farm worker, where to access the footage. Sarah brought it to the house, and Rebecca started watching the recordings.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
She fast-forwarded until she found what she was looking for—footage of someone sneaking through the field, scattering a strange powder over the crops. The image was blurry at first, but then the figure’s face came into view. Rebecca’s heart dropped. It was Derek.
Furious, she slammed her laptop shut and stormed out of the house. Without thinking, she marched straight toward Derek’s cabin, her mind spinning.
Rebecca stormed up to Derek’s door. When he opened it, she held out her laptop, the screen showing the footage. “Care to explain this?!” she snapped.
Derek sighed, his shoulders drooping. “I was trying to delay the sale,” he said.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
“So you decided to destroy the farm?!” Rebecca yelled, her voice shaking.
“I didn’t destroy it,” Derek replied. “I slowed things down. It worked. I know you’ve started to care.”
“You can’t just do that, Derek! People had to work harder because of you!” she shouted.
“I thought you didn’t care about the people here,” he said. “I wanted to make you see what this farm means.”
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
Rebecca felt a sting in his words, but she refused to back down. “But you messed up! I don’t care! That’s why I’m selling it—to the first buyer who shows up!” she yelled, her voice cracking as she turned and stormed away, leaving Derek standing there.
Two days later, two businessmen arrived at the farm. Rebecca greeted them with a polite smile and led them on a tour, showing them the fields, the barns, and the house. She kept her tone professional, trying to stay detached.
After the tour, Ryan, one of the men, said, “We’re ready to buy it.”
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
Rebecca felt a weight lift from her shoulders. “Great! When can we sign the contract?” she asked.
“Right now,” said the other man, Tom. “We brought our lawyer with us.”
Rebecca nodded and led them inside. They sat at the dining table, and the lawyer set the papers down. She picked up the pen, but her hand froze. Something didn’t feel right. “You’re buying the farm to run it, right?” she asked.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
“Not exactly,” Ryan replied. “We plan to build a factory here. Is that a problem?”
Rebecca’s stomach twisted. She hesitated, but forced a smile. “No, no problem.” Her eyes drifted to the wall. A childhood photo of her and her grandfather hung there—she was feeding a calf, smiling wide. She took a deep breath, pushing the papers closer. Slowly, she prepared to sign.
After fifteen minutes, Rebecca walked Ryan, Tom, and their lawyer out of the house. She spotted Derek sitting under a tree, watching. Tom shook her hand. “Well, good luck,” he said. Ryan did the same, and then they drove off.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
Derek got up and walked over. “Congratulations,” he said flatly. “The farm’s no longer your problem. How much did you sell it for?”
Rebecca looked at him. “I changed my mind.”
“What?” Derek’s eyes widened, confused.
“I’m not selling it,” she repeated.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
Derek’s frown melted into a smile. “Really?”
“Don’t get too happy,” she said, trying to stay serious. “I’m a demanding boss. My employees usually avoid me.”
Derek suddenly pulled her into a tight hug, catching her off guard. After a moment, she realized what was happening and hugged him back, feeling something warm and hopeful stir inside her.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
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If you enjoyed this story, read this one: My mom always left my dad, swearing it was for good, only to return after his apologies and gifts. It became a pattern I was used to, a cycle that never broke. But this time, when she showed up at my door with a suitcase, she had news that changed everything. Read the full story here.
This piece is inspired by stories from the everyday lives of our readers and written by a professional writer. Any resemblance to actual names or locations is purely coincidental. All images are for illustration purposes only. Share your story with us; maybe it will change someone’s life. If you would like to share your story
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