Living in a rented apartment can sometimes be a delightful experience, but not when you have a landlord like mine. My life turned into a nightmare when my landlord, Mr. Wildrick, decided to make my existence as miserable as possible. From sneaking into my bathroom unannounced to hiking up the rent, his actions were nothing short of torment. After enduring his cruelty for years, I finally reached my breaking point. What I did next made him regret ever crossing me.

Hey everyone, Celine here! Living in a rented apartment can have its perks, but nosy landlords? Not so much. Imagine taking a relaxing bath and suddenly… your landlord knocks on your bathroom door. Weird, I know! Well, it happened to me. And it’s not the only thing my landlord did to make my life a living hell…

For four long years, I had been stuck in this apartment with Mr. Wildrick as my landlord, and it was pure hell. This guy turned my home into a battleground. The day I ended up in the ER with mold poisoning? Yeah, that was because Mr. High-and-Mighty forbade me from calling in professionals to deal with the black stuff growing in my bathroom.

“It’s just a little dampness,” he said. Sure, tell that to my burning lungs and pounding headache.

And don’t even get me started on his surprise visits. I swear, the man has a sixth sense for showing up at the worst possible moments. Taking a shower? There’s Mr. Wildrick. In the middle of a work call? Mr. Wildrick decides it’s time to “check the pipes.” It was like living with a creepy, unwanted roommate who had a key to my place.

The kicker? When I moved in, this place was a dump. Peeling wallpaper, carpet that looked like it hadn’t been cleaned since the 80s, and a kitchen straight out of a horror movie. But did Mr. Wildrick care? Nope. “It’s livable,” he said. Well, I made it more than livable.

It all kicked off during my first week in the apartment. Picture this: I’m soaking in the tub after a grueling day at work, bubbles up to my chin, eyes closed, finally relaxing. Then, out of nowhere, there’s a knock on the bathroom door. Not just any knock—a loud, insistent pounding that nearly made my heart burst right out of my chest.

“Celine? Are you in there?” Mr. Wildrick’s gruff voice called out. I nearly jumped out of my skin. “Mr. Wildrick? What are you doing here?”

“Just checking for leaks. Mind if I come in?”

“Yes, I do mind! I’m in the bath!” I shouted, scrambling to grab my towel.

He chuckled. “It’s nothing I haven’t seen before. I’ll be quick.”

“No! Get out now!” I yelled, my heart pounding.

I heard him grumble and walk away. Later, when I confronted him about it, he just shrugged. “It’s my property. I have the right to ensure it’s in good condition,” he said, his beady eyes narrowing.

“Not without notice, you don’t. It’s illegal and a violation of my privacy.”

He waved his hand dismissively. “Don’t be so dramatic. If you don’t like it, you can always leave.”

That was just the beginning. Mr. Wildrick seemed to take pleasure in making my life difficult. One winter, the heating system broke down. I called him immediately.

“Mr. Wildrick, the heater’s not working. It’s freezing in here!”

“I’ll send someone over soon,” he promised.

Days passed, and no one came. I called again.

“Mr. Wildrick, it’s been three days. I can see my breath in here!”

“I’m working on it,” he snapped. “These things take time.”

A week later, I was huddled under layers of blankets, shivering. I called him again, my teeth chattering.

“If you don’t fix this now, I’m withholding rent,” I threatened.

There was a long pause. “Fine. I’ll send someone tomorrow.”

The next day, a technician finally showed up. As he worked, he shook his head. “This should’ve been fixed ages ago. You’re lucky the pipes didn’t burst.”

I glared at him. “Tell that to my landlord.”

The rent increases were another nightmare. Every year, without fail, Mr. Wildrick would raise the rent well above market rate. When the latest notice came, I stormed down to his office.

“This is ridiculous!” I slammed the paper on his desk. “You can’t raise the rent this much. There haven’t been any improvements to justify it.”

He leaned back in his chair, a smirk playing on his lips. “I can, and I did. If you don’t like it, you can leave.”

The final straw came when I decided to move out. I’d finally found a new place and was ready to leave this nightmare behind. I met Mr. Wildrick for the final walkthrough, expecting to get my $2,350 deposit back.

He walked around the apartment, frowning and muttering. Finally, he turned to me. “I’m keeping your deposit.”

My jaw dropped. “What? Why?”

He gestured around vaguely. “You’ve done irreversible changes to the apartment that I did not agree to. Painting, nail holes, wear and tear.”

I felt the last bits of my patience evaporate. “That’s ridiculous! I improved this place. It’s in better condition than when I moved in!”

He shrugged. “Not my problem! You should’ve thought about that before making changes.”

I stormed out, slamming the door behind me. As I sat in my car, shaking with anger, I decided it was time for some payback. That evening, I went on eBay and ordered the weirdest list of products to start my revenge.

First, I hid cans of tuna in the ventilation system and behind the walls, poking holes in them to ensure the smell would permeate the entire apartment. As I worked, I muttered, “Let’s see how you like unexpected surprises, Mr. Wildrick.”

Next, I spread glitter everywhere—on the carpet, in the air ducts, in the bathroom drains, and between the floorboards. “Good luck getting rid of this!” I chuckled.

I poured sugar into the radiators, imagining Mr. Wildrick’s face when the heating system malfunctions once the sugar melts. “Karma’s a witch, isn’t it?” I laughed.

As I super-glued the locks on all the windows and doors, I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of guilt. But then I remembered all the times he’d made me feel unsafe in my own home, and my resolve strengthened. I sprinkled flour and water in hidden spots to create the appearance of mold. “Let’s see how you like dealing with mold problems,” I muttered.

Finally, I set a few battery-operated alarm clocks to go off at odd hours and hid them in the ceiling tiles and behind heavy furniture. As I placed the last one in the drawer, I heard a knock on the door. My heart raced as I quickly hid the evidence. Opening the door, I found Mr. Wildrick standing there.

“Just checking to make sure you’re all packed up,” he said, trying to peer around me into the apartment. I blocked his view. “I’m almost done. I’ll be out by tomorrow, as agreed.”

He nodded, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. “See that you are. And don’t forget to leave the keys.”

Goodbye, Nightmare

The next morning, I took one last look around the apartment. Part of me felt bad about what I’d done, but a bigger part felt satisfied. I picked up my last box and headed for the door. As I was locking up, Mr. Wildrick appeared.

“All done?”

I nodded, handing him the keys. “All done. Good luck with your next tenant!”

He grunted, already turning away. I couldn’t resist one last jab. **