Creepy - To The Landlord...

Episode Date: July 15, 2020

We, the tenants, have some grievances...***Written by TheJesseClark and narrated by Alicia Atkins***Check out our reward tiers at patreon.com/creepypod***You can also subscribe to us on YouTube:https://www.youtube.com/creepypod***Produced by Steve Blizin***Title music by Alex Aldea***Intro/Outro Narration by Joe Stofko Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information. Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for advertising.

This is the Bloody Disgusting Podcast Network. No. This is creepy. A podcast dedicated to sharing the most famous chilling and disturbing creepy pastas and urban legends in the world. Whether these stories truly happened or simply fabrications is for you to decide. These stories may contain. graphic depictions of violence and explicit language.

Listener discretion is advised. To the landlord. Written by the Jesse Clark and narrated by Alicia Atkins. The following maintenance

requests and complaints were found on the computer of one Miss Doris May, the landlord of the apartment building at 2618, Wayne Boulevard. following the thorough search of the building by the police. Donald Fischarld, Unit 411, January 13th. My wife and I moved here for the proximity to the subway and for the cheap rent, but we did not move here so we wouldn't have a working stove.

I do not plan on eating takeout for the remainder of my tenure at this building. I demand maintenance come down at once and fix this. Unacceptable. January 24th. And now the refrigerator isn't working? The refrigerator temperature should be at a nice cool 34 degrees Fahrenheit. But try as we might, Patricia and I have been unable to get it below 36 degrees, so now our milk is spoiled.

The cheese is molded, my yogurt isn't edible, and my beers are not chilled the way I'd like when I get home from a long day at work. Once again, I demand a maintenance representative be here tomorrow to, fix this. And not the same man as last time. Jose was rude and did not even apologize for all of this inconvenience when we yelled at him. February 8th. It seems we can't go a single day without finding something unacceptable about this building. At nighttime, both Patricia and I hear a faint but constant thumping in the walls. What is that? I demand to know why we cannot get some peace and quiet.

February 12th. If our Wi-Fi drops out in the middle of Patricia's stories one more time, there will be hell to pay. Get the ISP down here now to increase our speeds. This is insane. February 18th. It appears my previous demand went unheeded. Last night, the thumping was far worse. It sounds like a ghost living in the walls.

Patricia hates ghosts. They are rude and uninvited and do nasty things like slam doors and break china dishes. Get a job, ghost! Patricia can't sleep in these conditions, and I hereby demand an exorcist be brought to the premises to deal with this at once. At once! February 27th. The refrigerator is acting up again.

I thought this was fixed. The expiration date on my milk says use by March 3rd, but it is not March 3rd yet. And already my milk is starting to smell. The temperature is 36 degrees and rising. Unacceptable. March 4th. So today, I came home from work and go to hang up my coat. And what did I find?

A bouquet of flowers from the downstairs office thanking us for being dream tenants who always pay rent on time? No. I found a cold spot by the bedroom door. The air is of an acceptable but not ideal temperature throughout our apartment. But by the door to our bedroom, there is a cold spot. This indicates the presence of a spiritual entity. And I do not pay 1800 a month to be haunted. in my own home. Unacceptable.

I demand this be dealt with at once. At once. March 7th. Thank you for fixing the stove. But I did not appreciate how Jose made me feel stupid for not knowing about the pilot light feature. I expect he will be reprimanded appropriately. March 11th.

Yesterday I had a run-in with Paul Schumerman from down the hall. He was very rude to me when I asked him to stop staring at us venomously whenever we see him. Do you know what he did? He continued to stare as if he wishes harm upon me. I demand to know what will be done about Paul Schumerman. March 14th. So apparently, it is not just Paul Schumerman who is bizarre and rude. Rosa Martinez, the elderly foreign man,

woman with maybe five or six remaining teeth from floor three, smiled at us in a very evil-looking way that I did not appreciate when I was getting our mail. I demand to know what will be done about Rosa Martinez. March 14th. I know I just submitted a request, but it is 1045, and Patricia is unable to sleep because of her nightmares. She says she can see a black figure standing at the end of our bed with red eyes. Not okay. Was someone murdered in this unit? Answers.

March 16th. It is unacceptable that on James Madison's birthday, we cannot get the heat to stay on. The temperature is at 45 degrees. Much too cold. Fix this. March 17th. Still too cold.

And do you mind explaining why all the pictures of Patricia and myself in our hallway were smashed and broken on the ground? I am calling an exorcist since you refused to do so, and rent will be reduced by the cost of his services. March 19th. We brought in a local priest who says that, guess what? It's not a ghost. It's a demon. A demon infest my humble abode as I write this. Do you think this is an acceptable way to run an apartment? No, it is not.

I asked what we can do about the situation, and he says that we should leave immediately, because if we don't, the demon will latch on to us and follow us around. I am not relocating this soon. I asked him to deal with it, and he said he can't. That is beyond his ability to fight, and that we need to have the entire building fully blessed. He then scheduled a time tomorrow for he and several other priests, rabbis, and pastors to

arrive and do a thorough blessing of the building. You will be billed for this. March 19th. Once again, I cannot sleep. Patricia is sleepwalking, yet again, except instead of walking down the hall or screaming while still asleep from the kitchen, she is crawling on the ceiling and shouting at me in a very deep voice while her head twist fully around like an owl. I told her to get down at once and she said,

No, she is mine. Excuse me, demon. She is not. I have work in the morning, but what I do not have is patience for this nonsense. Oh, and when I told the demon to let us sleep, it said, F me. F me? I do not appreciate that kind of language. No, sir. Then she began hissing and spitting, steaming bile onto the bed and laughing maniacly. My blanket is ruined.

I am typing this on my laptop from the couch while she shouts blasphemies from down the hall. If these priests do not fix this issue, we will be reporting you for this mess. March 20th Do you mind explaining to me why there are herbs and twigs by my door beneath a sign of a pentagram? I expect this is the work of Paul Schumerman or Rosa Martinez, or that nasty Dylan French from Unit 221. You need to do a better job picking tenants for this establishment. March 20th. So I come inside and Patricia is gone.

Her absence was not arranged beforehand and I expect it has something to do with the demon. This is not okay. When I come home from work, I expect to be able to relax in front of a game. game show with a beer while my wife knits. But that is not going to be the case today, apparently. There are scratched pentagrams all over the walls, broken lamps, the lights don't work, the refrigerator door is hanging open, thus ruining yet more milk. More milk.

Gone! And the entire apartment is freezing! I will be doing a thorough search through this building for my wife, updating you on any unpleasantries I encounter from my phone as needed. And when I get back, I expect Jose will have fixed the lights. March 20th. It appears these tenants knew I was coming. I am on floor three, and they are all standing outside their homes watching me.

Silently, unmoving as I walk down the hallway between them. And I believe I smell marijuana from the gay couple. 's home. Marijuana. An illegal drug that kills millions every year in your building. Do something about this. I will not have the devil's ganja so close to my abode. If the police conduct a SWAT raid looking for marijuana, we all go to federal prison. All of us. March 20th. I have decided I cannot abide the presence of such a terrifying drug as marijuana anywhere near my person, my wife, or my place of residence. I have alerted the authorities and they are in route. I apologize if a life sentence for you is inconvenient, but I had no other choice.

March 20th. So I asked Sweet Mrs. Robinson from Unit 334 where my wife was, and she said, the basement. The basement? I go down there, laundry, not my wife. Also, I hereby in henceforth demand that a washer-dryer unit, preferably stacked, although I am willing to negotiate on this, be placed in our unit when this unfortunate episode is concluded. I do not like going into the basement with a basket of dirty laundry twice or three times a month, because I have to use the stairs because you can't get

your elevator working. March 20th. Why are the lights off on floor two? And where are the priests? All I see are more tenants pointing in unison down the stairs while staring at me like they're in a trance. It smells like rotting corpses and old food down here. Maybe old lasagna. This was not the case when I left for work this morning. Although, to be fair, I simply walked down the stairs and did not venture down this hallway.

I also did not notice the arrows painted in blood pointing downstairs. I assumed those were put up while I was at work. March 20th. Where is the front door? I am on floor one and the front door is missing? I just used it. Instead, there's just a swirling vortex of impenetrable blackness with blood coming out of it. And staining the nice carpet!

I expect this will be fixed as I have worked tomorrow and need to be there early so I can prepare for a presentation on sales reports from quarter one. Quarter one. March 20th. I have now reached the door to the basement. Why is the word come scratched repeatedly into the wood here? Unsightly. March 20th. I am at the top of the basement stairs.

Did you know there are demonic voices whispering to people down here? Saying to come downstairs with us. Join us. Join us. Join us. Over and over again. Why do they feel the need to repeat themselves? This is inefficient. March 20th. The voices are now saying that the gospel is a lie.

But I said nothing about the first four books of the New Testament. This is an irrelevant red herring, and I demand we replace these demons with ones who can at least stay on topic. And not to debate the minutiae of Judeo-Christian theology with benevolent spiritual entities who, if I'm being perfectly honest, cannot be trusted on the matter because they clearly have a vested interest in me feeling one way or another as far as the subject is concerned, and are thus not being objective. If this keeps up, I will be taking my laundry to the laundromat down on block and charter for the foreseeable future and you will lose out on my business in that department. March 20th.

Well, I now see where the priest have gone. Their bones are scattered across the basement and their collective blood is swirling in a vortex around what appears to be a portal to hell in the center of the base. around which all the tenants of the ground floor are seated and worshipping. I believe I said very clearly that I did not want hell portals in my place of residence, and no one seemed to indicate this would be a problem when I signed the lease. If I am ever to use these washing and drying machines again, I expect the gateway to Hades to be closed and the place to be cleaned thoroughly before I do so.

The smell is terrible, and I also demand that the glowing, fiery pintagram in the floor beneath the portal to be doused and cleaned off. It is detrimental to what little decor there is in this basement. March 20th. Well, all the tenants now see me, but as of this recording, have yet to respond to my demands to see my wife. They are simply staring at me, and I'm sorry. Sorry. Where are their eyes? Are eyes not fashionable anymore? How can they see me if they have no eyes? This is impossible and I demand they cease at once. They have no respect for the rules of either this apartment or physics itself. This day is ruined. March 20th. My wife, who is quite unkempt, and whose hair appears to be unwashed,

and who looks like she is possessed with Satan, unacceptable, has joined the group as they speak to me in unison. I'm sorry. When was there a group practice for this performance, and why was I not invited? It is quite rude to exclude members of your own apartment from such group activities as theater and Latin classes. Apparently, and also, I assume this strange, deep voice that they are singing in belongs to the Tower Rue.

horned beast that has stepped through the portal and is pointing a clawed finger at me and approaching me slowly in an aggressive manner that I do not appreciate. Who is he? Does he pay rent? Do you let just anyone enter this building even if they don't pay rent? And if so, then I demand hereby henceforth, and at once by the power vested in me as a lawful citizen and a residence of this apartment, who is not nor ever has been delinquent of the payment of rent nor any other agreed upon expenses that For more information including pictures and videos of the stories told on this podcast Or to suggest stories for future episodes Please visit us at creepypod on Twitter Instagram

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