The Devil Next Door

TRIGGER WARNING: THIS STORY CONTAINS ADULT LANGUAGE AND THREATS OF VIOLENCE.

THE DEVIL NEXT DOOR

“Hey girl……..Why don't you come inside?”, he invited.

I walked in without a clue of the anger he held within.

“Sit down. Make yourself comfortable. What can I get you to drink?”

Me, “Oh hahaha”, laughing shyly. “Whatever! Wine is good.”

Please God don’t let him slip anything into my glass. I read way too much true crime. Girl, stop it! I scolded myself, finding a spot on his luxurious black leather couch.

I both love and hated how he smelled so damn good, exuding pure sensuality as he glided past me to sit down in his very calculated move, just out of my reach. Dressed impeccably, and I never use that word, his hair was perfect. So was his smile and teeth that glimmered like a toothpaste commercial. Damn you, I thought, hiding my own smile. Do NOT fall for this guy!

He clearly had worked on his image for years, getting it down just right for stupid girls like me.

Actually, I was not a dumb girl, despite what others may say. Naïve once, sure. Overly giving, kind, sweet. Definitely. Stupid, I was not. I was top of the class straight A student, Honor Roll kind of girl, and proud of it! I had worked my ass off, studying psychology so that I could one day maybe help people. Abnormal Psychology was my favorite!

I know why he chose me.

I was a challenge, and I spoke my mind despite his towering figure and Hollywood actor good looks. The glint in his eye told me he never backed down and hadn't heard the word 'no' in years.

Predators love strong women. The more empathic the woman, the better. They are drawn to us like some sick joke, and it took me a long time to understand why.

They are so broken inside, hollow and ugly feeling, that they crave the beauty and love they see within us, willing to commit felonies - even murder - just to get a split second of it.

But it never lasts for them. They aren't built for inner peace or kindness. They aren't made the way most normal people are, the tortured souls that they are. It's like they are living in purgatory but every day, and there is no escape for them. Don't feel sorry for them; they chose this.

Didn't they?

I appeared wholesome. People always tell me I looked innocent upon meeting me. He thought I came from a hillbilly town when in fact I grew up in the city before being transplanted to a small town I couldn’t even breathe in. They hated me the second I stepped foot on their sad territory. Not just me though. They bullied my three other sisters. They just don’t like it if you ain’t their kind, if you know what I mean.

The boys loved us though.

The night we moved in that Halloween night, we already had a group of the small-town boys, full of curiosity, at our door asking for us. My stepfather was definitely not impressed.

This would continue for the next five years throughout high school and until my parents finally divorced, sold the house and moved back to the city, living on opposite ends so they wouldn't have to run into each other at the grocery store.

The dating dance began as I sipped my chilled vodka martini and watched, side-eyed, as he turned on his sexy music. The peacocking on cue, lights dimmed low, and he was silly enough to think I had no clue as to his next move. Bruh. C’mon.

Oh…I’ve dated the players, the bikers, the tough guys with serious stop-and-stare muscles, Harleys and scorpion tattoos on their necks. The California boy with abs for miles with a hot red Mustang that I drove and used to get my driver’s license. The tough hockey goon who broke others’ teeth and was known for being the hot head.

Trust me, been there, and really, it was all a charade and highly disappointing.

He leans in, looking ever so curious, and asks me how my day was. A person with lesser experience would have been convinced he was genuinely interested. God, he was handsome. He smelled so good, sandalwood and cedar with probably some juniper mixed in. It was intoxicating, and so was this drink he poured. Pretty sure it was a double.

Nice play.

“So,” he drawls, “You said you like to cook. When are you going to cook me a gourmet meal?” He smiles slyly, thinking I’d be all over that. At one time, I would have been.

“Hahaha! Cute!” I laughed. “When are you going to take me out on a real date? Dinner maybe?”

He looked disappointed. Poor baby. “Oh. Dinners are for special occasions. I hear you cook five-star meals so why bother going out?” He flashed that diamond smile that foreshadowed only heartbreak and broken promises.

The rest of the night was underwhelming.

He talked about himself, how great he was, the phenomenal amount of money he made, how athletic he was, and all the women he had dated in the past. I feigned interest. Jeezus God get me out of here. I left untouched the second double he poured for me without asking though he had quickly downed a healthy number of shots of whiskey, I noticed.

The red flags were red flagging.

Finally at the polite hour, I said I should go.

“What???” He seemed shook.

The smile slipped away, and I thought I caught a glimpse of .....something, across his face before the mask was quickly replaced. He thanked me politely for the nice, but short, visit. I was not getting great vibes from this guy after all. I felt something dark emanating from his soul, which he covered almost expertly without a hitch. He had seemed harmless and charming while we passed in the hallways, exchanging friendly greetings, or chatted from our neighbouring balconies over the past couple of weeks.

But suddenly, I did not feel safe being alone with him.

Sociopaths perfect their image for years, studying how to be empathic by mimicking others while masterfully not feeling a single ounce of it. I had seen his facade in under an hour that had so many fooled their entire lives. His mother saw it too though, and that is why he hated her - and then all women. She had only wanted him to get the help he so desperately needed, and he told himself he was better off without her anyways. He had found an expensive flashy condo that overlooked a lake, donned his dark sunglasses, black cap, and covered his entire face with a beard that made him look like some kind of villain from a cheesy superhero movie. He discovered the dark web that matched his dark thoughts and joined several incel groups to champion his cause of harming as many females he could with his time on earth. It gave him some perverse joy to terrorize them, even if they did nothing to him to bring it on. Why do they deserve to be happy and normal?

He was just angry he was born.

The medication that was meant to treat his paranoid schizophrenia only numbed him, so he chose to smoke up a dozen times a day instead, losing touch with reality with every passing day. What he didn’t realize was that it was making his severe personality disorder worse - and him more dangerous.

There was an abrupt shift in the air as his door closed behind me, a little too hard. His cool smile hid something far more sinister than I had ever met in my life before. I had no idea of the horror that was about to unfold, with him enjoying every second of it like I was his new favorite video game, his sick obsession. When I left his place that evening, I did not yet know he was a hater of women and one who would become my stalker for the next four months, calmly repeating death threats, talks of assault, and causing over $3000 of vandalism to my car.

With his sick twisted mind, he’d come to my door regularly, at least weekly, between 1 am and 4 am, leaving me signs that he had been there, just to be a creepy weirdo. Sometimes he'd eat take-out like a burger and fries, then leave his garbage for me to find when I opened my door the next morning. Other times he'd leave a trail of ‘blood' (fake) on my door in the shape of clawing handprints, and almost daily, disgusting greasy fingerprints on my doorknob.

I started spending wayyy too much on my own security items including an alarm that would go off if anyone touched my door. Shocked that my neighbours didn’t report the loud shrill sound because it went off weekly. I had another alarm, a wedge doorstop, that also went off on occasion. One night it had been pushed away from underneath the door, as if someone had used a stick of some sort to move it away.

I called the Spy Shop and learned how to snake a camera through my door viewer as apparently, he was triggered and would turn violent if he saw anything that resembled a camera, so it had to be discrete. I was close to ordering those spy pens that record videos and would have if I hadn’t been forced by police only a couple of a months later to move for my own safety.

One time he left the shattered remnants of broken glass and plastic from a fake video camera that he had smashed within an hour after I had put it up, but he had held onto it for about three months before leaving it at my door. He had also smashed another one I had put up in the parkade while I was waiting to get permission from the property manager to get a real one ("Not allowed, unfortunately", they would later tell me). I didn't care and bought a real one that I put in the door viewer. That didn't even last a day before he put a sticky note with glue on the camera, damaging it immediately, before I even had it connected to wi-fi.

That wasn't enough destruction for him, however, and he had run down the hall screaming like a primal animal, stomping in his combat boots, at 5pm before he broke the camera right out of my door! Pieces of it would later be found in the stairwell directly across from his door, which was next to mine. Not big enough to get fingerprints, the cops said. Or else he wore gloves. He told me once while he was sitting on his balcony, talking to my empty window while I tried to work, that he grew up in the hood and laughed at how stupid the cops were, so easy to evade and get away with anything. He would pretend not to be home when they knocked on his door, and just not answer the phone when they called him - while he laughed his head off, taunting me every chance he had.

I didn’t realize at first that he was watching me from inside his condo anytime I went to sit on my sunny deck. He had passed me as I was going into the elevator and he was getting out, towering above me, he leaned into my ear and whispered, “I like watching you…….”, letting it trail off as I fought the nausea building up and my disgust clearly written all over my face.

Actually, it was less of a whisper and more like a hiss.

He laughed and walked away, looking like a dark being that had erupted from deep within the rotting shadows.

I started to never leave home without my phone recording. It was what saved my ass in the end and got him an invitation to the police station for questioning. FINALLY! I captured and sent over 50 audio recordings to both the police and the property manager. The owner of the condo had checked out mentally already, overwhelmed with the mandatory COVID vaccinations. He confided that he had made his entire family fake vaccine passports and was in the middle of planning how to live off grid. He had zero interest or time in keeping his new tenant safe – didn’t even offer to put on additional deadlocks despite the damage being done to the door by the dangerous neighbour. He said he “wasn’t a real landlord, was new at this,” and ended up doing some illegal things, rent-wise, during the short time that I lived there.

The neighbour was constantly spying on me, basically never left his house, didn’t appear to be working currently, and would play his weird chanting electronica music, and smoke his weed at least six times a day (I could smell it, despite it being a non-smoking building). He was creeping on me from inside his condo, and even when I couldn’t see him, I could feel him.

That smell that I once found exhilarating now smelled like a garbage pile on a hot windy day with a field of manure nearby. He’d have daily conversations with himself, hoping I could hear him while I was inside working, watching tv, or cooking supper. They were loud conversations filled with swears and vulgar language, yet no one complained. I asked a few neighbours and they were too scared to report his excessive weed habits, loud music, or random yelling from either his balcony or from inside his place, always directed towards me. It was much too hot to close the windows during the heatwave that lasted the entire summer and like most condo buildings in the city, there was no A/C.

I did my best to block him out but the weed was giving me migraines that would never go away. As soon as one would, after five hours or so, it would start right back up again because he was constantly smoking up, even in plain view on the balcony. He literally gave no fucks. I found out later that the young new property manager was a buddy of his, they had some sort of bro-code, and I do believe he was actually scared of the big weed head. I learned that even when the neighbor got fined repeatedly, he knew they couldn’t enforce the tickets so he just kept doing it while the meek neighbours, many elderly, just put up with his shit. Sitting at about 6 ft 3 and around 250 lbs at least, he did have a daunting size. Mostly, he dressed like he was in some kind of secret horrible cell group, head-to-toe in black with a full-length trench coat and hat, even in the summer.

His eyes were black, and without bothering with the facade now, he wore a permanent smirk. I never knew the word 'incel' until him, but he fits the word a thousand per cent. You can't fix that kind of broken. You walk away, that's what you do. And you let guys like that destroy themselves because they will, eventually. He will never be of any use in the world other than for evil. He will never fully integrate into society; he was never meant to.

It was around the fourth and final month around midnight when I watched in horror as he used a screwdriver to try and break in. The first time ever I called 9-1-1 and, eyes on the door which was now shaking, I told the operator, "You're not going to make it on time."

The cops had just been here a couple of hours earlier; the third camera smashed into pieces the entire length of the hallway. The sicko had only stolen the part of the camera that was on the outside of the door, and now he was back to get ALL of it. Once the police left the first time that day, he came back and this time he meant business. He had a weapon with him and wanted the entire camera out of the door - the part inside my door. He probably thought I had proof of him creeping around or breaking my camera earlier that evening.

In another incident, I had seen him charging my door when he didn’t know I was actually peeking out from the inside as I was trying to install a different camera. He charged it, like he was calling it out for a fight, the way you see drunk guys at the bar do to each other. It was the strangest thing I’ve seen and it almost knocked me off my stepladder, watching him come at my door like that, his face inches from mine on the other side of the door. He did not know I was there, but I bet he did that every time he passed it. You KNOW he’s gotta be missing a few screws if he’s charging at doors even when no one is there.

There is nothing more helpless than being alone late at night knowing you have a psychopath neighbour, watching him use a weapon to knock the camera he had already destroyed out of your door, and seeing the remaining broken pieces of it fly across the room, doorknob shaking like crazy as he’s trying to get in.

He only needed to take one step back to kick in my door. The fragile piece of metal from the cheap deadbolt was the only thing that separated me from this devil who was high on God-only-knows what drug he was on that night. I had heard his creepy electronica music all damn day, with its heavy bass, and his weird 'clients', entering and leaving his door like they did often, a revolving door of new faces every other day. No wonder cameras triggered him.

Whatever he was doing inside his cold unemotional place was most definitely not legal. I was putting a crimp in his plans, witnessing suspicious visitors coming and going and packages being delivered, under a fake name, I would later find out. Sometimes the boxes piled up four feet high outside his door, he had so many Amazon deliveries. I had no idea what he was building inside his condo with the hammering, wood, and power saw but I didn’t want to find out.

Police told me I really should consider moving – again - as his behavior was escalating quickly. Because he was an owner and I was a renting tenant, they said it would be easier and faster for me to move, not him. It would be months before they could enforce that or put enough evidence to take him to court. I really didn’t want to move but he was making it not only miserable, but downright dangerous. Without video proof, it was difficult to prove it was him uttering the threats that I was recording on my phone.

I was living a real-life horror movie.

During my second-to-last day there, only four months after I had excitedly moved in, he chased me down the floor’s hallway, laughing like a maniac while calling me the "c-word" – his favorite word that he repeated often. I was desperately pressing the 'close door' button in the elevator, praying to God the entire time. This guy was seriously unhinged! I could feel his predatory hot breath on my neck, with his boots close to my heels as I pretty much ran to the elevator from the condo. I was certain I’d see his big chunky black combat boot blocking the elevator door from closing! I was holding my breath; his crazy laughing could be heard while the elevator mercifully descended. Thank you, God!

The police were waiting for me down in the lobby – a horrible mistake and negligence on their end. They put me in danger by asking me to leave my place and meet them downstairs! He had just threatened to break in – again – as I was packing up my balcony. Watching me from inside, he told me he was going to follow me, wherever I went. Behind the 6-foot privacy screen that I had put up on my balcony to block his view, and that also wasn’t allowed, he didn’t know that I was recording his every word.

When he said “Hang on. I’m going to do it right now! I’m going to break in and when I’m done with you, I’m throwing you over the balcony!!”

Suddenly, he was gone from his window and only seconds later, he was at my door again, talking to some imaginary demon in his head, rattling the handle. We were on the top floor and it was only huge jagged rocks below.

It would not end well.

The door trembled in its fragile thin wooden frame. Immediately, I called the police again, still the non-emergency line. I didn’t want to be overdramatic or cause them any undue work or stress, after the way they had been treating me for the past four months! Now how sick or sad is that, when your own life is in jeopardy? I wasn’t sure if he was bluffing as he did often in the middle of the nights, or if he was serious. I would have called 9-1-1 again, I’m sure, but at that moment, I was too scared to go check and see if he was still standing outside my door. The doorknob rattling stopped and so did the shaking door.

It was the female police officer who arrived that day who was the worst throughout those four months of being terrorized, with over 18 visits from the police and still no charges. If there ever was a star example of victim-blaming, she was it. In the elevator, trying desperately to get to her in case the crazed neighbour was on his way down the stairs to continue chasing me, I had one hand hovering over the red “Emergency” button, my phone still recording, and the other hand on the knife I had learned to always have on me while living there. I was trying not to hyperventilate but my heart was racing out of my chest. Thank God the police were downstairs!! I was only seconds away to safety!

The way she yelled at me impatiently brought instant tears to my eyes! “We have no time for this! There is NOTHING we can do about him smoking weed, ok?”

I was stunned. What??? Did she seriously think that was why I had called them?? The reason why I had been calling for MONTHS?!! I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Her partner, a male cop, looked down, avoiding my eyes. I think he was embarrassed by her treatment and lack of compassion too. I literally was out of breath from running away from a psychopath, certain he would catch me if not for mere SECONDS that allowed me to escape. I even RAN to her once I was out of the elevator, looking at her as my protector! “He’s chasing me! He’s right on my heels!” I had even said. I did notice she called for backup and within minutes another officer joined, so there were three.

And there was me, crying out of disbelief, standing in the lobby while she berated me for wasting their time. It was even an ugly cry from the adrenaline alone of what I had just experienced in the past ten minutes. I was not going back up there alone! I asked if one of them could come with me so I could grab my purse. There would be no more packing today even though the movers were coming tomorrow at noon. I’d rather get up at 5 am and finish than stay there that evening. Even I knew it was terribly unsafe to do so.

They say an abuser attacks as the victim or survivor is making their escape. Those are the crucial hours. Well, he had nothing left to lose and this was my last night there. No one was stopping him and his evil power and damaged ego only grew more hideous. Gone was the man I once thought was attractive; now, he was a demon and a nasty one at that.

The police’s lack of ability to protect me added to the trauma and left me with scars and a shattered reality that they could not, or would not, help me. I am not sure if that female officer was trying too hard to prove her worth on a force that is dominated by men, but she was not only aggressive, but cruel and even negligent.

One officer even encouraged me to report her – and any others - for the way she didn't handle it. I actually started the process and received an apology, not a formal one and not from her, but from another officer who seemed much more caring and kinder. I ended up dropping it and the suggestion by a trauma therapist to try and press charges. Too many beautiful adventures were waiting although I did get incredibly sick immediately after moving, just from the stress alone.

I despise bullies. They are all cowards. I also believe he is using what he thinks is a mild harmless drug to manage his psychosis and doesn’t realize it’s actually making him sicker. Lots of people don’t. He has lost touch with reality, with humanity, compassion and being a healthy human being who contributes to society. People who are evil doing illegal things don’t care about anyone else – it isn’t in their DNA. They can never be rehabilitated.

One final incident I’ll share was from the day before the elevator incident. After he PARKED HIS SUV while driving INTO the parkade – he stopped midway, blocking anyone else who wanted to enter or leave, and made eye contact with me WHILE I WAS WITH TWO POLICE OFFICERS OUTSIDE. This is how little fear he has of the police, which speaks volumes.

I was showing the police more vandalism to my car which had been keyed all the way around, and the pile of yellow liquid underneath it. I had moved out of the underground parking lot by that time, afraid of what he would do if he caught me alone down there with him. Obviously it was urine but the cops only said "We can't prove it's urine. It could be any yellow liquid.” I give up. Sure. It’s yellow pop in the middle of the winter poured underneath my car. Got it.

The neighbour LITERALLY committed the worst crime yet WHILE I WAS TALKING TO THE POLICE DOWNSTAIRS IN THE PARKING LOT. Cops left, and I went back upstairs to the top floor to my condo to finish packing. Immediately I could smell an odor I hadn’t smelled since I was a kid. I knew it wasn’t just bleach although I could smell that too.

There was a wet puddle in front of my door but also underneath the door, running into my kitchen area, staining the linoleum. It was clear….so, not urine or "pop". I had no idea what it was but once inside, after taking photos YET AGAIN, I got an instant headache from the toxic fumes. I didn’t yet realize what the liquid was but I called the officers I had just seen. Either they were busy or “driving” they said, but they didn’t answer my call nor return it for another hour or more. Again, I felt bad bothering them but they needed to know what the hell was going on, daily! They were absolutely not taking me seriously. I did talk fairly calm with them but I’m sure they sensed I was disgusted, angry, absolutely grossed out by the lack of support or resources, including from them.

The neighbour had poured a combination of ammonia and bleach under my door.

Thankfully, I had a friend watch my cat for a few days before my move as I didn't want her harmed in the way I saw in my nightmares. He had creeped me out, mentioning my cat in one of his eerie sick monologues to me. He had also researched me and found out where I worked, launching on another insane tirade from his balcony to my open window about how corrupt the organization was, trying to poison everyone.

It was only in the early hours when one should be sleeping that I googled "Why pour bleach and ammonia under one's door?" that I learned it was a gang move, highly flammable, and yes - deadly.

The cop that I spoke to the most - someone I used to trust - lied in his report and said he had told me to call the fire department when I reported it to him. He did not. He told me to call the property management to clean up the carpet. Later, he told me, "If that's true what you're saying, that's attempted homicide to not only you but others in the condo."

Oh trust me, friend; it was unfortunately all too damn true.

To their credit, the police did contact the property management on at least one occasion. They were told by the company that the reason there were no security cameras anywhere in the building - not the lobby where packages went missing, not the concrete dark parkade that had no cell service or windows, not in the elevators or stairwells where the creepers like to creep – was because they opted to not have them in order to save money.

Such a safe place for women and children. Glad you saved some dough, though.

Women, especially elderly ones, were scared to walk the stairwells after the incidents I experienced because I had posted about it on the online community website when property management nor the owner of the condo would help me. I asked my neighbours to please report anything suspicious: the loud music, the nonstop smell of weed, the comings and goings into one sole condo that raised serious concern. No one spoke up or tried to help. Everyone seemed timid and afraid.

The ONLY time property management stepped in was when the neighour engraved the c-word on several occasions into the elevator door after I had filed police complaints. I later heard that the young property manager who looked like he was in his early 20s was buddies with the neighbour as he had been one of the first to buy a condo in the new building. There was no condo board set up yet. It was easier to get rid of me, I was told, than him because he was an owner while I was just a renter. It would be faster, but "also for my safety", they would say. I actually believe they were a little afraid of the unstable big guy with the crazy temper and as long as everyone turned a blind eye away from any shady dealings, everything flowed peacefully – until I moved in.

The cop who was assigned to my case in hopes of mediating discord in the area was friends with the owner of the condo I was renting - I am not sure why that wasn't a conflict of interest.

A psychic told me shortly after I moved away from there that they were one big 'boys' club and no one really took my complaints seriously. Just another hysterical woman, in their eyes. “No, you are not allowed to carry pepper spray because it’s illegal”, police had told me during one visit. When asked what I should do then to protect myself in a country where certain weapons weren’t allowed, they simply told me to sleep with a knife under my pillow.

So I did.

I carried one in my car (among other things), another in my purse, and always one on hand whenever I’d leave the condo. I even took some self-defense classes offered by the local police station, carried a whistle and personal alarm as well as had them all over my condo.

There is something seriously broken in our justice system when even dozens of his recorded sick and dangerous threats, thousands of dollars of damage to my car and personal property, AND the attempted break in, are still not enough to lay charges.

Good Lord! WHAT DOES IT SERIOUSLY TAKE TO PROTECT A WOMAN FROM A CRAZED, DRUG-INDUCED, MENTALLY UNSTABLE STALKER UTTERING THREATS ON HER LIFE?

I think we all know what they 'need' before taking your complaints seriously.

Don't let that stop you; please do not. Keep speaking up! Be smart but don't let the bullies beat you down. They will get what's coming to them, in one way or another and it doesn't have to be from us but a Higher Power that is a million times more powerful than they could ever be.

To anyone who has gone through similar experiences:

Take your power back! Refuse to let anyone dim your light just because they only have darkness inside.

Be safe and aware of your surroundings, document everything, videotape if necessary, and listen to your gut VERY CAREFULLY next time you meet a sexy charming stranger with an infectious smile who says,

“Hey girl….Why don't you come inside?”...