The Cursed Room

So since nothing really happened during the weekend, (and maybe I got…distracted by Netflix…) and today was just me starving the whole 3 hour class creating monster silhouettes, I shall tell a tale.

A tale of a noise in the night- well, nearing midnight to dawn sometimes-of incomprehensible garbles that made me think my neighbors are Sims…this is a story from next door, an apartment room where many have claimed it as home but in these thin layered walls, the screams tell another story.

                            (It’s not scary.)

I’d like to believe I live in a somewhat decent neighborhood despite having a huge ass park without any lamp lights and a bridge that makes it a prime target for evil deeds. Or just to scare the crap out of you every time you come home late and have to walk in the darkness with semi-visible lights. Seriously, the park is ominous at night especially when the trees create sharp, tall looking silhouettes.It used to be that the homeless would sleep under the trees during Summer because it’s not gonna fun during Winter and my mom would always warn me never cross through the shortcut through the suspicious trees with a sleeping bag underneath. I do hope they found a better place. The tree does give enough space for a small child or teen to have like a camp or hidden hide out.

Anyway, I’m getting distracted!

I live in the basement because it was convienient to just roll our laundry to the Laundry Room that heave it upstairs (that was my exercise haha!). I’m at the edge of the building so my neighbor has the middle room, it looks slightky bigger and I think it’s only one bedroom. The first time we moved, our neighbor was the landlord’s son. Never met the son, only his father. The dude seems okay to be honest. He had a drum kit which he would practice either alone or with other people. He had loud hangouts but nothing too bad. It does annoy my Mom and I from time to time. After a while, the dude moved out and another set of family came in.

Oh hohohoho! This family…MAN.

It was weird. I don’t really remember much of them. My mom does remember them having the same shouting capacity as a banshee or a toddler for that matter. They’d fight loudly by banging. They also pets but their cats so they were quite. The family had two kids, a son and a daughter who looked a bit of like blank faces. I don’t know, something seemed off about them.

One particularly memory stand out that raised alarms. I was coming back home from high school when I glanced people staring down at something in the hallway. I noticed it was a small cage probably for cats and they were probably trying to sell the cats. At this point, the family was getting ready to move out. There was a lot of hustle and furniture. I think they were also selling the furniture but I can’t be too sure. As to why, you’ll see!

So after witnessing a strange meeting, I just ignored them and got inside. A week later I get a knock on the door. My mom has a rule that I will never open the door to people I don’t know. I slowly made my way to the door and was about to check who it was when someone said out loud, “This is police. We would like to speak with you.”

For a moment, I was terrified that I’ve done something illegal, had no knowledge of it, and got caught or something was horribly wrong. So I called my mom loudly so they could hear me and know we’re not ignoring them. My mom quickly got out of the bathroom and spoke with officers. I caught a bit of conversation by hiding near the door to my room.

They were asking questions about the neighbor next door. When they left, what my mom knew about them, etc.

My mom just told me they were probably dealing with illegal stuff. It then made sense to me while they were selling stuff quickly. They needed money to get out and also get rid of their trace if possible.

I never knew what happened to them. That moment when the police came was a bit of a surprise.

The next one which came in the apartment I dubbed, “Cursed Room” is a couple. I did bump into them once when I was opening the door at the same time as them. They seemed nice and had a small dog.

They had problems. A bunch of them.

First of, their relationship fell apart and it was like hearing an audio book of the latest drama book written by a heartbroken, angst teen. The woman had the vocal of an opera singer. She kept yelling, I think its her favourite past time, to her now ex about how their friend is just using them and they were letting them and he should just leave her. They yelled quite a lot and the dog gets yelled by the banshee incarnate because they pooped the rug.

Maybe if you have trained it, loved it, and goddamn take care of it like a good owner SHOULD…it wouldn’t be such a hell spawn.

The woman was clearly stressed out with her ‘lover’ being very shady and her life probably falling into shambles. The last strike was a sad one. They did broke up with her kicking him out of their apartment and not let him in.

That was a roller coaster of a ride. Even so, my mom was furious to the point she’d turn the radio to full blast so they would either stop or won’t hear much of their arguments.

The last one…the currently in the house and I’m convinced came from the land of Sims, is a large family. At first they seemed okay. Then the yelling started.

Then they started to party loud like they own the goddamn world.

Then THEY kept BANGING. THE FREAKING. WINDOWS. AND DOORS!

Not to mention, people would come up and punch their windows for god knows what reason and speak what seems to be Simlish at 3 in the morning with what seems to be megaphones as their vocal cords.

They still do it. They still LIVE beside us. My mom is about to blow the fuse and is looking somewhere else to live.

The neighbors ALWAYS fight, ALWAYS shout. It’s like a never ending cycle, a curse of bad neighborhood etiquette!

This is why I call it the “Curse Room” because everyone who moves in becomes a freaking banshee and they don’t last very long. I think among all the other families who lived here, that room always have a new tenant in a few months.

It’s a creepy, obnoxious pattern that someday I’ll get away from and pray for the poor souks who will occupy my lot.

Well, that’s all I have for the “Cursed Room”!

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