Every Time I Returned to My New Apartment, I Found Notes with Threats — When I Saw Who Was Leaving Them, I Froze

From Dream Apartment to Nightmare: A Chilling Tale of Threats and Family Secrets

My dream apartment swiftly turned into a living nightmare when threatening notes began to appear, each one more chilling than the last. The discovery of the person behind them left me shaken, and my life was never the same.

I’m Samantha, 35, and this is the unsettling story of how my ideal home morphed into a house of horrors. Two weeks ago, I felt on top of the world. After years of scrimping and saving, I finally secured my dream apartment—a charming two-bedroom flat in a historic district, complete with vintage fixtures and a balcony overlooking the park. I twirled around the empty living room, my laughter echoing off the walls. “Can you believe it, Mom? It’s all mine!”

My mom, Christie, stood in the doorway with a tight smile. “It’s… nice, honey. But are you sure about this? It’s so far from home.”

I waved off her concern. “Mom, I’m 35. It’s time I had my own place. Besides, it’s only a 30-minute drive.” She nodded, though her worry was evident. “I know, I just… I’ll miss having you around.” I hugged her quickly. “I’ll visit all the time, I promise. Now, help me pick out some curtains for these gorgeous windows!” I held up a floral pattern sample as we sifted through fabric swatches.

Everything was perfect. My new apartment was a dream come true—cozy corners, a little office oasis, and a budding balcony garden. Mornings were blissful, filled with coffee, sunshine, and the promise of a good day. But soon, things took a sinister turn. One morning, as I was leaving for work, I noticed a crumpled paper stuck to my front door. My hands trembled as I unfolded it, revealing a jagged scrawl: “Move out or you’ll regret it.”

I hoped it was a sick joke or a case of mistaken identity. But dread crept in as the notes continued. Each one was more threatening: “This apartment will harm you,” “Get out before it’s too late.” The handwriting varied, but the messages were consistently chilling.

One evening, as I unlocked my door, my heart skipped a beat upon finding another note. I flicked on the lights, half-expecting an intruder. Instead, everything was as I’d left it—cozy living room, reading nook, mini home office. With a sigh, I headed to the balcony for fresh air. My breath caught when I saw a dead pigeon in the center of my carefully tended garden. “Oh my God,” I whispered, stumbling back. This was the second dead pigeon that week.

My phone buzzed with a text from Mom: “How’s the new place, sweetie? Everything okay?” I stared at the message, torn. Should I tell her about the notes and dead birds? No, she’d only worry. Instead, I typed: “Everything’s great! Just getting settled in. Talk soon!” I hit send, wondering who was trying to scare me out of my home and why.

The next morning, another dead pigeon lay on my balcony. I was terrified, constantly on edge. Every creak in the night made my heart race. Unable to sleep, I considered moving, but I’d worked too hard for this place to let someone drive me out. I decided to set up hidden cameras to catch the culprit.

The cameras arrived two days later. I spent the evening positioning them—one by the front door, one in the hallway, and one on the balcony, hidden behind a plant. For the next week, I obsessively reviewed the footage, jumping at every sound and shadow.

Friends noticed my distress. “You look tired, Sam,” my coworker Lisa commented. “Everything okay at home?” I forced a laugh. “Just getting used to the new place.” If only ghosts were my problem, I thought.

That night, as I reviewed the footage, I saw a figure approaching my door. My heart raced as I leaned closer to the screen. The person turned slightly, and my stomach dropped when I recognized their face. “NO,” I gasped. “IT CAN’T BE.” But it was undeniable—the person leaving the notes was my own mother.

The next morning, I called Mom, keeping my voice steady. “Hey, want to come over for coffee?”

“Of course, sweetie!” she replied cheerfully. “I’ll bring those muffins you love.”

An hour later, we were at my kitchen table. Mom chatted about her book club, but I was barely listening. All I could think about was the footage from last night. Finally, I couldn’t hold it in any longer. “Mom,” I said, “I need to talk to you about something.”

Her brow furrowed in concern. “What is it, honey? You look pale.”

I took a deep breath. “I’ve been finding… notes. Threatening notes on my door.”

Her eyes widened. “Oh my God, Sam! That’s terrible! Have you called the police?”

I shook my head. “No, because… I know who’s been leaving them. I set up hidden cameras.” Her eyes widened in shock, but she remained silent.

“Why, Mom?” I asked. “Why would you do this to me?”

The color drained from her face. She stared at me, her mouth opening and closing in disbelief. Then, she burst into tears. “I’m so sorry, Sammy,” she sobbed, burying her face in her hands. “I didn’t know what else to do!”

I sat in stunned silence as Mom poured out her heart. “Samantha, honey, I miss you so much. The house feels like a tomb without you. It’s so quiet, so empty. I thought if I scared you a little, you might come back. I know it’s wrong, but I just… I just miss you so much.”

“I know it was wrong,” she hiccupped, wiping her eyes. “I just… I miss you so much, honey.”

A storm of sadness swirled in my chest. “Mom, why didn’t you just talk to me?”

She shook her head, ashamed. “You seemed so happy here. I didn’t want to burden you with my feelings.”

I reached across the table, taking her hand. “Your feelings aren’t silly, Mom. But this wasn’t the way to handle it.”

She nodded, squeezing my hand. “I know. I’m so, so sorry, Sammy. Can you ever forgive me?”

I took a deep breath, meeting her tear-filled eyes. “I can, Mom. But we need to find a better way forward. For both of us.”

As we talked it out, a weight lifted from my shoulders. The mystery was solved, but I remembered something. “Oh, what about the dead pigeons on my balcony?”

Mom looked confused. “Dead pigeons? I don’t know anything about that.”

Just then, I noticed Ginger, the neighbor’s tabby cat, casually strolling across my balcony with a limp bird in his mouth. The culprit behind the unfortunate gifts was revealed. Despite everything, I laughed. “Well, I guess that solves that mystery.”

Mom joined in, and for a moment, it felt like old times. We had a long way to go, but as we sat there, laughing through our tears, I realized that sometimes the scariest things are just cries for help. Love, even when it takes a wrong turn, can find a way to bring us back together. This experience taught me a lasting lesson on the importance of communication, even when it’s tough, because even those who love us can make mistakes.