Let's see...how do I put this delicately?
Boyfriend and I think the Creepertons are building a coffin.
Yep, that about sums it up. Right on their balcony. Building a coffin. I mean, it could be a coffee table, but we didn't see any legs or architecturally interesting design to suggest it's anything other than a box. So we're going with coffin.
On my way home this afternoon, Boyfriend sends me a text that says, "Check out what the Creepertons are building." Upon my arrival, Mr. Creeperton is exiting his vehicle with two two-by-fours and a small piece of carpet. After he goes inside, I get out of my car and look to his balcony where I see a long rectangular box. The box is roughly, oh I don't know, five to six feet long. I walk in the door and exclaim to Boyfriend, "Dude, is he building a coffin?!" Simultaneously, Boyfriend says, "Do you think he's building a coffin?" A short while later, Mr. Creeperton leaves and like a cartoon vampire, returns in frighteningly small amount of time with two more pieces of wood. For a straight hour, we've heard hammering, dropping of heavy things and constant walking. We decided, then, that we'd go outside and listen to building of this "just a box."
And that's when we heard the saw.
Okay, he's building a box, why wouldn't he have a saw? True, except that's not what's creepy. It's a creepily quiet saw. As in, he and Bitch Creeperton have lived here for two years and we've never heard this saw but that's because it's not loud enough to be heard through the paper-thin walls. We hear the saw and Boyfriend turns to me and says, "Well now we know he has a saw." We do. We do know he has a saw. A saw with an apparent silencer on it.
Boyfriend also saw him return from one of his short trips with a sink trap--that U-shaped pipe under your sink. This raises eyebrows because, as renters in an apartment complex, we shouldn't ever have to replace pipes and what not. We pay a decent amount of rent so that they do things like cut our grass, plant lovely azaleas, fix broken things, unclog drains, fix holes in the ceiling after one in the morning, etc. There's no reason why we should have to replace our own pipes. Unless, of course, you don't want the apartment complex--that's already been called to replace your entire set of kitchen cabinets because your leaky sink-apades rotted a hole through your floor and through the ceiling beneath you--to see what's clogging your pipes. So after some banging above our kitchen, the garbage disposal begins again in earnest. Testing of the new pipes was successful.
This begs the question, though: Why the coffin? Why not continue to use the garbage disposal and serial killer black trash bags? Well, the garbage disposal question is easy to answer--it's causing severe damage to the pipes. They've having to replace the pipes themselves and I swear Boyfriend and I have both noticed the same spot on our ceiling where it appears moisture is coming back through. We just aren't comfortable asserting it's not the one that was there before the drywall vagina appeared in our ceiling back in February. And the trash bags--we haven't noticed them use many of those since the day Boyfriend watched them furiously beat one into their Hyundai Tuscon and then NOT drive towards the apartment Dumpster.
So that means, they've got to put the "trash" into something other than the garbage disposal and serial killer trash bags. What does that logically leave you? A coffin, duh. A few people have suggested that it's perhaps a Halloween decoration. Here's why I have trouble jumping on that non-homicidal bandwagon:
1) They've never decorated for a single holiday. Not the two previous Halloweens they've been here, neither Christmas they've been here, no Hanukkahs, no Ramadans, no Pancake Days, no National Handwriting Days. No nothing. Ever. Why this Halloween?
2) The first night the Creepertons were here, they busted up our relatively lame Halloween party at about 9:00 p.m. or 10:00 p.m. on a Friday. Surely those kind of fun haters wouldn't be decorating now.
3) Decorating for any holiday seems entirely too normal for a couple so utterly creepy.
4) WTF was the carpet for?
So yeah, a coffin is the logical next step and I know it must be of some importance to them to complete this project because at 8:30 p.m., Mr. Creeperton was still hammering away into the night. Talking at 8:30 p.m. on a Friday is reason enough to compose a strongly-worded letter to apartment management, but hammering a coffin is perfectly acceptable at the same time on a Sunday when you've got to get that shit DONE.
I thought I had it figured out earlier when I realized I hadn't seen Bitch Creeperton in a while and Mr. Creeperton was driving her vechicle instead of his own. However, Boyfriend said he saw her earlier when they went to buy...the first few pieces of wood. Alas, the coffin is not for her. Boyfriend says we won't get worried until we see him building a second one. But if they bring up a brand new chest freezer soon, I'm out.
Showing posts with label creepy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label creepy. Show all posts
Sunday, September 25, 2011
Tuesday, June 07, 2011
Dear Creepertons, It's About to get Real.
Things have reached a boiling point with the Creepertons. This time, they haven't done something particularly creepy per se, but bitchy and weird. Boyfriend and I have been stewing over this since Saturday and the more we think about it, the more mad we get. However, I don't think we can start at this most recent occurrence. Instead, I'm going to start at the beginning. For your convenience, this will be broken down into the Creeptastic Time Scale.
The Precreep Eon
(September 2008-October 2009)
During this period, a family lived above us consisting of a young new mother and father and their baby girl, whose gravel-smooth transition from crawling to walking we were lucky enough to hear. As well as her quickly-acquired ability to run. And fall. We always knew when the child would be put to bed because it would get suddenly quiet. As annoying as the small running elephant could be, we weren't really bothered by the sounds of a child learning (and failing) to walk, even if it meant the occasional bump and thump. Did we enjoy the month or so between them and the new guys? Of course.
The Neocreep Era
(October 2009-March 2010)
The day before Halloween 2009, the Creepertons moved in. Boyfriend and I remembered thinking, "Oh a couple with no kids, this shouldn't be too bad. But they look a little weird." Halloween fell on a Saturday that year and Boyfriend and I had a party. There were eight of us there at the time, and we heard a loud rapping on the door. I answered the door (dressed as Boyfriend-hit-by-Suicidal Bird I might add) to see Mr. Creeperton, who has asked us to keep it down. It was around 9:00 p.m. or 10:00 p.m. on a Saturday, Halloween, and they had just moved in so we found it a little ballsy and weird, but whatever. We recognized that it was, in fact, a party and louder than no party, so we turned the music down and tried to bring it inside as much as we could.
We attempted to stay hyper-aware of our noise levels from then on. We didn't hear anything else about our "noise" until the beginning of the Mediuscreep Era.
The Mediuscreep Era
(March 2010 to present day)
From Halloween night 2009 until March 2010, we didn't have any problems with the Creepertons directly. Sure they were freakin weird and we still hadn't figured out their relationship (are they siblings? Dating? Roommates? Mother and progeny? Who can tell?) But in March 2010, our real issues with the Creepertons began.
Boyfriend is an avid movie fan and in March 2010, we decided to host an Oscar party. Gentlemen were to wear suits and ladies were to don their most red carpet worthy dresses. We laid out a red carpet, had some cinema-type refreshments and sat down to watch the show. We were having a grand ole time sitting down and watching TV when we heard a knock on our door. B-Friend looks through the peephole and informs us that a police officer is outside. We don't immediately believe him so he opens the door and we see that a police officer is indeed outside. Boyfriend and I go to the door to address the officer's questions.
He says that he has received a call that we are having a party that is too loud. He asks what we're doing and we tell him of our party. We had to explain that it was an excuse to get dressed up and watch the Oscars since "We're having an Oscar party" didn't adequately explain what we were doing and he was still confused. Apparently, he hadn't before heard of an Oscar party. He asks if we had any music playing and Boyfriend tells him, "Only the orchestra on TV." As he stands before us on a red carpet while Boyfriend and B-Friend are wearing suits and I'm sporting a floor-length bridesmaid gown, he says he thinks someone must have been mistaken on the address they gave him. He then let us know that he sat outside for about 15 minutes and could see that our windows were open and could see us inside but never heard us. Before he leaves, he tells us to have a good evening. Doesn't even tell us to keep it down, because there was nothing to keep down. The look on his face was total confusion and a pinch of disbelief and he looked around to see a bunch of dressed-up nerds with posters of the Dark Crystal and Lord of the Rings lining the darkened room and a counter top adorned with popcorn, candy and fondue. On a Sunday.
We never confirmed that the call to the police came from the Creepertons. Indeed, I defended them at first, stating that they had come downstairs and addressed us directly last time so I don't know why they'd go straight to the police this time. Looking back, we're most definitely sure it was them.
The Bitchcreep Epoch
(February 2011 to present day)
February 2011 marked the emergence of a significant hole in our ceiling, the event which sparked many a question about the Creepertons and which brought to light their creepiness to people who weren't Boyfriend and I. The numerous subsequent entries on this very blog illustrate the increased ridiculousness that is the Creepertons in the Bitchcreep Epoch.
Boyfriend and I actually thought that the ceiling hole episode would probably get the Creepertons to lay off for a while because SURELY they can't complain about our not-really-loudness when we had to go without part of our ceiling for a week. In March no less, when those of us with allergies are having a hard enough time without direct exposure to mold in our homes, brought about by complete morons who let a sink leak for so long it rotted out a chunk of their kitchen, necessitating the complete replacement of their entire front kitchen counter and a portion of the ceiling below them.
This past weekend marked the pinnacle of our disdain for the Creepertons.
Boyfriend and I also believe that it may have initiated the countdown of our numbered days.
Friday night, two of our friends came over to hang out. D-Friend arrived at about 8:00 p.m. and A-Friend arrived about an hour later. At 9:15 p.m. or so, I left to run to the store and A-Friend left to get himself something to eat. This left naught but Boyfriend and D-Friend at the apartment. When I returned at 9:30 p.m., I could see Boyfriend and D-Friend on the patio, but even as I was walking past them, I couldn't hear anything they were saying, just that sound of someone's around close by and maybe talking to someone. You know, the normal sound of Friday nights in the late Spring/Summer when the weather's nice. In fact, I contemplated yelling "What up ninjas?!" but deemed the outside situation somewhat quiet and didn't want to disturb that. Nor look dumb.
As I was coming to the breezeway to go to my door, Mr. Creeperton was coming down the stairs. He catches me as I'm about to walk by, saying "Excuse me, I don't mean to be rude, but can you guys keep it down? It's getting kinda loud up here. Don't mean to be rude." I, completely caught off guard, just say "okay" and continue walking to my door.
Let's recap:
1) When Mr. Creeperton was coming down to complain that it was "kinda loud upstairs," there were only two people at my apartment at the time.
2) It was so "kinda loud" that I couldn't hear them. When I was outside. Twenty feet away.
3) It was 9:30 on a Friday night. My 2-year old nephew is occasionally still up at this time. My 8-year old little brother is still at least an hour away from bedtime. Twenty years ago, TGIF would still be on.
I go inside and tell Boyfriend and D-Friend that we've been asked to quiet down. Looking at me as though I've just suggested we attempt to achieve positronic distillation of subatomic particles, I explain what just happened. The sheer ludicrousness of the request sparks a running joke the rest of the night where we'd "shh" a person who laughed too loudly. I didn't say it was humorous, just a joke. At 11:30 p.m., I call it a night and go to bed, where I had my door cracked and no fan on so I could ensure it didn't get too loud. Even with the main sliding glass window open in the living room, I could barely hear the other three people. I fell asleep quickly and didn't awake until 1:30 a.m. when Boyfriend and D-Friend were snoring like hibernating bears to Daniel Tosh. After talking with Boyfriend, we estimated that they came inside around 12:30 a.m. (on a Friday night, mind you, because we're all awesomely lame) and fell asleep shortly thereafter to the Chapelle Show, before Boyfriend awoke again and changed it to Tosh.
Saturday morning I received a phone call from our management office at the apartment, inquiring as to whether or not we had had a party the night before. It seems she had "received a very strongly-worded letter" and was checking up on it. I didn't feel it was time to tell her all the things we normally hear in an attempt to prevent the situation from becoming childish and reminiscent of "well THEY did THIS first" so I was simply honest with her about the happenings of the night before. She sounded as confused as the Oscar party police officer appeared, and ended the conversation by saying "Well you ARE allowed to have friends over" and then recommended that I remind them not to park in the front row, as a courtesy to residents. Sure thing.
Fast forward to Monday night and Neighbor Friend tells me he received a phone call asking about Friday night as well. He assures us that he did not hear us and adds that he's never heard us, even when he can see we have more than four people on the patio. I'm assuming that others received that phone call as well and I'm confident that everyone else will give the same answer as Neighbor Friend. I should also add that Neighbor Friend is the type who will most definitely let you know when you're doing something he doesn't think is cool. For example, when our building spent the whole day shoveling snow from the lot in front of our building and someone from another building was going to park there because their spots were covered and Neighbor Friend told him to move and shovel his own lot. Oh and also, Mr. Creeperton helped shovel the lot that day. And he didn't say a single word to anyone.
So now Boyfriend and I are really pissed and also fearful, as it seems the Creepertons may not receive the support they were looking for from apartment management, which may only incense them further. We could sit and do nothing but we feel that we need some sort of documentation since there is apparently a "strongly-worded letter" about our "parties" in our file. We've lived below someone with a toddler who went to bed at 8:00 p.m., beside the Marlboro Man and his wife who appear to be in their 50s or 60s, and across from someone who has called police on other neighbors' parties when they got too loud. If anyone was going to complain, you'd think it would be one of those, not the youngish couple above us who seemingly have no real normal job responsibilities because they're always at home and they stay up until all hours of the night. Running their garbage disposal. Dropping small explosives. In the dark.
We feel we should also write a letter. How does one sound professional in a letter while wanting to write that the people who've complained about our talking have awakened us in the middle of the night from running their garbage disposal and dropping what can only be assumed are bowling balls or frozen heads, dropped items so heavy that the impact has caused things to fall from our shelves in the utility room, stared at our apartment from their cars, and oh yeah, were too utterly stupid and/or irresponsible to notice and/or report a sink that had leaked so profusely for so long that it rotted out their cabinet, floor and our ceiling?
During all of this, we've never submitted a complaint about them, nor have we gone up there to ask them to please hold things more securely--partly because we understand that with apartment living comes the noises of others and partly because they scare the bejesus out of us. However, we do want something on file that indicates our aversion to filing complaints while also acknowledging that we do not live below quiet, peaceful people who we thoughtlessly disrupt. Instead, we live below extremely loud creepy people who, for some reason, do not like us and grind their victims' bones in the night while running their air conditioner every day for the past year and a half, the unit for which just happens to be right outside of our patio and my gosh, let's talk about noise, shall we?
My hypothesis is thus: Mr. and Bitch Creeperton have realized that Boyfriend and I are on to them. They themselves cannot move because they have too much delicate cargo to transport and possibly cannot afford the required refrigerated truck for the bodies that have not yet been taken care of. As such, they want us removed.
The Precreep Eon
(September 2008-October 2009)
During this period, a family lived above us consisting of a young new mother and father and their baby girl, whose gravel-smooth transition from crawling to walking we were lucky enough to hear. As well as her quickly-acquired ability to run. And fall. We always knew when the child would be put to bed because it would get suddenly quiet. As annoying as the small running elephant could be, we weren't really bothered by the sounds of a child learning (and failing) to walk, even if it meant the occasional bump and thump. Did we enjoy the month or so between them and the new guys? Of course.
The Neocreep Era
(October 2009-March 2010)
The day before Halloween 2009, the Creepertons moved in. Boyfriend and I remembered thinking, "Oh a couple with no kids, this shouldn't be too bad. But they look a little weird." Halloween fell on a Saturday that year and Boyfriend and I had a party. There were eight of us there at the time, and we heard a loud rapping on the door. I answered the door (dressed as Boyfriend-hit-by-Suicidal Bird I might add) to see Mr. Creeperton, who has asked us to keep it down. It was around 9:00 p.m. or 10:00 p.m. on a Saturday, Halloween, and they had just moved in so we found it a little ballsy and weird, but whatever. We recognized that it was, in fact, a party and louder than no party, so we turned the music down and tried to bring it inside as much as we could.
We attempted to stay hyper-aware of our noise levels from then on. We didn't hear anything else about our "noise" until the beginning of the Mediuscreep Era.
The Mediuscreep Era
(March 2010 to present day)
From Halloween night 2009 until March 2010, we didn't have any problems with the Creepertons directly. Sure they were freakin weird and we still hadn't figured out their relationship (are they siblings? Dating? Roommates? Mother and progeny? Who can tell?) But in March 2010, our real issues with the Creepertons began.
Boyfriend is an avid movie fan and in March 2010, we decided to host an Oscar party. Gentlemen were to wear suits and ladies were to don their most red carpet worthy dresses. We laid out a red carpet, had some cinema-type refreshments and sat down to watch the show. We were having a grand ole time sitting down and watching TV when we heard a knock on our door. B-Friend looks through the peephole and informs us that a police officer is outside. We don't immediately believe him so he opens the door and we see that a police officer is indeed outside. Boyfriend and I go to the door to address the officer's questions.
He says that he has received a call that we are having a party that is too loud. He asks what we're doing and we tell him of our party. We had to explain that it was an excuse to get dressed up and watch the Oscars since "We're having an Oscar party" didn't adequately explain what we were doing and he was still confused. Apparently, he hadn't before heard of an Oscar party. He asks if we had any music playing and Boyfriend tells him, "Only the orchestra on TV." As he stands before us on a red carpet while Boyfriend and B-Friend are wearing suits and I'm sporting a floor-length bridesmaid gown, he says he thinks someone must have been mistaken on the address they gave him. He then let us know that he sat outside for about 15 minutes and could see that our windows were open and could see us inside but never heard us. Before he leaves, he tells us to have a good evening. Doesn't even tell us to keep it down, because there was nothing to keep down. The look on his face was total confusion and a pinch of disbelief and he looked around to see a bunch of dressed-up nerds with posters of the Dark Crystal and Lord of the Rings lining the darkened room and a counter top adorned with popcorn, candy and fondue. On a Sunday.
We never confirmed that the call to the police came from the Creepertons. Indeed, I defended them at first, stating that they had come downstairs and addressed us directly last time so I don't know why they'd go straight to the police this time. Looking back, we're most definitely sure it was them.
The Bitchcreep Epoch
(February 2011 to present day)
February 2011 marked the emergence of a significant hole in our ceiling, the event which sparked many a question about the Creepertons and which brought to light their creepiness to people who weren't Boyfriend and I. The numerous subsequent entries on this very blog illustrate the increased ridiculousness that is the Creepertons in the Bitchcreep Epoch.
Boyfriend and I actually thought that the ceiling hole episode would probably get the Creepertons to lay off for a while because SURELY they can't complain about our not-really-loudness when we had to go without part of our ceiling for a week. In March no less, when those of us with allergies are having a hard enough time without direct exposure to mold in our homes, brought about by complete morons who let a sink leak for so long it rotted out a chunk of their kitchen, necessitating the complete replacement of their entire front kitchen counter and a portion of the ceiling below them.
This past weekend marked the pinnacle of our disdain for the Creepertons.
Boyfriend and I also believe that it may have initiated the countdown of our numbered days.
Friday night, two of our friends came over to hang out. D-Friend arrived at about 8:00 p.m. and A-Friend arrived about an hour later. At 9:15 p.m. or so, I left to run to the store and A-Friend left to get himself something to eat. This left naught but Boyfriend and D-Friend at the apartment. When I returned at 9:30 p.m., I could see Boyfriend and D-Friend on the patio, but even as I was walking past them, I couldn't hear anything they were saying, just that sound of someone's around close by and maybe talking to someone. You know, the normal sound of Friday nights in the late Spring/Summer when the weather's nice. In fact, I contemplated yelling "What up ninjas?!" but deemed the outside situation somewhat quiet and didn't want to disturb that. Nor look dumb.
As I was coming to the breezeway to go to my door, Mr. Creeperton was coming down the stairs. He catches me as I'm about to walk by, saying "Excuse me, I don't mean to be rude, but can you guys keep it down? It's getting kinda loud up here. Don't mean to be rude." I, completely caught off guard, just say "okay" and continue walking to my door.
Let's recap:
1) When Mr. Creeperton was coming down to complain that it was "kinda loud upstairs," there were only two people at my apartment at the time.
2) It was so "kinda loud" that I couldn't hear them. When I was outside. Twenty feet away.
3) It was 9:30 on a Friday night. My 2-year old nephew is occasionally still up at this time. My 8-year old little brother is still at least an hour away from bedtime. Twenty years ago, TGIF would still be on.
I go inside and tell Boyfriend and D-Friend that we've been asked to quiet down. Looking at me as though I've just suggested we attempt to achieve positronic distillation of subatomic particles, I explain what just happened. The sheer ludicrousness of the request sparks a running joke the rest of the night where we'd "shh" a person who laughed too loudly. I didn't say it was humorous, just a joke. At 11:30 p.m., I call it a night and go to bed, where I had my door cracked and no fan on so I could ensure it didn't get too loud. Even with the main sliding glass window open in the living room, I could barely hear the other three people. I fell asleep quickly and didn't awake until 1:30 a.m. when Boyfriend and D-Friend were snoring like hibernating bears to Daniel Tosh. After talking with Boyfriend, we estimated that they came inside around 12:30 a.m. (on a Friday night, mind you, because we're all awesomely lame) and fell asleep shortly thereafter to the Chapelle Show, before Boyfriend awoke again and changed it to Tosh.
Saturday morning I received a phone call from our management office at the apartment, inquiring as to whether or not we had had a party the night before. It seems she had "received a very strongly-worded letter" and was checking up on it. I didn't feel it was time to tell her all the things we normally hear in an attempt to prevent the situation from becoming childish and reminiscent of "well THEY did THIS first" so I was simply honest with her about the happenings of the night before. She sounded as confused as the Oscar party police officer appeared, and ended the conversation by saying "Well you ARE allowed to have friends over" and then recommended that I remind them not to park in the front row, as a courtesy to residents. Sure thing.
Fast forward to Monday night and Neighbor Friend tells me he received a phone call asking about Friday night as well. He assures us that he did not hear us and adds that he's never heard us, even when he can see we have more than four people on the patio. I'm assuming that others received that phone call as well and I'm confident that everyone else will give the same answer as Neighbor Friend. I should also add that Neighbor Friend is the type who will most definitely let you know when you're doing something he doesn't think is cool. For example, when our building spent the whole day shoveling snow from the lot in front of our building and someone from another building was going to park there because their spots were covered and Neighbor Friend told him to move and shovel his own lot. Oh and also, Mr. Creeperton helped shovel the lot that day. And he didn't say a single word to anyone.
So now Boyfriend and I are really pissed and also fearful, as it seems the Creepertons may not receive the support they were looking for from apartment management, which may only incense them further. We could sit and do nothing but we feel that we need some sort of documentation since there is apparently a "strongly-worded letter" about our "parties" in our file. We've lived below someone with a toddler who went to bed at 8:00 p.m., beside the Marlboro Man and his wife who appear to be in their 50s or 60s, and across from someone who has called police on other neighbors' parties when they got too loud. If anyone was going to complain, you'd think it would be one of those, not the youngish couple above us who seemingly have no real normal job responsibilities because they're always at home and they stay up until all hours of the night. Running their garbage disposal. Dropping small explosives. In the dark.
We feel we should also write a letter. How does one sound professional in a letter while wanting to write that the people who've complained about our talking have awakened us in the middle of the night from running their garbage disposal and dropping what can only be assumed are bowling balls or frozen heads, dropped items so heavy that the impact has caused things to fall from our shelves in the utility room, stared at our apartment from their cars, and oh yeah, were too utterly stupid and/or irresponsible to notice and/or report a sink that had leaked so profusely for so long that it rotted out their cabinet, floor and our ceiling?
During all of this, we've never submitted a complaint about them, nor have we gone up there to ask them to please hold things more securely--partly because we understand that with apartment living comes the noises of others and partly because they scare the bejesus out of us. However, we do want something on file that indicates our aversion to filing complaints while also acknowledging that we do not live below quiet, peaceful people who we thoughtlessly disrupt. Instead, we live below extremely loud creepy people who, for some reason, do not like us and grind their victims' bones in the night while running their air conditioner every day for the past year and a half, the unit for which just happens to be right outside of our patio and my gosh, let's talk about noise, shall we?
My hypothesis is thus: Mr. and Bitch Creeperton have realized that Boyfriend and I are on to them. They themselves cannot move because they have too much delicate cargo to transport and possibly cannot afford the required refrigerated truck for the bodies that have not yet been taken care of. As such, they want us removed.
Monday, May 09, 2011
Quickie Post: Creepertons Make a Move
I've written a lot about the Creepertons. Part of that is because they are, in fact, incredibly creepy and another part is that Boyfriend and I want this whole thing to be documented should you start to notice that we're not hanging out anymore or won't answer our phones, etc.
The excessive garbage disposal use continues.
The constant running of the air conditioner continues, despite relatively cool temperatures in the 50s and low 60s at night time and highs only in the 70s during the day.
There are some new things we've noticed:
1. Mr. Creeperton has developed a recent affinity for wearing large puffy winter coats on these 70 degree days. Bright sunny skies, temperature a moderate and quite comfortable 70 degrees and Mr. Creeperton driving off with a black puffy winter coat (and sometimes shoeless, which I cannot even begin to wrap my head around). We don't understand this, especially considering that they apparently feel temperatures over 55 degrees is warm enough to necessitate the A/C running so you'd think they'd be melting when temperatures reached the 70s.
2. Bitch Creeperton took out the trash last weekend. That would sound benign enough except that she took out naught but one bag. One HUGE black trash bag. It was as large as she was and she was having quite a lot of difficulty navigating it to her vehicle. Whatever was in there was large and heavy. She had to drag it. When she went to put it in her vehicle (not a car, but not an SUV...I believe they're called "crossover" or something), it wouldn't fit through the door. So she beat it.
Repeatedly.
Bitch just started beating the crap out of this huge, heavy black trash bag to get it to fit in the vehicle. Then she drove away...
But away from our garbage Dumpster. We don't know where she dumped...whatever's in that bag, but we know it wasn't in our Dumpster at the complex.
If anything happens to us and our cats are spared (unlikely), I'd like Freaky and Velvet to go to my Mom. Just wanted to have that in writing. They eat special expensive food Mom, I'm sorry.
The excessive garbage disposal use continues.
The constant running of the air conditioner continues, despite relatively cool temperatures in the 50s and low 60s at night time and highs only in the 70s during the day.
There are some new things we've noticed:
1. Mr. Creeperton has developed a recent affinity for wearing large puffy winter coats on these 70 degree days. Bright sunny skies, temperature a moderate and quite comfortable 70 degrees and Mr. Creeperton driving off with a black puffy winter coat (and sometimes shoeless, which I cannot even begin to wrap my head around). We don't understand this, especially considering that they apparently feel temperatures over 55 degrees is warm enough to necessitate the A/C running so you'd think they'd be melting when temperatures reached the 70s.
2. Bitch Creeperton took out the trash last weekend. That would sound benign enough except that she took out naught but one bag. One HUGE black trash bag. It was as large as she was and she was having quite a lot of difficulty navigating it to her vehicle. Whatever was in there was large and heavy. She had to drag it. When she went to put it in her vehicle (not a car, but not an SUV...I believe they're called "crossover" or something), it wouldn't fit through the door. So she beat it.
Repeatedly.
Bitch just started beating the crap out of this huge, heavy black trash bag to get it to fit in the vehicle. Then she drove away...
But away from our garbage Dumpster. We don't know where she dumped...whatever's in that bag, but we know it wasn't in our Dumpster at the complex.
If anything happens to us and our cats are spared (unlikely), I'd like Freaky and Velvet to go to my Mom. Just wanted to have that in writing. They eat special expensive food Mom, I'm sorry.
Friday, April 15, 2011
The Creepertons' Return
The Creepertons have been keeping a relatively low profile. They were turning lights on for a while and were actually active during normal hours. They would smile and say hello--well, Mr. Creeperton would, Bitch Creeperton is still unfriendly. They were buying multiple gallons of cat litter--probably more often than is necessary, but hey, maybe they were finding good deals--and there was a noticeable and comforting cessation of Mr. Creeperton sitting in his automobile and staring at our windows. Even the loud banging and falling-bowling-ball sounds had ceased.
For a while.
Now, they're slowly resurfacing, obviously feeling as though they took a sufficient amount of time off so as to throw suspicious eyes off their trail(s).
It's been quite seasonable and lovely in this town over the past few weeks. Regardless of pleasant 70-80 degree temperatures, their apartment remains fully sealed from light and visitors and their thermostat continues to run. It's not hot enough to need A/C and it's definitely not cold enough to need one's heat. Every other apartment in the complex has their windows and sliding glass doors open to allow fresh air in and stank winter air out. Not the Creepertons. They don't want what I can only imagine is the stench of rotten flesh emanating from their home. With that and the fact that it has been consistently over 55 degrees, they've got their place locked up nice and tight. No sweltering 60 degrees for them!
There are also the occasional bumps and thumps upstairs, but that's to be expected in an apartment complex when you live below an occupied unit. No strangeness there. But at 12:30 a.m.? Above the bathroom? And then the master bedroom? Okay, a little weirder, but nothing too concerning, right?
Except it's not normal bumps and thumps. I mean, sure, you know what the sound of dropping the soap sounds like in the tub, but I haven't the foggiest idea why they're dropping 19-pound frozen turkeys on the floor of the bathroom by the sink. Normal everyday life sounds don't keep you awake in the wee hours of the new day or frighten you such that you lock your two deadbolts and ensure you know where your cats are (because, as we know, serial killers seem to have something against felines and other domesticated house pets).
No no, whoever they were "taking out for a cup of coffee" last night didn't go down in an agreeable fashion. There were a few bumps over here, a few thumps over there, and then one single loud thump.
That loud thump was then followed by repeated, rhythmic thumps in the same place for another 30 seconds or so. At quarter to one in the morning. Following the last of thebeatings thumping, there was sound you couldn't miss. It sounded remarkably like dragging or rolling something large and/or heavy. They do have two cats, but they do not have two large jungle cats (like, say, pumas) who hunt smaller jungle cats (e.g. ocelots) in the master bedroom. They have two adorable, though largely unremarkable, regular ole tabby house cats. Those regular ole tabby house cats would not make such a sound.
Not many things WOULD make such a sound except that which it sounded exactly like. Twenty bucks says we hear the garbage disposal this evening and despite sunny skies and a beautiful 70-degree day here, the windows will be closed with the blinds drawn and the thermostat running to keep it a crisp and decomposition-preventing 55 degrees.
For a while.
Now, they're slowly resurfacing, obviously feeling as though they took a sufficient amount of time off so as to throw suspicious eyes off their trail(s).
It's been quite seasonable and lovely in this town over the past few weeks. Regardless of pleasant 70-80 degree temperatures, their apartment remains fully sealed from light and visitors and their thermostat continues to run. It's not hot enough to need A/C and it's definitely not cold enough to need one's heat. Every other apartment in the complex has their windows and sliding glass doors open to allow fresh air in and stank winter air out. Not the Creepertons. They don't want what I can only imagine is the stench of rotten flesh emanating from their home. With that and the fact that it has been consistently over 55 degrees, they've got their place locked up nice and tight. No sweltering 60 degrees for them!
There are also the occasional bumps and thumps upstairs, but that's to be expected in an apartment complex when you live below an occupied unit. No strangeness there. But at 12:30 a.m.? Above the bathroom? And then the master bedroom? Okay, a little weirder, but nothing too concerning, right?
Except it's not normal bumps and thumps. I mean, sure, you know what the sound of dropping the soap sounds like in the tub, but I haven't the foggiest idea why they're dropping 19-pound frozen turkeys on the floor of the bathroom by the sink. Normal everyday life sounds don't keep you awake in the wee hours of the new day or frighten you such that you lock your two deadbolts and ensure you know where your cats are (because, as we know, serial killers seem to have something against felines and other domesticated house pets).
No no, whoever they were "taking out for a cup of coffee" last night didn't go down in an agreeable fashion. There were a few bumps over here, a few thumps over there, and then one single loud thump.
That loud thump was then followed by repeated, rhythmic thumps in the same place for another 30 seconds or so. At quarter to one in the morning. Following the last of the
Not many things WOULD make such a sound except that which it sounded exactly like. Twenty bucks says we hear the garbage disposal this evening and despite sunny skies and a beautiful 70-degree day here, the windows will be closed with the blinds drawn and the thermostat running to keep it a crisp and decomposition-preventing 55 degrees.
Tuesday, March 01, 2011
The Creepertons: Volume II
The Creepertons continue to make their presence known. The days since the hole in the ceiling revealed their creepy ways to the rest of the apartment world have been interesting. There has been a considerable increase in not only loud banging but also the use of their...
Garbage disposal.
No, seriously. They've never used their garbage disposal more than they have over the past week. The use of the garbage disposal always follows loud banging. Every time. Every creepy time.
The Creepertons have also decided to tackle many more things together than they did before, like getting fast food. Bitch Creeperton left alone late last week to get herself some Wendy's. She returned with naught but a soda. So either she drove to the furthest fast food restaurant from our complex just for a soda (even though we live literally behind a grocery store) or she inhaled her food on the way home. Upon her return home, she walked upstairs, got Mr. Creeperton and they left again. This time, they returned with Burger King. This time, Mr. Creeperton drove. She was fully capable of driving to Wendy's and back, but made the effort to get out, go upstairs and knock on the door, and then walk back downstairs to get in the passenger seat. Who knows?
Today has been the best. Maintenance people spent the morning and most of the afternoon gutting their apartment. They removed and replaced the Creepertons' carpet, linoleum and kitchen cabinets. Boyfriend has seen all types of plywood and scraps thrown into the "yard" and rolls of other things being taken out. We think this explains the increased use of their garbage disposal as I'm sure maintenance told them they'd be back on Tuesday to remove everything and the Creepertons put their "cleaning" efforts into overtime. I wouldn't be surprised if the garbage disposal needs replacing as well because I can't imagine human bones are broken up so easily. I know who to ask if I'm curious though!
So in the span of a few weeks they froze their air conditioner (remember, because the temperature was reaching a sweltering 55 degrees) and allowed their sink to leak so badly that they had to replace carpet, the floor and the cabinets. During this time, they never thought it important enough to call the complex and describe these apparently "minor" issues. No one was aware of the deterioration upstairs until those issues caved in our ceiling at one in the morning.
Even if it's not bodies, it's AT LEAST meth. I'm glad Boyfriend and I finally got renter's insurance. I'm also glad I'm now certified in pet CPR (in addition to the adult CPR certification that expires this month). I will not be surprised if both of these newly-acquired assets are put to use in the coming months as one of two scenarios likely takes place: 1) The current bodies are joined by our own as retribution for exposing the very dark and secret cover they had enjoyed for a year and a half, or 2) The meth lab explodes. Each of these scenarios is equally likely.
Garbage disposal.
No, seriously. They've never used their garbage disposal more than they have over the past week. The use of the garbage disposal always follows loud banging. Every time. Every creepy time.
The Creepertons have also decided to tackle many more things together than they did before, like getting fast food. Bitch Creeperton left alone late last week to get herself some Wendy's. She returned with naught but a soda. So either she drove to the furthest fast food restaurant from our complex just for a soda (even though we live literally behind a grocery store) or she inhaled her food on the way home. Upon her return home, she walked upstairs, got Mr. Creeperton and they left again. This time, they returned with Burger King. This time, Mr. Creeperton drove. She was fully capable of driving to Wendy's and back, but made the effort to get out, go upstairs and knock on the door, and then walk back downstairs to get in the passenger seat. Who knows?
Today has been the best. Maintenance people spent the morning and most of the afternoon gutting their apartment. They removed and replaced the Creepertons' carpet, linoleum and kitchen cabinets. Boyfriend has seen all types of plywood and scraps thrown into the "yard" and rolls of other things being taken out. We think this explains the increased use of their garbage disposal as I'm sure maintenance told them they'd be back on Tuesday to remove everything and the Creepertons put their "cleaning" efforts into overtime. I wouldn't be surprised if the garbage disposal needs replacing as well because I can't imagine human bones are broken up so easily. I know who to ask if I'm curious though!
So in the span of a few weeks they froze their air conditioner (remember, because the temperature was reaching a sweltering 55 degrees) and allowed their sink to leak so badly that they had to replace carpet, the floor and the cabinets. During this time, they never thought it important enough to call the complex and describe these apparently "minor" issues. No one was aware of the deterioration upstairs until those issues caved in our ceiling at one in the morning.
Even if it's not bodies, it's AT LEAST meth. I'm glad Boyfriend and I finally got renter's insurance. I'm also glad I'm now certified in pet CPR (in addition to the adult CPR certification that expires this month). I will not be surprised if both of these newly-acquired assets are put to use in the coming months as one of two scenarios likely takes place: 1) The current bodies are joined by our own as retribution for exposing the very dark and secret cover they had enjoyed for a year and a half, or 2) The meth lab explodes. Each of these scenarios is equally likely.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
I Live Below Serial Killers
Back in October 2009, we got new neighbors above us. From the beginning Boyfriend and I thought they were strange. Since 2009, they're hardly--if ever--gone from the apartment at the same time. Someone is always home and someone is always awake. We know this because they are always banging around up there. Morning, noon and night, they are making noise. I've decided that they play pool in the room above my bedroom and bowl in their kitchen. They never open their blinds and they never use lights. Seriously. Drive by at any time and you will never see lights on in the Creepertons' apartment. When they leave, it's only for short periods of time and it's very very rare that they go somewhere together. If they go somewhere together, they're gone for about 5 minutes. We have no idea what on Earth they could possibly do to earn money except maybe they use the insurance they got when they killed their father/husband. To further compound the creepiness--we cannot tell just what their relationship might be. It's pretty obvious that Boyfriend and I are dating and we live together. It's obvious that the nice couple who live behind us are an older married couple. Across from them was a younger couple--we think married. Across from us is a man who sometimes has his daughter and has recently gotten married to New Woman. Above us though? We don't know if they date, if they're siblings, or if they're mother/son. I know that doesn't sound weird when you think about it once. But really think--have you ever not been able to tell even remotely if someone COULD be mom/sister/girlfriend/wife? They're creepy and I think the woman is genetically altered somehow because she is in no way normal-looking. I thought she had Down syndrome at one point, but she's not cute enough and quite frankly, too much of a bitch. I know, you hate me now. But really, at least Mr. Creeperton smiles and nods, Bitch Creeperton never even attempts to make eye contact. She just likes to complain about our music and call the police when we are watching the Oscars. Suffice to say, the sight of about 10 people dressed to the nines (girls in sequined/bridesmaid dress and dudes in suits) sitting on the couch watching the Oscars while a police officer stands on the red carpet outside our door actually telling us he doesn't know why he was called here was hilarious. I'm not lying; that's a story for another time.
Last week, Boyfriend noticed what looked like moisture in the ceiling. He texted me about it, but I thought little of it because our ceiling has stains anyway. How is our ceiling stained? I haven't the foggiest. Those older stains actually have a reddish tint, but are not food-related and I really think they're blood stains that have seeped through the Creepertons' floor. Anyway. By later that evening, I had forgotten all about this.
Fast forward to early this morning. At 1:30 this morning, I was awakened from a lovely dream to Boyfriend asking what the emergency maintenance number was because our ceiling was falling. That's quite an awakening at 1:30 in the morning, especially when you were so joyful to be getting into bed at 10:00 a.m. like normal adults who just might get enough sleep. Alas, I had to get up to see our caving ceiling. In that aforementioned moisture spot was now what appeared to be a drywall vagina in our ceiling dripping water into a puddle on our carpet. No really, that's the best way to describe it. It wasn't a hole per se, but the ceiling was peeled back on either side and...ok, just trust me. Boyfriend looked up the emergency number and I went back to bed. Fifteen minutes later, I hear banging and get up to see maintenance guy standing on my kitchen counter, banging a hole into my ceiling (and water still dripping). He named a few things it could be and said it should be okay to last until he could come back around 9:00 a.m. today. At 8:30 this morning, Boyfriend calls to say moisture line has extended into our kitchen and now there is water dripping from our kitchen light fixture--what every renter loves to hear! Maintenance says they are going to get the key to the apartment above us because it sounds like maybe it could be coming from their AC unit.
Maintenance visits upstairs. Asks if they have any water lying around and Mr. Creeperton says they do not. Maintenance guy asks if they have noticed anything that could be weird. Mr. Creeperton says that their AC froze up last week. When asked why they were running their AC at all, Mr. C says, "Well it's been getting up to over 55!" Apparently 55 is the magic temperature where the Creepertons fear the bodies they have hidden up there begin to decompose. Clearly they couldn't call anyone about their AC because running it in February when the temps have been reaching a scorching sixty degrees (that's Fahrenheit, not Celsius or Kelvin or anything else) is just weird and too many red flags would be raised. It also means that outsiders might have to come in the apartment and we can't have that, lest they see that all of the light bulbs have been removed and there are people pieces in various dark places.
So maintenance comes back downstairs and makes a hole in our ceiling big enough to fit a man's head in. Turns out, the hole was made so that a man could stick his head in. Said man looks around and locates the leak, which is clearly coming from the apartment above us, in the general direction of their kitchen. Workers must now go back upstairs to do more investigative work because they should most definitely have some water lying around if that much was coming into our ceiling and onto our floorS. When they go upstairs, they find that Creepertons' sink has been leaking so much that the cabinets are rotted out at the bottom. This sink has leaked so much that it rotted through cabinets, still had to travel 6-8 inches to reach their floor, saturate the floor and into that magical space between their floor and our ceiling, then saturate our ceiling and begin to drip in our living room AND kitchen--in 2 completely separate places. The damage was so bad, maintenance had to cut open the counter in multiple places, including removing an entire corner. How do you not notice that?!
Oh I know--you DO notice that but choose not to report it because outsiders might have to come in your apartment and they might just discover the human heads in the freezer that fall out every now and then and sound like bowling balls hitting the floor.
Maintenance did not expect to see such a show upstairs and had to leave to get more supplies. As soon as maintenance leaves, Mr. C leaves with a black trash bag. Who uses black trash bags for their kitchen? You know who uses black trash bags? Contractors, carpenters, lawn guys, and serial killers. Mr. C has not yet returned. He's NEVER gone this long.
We are going to have a hole in our ceiling until Thursday because it needs to dry out up there. Lord only knows what they have to do upstairs, but whatever it is, I'm sure the Creepertons are moving the body parts out of the apartment ahead of time. Boyfriend actually texted a little while ago to inform me that the other car has not returned, but he hears what sounds like shuffling and DRAGGING above him. There's cleaning to be done, obviously!
I'm fearful and told Boyfriend to hide our cats. Serial killers love killing cats. And people. They love killing cats and people and our apartment has both, and we have now put a spotlight on them, thus all but ensuring that we've stolen the focus from the next intended victim(s) and put it squarely on ourselves. We may have saved lives (though in all likelihood, killed ourselves). You're welcome, previous targets.
1:04 p.m. update: Mr. Creeperton HAS returned, but did it creepily. Boyfriend didn't notice his return. What he DID notice, however, was that Mr. C. is leaving with ANOTHER black trash bag! Actually, he's walked outside and put the trash bag in his truck and is just sitting there. Boyfriend looked out of the blinds and Mr. Creeperton was staring at him! Dude sat in his car for entire minutes after that. When he finally did drive away, he drove AWAY from the trash compactor. But why? Clearly he was going to the county landfill, where there is much more trash and much less likelihood that his disposed body parts will be located. Even if they are, there's no telling from where they came. There's just too much risk in dropping them off at the apartment complex trash site.
Last week, Boyfriend noticed what looked like moisture in the ceiling. He texted me about it, but I thought little of it because our ceiling has stains anyway. How is our ceiling stained? I haven't the foggiest. Those older stains actually have a reddish tint, but are not food-related and I really think they're blood stains that have seeped through the Creepertons' floor. Anyway. By later that evening, I had forgotten all about this.
Fast forward to early this morning. At 1:30 this morning, I was awakened from a lovely dream to Boyfriend asking what the emergency maintenance number was because our ceiling was falling. That's quite an awakening at 1:30 in the morning, especially when you were so joyful to be getting into bed at 10:00 a.m. like normal adults who just might get enough sleep. Alas, I had to get up to see our caving ceiling. In that aforementioned moisture spot was now what appeared to be a drywall vagina in our ceiling dripping water into a puddle on our carpet. No really, that's the best way to describe it. It wasn't a hole per se, but the ceiling was peeled back on either side and...ok, just trust me. Boyfriend looked up the emergency number and I went back to bed. Fifteen minutes later, I hear banging and get up to see maintenance guy standing on my kitchen counter, banging a hole into my ceiling (and water still dripping). He named a few things it could be and said it should be okay to last until he could come back around 9:00 a.m. today. At 8:30 this morning, Boyfriend calls to say moisture line has extended into our kitchen and now there is water dripping from our kitchen light fixture--what every renter loves to hear! Maintenance says they are going to get the key to the apartment above us because it sounds like maybe it could be coming from their AC unit.
Maintenance visits upstairs. Asks if they have any water lying around and Mr. Creeperton says they do not. Maintenance guy asks if they have noticed anything that could be weird. Mr. Creeperton says that their AC froze up last week. When asked why they were running their AC at all, Mr. C says, "Well it's been getting up to over 55!" Apparently 55 is the magic temperature where the Creepertons fear the bodies they have hidden up there begin to decompose. Clearly they couldn't call anyone about their AC because running it in February when the temps have been reaching a scorching sixty degrees (that's Fahrenheit, not Celsius or Kelvin or anything else) is just weird and too many red flags would be raised. It also means that outsiders might have to come in the apartment and we can't have that, lest they see that all of the light bulbs have been removed and there are people pieces in various dark places.
So maintenance comes back downstairs and makes a hole in our ceiling big enough to fit a man's head in. Turns out, the hole was made so that a man could stick his head in. Said man looks around and locates the leak, which is clearly coming from the apartment above us, in the general direction of their kitchen. Workers must now go back upstairs to do more investigative work because they should most definitely have some water lying around if that much was coming into our ceiling and onto our floorS. When they go upstairs, they find that Creepertons' sink has been leaking so much that the cabinets are rotted out at the bottom. This sink has leaked so much that it rotted through cabinets, still had to travel 6-8 inches to reach their floor, saturate the floor and into that magical space between their floor and our ceiling, then saturate our ceiling and begin to drip in our living room AND kitchen--in 2 completely separate places. The damage was so bad, maintenance had to cut open the counter in multiple places, including removing an entire corner. How do you not notice that?!
Oh I know--you DO notice that but choose not to report it because outsiders might have to come in your apartment and they might just discover the human heads in the freezer that fall out every now and then and sound like bowling balls hitting the floor.
Maintenance did not expect to see such a show upstairs and had to leave to get more supplies. As soon as maintenance leaves, Mr. C leaves with a black trash bag. Who uses black trash bags for their kitchen? You know who uses black trash bags? Contractors, carpenters, lawn guys, and serial killers. Mr. C has not yet returned. He's NEVER gone this long.
We are going to have a hole in our ceiling until Thursday because it needs to dry out up there. Lord only knows what they have to do upstairs, but whatever it is, I'm sure the Creepertons are moving the body parts out of the apartment ahead of time. Boyfriend actually texted a little while ago to inform me that the other car has not returned, but he hears what sounds like shuffling and DRAGGING above him. There's cleaning to be done, obviously!
I'm fearful and told Boyfriend to hide our cats. Serial killers love killing cats. And people. They love killing cats and people and our apartment has both, and we have now put a spotlight on them, thus all but ensuring that we've stolen the focus from the next intended victim(s) and put it squarely on ourselves. We may have saved lives (though in all likelihood, killed ourselves). You're welcome, previous targets.
1:04 p.m. update: Mr. Creeperton HAS returned, but did it creepily. Boyfriend didn't notice his return. What he DID notice, however, was that Mr. C. is leaving with ANOTHER black trash bag! Actually, he's walked outside and put the trash bag in his truck and is just sitting there. Boyfriend looked out of the blinds and Mr. Creeperton was staring at him! Dude sat in his car for entire minutes after that. When he finally did drive away, he drove AWAY from the trash compactor. But why? Clearly he was going to the county landfill, where there is much more trash and much less likelihood that his disposed body parts will be located. Even if they are, there's no telling from where they came. There's just too much risk in dropping them off at the apartment complex trash site.
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