This story happened early 2017, in Montréal, Canada. My girlfriend and I broke up on Christmas 2016 a few months after we arrived to Canada from France, so I had to find a new place to stay.
Not making enough money yet to have my own apartment, I’ve decided to move in with one of my new friend, a few years younger than me, who used to be my boss at the first job I had in Canada.
My friend was Mexican and we will call him Jesús. Very outgoing and lively person, the first few weeks with him helped me a lot going through my breakup.
He and I were working on different schedules so by the time he was coming home, after midnight, I was already sleeping. Jesús was very respectful and quiet, he never woke me up because he was coming back late, even though my bed was not even two meters away from the front door, just a sliding door separating my room to the entrance.
Things started to get weird 3 weeks after we moved in. On a week day, in the middle of the night, my roommate came and knocked very loud on my door.
“I saw someone walking on the balcony, I’m scared, please come.” he said with a shaky voice.
I woke up on the spot, not tired at all, adrenaline kicking in immediately. I grabbed an iron plate on the floor (I just started working out, you know, it was this kind of breakup that makes you start going to the gym) then walked through the long and dark corridor leading to the kitchen with Jesús.
I tried to look from the kitchen’s window if I could see any movement outside. The apartment was located on the third floor, but it’s common in North America that apartments have emergency stairs on the back of the building, that anyone can access. It couldn’t be easier to reach our balcony.
After a few seconds, I turned back and looked at my roommate, petrified. Between him and I, the kitchen table, and a the chair were my roommate was sitting a minute ago, eating his late dinner. I also noticed a glass full of a red liquid that I assumed was wine and I made a joke about how he probably drank too much and just heard the wind in the trees or something. It was winter, snow, wind, and wood cracking sounds are common at this time of the year.
“I didn’t hear anything, I said I saw something.” He repeated.
I pretended like it was nothing, proposed him to stay until he finished his dinner and proposed we just go back to bed. Worse case it was just a homeless who was looking for a shed to spend the night due to the snow.
A few days passed without any incidents and it was already forgotten.
I noticed that sometimes my roommate forget to lock the balcony’s door behind him after smocking.
“You don’t want the thing that you saw the other day entering the apartment” I said half joking.
…
One morning, on my way to work, I could not find the 400$ in cash that my mother sent to me for Christmas a few days before. She was generous that year, as she knew I felt very lonely now that I was single, with no family around, and for only friend in Montréal, my new roommate. Winters in Canada can be quite long and… depressing.
I was planning on buying some new clothes to regain some self-confidence. I hated myself the whole day for losing that cash. I had a locker at work, my wallet was in my backpack during commuting, in an empty subway, and I remembered clearly having the cash before going to bed the previous night, telling myself I would go shopping the next day. This money could not have just disappeared.
Then I realized, and the thought of it sent shivers down my spine.
I always leave my wallet next to my bed, on top of my dresser; the dresser being the only furniture I could afford to have in my tiny room.
The balcony’s door, probably unlocked the past few days because Jesús forgot to lock it.
The person he saw the other night on the balcony, trying to open the door, entering the apartment, walking up to my bedroom, opening the sliding door, finding my wallet on the dresser and taking the cash.
He was just standing there, a few centimeters from me.
I called immediately my roommate and asked him if he had lost anything lately.
“No, why the panic?” He asked.
I then explained him and he started crying, from fear. My friend was from the LGBT community and since we moved in together I felt like I was to him like a big brother, so I had to reassure and make him feel like he was safe.
“It’s just 400$, that’s nothing, let’s just make sure we close properly the balcony’s door every time we go to bed from now on, and next time we hear or see something from the balcony, we call the police”
The same night, I woke up because of a banging sound. But then stopped when I got out of bed. I called my roommate’s name out loud but he was not back from work yet. I looked at the time, it was just after midnight. After a few minutes I came to think that the sound was not real and I just had a nightmare.
The same week, another night of banging. This time, Jesús was also home, the loud bangs woke us up at the same time, but I could already hear my roommate running to my bedroom. I got my iron plate in my left hand, turned on the lights, then we both walked towards the noise.
From the corridor leading to the kitchen, we could see the white balcony’s door, with a small squared window on its upper side. Through that tiny window, we saw him.
A man, standing there and banging on the door. He probably saw the light, and bent to look inside through the small window, we could only see his eyes in the darkness. As he sees us approaching, he shouted with a deep voice:
“LET ME IN, LET ME HIM”
I looked at Jesùs, behind me, giving me a look of someone who is not going to do anything. I tell him to call the police now, while I’m trying to understand what’s happening and maybe stall enough time for the police to arrive. I tried to gather the little bit of courage in me:
“YOU COME IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT BANGING ON OUR BACKDOOR, WHY WOULD WE OPEN?” I replied to the man from the balcony.
“LET ME IN LET ME IN” he repeated, losing his patience.
“TELL ME WHY YOU WANT TO COME IN” I said, trying to get answers.
“THIS IS NOT YOUR HOUSE” he said, still shouting.
“WE MOVED HERE A FEW WEEKS AGO” I replied.
“THIS IS NOT YOUR HOUSE, LEAVE”
“IT IS NOW, WHY SHOULD WE LEAVE?” I asked
“THIS IS DANIEL’S AND DENISE’S HOUSE, NOT YOUR HOUSE, LEAVE”
“WE DON’T KNOW ANY DANIEL OR DENISE LIVING HERE, MAYBE YOU GOT THE WRONG APARTMENT?” I tried
Then any communication became impossible. He got stuck in a loop for a few minutes, just banging on the door and shouting:
“THIS IS NOT YOUR HOUSE”
After what seemed to be an eternity but was in fact less than 5 minutes, the apartment started to turn from red to blue, a light flicking from the outside, a police car arriving on our street.
From this moment, no more banging nor a man behind the door.
Police came knocking, quickly took notes of what happened then left telling us it was probably a homeless person who lost his reason and that we could go back to sleep. That it was safe and to call them back if it happened again.
Shocked, I couldn’t sleep that night and sent a message to our landlord, just saying that something happened tonight and that I wanted to talk to him the next day.
I understand it was late (around 2am) but he replied a few minutes later saying that it was very rude and I shouldn’t text people this late, that he is my landlord and he won’t forget.
Our landlord was someone we had never met, not even to sign our lease.
I felt that we would not have a rational discussion if I answered his message. So I contained myself and did not reply.
The next morning, I woke up early and replayed everything in my head, then decided to call my landlord.
I told him the whole story, all the details of previous nights, and what the man from the balcony said, except for one detail. The names.
He talked to me with a very condescending tone like he did not really care and wanted to move. Something like it’s nothing, just someone who got lost, a drunk or drugged person probably.
So out of the blue, I asked him:
“Who are Daniel and Denise?”
Landlord stayed silent. I did not want to give him the opportunity to think more so I asked again:
“Who are Daniel and Denise?”
“How do you know these names? Are stalking my life? Are you one of those weirdos or…”
I cut him before he could finish, as he was being very defensive, almost aggressive:
“The guy who bangs on our door at night, he said those names”
“It’s the name of my son and his wife” he finally said.
He kept going:
“They used to live here up until December, then you moved in as the new tenants in January. Now move on, it has nothing to do with you” he said.
“So you know who that man is?” I tried.
“It doesn’t matter, you will not see him again” he replied before hanging up.
Shocked, I could not say a word and it was clear my landlord was hiding something.
I went on with my day, confused. Really not a good day. On top of that, I realized some strange amounts have been repeatedly charged on my credit card the whole week.
Around 20$, every day, always on the name of something like CT#1059.
I grabbed my wallet. My credit card was still there, last payment was last night. How could it possibly happen?
I’ve heard scary stories of people hiding and living in other people’s apartments. Once home, I was knocking on every wall, checking every closet, even the ceiling. Nothing.
When I went to bed, I fell asleep with an uncomfortable feeling.
…
A light, strong enough to go through my eyelids brought me back from my dreams.
As my senses started waking up, I could hear people whispering right before I could hear my sliding door slowly opening. Heavy steps on the wooden floor.
I started smelling gunpowder, mixed with leather. I turned to look at the door where it was coming from. The light was aimed directly at my face. I was blinded for another 10 seconds, while someone was entering my bedroom and shouted:
“IS THIS YOUR HOUSE?”
Probably because I placed my hand in front of my eyes, blinded, the light aimed to the corner of the room.
“IS THIS YOUR HOUSE?” yelled the voice again.
As my eyes get used to the light, I could now see the shape of 3 people, one in my bedroom and two waiting in the living room.
The first thing I clearly saw was the gun the police officer was aiming at me. Less than an meter from me.
“Yes I live here, I’m a new tenant”
-–
Epilog
My story has some answers.
Less than a month later, I was moving out. The time for me to get things right with my roommate and to find a new place.
The police raided my place because my roommate, when coming back from work, opened the entrance door and saw someone standing in the dark in the corridor leading to the kitchen.
Jesús left the apartment on the spot and called the police right away, telling them he saw someone, a knife in his hand, in our apartment.
He also mentioned that it was not the first time we were calling the police for that, so they took it seriously.
Unfortunately, he forgot to mention to the police that he had a roommate who was already sleeping in his own bedroom.
The police assumed I was this armed person, and were ready with a gun.
The police later asked questions to our landlord because of his probable connection with the man from the balcony, but we never heard back from them.
…
What happened to my cash and my credit card?
Someone did enter my bedroom while I was sleeping, standing just a meter from me, checking my wallet.
But it was not the man from the balcony.
It was my roommate.
Jesús was an alcoholic and was stealing my money during the night to go to the closest convenience store to buy himself some booze.
I’ve figured this by checking the credit card charge ‘CT#1059’ on internet and found out later it belonged to a convenience store chain with these two letters and the number being the one of the store. Just a few meters from my place.
The credit card was taken from my wallet every night, around 2am, from Jesús, to buy alcohol that he would drink until the sun rises.
Who else could it be?
I had to confront him for him to admit it.
I tried to help him, he needed help. He fooled me again, I was done.
I moved out and never saw or talked to my roommate again after he gave my money back.
…
As for the man from the balcony…
Did my roommate really see that man with a knife in our apartment, while I was sleeping in my bed?
Or was he drunk and became paranoid?
The man from the balcony did not come back before I left, or after. Or maybe he did, I don’t know.
Who was this man to the landlord and his son and wife, Daniel and Denise?
These are the questions left unanswered that I think about from time to time.
…
What’s sure, is that it’s been more than 5 years since that event, and I’ve never lived in another apartment with emergency stairs and backdoor balcony.