I got a lot of good responses to that Liverpool story, so I figured I would add another. Having had a lot of experiences and lived all over the world, I could probably fill this subreddit it up, but we'll just take it one at a time.

About three years ago, my parents purchased a bank-foreclosed property. It was a 10,000 square foot mansion which they planned to renovate and either turn it in to an event hall or flip the house. While construction was going on, though, we needed someone to stay at the house and watch over everything, so my girlfriend and I moved in.

While this was going on, I liked to tell her stories about how the mansion was actually a murder house - which was true, but only in the sense that the previous owner killed his wife somewhere else and then just bolted. It sure creeped her out at night, though, and that made me laugh at the time. Boyfriend of the year, ladies.

We did quickly discover that, while the house was foreclosed and abandoned, homeless people liked to use the pool in the back, sneak in through the window to use the built-in microwave, turn on the AC, or use the toilets. For the most part, when we told them people owned this property, they agreed to stop coming. Except one old man.

The first time we met him, he knocked on the pool-side door and a construction worker answered, who then (for some reason) pointed him to us. The homeless man, who we'll call Dan, explained that he lived at the house and needed us all to get out. I explained that he didn't and that I understood that homeless people came here while it was abandoned, we weren't going to allow that anymore.

"No, no," he kept repeating. "It's mine, you have to get out now." I told him he had to leave, he responded by defecating in his pants. Time to call the police, I thought.

The cops knew him by name, took him out, and I was left to clean up a streak of feces out the door and up the driveway. I had hoped that was the end of it.

Two weeks later, we return from a daytrip to Six Flags, and Dan is pounding at the door. He was screaming that his medicine was inside. My girlfriend and I stayed in the car while she called the police again. We were so focused on the call that neither of us noticed the wrench in his hand, which one of the construction workers must have left lying around. He starts to come up to the car, I see the wrench, and I gun the ignition and go back up the circular parking lot with him chasing behind us.

God help me, part of me wanted him to follow us on to the road and get hit by a car.

When we returned with the police, Dan was gone, but the glass part of the rather expensive new door we ordered was smashed. I sighed and dealt with it, as I would rather the door be smashed than my head. The police said they would send a patrol car up every so often since the house was so close to the station, but there's not much else they can do besides check his usual haunts. Fair enough, I guess, and the officers leave.

We go inside, do our usual business, and are laying in bed talking before going to sleep. Talking soon turns to other things and pretty soon we're kissing to take our minds off things.

The bedroom is set up so that there's a sitting area apart from the main bedroom area and it's separated by french doors made of glass. So we didn't notice when the door to the sitting area from the hallway slowly opened. We especially did not notice the person holding a small garden spade. If not for me needing to hit the light to get something from inside the nightstand, we might never have heard someone drop the metal spade on the floor and go running out the door.

We both slipped on clothes and ran outside outside the bedroom door to see someone basically rip the lock out of the front door and kick it open to get outside. They took off like an animal, not even making a sound when running.

We called the police (who at this point seemed slightly tired of coming to this house) and checked around with an aluminum baseball bat in hand. Our guess was that he simply ripped out one of the weaker door frames in a room with ongoing construction, we simply didn't notice it, and he hid in the attic until it got quiet.

They never did find him and we moved out shortly after. We think he still shows up there occasionally, as speakers have been removed from walls, AC units have been stolen, and massive holes just show up in the walls sometimes. I'm just glad I no longer live there.