The Man Inside My Wall

I’m sure this scenario makes very little sense. Why would there be a trap door in my flat? Why was this man shouting in the first place? The trap door, as my landlord later explained, was a remnant of outdated fire safety regulations. In the late 20th century, some multi- storey buildings were required to have escape doors connecting neighbouring properties. He told me that, “This door had never been a problem in the past” – a fact I struggle to believe – and so he had never closed it off.

As to what I had done to make my dear neighbour so angry, I had no clue. Amongst my friends, I’m known for having a particularly quiet voice. It is low and monotonous, earning me comparisons to a librarian or an exam invigilator. Confident that my voice wasn’t the issue, I paid close attention over the following week and discovered the culprit: my kitchen. The washing machine sent vibrations through the room, rattling the sink and metal dish rack above it. The cupboards banged as they closed, no matter how gentle your touch. The lack of insulation between our flats amplified every sound, turning minor noises into major disturbances and resulting in a very angry man.

By the time I had come to this conclusion, my landlord had returned, and the situation had escalated to where the man’s screams were alarming the whole neighbourhood. Finally, the police followed up. My landlord – predictably useless – dangled vague promises about making the flat “nicer” while delaying bricking up the wall. The police – no more useful than my landlord – dismissed my distress. Yes, they “understood how distressing this all must be” however, since “the abuse wasn’t in person… there was no crime” for them to pursue. They spoke to my neighbour, discovering that he lived in social housing and suffered from insomnia, which explained his unusual sleeping patterns – unfortunately coinciding with the times I cooked or did laundry.

Standing in my bedroom, watching me cry, the officers advised me to keep it down to avoid aggravating him further. Their indifference was crushing. I felt completely abandoned.

Here I sat. Back at square one. Again.

The officers’ lack of action left me feeling abandoned. Eventually, my landlord and his brother bricked up the wall, which seemed to resolve the noise issue. A kinder police officer later warned my neighbour that his actions could be classed as antisocial behaviour, which is a criminal offence. It took time, but I eventually felt safe in my home again. Yet, the indifference of the first officers was hard to forget.

Three years ago, antisocial behaviour was the seventh most common crime in the Selly Oak area. Over the last 12 months, it rose to the fifth most common. In the past three months, it has climbed to the third most common crime in the area. Despite this, the officers I spoke to dismissed my experience, telling me to ‘play nice’ with a man who had threatened to break into my home and assault me.

A 2024 survey revealed that 25% of people consider antisocial behaviour a fairly or very big problem in their area, and the attitudes I encountered make this unsurprising. There’s no accountability for landlords or letting agents who provide unsafe living conditions, nor for neighbours whose actions terrorize others.

The system’s failures are evident. There were no repercussions for my landlord, the letting agent or my neighbour – a fact that leaves me, and likely others, questioning where to turn for help. My experience in that flat taught me the harsh reality that not everyone is protected, even within the confines of their own home. The cracks in the system are wide, and those of us who fall through are left to pick up the pieces on our own.