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Tragedies were not uncommon to see for private investigators, but the aftermath of one of my cases could be best described as 'haunting'. Simply haunting, maybe even a touch heartbreaking.

The case started off simple; Alan and Mary Hammersmith, an elderly rabbit couple long since retired and spending their days either gardening or having their grandcubs visit regularly on weekends, wanted me to find any wrongdoings involving their next-door neighbors. To make a long story short, the elderly Beatrice and her middle-aged son Cristopher could be best described as the neighbors from Hell. Imagine the worst family of strangers living in a complex of suburban-styled buildings, and the Weston family fit the stereotype.

Years and years of their behavior finally led to the Hammersmiths and even a few neighbors trying everything to get them evicted, but to no avail. They could never find sufficient evidence though, so they hired me instead. That was when I did my research in-between surveillance of the property and where the son went each day, when he did leave his room.

According to Mrs. Hammersmith, Beatrice and her late husband Robert seemed like a friendly middle-aged squirrel couple when moving in, and even friendly to talk to during block parties hosted by the condo's other residents. Mr. Hammersmith even connected with Robert over being recovering alcoholics, to the point that he made a casual joke about misspelling Cristopher's name on the birth certificate due to 'celebrating' with his wife moments after the birth of their own son. Everybody thought Mr. and Mrs. Weston would be good additions to their colloquial 'condo family'.

That was until Cristopher graduated from university, and never left. The Westons went so far as to have their lease changed to include three residents instead of two. At first, it didn't seem like much of a big deal to everybody else, even if it technically violated the condominium's constitution, and most figured the quiet, reserved college grad would eventually find employment. How wrong they were.

See, Cristopher did not even try to seek employment after graduation. He didn't send in job applications, apply for apprenticeships or internships. This was during the mid-to-late 1990s, when job growth had been hitting its peak and a college graduate with just enough credits for an associates degree could find a job without even trying. If anything, thanks to pressure from his folks, Cristopher dismissed the single best decade to find employment, instead drifting between his room and playing around with the newest computer games or watching reruns on television.

That was also around the time Cristopher discovered not just the Internet, but YouTube as well. Around that time, he also went into becoming an active blogger and later vlogger. His content didn't usually get enough attention for him to be infamous but not boring enough to be ignored either.

The rabbit hole I found myself listening to went deeper than imagined. As the years rolled by, hope for Cristopher to build a life for himself waned. It became apparent over time that his parents didn't want their only son to leave, particularly Beatrice, who went so far as encouraging him to apply for social security benefits under the misguided belief he'd make more money than with stable employment. She grew offended with concerned neighbors asking why Cristopher never wanted to take initiative for himself, let alone move out to become an independent adult. In fact, asking her such questions often led to Mrs. Weston shutting the door to their apartment in a huff. Her husband would always reluctantly join her afterward.

Years further went by until the late 2000s when Robert suddenly passed away from a heart attack. When invited to the funeral, it became clear the patriarch's death deeply affected the duo, with Beatrice in particular needing to be held back by some friends as they lowered the casket into the ground. Meanwhile, Cristopher did nothing but stare blankly into space with tears in his eyes. The way Mrs. Hammersmith described it, that had been the final time anybody ever felt sympathy for the Westons, as things spiraled out of control for them quickly.

Robert Weston left his family with a sizable tugboat of life insurance money. It approximated to about $800,000.00, which could basically set Mrs. Weston and Cristopher for life if they knew how to spend it wisely without indulging on every single one of their whims.

Well, what did they buy? New TVs, new electronics, new clothes, specially delivered food from restaurants on the other side of Crossroads City, or even beyond. By the time they bought a new car, the son convinced his mother that they could put the remaining cash into a random cryptocurrency. The numbers did not go up for that one, much to their audible chagrin one morning. All the money had been wasted merely six years later. Luckily for the two, Mrs. Weston's 401k remained intact, but the shouting and fights grew louder for the neighbors to hear, even from the other side of the yard.

What became the last straw for Mr. and Mrs. Hammersmith and the rest of the condominium tenants was a putrid smell. They sent an eviction notice to the Westons but got no reply from either Cristopher or Beatrice. My job involved watching over the condo to see who went in and out of the place. After three days of no activity, the condominium association got enough complaints about the continuing smell and asked me to join the association president in going inside.

Safe to say, what we found could be best described as a hoarding situation unlike anything seen in real-life. Boxes upon boxes of dusty, unopened luxuries piled all over the kitchen away from view of the front door, with unwashed dishes and cardboard plates overfilling the garbage bins. The hallways weren't too clean either, especially as we came closer to the bedrooms to discover two disgusting, horrific sights: Cristopher emaciated in front of a high-tech laptop, playing the latest online video game, as well as his mother decaying in the next room.

In the end, it turned out not to be foul play. Cristopher had been too accustomed to the hoarding and accumulating odor to notice his remaining parent passed away in her sleep. He'd barely even checked to notice her, according to a public statement. Little tears could be shed for either of them though, from me or the neighboring tenants. He did get charged with neglect towards an elderly person and had the decency to plead guilty. What else could he do?

I decided to discount Mr. and Mrs. Hammersmith on the bill. They insisted on paying the full amount, but I wouldn't let them. They needed as much money as possible to renovate the now-empty premises. Whatever helped them seal the bad memories away.