Disclaimer: Based on true stories. Identifying details have been changed.
It’s that time of year. You and a few friends (or randoms from Facebook) band together to form a flat. The hunt begins: endless viewings, frantically handing in applications, long debates about whether a dishwasher is a necessity or a luxury. The housing stock in Dunedin isn’t that great anyways, and maybe washing dishes with your flatmate will just bring you closer (doubt it).
But fresher beware: a little bit of mould and subpar amenities could be the very least of your worries. Read on at your own risk, and hear the cautionary tales of Kaia*, Charlotte*, and Aiden* – victims of flatting horrors far beyond your domestic flatmate tiffs.
Lights… Curtains… Evil Landlord?
Kaia was looking forward to the dregs of Dunedin winter slipping away last September, but she was nervous about not having signed a flat by the time campus cherry blossoms bloomed. It felt like everyone else at Carrington had signed. Future flatmates Cam* and Tristan* had displayed a stress-inducing lack of urgency in finding a second year home, perhaps not feeling the pressure due to being Dunedin locals. Kaia was from the area too – generations of her family had been to the same Dunedin high school. However, she didn’t feel like moving back in with her family. So, she took the lead.
Despite scouring every rent site in her search, stock was limited so late in the year. And even with what felt like hundreds of applications handed in between the three of them, Cam, Tristan and Kaia were often ghosted by landlords. It was hard not to feel discouraged. Then, finally – something promising: a flat on Queen Street, advertised on OneRent. It was Healthy Homes compliant, boasted a new kitchen and bathroom, and some nice couches that came as chattels. “It’s gorgeous,” Kaia sighed, her fingers moving swiftly across her phone screen. Sending the property link to her flatting chat, she typed, “There’s a flat viewing in a few days.”
But when the trio arrived at the flat, things looked a little different. “It’s grottier than I expected,” she whispered to Cam as they stepped gingerly around piles of dirty laundry on the living room floor. It was smaller than expected, too. Unwashed dishes were piled in the sink, and while Kaia had wanted to take some pictures for further consideration, it felt a bit weird given the current tenants were lounging around during the viewing. Kaia found Tristan hovering in a doorway, staring into an unkept bedroom while a young man of about 20 played on his computer, curtains drawn. He didn’t look up. The landlord, Tanya Mullen*, was a short woman of about 65, with sunken eyes and bushy eyebrows and scraggly hair to match. She wore a cap and zip up hoodie underneath a garish pink and purple furry coat. She was soft spoken, often conversing at a volume where you had to reluctantly lean in closer to hear what she was saying.
Despite the flat not exactly being in the condition that Kaia expected, the trio felt they had limited options – they needed to sign something soon or risk flat hunting running into exam season. They optimistically reckoned that the state of the flat could be improved with a little bit of TLC– the current boys who occupied the place didn’t seem like the cleanest of people. A fixer-upper, if you will. Plus, this place was in the Goldilocks zone of North D – not too far out in North East Valley, and not some Castle Street squalor. Beggars can’t be choosers.
Summer arrived, and despite not signing the flat of her dreams, Kaia felt excited when she, Tristan, and Cam each set up their weekly $208 automatic rent payments. Even though Tanya hadn’t been particularly helpful in setting up power or gas, instead yelling “I’ve told you already!” down the phone at Tristan (she had not), the three were so happy to begin their unsupervised lives that they took a trip to the property in January to show their families. They hadn’t gotten the keys yet – Tanya had told them that move-in would be delayed until February following a flat inspection. It’s fine by us, Kaia had reasoned, despite not being given an explanation for the delay. They all lived in Dunedin, anyway so they shrugged it off.
The visit unsettled the trio’s optimism. When they walked around the property, the place hadn’t changed. Peering through the windows, dishes were still piled dirty in the sink, and grass overflowed from the gutters. A Subway wrapper lay discarded on the kitchen floor. One of the couches Kaia had been so excited about was missing, replaced by a lawnmower parked in the living room. The three flatmates sent Tanya a text requesting to meet and chat about the state of the property. Kaia returned a few more times after that, and what she saw disturbed her. Sometimes the curtains would be open, other times closed. At night, the lights would even be on at times. One visit, Kaia slammed the door on her car and leant back in her seat before turning to Cam and Tristan. “I think Tanya is staying in our flat.”
Things developed quickly from there. Kaia’s parents were friends with a lawyer, who advised that they go to the police to serve Tanya with a trespass notice in order to get her out of the flat. Using the address written on their tenancy agreement, the flatmates and their parents went to knock on Tanya's door to serve her the notice. The place looked like a junkyard. Boxes and random papers were piled high in the rooms, so many bits and pieces that it all blended into an unidentifiable rat’s den. They could see Tanya lurking inside, but they couldn’t coax her to the door. Annoyed, Kaia worked the notice under the front door, feeling it push against other letters that had also been crammed under the gap.
Later that day, Kaia’s mum, Tristan, and his dad went by the property again. Just as they were about to get out of the car, they saw Tanya making her way up the sloped path to the front door. “You can’t be here,” they called out. “We’ve issued you a trespass notice, you have to give us due notice before accessing the property.” Tanya froze before turning. It was like a dam had broken – her eyes narrowed, face getting red before she opened her mouth. “Fuck you! You can’t tell me to get off my own property, you bitch!” Grabbing from a glass bin within arm’s reach, Tanya approached Kaia’s mum, shaking bottles in her face. She kicked another bin at Tristan’s dad before storming off. They called the police.
The next morning, Kaia received an email that Tanya was canceling the move in inspection scheduled for the next day. Kaia contacted the Tenancy Tribunal to apply for a hearing a few weeks later.
It was at this point, in the midst of drafting legal documents, preparing for beginning study, and researching how they were going to get out of this tenancy, that Kaia and the others Googled ‘Tanya Mullen’. Holy shit. This was not her first rodeo. News articles, Facebook posts, Tenancy Tribunal hearings all warning of the monstrous landlord Tanya Mullen. According to a 2020 article, she’d already been in the Tribunal 31 times since 2016.
The first Tribunal hearing was three hours long in the Dunedin court rooms. The adjudicator sat at an elevated table at the front of the room, looming above at such an angle that she could peer down her nose and fix her beady eyes on Kaia in a way that made her skin crawl. To make matters worse, Tanya brought in mounds of evidence at the last minute that left Kaia scrambling. One of the papers that Tanya submitted was an AI overview of “what is a narcissist?” that Tanya had helpfully annotated at the bottom: “These tenants”. Regarding the trespass notice, Tanya suggested that you could not “trespass the Queen from Buckingham Palace”, using another AI overview to elucidate her point.
Their labours didn’t go entirely to waste. The flatmates were partially compensated for the rent they’d paid for a flat they didn’t have access to. But the Tribunal was unwilling to make an order allowing them to break the lease. Frustrated and confused, Kaia scheduled a rehearing and an actual court date, set for the middle of the Semester One exam period. They’d asked Tanya to settle the dispute by signing an agreement that would let them out of the tenancy and allow costs to lie where they fall, but Tanya demanded the payment of $30,000 for the money she would be supposedly losing out on in breaking the contract.
One of the only good things that came out of this situation was a blossoming friendship with the Queen Street neighbours, who frantically messaged the trio one night to tell them that it looked like someone else was moving into the property. When Kaia came by to check out what was going on, she met a lovely couple who confirmed that they’d signed a tenancy agreement for the property just the other day. Kaia hesitated before telling them her story, cringing as she watched their eyes widen to the size of saucers. She just felt bad.
At the date of the rehearing, Kaia, Tristan, and Cam were exhausted. After four months of legal battles, they just wanted it to end. The rehearing wasn’t even a proper rehearing – just a hearing to determine if there’d be a rehearing. It was brutal and complicated. The adjudicator peered down at them before looking over to Tanya, who was once again surrounded by mounds of haphazard paperwork (with the help of ChatGPT) and then glanced back over at Kaia. She shifted uncomfortably in her plastic chair. “Maybe we should have just paid the $30,000,” Cam mumbled. Kaia shot him an annoyed look. The adjudicator cleared her throat before, to their surprise, zeroing in on Tanya. She grilled her, asking all sorts of questions about whether Tanya had signed new tenants, and how often she had been accessing the property. “May I please see that settlement agreement?” the adjudicator asked, turning her attention to Kaia. Kaia’s jaw just about hit the floor. She scrambled to find the agreement that her mum had luckily slipped in at the last minute. Advised that it would be greatly in her interest to take the agreement, Tanya begrudgingly signed right there and then.
It didn’t feel real. They were free of Tanya Mullen. When Kaia stepped out of the court house, she cried. It was a bright, clear day, and the sunshine warmed her face. “I think I’ll give my future landlords a Google in the future,” Kaia told Cam and Tristan over coffee. “Agreed,” they muttered.
Tenancy Down The Drain
“I just need out,” Charlotte groaned, head in her hands. It was going on hour three of perusing Facebook marketplace for flats. She wasn’t fussy, but she had a certain standard for her new home. Her current flat wasn’t terrible, but the noise was starting to get to her – too many sleepless nights thanks to the bass drop of late-night DnB and the unmistakable crunch of broken glass on the street. With her tenancy ending, she was hoping for a reset: something cleaner, quieter, and outside of the student quarter.
Refreshing the page, a new listing popped up. “Quiet household with a mix of older students and professionals. Located out in North East Valley, with a big fireplace to keep the flat warm all year long. Clean, mature and responsible tenants inquire only please.” Perfect. Maybe it was the June weather, but a fireplace sounded extra good about now. Charlotte clicked on the poster’s profile: a woman, Anne*, in her 40s – mousy hair, stern disposition. A no-nonsense sort of character. Charlotte didn’t mind – she had a healthy respect for chore charts. She sent Anne a message.
It wasn’t long before a viewing was arranged. It was a bit of a hike up to the flat, which was situated on top of a hill. Despite the burning in her lungs, Charlotte found herself appreciating the view sweeping over the Botans and the sound of birds chirping. More importantly, there was no glass scattered on the pavement. The flat looked well kept, a relatively big property that boasted 4 bedrooms and a sleepout that Anne occupied. Anne greeted Charlotte at the door and toured her around. Things were… fine, just a little quiet. The doors to most of the bedrooms were closed, and Charlotte saw no signs of life other than some pieces of laundry out on the line. “We don’t really use heaters in this flat,” Anne told Charlotte. “We’re trying to save power, so we just use the fireplace.” Charlotte understood – maybe they got a good deal on firewood or something; she was all for saving a few dollars. “This isn’t a flat for you unless you’re willing to be very clean,” Anne told Charlotte. They had put all sorts of rules in place because of previous tenants, apparently. Anne explained they’d had 30 tenants in and out over the past five years: “Some people just don’t get it.” Charlotte frowned, doing the math in her head. That’s a turnover of six tenants every year – for a four bedroom property, if you excluded Anne. A little weird, but Charlotte brushed it off. The place looked great. The rest of the viewing went well, and it wasn’t long before Charlotte signed the standard form tenancy agreement almost every student is familiar with.
Charlotte’s parents helped her move in a couple of weeks later, which went smoothly. While grabbing a coffee near the Botans, she mentioned the flat to a friend, Ruby*. “You know, I swear I see that place on Facebook all the time,” Ruby mentioned to Charlotte. “Are you sure you wanna move into a place like that? There’s got to be a reason why people are always moving out.” Charlotte shrugged. “I need a place to live – and the viewing went fine. I’ll take my chances.” Charlotte could tell Ruby wanted to argue more, but she didn’t object. “If you’re sure.”
Things were okay for a while, if not a little mundane. Anne was somewhat pedantic but Charlotte could live with it. Just little things, like how Anne recycled soft plastics, and expected everyone else in the flat to do the same. This was fine in theory, but you had to rinse out and dry your chip packets out on the washing line. Charlotte had also still barely interacted with any flatmates, and the only one she did see barely spent any time at the flat, opting to leave early and get home late. When she did see him, he only seemed interested in looking at the floor. While Anne had warned that the flat wasn’t especially social, it felt like living with a bunch of hermits.
The atmosphere of the flat turned from banal to standoffish. Anne would often rant to Charlotte about the supposed transgressions of other flatmates. One time, someone had left a dirty bowl on the kitchen bench in a rush to get to uni. Anne had responded by leaving it outside their door, causing them to nearly trip over it later on. This was a tactic Anne often used. Like putting a dog’s nose in its mess, she would leave wet washing, unrecycled soft plastics plucked from the rubbish, or dirty dishes outside the perpetrator’s room. Charlotte couldn’t help but wonder what Anne was saying about her when she wasn’t around. It was beginning to feel like she was walking on eggshells.
After a while, Charlotte began to curse herself for not trusting her instincts – or what Ruby had mentioned. The high turnover in the flat was no longer a mystery; there was only so much passive aggressiveness you could take. One time, Anne screamed at Charlotte for leaving soap suds in the shower. The place was a living hell governed by a militant chore chart, and Anne would often say that Charlotte had “a lot to learn” whenever she left so much as a crumb on the counter. She felt more like a housekeeper than a flatmate. Anne was also adamant on only running the fire in the evening and restricted it to burning one log per night. Heaters were not to be run during the day. Charlotte would grow so cold that her hands stiffened up and she’d struggle to type out the answers to her course work.
As summer rolled around, she gave notice to Anne that she would be leaving the flat and looking for a replacement for herself. She hadn’t given Anne a specific date yet, as she had a lot planned over summer, but figured a heads up was warranted. In early December, Charlotte got a text. “If you don’t move out in the next five days, I will be taking you to the Tenancy Tribunal. There’s too much tension between us. You have to leave.” Five days? Panic washed over her.
Things from there are a bit of a blur. She found a new place quickly enough, working as a Kiwi host at UniFlats. With the help of her parents, she moved out as soon as she was home from the kids camp she volunteered at. Charlotte was angry. She’d signed a tenancy agreement – she knew Anne wasn’t within any right to kick her out with five days’ notice, and now she had no idea how to get her bond back. One afternoon, she filed for an application to the Tenancy Tribunal and emailed local newspapers her story. She didn’t deserve to be treated that way and wanted justice.
Charlotte felt small at the Tribunal hearing. Sitting beside Anne in a room that felt like a big, empty classroom, Charlotte received a shock: Anne wasn’t a flatmate or even a head tenant – she was the property manager, and her brother was the landlord. To her horror, the Tribunal ruled that this meant Charlotte did not have a tenancy agreement under the Residential Tenancies Act, and was therefore unable to seek any justice due to the flat continuing to be used “principally as a place of residence” by a member of the landlord's family. It was a complete curveball – an exception that she’d never heard of, and one that had now completely screwed her over.
Of course, Charlotte sought out advice at Community Law. She did all the things that people recommended to her, and even applied for a rehearing with the help she got. But she failed. The rehearing didn’t work, and Anne didn’t lose. Charlotte did – apparently she had no tenancy, despite signing an agreement that asserted that the Residential Tenancies Act directly applied. It was deeply unsatisfying, and there was literally nothing left to do without paying for a lawyer and taking Anne to Court – something she didn’t have the resources for. Even by July – a year after she initially entered the flat, and several months after she’d left – she still hadn’t got her bond back from Anne. She’d even heard that other tenants in the flat had tried to leave too, and not bothered to find a replacement for themselves given Anne had asserted there was no tenancy. However, Anne still forced them to find replacements, threatening to take them to the Tribunal if they didn’t. Charlotte had no clue how anyone was supposed to stop landlords from taking advantage of naive people.
It was hard not to be kicking herself. Maybe if she’d asked the right questions, or listened to Ruby, or researched tenancy law more, or trusted her instincts, she wouldn’t have been in this situation. But she just wanted a place to live.
The Howe Curse
The flat was cursed. Aiden was sure of it. In other years, he’d sat in living rooms with his mates, talking shit and smoking cones. One big breatha family. But this place was different: nobody wanted to come over, nobody wanted to sit out on the couch, and the other boys spent more time over at their girlfriends’ houses than at the place they were paying rent for. And now, two of his flatmates, Hunter and Scott, had totally backstabbed him: they were moving out. Apparently it wasn’t “worth it” anymore, given they could just head up the road and stay with their missus most nights. Aiden felt… lost.
The only flatmate that was staying, Finlay, wasn’t exactly the most social either. The times where Aiden had attempted to drag him down to watch TV or have a few beers had resulted in him perching awkwardly on the couch until Aiden let him go back to his room. However, looking on the bright side of things was one of Aiden’s strong suits, and there was a part of him that hoped getting new flatmates to replace Hunter and Scott might result in a couple of new friends that could break the anti-social curse that had clearly settled over this place. It’s what Aiden needed. But it didn’t prove to be that easy.
Potential flatmates would come in for viewings, but it felt like after a few minutes they’d literally turn and run out of the flat. Hunter’s family would come over before each viewing to clean the flat – but to no avail. The boys wouldn’t hear back, and they couldn’t figure out what was going wrong. Things were starting to get desperate, so when Hunter reckoned he had found someone, not many questions were asked. “He seems like a pretty laid back guy,” Hunter told Aiden. “Quiet, doesn’t say too much, but nice enough. His name is Gabe Knight*.”
Aiden’s first interaction with Gabe was unconventional, to say the least. And it didn’t even involve meeting the man himself. Instead, he was awoken one night to police outside of his front door talking to Scott and Finlay, who were notifying them that this was now “Gabriel” Knight’s bail address. According to the police, Gabe had gotten into some kind of trouble, but they didn’t really elaborate. “Maybe it was just a one time thing,” Finlay suggested when Aiden closed the door on the police officers. “You know – had a bit too much to drink, did something stupid, that sort of thing.” Aiden wasn’t convinced, dragging Finlay into his room before cracking open his laptop and Googling the name “Gabriel Knight”. To their horror, many articles by the ODT popped up, about how Gabriel had bounced around committing various assaults – even claiming he was part of the Taliban. “Look,” Finlay said, pointing to an article that had been published only a few hours ago. ‘22-year-old arrested for serious assault of two people’, the headline read. “That would explain the cops,” Aiden grumbled. “Who the fuck did Hunter let in our flat?”
The next afternoon, they gave Hunter a call. “Man, I don’t know,” Hunter groaned into the phone. “He put the name Gabe on the tenancy form, and only ever called himself that. So nothing came up when I Googled him. How was I supposed to know?” Aiden scowled. “You’re a fucking idiot, Hunter.” Aiden had met Gabe that morning in the kitchen, and there was only one way to describe him: imposing. He was tall, and his head was close shaven. Hunter had been right in the fact he was quiet, but instead of it coming across as awkward or shy, it felt ominous. They’d chatted politely about playing the guitar – Aiden had seen Gabe owned one when he moved in. But when Gabe left and Aiden opened the pantry, he saw that literally everyone’s stuff had been rearranged, moved off their respective shelves into neat, perfect little rows, seemingly reorganised based on some unknown rule. It was just weird.
Aiden went home for a bit – the upside of being a Dunedin local. He wasn’t proud to admit it, but he wasn’t sure he could stay in the flat for much longer with Gabe around. In between sporadic checks of the flat group chat, he gathered that Finlay and Scott were in contact with Student Support, their landlord, and the police to try and figure out what to do about Gabe. Apparently, there wasn’t much they could do unless Gabe broke a condition of his bail. Until then, they would just need to try to stay out of Gabe’s way.
One day, Aiden came back to the flat to collect a few things. According to the others, things had gone seriously south, with Scott swearing black and blue that Gabe had begun stealing his food. He knew that Finlay was up in his room and that Gabe was also home due to the loud music coming from the living room. “Hello?” Gabe called out from the living room. Aiden cringed before poking his head around the corner to greet Gabe. “Hey, man,” Aiden said, looking around. Beer bottles everywhere, with Gabe sprawled on the couch playing Xbox. Nice to see he was making himself at home. “Come have a beer with me,” Gabe urged, but Aiden shook his head. “Nah, I’m in and out. Got plans,” he lied. Gabe shrugged before turning back to his game.
Aiden ran up the stairs and grabbed a couple of shirts from his room before knocking on Finlay’s door and entering. Finlay looked up from his laptop in surprise. “He’s drinking,” Aiden told Finlay. His eyebrows shot up. “That’s in breach of his bail – he’s not allowed to drink at all.” Before Aiden knew it, they’d run up the hill to Finlay’s girlfriend's place and called the police. They were convinced that they had him and could finally kick him out. But their hope was short lived – in a stroke of bad luck, Gabe had updated his bail conditions yesterday and was now allowed to drink at his bail address, but not outside. Great.
In the coming weeks, the boys pleaded with their landlord to do something. They’d walk past the flat, and Gabe would be outside drinking and yelling at passersby, while conversing with a Fireball dress-up costume next to him. Eventually, their landlord agreed to have a conversation with Gabe. According to what they were told, the landlord had pretty frankly told Gabe that the boys were uncomfortable with him being there, and would like him to move out. And that was that. One day, Aiden came home to Gabe moving out. “I can’t take these with me,” Gabe said to Aiden, motioning to his guitar and Xbox. “You can have them.”
Aiden had many great jam sessions with the guitar, and the Xbox actually brought him and Finlay closer together. They never ended up getting new flatmates – Hunter just paid extra rent for the rest of the year. Aiden ended up feeling bad about the whole thing – where does a person like Gabe even go? He’d been bounced around the system, and clearly needed help. Aiden ended up going on exchange later that year, and didn’t really think about Gabe for a while. One day in early March of the following year, he gave Gabe a Google again. Dunedin man violently grabs passerby’s dog lead, causing severe neck injury to beloved pet. Aiden shut his laptop. He felt less bad for Gabe.
What have we learned, freshers? Google your potential landlords, ask questions, and try not to cave to the pressure that rolls around to find a flat – it could end up costing you. In the harrowing words of Kaia: “It was all so dumb, because by the time we’d gotten out of the tenancy, there were still loads of flats we could have signed.”
If you do find yourself in a bit of a sticky situation, OUSA Student Support is there to help. But don’t push your luck.
*Names changed.