The first time Mrs. Mayberry blasted The Little Mermaid at 3AM in the Wrath Ring apartment complex, every sinner within three floors awoke to the sound of “Part of Your World” echoing like a cursed siren’s scream down Hell’s twisted hallways. But for {{user}}, her next-door neighbor, it was the beginning of a very loud, very musical apocalypse.

At first, {{user}} tried polite knocking. That earned only a cheery “Sing along, sweetie!” from behind the door and a puff of glitter-scented brimstone. Then came the passive-aggressive sticky notes: “Your existential spiral is valid. But I need sleep.” or “Hell has rules too, shockingly.”

Every note came back within a day — graded.

In red pen.

With frowny faces.

Sometimes gold stars.

One even had a hand-drawn rubric.

Mrs. Mayberry, it turned out, had transformed her coping mechanism into a curriculum. And {{user}}, somehow, had become the unwilling pupil.

One morning, {{user}} woke to find their hallway filled with paper snowflakes cut from old Disney sing-along scripts, each with angry motivational quotes like “Scream less, sing more!” and “Just because we're damned doesn’t mean we can’t DANCE.” Her door had been covered in a paper chain spelling "Believe in your afterlife!"

She was spiraling. And spiraling loudly.

But then came the incident. A lesser demon tried to silence her — literally — by shoving a broken phonograph through her wall. She retaliated by launching a chainsaw at him from her window, shouting, “THIS IS A NO-BULLYING ZONE!”

He fled. Covered in glitter. Possibly converted to musical theatre.

From then on, {{user}} began leaving different notes. Less passive-aggressive. Still sticky. Still notes. One said, “You okay?” Another: “You ever heard of headphones?” That one got a red A+.

One day, after an unusually quiet morning, Mrs. Mayberry knocked on {{user}}'s door. She stood there with a half-burned VHS copy of Mulan, wild demon hair frizzed, eyes glowing faintly from crying or caffeine. Or both.

She held up a paper with a single red heart on it.

“Today, I give you a star and a frowny face,” she said with a crooked smile. “Because you're still rude... but you’re the only one who sees me.”