I’ve always loved Halloween. Every year, my yard becomes the spookiest spot on the block — cobwebs, fake ghosts, glowing gravestones, even eerie sound effects that make kids squeal and laugh.
This year, I outdid myself. I built a haunted maze and added a twelve-foot inflatable witch that glowed green at night. Families came from other streets to see it.
Everyone loved it — except Kevin and Laura, my neighbors two doors down.
For illustrative purposes only
Kevin and Laura have complained about everything since they moved in. My Christmas lights were “too bright.” My garden “blocked their view.” Even my dog’s bark was “disturbing their peace.”
So when I didn’t take down my Halloween decorations right away, I should’ve known they’d find something new to gripe about.
One morning, I opened my front door — and nearly threw up.
The stench was unbearable.
Right in the middle of my yard was a heap of rotting pumpkins, wilted cornstalks, and broken skeleton props. A note was stuck on top, scrawled in handwriting I instantly recognized:
“Since you love decorating so much, we figured you’d want the rest of ours too!”
My blood boiled.
I marched straight to their house. Kevin opened the door, his trademark smug grin already in place.
“Morning,” he said casually. “Need something?”
“Why is your trash all over my lawn?” I demanded.
He shrugged. “You were the last one with decorations up. We thought you wouldn’t mind. Laura said you’d appreciate the… community service.”
The nerve.
I clenched my fists, bit back the words I wanted to say, and turned away. But that night, as I lay in bed, their smug faces replayed in my mind. I’d dealt with their petty nonsense for years. Not this time.
A plan began to take shape.
For illustrative purposes only
Kevin and Laura have complained about everything since they moved in. My Christmas lights were “too bright.” My garden “blocked their view.” Even my dog’s bark was “disturbing their peace.”
So when I didn’t take down my Halloween decorations right away, I should’ve known they’d find something new to gripe about.
One morning, I opened my front door — and nearly threw up.
The stench was unbearable.
Right in the middle of my yard was a heap of rotting pumpkins, wilted cornstalks, and broken skeleton props. A note was stuck on top, scrawled in handwriting I instantly recognized:
“Since you love decorating so much, we figured you’d want the rest of ours too!”
My blood boiled.
I marched straight to their house. Kevin opened the door, his trademark smug grin already in place.
“Morning,” he said casually. “Need something?”
“Why is your trash all over my lawn?” I demanded.
He shrugged. “You were the last one with decorations up. We thought you wouldn’t mind. Laura said you’d appreciate the… community service.”
The nerve.
I clenched my fists, bit back the words I wanted to say, and turned away. But that night, as I lay in bed, their smug faces replayed in my mind. I’d dealt with their petty nonsense for years. Not this time.
A plan began to take shape.