When a single mom finds her car vandalized days before Halloween, she’s stunned to discover her festive neighbor is behind it. But instead of fighting back, she chooses a smarter way — one with proof, quiet strength, and a little bit of caramel. The morning before Halloween, I opened my front door to find my car covered in egg yolks and toilet paper.
“Mommy… is the car sick?” my three-year-old pointed and whispered. And just like that, the day began. I’m Wren.
I’m 36, a full-time nurse, and a single mom to three very loud, very sticky, and incredible kids: Bryn, Kai, and Cole. Most mornings start before the sun’s up and end long after bedtime stories are whispered over sleepy yawns. This life isn’t fancy, but it’s ours.
I didn’t ask for trouble this Halloween. I wasn’t trying to start anything. I just needed to park close enough to my house to carry a sleeping toddler and two bags of groceries without hurting my back.
But apparently, that was enough to set off my neighbor, Reid, into full-blown holiday madness. The eggs were just the beginning. Reid lives two doors down.
He’s a man in his 40s with too much time and too many decorations. At first, I thought his setups were sweet — over-the-top, maybe, but fun. Reid was the kind of guy who brought cheer to the block.
But over the years, it stopped being fun. Now it feels like his house is trying to be in a movie every other month. Christmas?
He blasts music through outdoor speakers and uses fake snow machines like he’s making a holiday movie. Valentine’s Day? The bushes are wrapped in red ribbons, and he swaps his porch lights for pink ones.
The Fourth of July is a real explosion; our windows shake like we’re inside a firework. And Halloween? Oh, that’s Reid’s big day.
The kids love it, of course. Every October, they press their faces to the living room window to watch him set it up. “Look!
He’s putting up the witch with the glowing eyes!” Kai shouts. “And the skellytons.”
“Skeletons, baby,” I always correct him with a chuckle. Even Cole, my three-year-old, squeals when the fog machines start.
And I’ll admit, there’s a kind of magic to it — if you’re not the one living next to it. A few nights before Halloween, I got home from a long shift. I’d been on my feet for 12 hours, helping patients and writing notes.
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
Tap READ MORE to discover the rest 🔎👇
