When my neighbors dumped their rotting Halloween leftovers on my lawn, they thought they’d make me clean up their mess. But after years of their petty antics, I decided it was time for a little payback that would expose a whole lot more than they’d bargained for.
I’ve always loved Halloween. Every year, I go all out decorating the yard with cobwebs, ghosts hanging from trees, big plastic spiders crawling up the porch, and gravestones in the flowerbeds.
It’s spooky, and the neighborhood kids love it.
This year, I went bigger than ever. I constructed a haunted maze in the front yard and installed a giant inflatable witch that glowed at night. I got a lot of compliments, even from people just walking by.
But, of course, not everyone was a fan.
Gary and Brenda, my neighbors two doors down, have never liked anything I’ve done, Halloween or otherwise. “Entitled” doesn’t begin to cover them. They think everyone in the neighborhood is there to make their lives easier.
Last year, they complained about my Christmas lights being “too bright.” The year before, Brenda demanded I move my garden because it “blocked her view.” And don’t get me started on their complaints about my dog barking.
So, Halloween came and went, and I planned to clean up everything, but work got crazy, and the decorations stayed up a bit longer than usual.
One morning, I opened the door to grab my paper, and the smell hit me.
It was foul, like something had died right there on my lawn. I glanced around, and my stomach turned.
There, right in the middle of my yard, was a heap of rotting pumpkins, dead cornstalks, and broken skeleton pieces. Flies buzzed around, and the smell was unbearable.
I stepped closer and saw a note stuck to one of the pumpkins.
The smudged note read, “Figured you’d want the rest of the neighborhood’s decorations too. Enjoy cleaning it up, since you love decorating so much!”
I knew that handwriting: my neighbor Brenda. My blood boiled.
I clenched my fists.
Of course. Only she would pull something like this. I stormed back inside, tossed the newspaper onto the table, and grabbed my coat.
I wasn’t going to let this slide.
Marching over to their house, I barely noticed the crisp autumn air or the crunch of leaves under my feet. My mind was a jumble of anger and disbelief. I knocked, and it wasn’t long before Gary opened the door, a smug grin plastered on his face.
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
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