After a long business journey, returning home to enjoy Halloween was all I could think about. However, upon arriving on my quiet street, I encountered something rather peculiar. Let’s just say Halloween had a little surprise waiting for me.
I must confess, Halloween holds a special place in my heart. Some folks revel in Christmas or Easter, but for me, Halloween embodies pure enchantment. At 32, without children and recently divorced, my work schedule leaves me little time for pastimes.
But Halloween? That’s my cherished tradition. Each year, I decorate extravagantly with graveyard scenes, life-sized skeletons, lights, fog machines—the whole shebang. I begin planning in August, detailing every aspect to make my home the spookiest on the block.
For years, this has been a success. The “Haunted House on Thatcher Street”—my house—has gained a local reputation. Neighbors even encourage friends to visit on Halloween night. I adore it; creating a space where people feel like kids again for just a night brings me joy.
This year, though, fate intervened. Less than a week before Halloween, my boss announced a sudden business trip to Boston. I protested, “Really?!”
I took one last look at my meticulously arranged yard—a giant spiderweb, spooky inflatables, and lights designed to create a haunted graveyard. I departed, expecting the neighbors to still enjoy my decor while I was away.
Miraculously, I returned earlier than planned on Halloween afternoon. Excitement bubbled up inside me at the thought of handing out candy to trick-or-treaters.
Arriving home, something seemed off. My house was stripped bare of its decorations.
Glancing across the street, there they were: my skeletons, tombstones, inflatable pumpkin—even my 8-foot spider. All proudly displayed in my neighbor’s yard.
I took a calming breath and reminded myself to remain composed. It was Halloween night, with children frolicking about. I didn’t want to cause a commotion. But my nerves were tested further.
The orange hue of my lights sparkled over her lawn, casting shadows on her house, creating an eerily distorted scene.
Occasionally, I stole glances from my window, seeing kids running up to her porch, their parents praising her “spooky” decor.
I fought the urge to confront her immediately, showing restraint. Instead, I devised a plan to handle the situation later.
Parents with their child standing in front of their neighbor’s house during Halloween | Source: Midjourney
As the night waned, the vibrant glow of decorations began to fade, and porch lights dimmed as families headed home.
Even my neighbor Sandra’s residence went dark, signaling the end of the festivities.
This was my moment.
Unable to sleep with anger swirling, I grabbed my keys and coat, deciding to visit the convenience store.
I strolled through the aisles until I found what I needed: bright, fierce red paint and a glossy black. With cans in hand, I left the cashier uninterested in my late-night purchase.
The street was eerily quiet as I made my way back, my mind set on reclaiming some dignity.
Adrenaline surged through me as I approached Sandra’s pristine white fence, paint can in hand. A glance over my shoulder confirmed no one was watching as I shook the can.
The nozzle hissed, and red paint splattered across the fence, forming bold, impactful letters:
“I STEAL MY NEIGHBOR’S DECORATIONS TO WIN A PRIZE FOR THE BEST DECORATED HOUSE!”
Satisfaction surged as I made the statement. Adding dramatic paint drips, it seemed like the words bled down her fence.
Keeping an ear out for sudden disturbances, I completed the final exclamation mark. The satisfying hiss ended, leaving me in a tranquil, windy atmosphere.
Just then, a light flickered on inside her home. My gut tightened as I ducked down, concealing the can as Sandra’s silhouette neared her kitchen, then disappeared once more.
Seizing the opportunity, I stealthily retreated, casting a last glance at my “art” before heading back. Proud of the statement I made, I felt a wave of contentment.
The following morning, coffee in hand, I watched Sandra’s house from my window. My red declaration gleamed perfectly against her white fence.
As a group of neighborhood council judges strolled past, taking in the Halloween displays, I held my breath.
Would they appreciate the humor or deem it too scandalous? Regardless, the message was clear: my efforts shouldn’t be undermined.
The judges paused at Sandra’s home, bewilderment coloring their expressions as they read the bold statement. They murmured, some chuckling at the unexpected spectacle.
Meanwhile, Sandra, aghast, glanced my way as I gave her a casual wave, my morning mug bearing a satisfied grin.
The judges soon transitioned to my yard, noting its current bare state following Sandra’s “borrowing.”
Mrs. Delaney, a kind judge, approached me, expressing, “Your commitment to Halloween is noteworthy. Sandra’s decor delight was eye-catching—until we knew it was yours!” she laughed, a hint of mirth in her gaze.
“Halloween’s a big deal. I strive for a spooky, unforgettable night for everyone,” I replied, playing coy.
Mrs. Delaney chuckled, “Certainly memorable! You’ve truly earned ‘Best Decorated House.’ Sandra’s fence added flare, didn’t it?”
“It was quite the collaborative project,” I mused, barely containing laughter.
Sandra, storming out, fumed, “It’s absurd! She vandalized my property!”
One judge queried her directly, “So, did you actually take her decorations?”
Stammering, Sandra folded her arms, defeated. “I assumed she wouldn’t mind,” she whispered.
“Seems permissions aren’t your strong suit,” Mrs. Delaney quipped confidently. “The prize goes to the rightful owner.” She turned approvingly to me.
As the rest walked away, Sandra, still seething, cast one last glare my way.
Smiling slightly, I replied, “Happy Halloween, Sandra.”
And with that, I returned home, relishing the moment.
This piece, inspired by true events, is fictionally portrayed for creative purposes, with altered names and scenarios for privacy and narrative purposes. Resemblance to real persons or events is coincidental.
The author and publisher assume no liability for depiction accuracy or reader interpretation. This story is presented “as is,” with opinions belonging to fictional characters, not reflecting the perspectives of the author or publisher.
