The Halloween Payback
I was bone-tired — the kind of tired where you forget if you’ve brushed your teeth, fed the dog, or even eaten. My days blurred together ever since the twins, Lily and Lucas, arrived.
Don’t get me wrong, they were my whole world, my tiny miracles. But raising two newborns mostly alone was hard. Nights bled into mornings, and mornings into chaos. Sleep had become a myth I no longer believed in.
Halloween was just around the corner, and while the neighborhood buzzed with excitement, I could barely keep my eyes open. I hadn’t decorated, hadn’t even thought about candy.
And then there was Brad.
Brad, my overly enthusiastic neighbor, treated Halloween like the Super Bowl. Every year, he turned his house into a full-blown haunted carnival. Gravestones, fake fog, skeletons, glowing pumpkins — you name it, he had it. He even had a motion-activated witch that cackled every time you walked by.
He lived for the praise. The man would stand in his driveway, soaking in compliments like sunlight. Honestly, the smugness rolling off him could power a small city.
Me? I was too tired to care about his obsession.
Until that morning.
It was a cool October day when I shuffled outside with Lily on one hip and Lucas cradled in my arm. My hair was a mess, my coffee was still inside, and all I wanted was to get groceries and survive the day.
Then I saw it.
My car. Covered. In. Eggs.
Yellow goo dripped down the windshield, shells clinging to the sticky mess. It looked like someone had thrown breakfast at it and walked away proud.
“Are you kidding me?” I muttered, staring at the disaster.
I’d parked in front of Brad’s house the night before — only because it was the closest spot. With twins, diaper bags, and a double stroller, parking far was impossible.
At first, I thought it was some random prank by teenagers. But then I noticed egg splatters on Brad’s front lawn — leading straight to his porch.
That smug man.
I stomped over, my heart pounding in anger. Lily fussed in my arm, and Lucas let out a cry, but I couldn’t stop. I banged on Brad’s door hard enough to make his fake spider web shake.
The door creaked open, and there he was — Brad, in all his smug glory, wearing an orange T-shirt that said “King of Halloween.”
“What’s up, Genevieve?” he asked, crossing his arms. The arrogance practically dripped from him.
“Did you see who egged my car?” I demanded.
He didn’t even blink. “Yeah. That was me.”
I froze. “You what?”
He spoke so casually it made my blood boil. “Your car’s blocking the view of my display. People can’t see my decorations from the street.”
I stared at him, speechless. “You egged my car because you didn’t like where I parked? You didn’t even ask me to move it?”
Brad shrugged. “I’m the Halloween King. People come from all over to see this display. You’re always parked there — it ruins the vibe.”
I blinked, trying to process the insanity. “Brad, I have newborn twins. I park there because I’m hauling babies and strollers and—”
“Yeah, I know,” he interrupted, leaning against the doorframe. “But maybe park somewhere else till Halloween’s over.”
I wanted to scream. Instead, I said through clenched teeth, “Fine.”
Then I turned and walked back to my house, shaking from fury and exhaustion.
Later, as I stood outside scrubbing egg off my car, I decided something — I wasn’t going to let Brad get away with it.
If he wanted to play dirty, I’d play smarter.
That night, as I rocked Lily to sleep, a mischievous idea formed in my head. Brad’s weak spot was his ego. He needed to be admired. If I couldn’t yell at him, I could quietly ruin the one thing he cared about most — his reputation as the neighborhood’s Halloween hero.
The next day, I found him in his yard, setting up a new giant spider web. I put on my sweetest smile.
“Hey, Brad!” I called.
He turned, wiping his hands. “Oh, hey. You’re not still mad about the car thing, are you?”
I forced a laugh. “No, no. I was actually thinking about your decorations. You always go big — but have you ever thought about… upgrading?”
He squinted. “Upgrading?”
“Yeah! You should add some high-tech stuff — like a fog machine, ghost projectors, maybe one of those motion sensors that make ghosts scream when people walk by. It’d be next-level amazing.”
Brad’s eyes widened. “Really? You think that’d make a difference?”
“Oh, absolutely,” I said, keeping my tone innocent. “It would make your display unforgettable.”
What I didn’t mention was that the brands I suggested were cheap knock-offs — known online for breaking down and short-circuiting mid-show.
Brad, of course, took the bait.
By Halloween night, his house looked like a horror movie set. Crowds of kids and parents gathered on the sidewalk, taking photos and cheering. Brad stood there, grinning like a king.
I sat on my porch with Lily and Lucas, watching.
And then — it began.
The fog machine started sputtering, making weird choking sounds before suddenly spraying water everywhere. The kids squealed as mist turned to a chaotic shower.
“Uh-oh,” I whispered, hiding a smile.
Brad ran to fix it, pressing buttons, muttering, “Come on, come on!”
But it got worse. The ghost projector — his pride and joy — flickered wildly. Instead of spooky ghosts, it displayed a cartoonish, flickering blob that looked like a melting marshmallow.
The crowd started laughing. Parents chuckled, kids pointed.
And then, the final blow — his giant inflatable Frankenstein slowly collapsed, its head rolling down the driveway like a sad balloon.
The kids burst into laughter. Someone yelled, “Frankenstein’s dead!”
A few teenage boys, caught up in the chaos, grabbed leftover eggs from their candy bags and started pelting his front lawn. Brad was running in circles, shouting, “Stop! Stop throwing eggs!”
It was poetic justice.
The mighty Halloween King had fallen.
The next morning, as I was feeding Lucas, I heard a knock.
I opened the door — and there stood Brad. But this time, he wasn’t glowing with pride. He looked deflated, much like his sad Frankenstein.
“Hey,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “I, uh… wanted to apologize. For egging your car. I overreacted.”
I crossed my arms. “Yeah, you did.”
He looked embarrassed. “I didn’t realize how hard things must be for you — with the twins and all. I was being a jerk.”
For a moment, I just looked at him. “Thanks for saying that, Brad. I appreciate it. Let’s hope it doesn’t happen again.”
He nodded quickly. “It won’t. I promise.”
As he turned to leave, I couldn’t resist one last line.
“Funny how karma works, huh?”
He glanced back, speechless for once.
And as I closed the door, I couldn’t help but smile. For the first time in months, I felt a little less tired — and a lot more satisfied.