On Halloween’s eve morning, I found my old Ford completely splattered with eggs and wrapped in toilet paper.
My heart was thumping — who would do this?
The answer came quickly, as I followed a clear trail of eggshells leading straight from Derek’s driveway.
I marched over, my jaw tight with anger. When Derek opened the door, still in his robe and sipping coffee, my words stumbled out.
“Derek, did you do this to my car?”
He didn’t even blink.
“Well, yeah,” he said casually. “You parked right in front of my house. You’re blocking the view of my Halloween decorations.”
I stared at him, dumbfounded. “So, eggs and toilet paper… because of where I parked? Why not just tell me? I need to get to work and take my kids to school. How am I supposed to deal with this now?”
Without a hint of remorse, he shrugged. “Emily, don’t be so dramatic. The neighbors always come to see my decorations. Stop parking here, and everything will be fine.”
I clenched my fists, trying to keep my voice steady. “Derek, I’m a single mom of three. I park here for the kids’ sake, not to bother anyone. No rules are being broken.”
He flashed a smirk that made my stomach twist.
“Sweetheart,” he said, dragging out the word like a taunt, “that’s not my problem. Maybe next time you’ll learn where to park. Find yourself another spot.”
Instead of arguing, I forced a smile, turned on my heel, and walked back home.
Also Read : My Neighbor Lived Alone for 50 Years — After Her Passing, I Discovered Something Unexpected
But inside, I was fuming.
That night, as I scrubbed dried egg off my car, an idea began forming — a clever, harmless, and poetic idea.
The Plan
Derek was hosting his annual “Haunted Yard” party that evening. It was the highlight of the neighborhood — fog machines, creepy lights, animatronic zombies, and kids running around in costumes.
I knew he prided himself on his decorations — they were his identity, his pride, his obsession.
So, I decided to give him a little Halloween surprise of my own.
When the sun dipped below the horizon, I waited until the street grew busy with trick-or-treaters and laughter echoed from his yard. Then, I slipped into my garage and grabbed a few harmless supplies: an old Bluetooth speaker, a black hoodie, and a pumpkin with a hole carved in the bottom.
I snuck around the side of his house, careful not to be seen. I placed the speaker behind his prized animatronic witch and connected it to my phone. Then, I quietly slipped away and hid behind a tree.
At exactly 8 p.m., right as Derek was leading a group of neighbors through his “haunted graveyard,” I pressed play.
From the shadows, a deep, ghostly voice boomed through the speaker:
“DEREK… YOU RUINED HALLOWEEN FOR THE WRONG PERSON…”
The crowd gasped. Kids screamed. Derek spun around, looking pale.
Then the voice continued, louder this time:
“YOUR DECORATIONS BELONG TO ME NOW…”
Derek stumbled backward, tripping over a fog machine and knocking over a tombstone prop. People laughed nervously, unsure if it was part of the show.
But then — the witch behind him began to twitch erratically, her voice glitching and her head spinning faster than usual. I hadn’t planned for that — it must’ve shorted out when he fell on a power cord.
Sparks flew. The smoke thickened. The crowd shrieked and scattered.
And then Derek screamed — a high-pitched, terrified sound that echoed down the block.
“JESUS CHRIST, WHAT IS THAT?!”
The Aftermath
The next morning, I peeked out my window to see Derek on his lawn, picking up the charred remains of his decorations. His twelve-foot skeleton now had one missing arm, and his fog machine was beyond saving.
I almost felt sorry for him. Almost.
Later that day, he knocked on my door.
When I opened it, he stood there sheepishly, holding a roll of paper towels. “Hey… uh, Emily. About your car. That was out of line. I shouldn’t have done that.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You think?”
He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. Look, I had a bad week. My boss, my bills — I took it out on you. I’m sorry. And, uh, whatever happened last night…” He glanced over his shoulder, visibly uneasy. “That voice thing? That scared the hell out of me.”
I tilted my head innocently. “Voice thing? You mean your decorations malfunctioning?”
He hesitated, then nodded slowly. “Yeah… maybe. Anyway, I wanted to say sorry.”
I smiled politely. “Apology accepted, Derek. And don’t worry — I found a new parking spot.”
His face relaxed. “Oh, good.”
Then I added with a grin, “Right across the street. You know, where everyone can still see your decorations.”
He laughed nervously. “Right. Yeah. Sure.”
As he walked away, I closed the door and leaned against it, stifling a chuckle.
A Lesson Learned
A few days later, my oldest son asked, “Mom, do you think Derek will egg the car again?”
I smiled. “No, honey. I think he’s learned his lesson.”
Because sometimes, the best revenge isn’t cruel or destructive — it’s clever, calm, and just a little spooky.
And every Halloween since, Derek’s decorations have been spectacular… but not once has he ever complained about where I park.
In fact, he even waves when I drive by.
