I’ve always loved Halloween. Every year, my yard becomes the spookiest spot on the block — cobwebs, fake ghosts, glowing gravestones, even eerie sound effects that make kids squeal and laugh.

This year, I outdid myself. I built a haunted maze and added a twelve-foot inflatable witch that glowed green at night. Families came from other streets to see it.

Everyone loved it — except Kevin and Laura, my neighbors two doors down.

Kevin and Laura have complained about everything since they moved in. My Christmas lights were “too bright.” My garden “blocked their view.” Even my dog’s bark was “disturbing their peace.”

So when I didn’t take down my Halloween decorations right away, I should’ve known they’d find something new to gripe about.

One morning, I opened my front door — and nearly threw up.

The stench was unbearable.

Right in the middle of my yard was a heap of rotting pumpkins, wilted cornstalks, and broken skeleton props. A note was stuck on top, scrawled in handwriting I instantly recognized:

“Since you love decorating so much, we figured you’d want the rest of ours too!”

My blood boiled.

I marched straight to their house. Kevin opened the door, his trademark smug grin already in place.

“Morning,” he said casually. “Need something?”

“Why is your trash all over my lawn?” I demanded.

He shrugged. “You were the last one with decorations up. We thought you wouldn’t mind. Laura said you’d appreciate the… community service.”

The nerve.

I clenched my fists, bit back the words I wanted to say, and turned away. But that night, as I lay in bed, their smug faces replayed in my mind. I’d dealt with their petty nonsense for years. Not this time.

A plan began to take shape.

The next evening, when I saw their car pull out of the driveway, I grabbed my wheelbarrow and went to work. I gathered every slimy pumpkin, every moldy cornstalk, every cracked skeleton bone — and rolled it all to their yard.

I didn’t just dump it. I decorated.

I lined their walkway with decaying pumpkins. Twisted the cornstalks around their porch posts. Propped skeleton arms so they looked like they were clawing their way up the steps.

Then I taped a note to their front door:

“Helping with cleanup since you love community service. Happy belated Halloween!”

It was perfect.

Three days later, my phone rang. It was Laura. Against my better judgment, I answered.

“What did you DO?” she shrieked.

“Good afternoon to you too,” I said evenly. “What’s wrong?”

“We’re losing our house because of you!” she cried. “You caused this! Rats got into the house from that junk you dumped! They chewed through wiring, and now the HOA’s fining us thousands!”

I almost laughed.

“Funny,” I said, “because my security cameras show you and Kevin dumping that ‘junk’ on my lawn first.”

Silence. Then a shaky voice: “That’s irrelevant—you need to tell the HOA it was a misunderstanding!”

“Why would I?” I asked calmly. “You made your mess. I just returned it.”

“Please,” she whispered, “we’ll lose everything.”

I sighed. “Maybe next time, don’t dump your problems on someone else’s yard.”

It turned out the HOA had already been fed up with them — overgrown grass, piles of garbage, broken fences, pest complaints — you name it. My footage just tipped the scale.

Within a month, they’d racked up so many fines they couldn’t recover. Kevin and Laura had to sell their home.

On moving day, I stood at my window, sipping coffee, watching them pack boxes into a dented U-Haul. They looked defeated.

For a moment, I almost felt sorry for them. Then I remembered their smirks, their note, and the pile of rotting pumpkins that started it all.

In the end, they learned one simple truth: Don’t mess with the Halloween Queen.

And next year? Oh, I’m going bigger. Giant animatronics, a fog machine, maybe even a few “moving” skeletons for effect.

After all — it’s tradition. 

Note: This story is a work of fiction inspired by real events. Names, characters, and details have been altered. Any resemblance is coincidental. The author and publisher disclaim accuracy, liability, and responsibility for interpretations or reliance. All images are for illustration purposes only.