I was beyond exhausted—the kind of tired that makes you wonder if you’ve even brushed your teeth. Ever since the twins were born, my life had become an endless loop of feedings, diaper changes, and sleepless nights. The last thing I needed was another problem. But when I stepped outside that morning, I was stunned to see my car covered in eggs.

At first, I figured it was a prank—Halloween was just around the corner, after all. Maybe some kids had taken their excitement too far. I sighed, too tired to be genuinely upset, and grabbed a bucket and sponge to start cleaning up the mess.

Just as I got started, my neighbor Brad approached with a smug look on his face. “That was me,” he announced. “Your car was blocking the view of my Halloween decorations.”

I blinked at him, trying to process his words. My car? Ruining his view of those plastic skeletons, cobwebs, and giant pumpkins? I was furious, but exhaustion won out, and I simply nodded, biting back the urge to say something I might regret. At that moment, I silently promised myself I’d find a way to teach Brad a lesson.

He had no idea who he was messing with.

Don’t get me wrong—Lily and Lucas are my sweet little babies, but handling two newborns mostly on my own was beyond challenging. Halloween was coming up, and the neighborhood was buzzing with excitement, but I was too exhausted to even think about decorating.

Then there was Brad. Every year, he turned his house into a full-blown haunted attraction, complete with gravestones, skeletons, and oversized jack-o’-lanterns. He loved the attention, and the entire block seemed to enjoy his haunted house, but I was too worn out to care.

Then one October morning, everything changed.

I walked outside, balancing Lily on one hip and holding Lucas, when I saw it—my car covered in eggs, yolk dripping down the windshield. My first thought was a prank, but then I noticed egg splatters near Brad’s porch. It had to be him.

I was livid. Brad didn’t own the street, but he acted like Halloween gave him exclusive curb rights. Furious, I marched over to his door and knocked—maybe a bit harder than necessary.

“What?” Brad answered with his usual smug look.

“Did you see who egged my car?” I asked, getting straight to the point.

Without a second’s hesitation, he replied, “I did. Your car was blocking the view of my decorations.”

I was stunned. “You trashed my car because it was parked in front of your house? You couldn’t just ask me to move it?”

He shrugged. “How can people see my display if your car’s in the way?”

I couldn’t believe it. Here I was, juggling two newborns, and he was lecturing me about blocking his Halloween “vibe.” My patience snapped. “I’ve got newborn twins, Brad. I park there because it’s easier with the stroller.”

“Not my problem,” he replied, unfazed. “Park somewhere else until Halloween’s over.”

I stormed back to my house, shaking with anger and disbelief. As I scrubbed egg off my car, an idea started to form. Brad wasn’t just a pain—he was a bully. And if he wanted to play dirty, fine. I could play smarter.

That night, as I rocked Lily to sleep, my plan took shape. Brad took enormous pride in his Halloween display. I didn’t have the energy for a confrontation, but a little revenge? That I could handle.

The next day, I approached Brad while he was adding even more decorations. “Hey, Brad,” I said, faking a friendly tone. “Your setup looks great, but have you thought about upgrading it?”

He looked at me, intrigued. “Upgrade?”

“Yeah, fog machines or ghost projectors. Your setup is nice, but those would really wow people.” I suggested a few brands I’d researched—terrible ones, known for terrible reviews.

He looked excited. “You think so?”

“Oh, definitely. You’d be the talk of the neighborhood.”

Satisfied, I walked back to my house, waiting for Halloween night.

On Halloween, Brad’s house looked like something out of a horror movie. He’d gone all out, with fog machines, projectors, and inflatables. A crowd gathered to admire his setup, and Brad was in his element, soaking up the attention. I watched from my porch, feeling a bit like a villain in a movie. Everything looked impressive—until it didn’t.

Right on cue, the fog machine sputtered and started spraying water. The crowd gasped, and kids laughed as Brad frantically tried to fix it. Then his ghost projector malfunctioned, displaying a strange blob instead of a spooky ghost. Finally, one of his massive inflatables deflated, rolling across his yard.

Teenagers passing by couldn’t resist—they joined in, tossing eggs at his collapsing display. Brad ran around, trying to salvage his haunted house, but the night was a disaster.

The next morning, there was a knock on my door. Brad stood there, looking deflated. “I, uh, wanted to apologize,” he mumbled. “I overreacted.”

I crossed my arms. “Yeah, you did.”

He looked uncomfortable. “I didn’t realize how hard it must be with the twins. I’m sorry.”

I let him squirm a bit before saying, “Thanks for apologizing, Brad. I’m sure it won’t happen again.”

He nodded. “It won’t.”

As he turned to leave, I couldn’t resist adding, “Funny how things work out, isn’t it?”

Brad had no response.