After a long business trip, all I wanted was to get home and enjoy Halloween night. But when I stepped onto my quiet street, I noticed something unsettling across the way. Let’s just say, Halloween had one last surprise in store.

I’ll admit, Halloween is my one true love. Some people go wild for Christmas or Easter, but for me, Halloween is pure magic. I’m 32, have no kids, and recently divorced—my job keeps me pretty busy, so I don’t have a lot of time for hobbies.

But Halloween? That’s my thing. Every year, I go all out. I’m talking graveyard scenes, life-sized skeletons, lights, fog machines, the works. I start planning in August, mapping out every little detail to make my house the spookiest one on the block.

And for years, it’s worked. The “Haunted House on Thatcher Street” (that’s my house!) has become a bit of a legend around here. Neighbors actually tell their friends to drive by on Halloween night to see it. And I love it—I feel like I’m creating something that lets people feel like kids again, just for one night.

This year, though, life threw me a curveball. Right before Halloween, my boss drops a bombshell, “We need you on a flight to Boston tomorrow.” A last-minute business trip. “Really?!” I nearly shouted. Halloween was just a week away.

But there was no getting out of it. So I took one last look at my masterpiece of a front yard; a giant spiderweb, spooky inflatables, and lights painstakingly set up to create a full-on haunted graveyard scene. Then I flew out. The plan was to be back November 1, so I figured, hey, at least the neighbors could still enjoy the setup.

But fate had other plans. After some scheduling miracle, I ended up coming home early, landing right on Halloween afternoon. I was thrilled, picturing myself handing out candy to kids in their little costumes.

When I got home, though, something was… off. My house looked bare. I mean completely bare.

Then I glanced across the street and saw it: My skeletons. My graveyard tombstones. My inflatable pumpkin. And there, right in the middle of my neighbor’s front yard, was my 8-foot spider staring back at me.

I took a deep breath, clenched my fists, and told myself to stay calm. I mean, it was Halloween night, kids were running up and down the street, and the last thing I wanted was to cause a scene. But the nerve… my decorations, all of them, right there on her lawn.

As the sun dipped lower, the orange glow of my lights flickered from her front yard, casting shadows over her house. It felt surreal—like I was seeing some kind of twisted, alternate universe.

Now and then, I peeked out the window to see the scene across the street. Her house, covered in my decorations, with kids running up to her door, their parents complimenting her on the spooky setup.

I ground my teeth and imagined myself knocking on her door right now, with parents and kids watching, just to give her a piece of my mind. But no. I needed to be smarter than that.

Finally, around midnight, the street started to quiet down. Halloween was wrapping up; decorations glowed dimmer, porch lights turned off, and parents herded kids back home.

My neighbor’s house went dark, too, and I watched as her last group of visitors left, waving and chattering on their way down the street.

This was it. It was time.

I didn’t wait till morning. There was no way I’d be able to sleep with the image of my decorations plastered all over her yard. So, I grabbed my keys, threw on my jacket, and headed straight to the all-night convenience store.

Inside, the fluorescent lights hummed overhead as I stood in front of the paint aisle, scanning the cans until I found exactly what I was looking for.

A vivid, angry red paint, perfect for making a statement, and a sleek, glossy black paint. I grabbed a few cans of each and headed to the checkout, where the bored cashier barely glanced at me as I paid.

Back on my street, it was quiet—almost eerie, with a chill breeze rustling the trees and a few leftover jack-o’-lanterns grinning emptily from porches. I took one last look around to make sure no one was watching, then slipped across the street to her yard.

My heart pounded as I approached her white fence. The cool metal of the spray can in my hand felt electric. I took a deep breath, looked over my shoulder one more time, and shook the can.

With a firm press of my finger, the nozzle hissed, releasing a burst of red paint. I started slow, careful, watching as the letters took shape, each one growing bolder and louder on her pristine white fence:

“I STEAL MY NEIGHBOR’S DECORATIONS TO WIN A PRIZE FOR THE BEST DECORATED HOUSE!”

I grinned, feeling a surge of satisfaction. It was bold, just like her move, and every letter felt like a cathartic release, a little piece of my frustration spilling out in bright red paint.

I even added some dramatic dripping paint lines for effect, making it look like the words were bleeding right down her fence.

The whole time, I kept an ear out, hoping no lights would suddenly flick on. As I dotted the final exclamation point, the satisfying hiss of the paint faded, leaving only the soft sounds of the wind in the trees and my heartbeat pounding in my ears.

But just as I turned to admire my work, a light flicked on inside her house.

My stomach dropped, and I ducked, clutching the paint can close as I watched her silhouette appear in the window. I held my breath, waiting, but she didn’t look outside.

Instead, I saw her shuffle toward the kitchen, then back out of sight. I let out a shaky breath. I’d been seconds away from being caught.

Gathering my nerve, I crept back around her yard, clutching my bag of spray paint. I couldn’t help glancing at my handiwork one last time before heading back across the street. Her fence looked ridiculous, and the best part? She’d have no choice but to confront it.

The next morning, I watched from my window, sipping my coffee and feeling the sweet sting of justice. There, right in front of Sandra’s house, my bold, bright-red message still gleamed across her white fence. She hadn’t even tried to cover it up. And with the paint I used, scrubbing it off wouldn’t be easy.

Just as I was basking in the sight, a small group of judges from the neighborhood council began strolling down our street. They had clipboards in hand, eyes scanning each house as they judged our Halloween decor.

I felt a flash of nerves—would they see the humor in my act, or would they think I’d crossed a line? But one look at Sandra’s bare yard, stripped of any of her own effort, and I knew I’d made my point.

The judges stopped in front of her house, and I could see the confusion spreading across their faces. They stared, wide-eyed, at the red letters on her fence, then exchanged hushed whispers.

One of them actually snorted, barely covering a laugh with his hand. Sandra, watching from her window, paled as she saw them reading the message. She threw me a horrified glance, but I simply raised my mug in a little wave, giving her the sweetest smile I could manage.

It didn’t take long for the group to move on to my place. I could hear one of them mumble, “She really did steal them?” to another, who chuckled and nodded as they took in my yard, still a little bare after my decorations had been… borrowed.

As the judges took notes, one of them, a sweet lady named Mrs. Delaney, walked over to me. “I have to say, your dedication to Halloween is remarkable. Sandra’s decorations were lovely—until we learned they were yours!” She chuckled, a knowing twinkle in her eye.

I grinned, feigning innocence. “Oh, well, Halloween means a lot to me. I go all out every year. You know, I just wanted to give the neighborhood something spooky and memorable.”

Mrs. Delaney’s smile grew wider. “Well, you’ve certainly given us something memorable, dear. I think it’s safe to say, you’ve earned the title of Best Decorated House this year.” She winked. “Sandra’s fence really… added something, didn’t it?”

I nodded, holding back laughter. “I suppose you could say it was a collaborative effort.”

Just then, Sandra stormed out of her house, red-faced and furious. “This is absurd!” she shouted, pointing an accusing finger in my direction. “She vandalized my property!”

One of the judges turned to her with a raised eyebrow. “So, did you actually take her decorations?”

Sandra opened her mouth, but nothing came out. After a moment, she folded her arms, glaring daggers at me. “I thought she wouldn’t mind,” she mumbled, her voice barely audible.

“Well, it seems you’ve learned a little lesson about asking permission,” Mrs. Delaney said firmly, raising an eyebrow. “And we’re awarding the prize to the rightful owner of those decorations.” She turned back to me and gave a nod of approval.

Sandra stomped her foot, but the group had already moved on. She shot me one last look, her face livid, as the judges continued down the block.

I just shrugged, holding back a smile. “Happy Halloween, Sandra.”

And with that, I turned back to my house, savoring every sweet second.

If you liked this article, here is another one that you might enjoy: “My neighbors threw their rotten halloween decorations in my yard so I would take them away – but I taught them a lesson.”