The morning before Halloween, Emily opened her front door and saw her car covered in egg yolks and toilet paper.
— “Mommy… is the car sick?” whispered her three-year-old son, pointing a finger at it.
That’s how her day began.
Emily, a 36-year-old nurse and single mother of three children—Lily, Max, and Noah—wasn’t looking for drama. She just wanted to park close to home after an exhausting shift, carry the sleeping kids and the bags of groceries without breaking her back. But that night, without knowing it, she had committed an unforgivable error: parking in front of the house of Derek, her neighbor obsessed with Halloween decorations.
Derek wasn’t just any man. He was over 40, had too much free time, and an exaggerated love for lights, skeletons, and plastic witches. Every year, his house turned into a horror theme park, complete with artificial fog, demonic laughter, and spotlights that illuminated the neighborhood until the early hours.
The kids loved it. Emily did too, until she started living next door.
That night, after her twelve-hour shift, Emily parked in front of her house. There was no space anywhere else. Not a word more. She thought Derek would understand.
But the next morning, her car hood gleamed with the yellow viscosity of egg. Paper floated in the wind like ghostly ribbons. The sour smell filled the air. And the shells formed a trail leading directly to Derek’s entrance.
Emily took a deep breath, settled the children at the breakfast table, and went out. She knocked on the neighbor’s door with more force than necessary.
Derek opened it with an irritating smile, dressed in an orange sweatshirt like a pumpkin.
— “Yes,” he said without batting an eye. “It was me. Your car was blocking the view of my decorations.”
— “You egged my car… because of that?” Emily asked, incredulously.
— “You could have parked somewhere else,” he replied, shrugging. “It’s Halloween. This is all just fun. Don’t be so dramatic.”
Emily looked at him in silence.
— “I am a single mother, Derek. I have three children. I parked there because I had no other choice.”
He smiled arrogantly.
— “Not my problem, dear. You chose to have them. And maybe, next time, you’ll choose better where to park.”
Emily watched him for a few seconds, then nodded.
— “Alright,” she said calmly. “Perfect.”
And she left.
That night, while the children slept, Emily didn’t think of revenge, but of justice.
She photographed the car from every angle, recorded a video, spoke to the neighbors, and secured witnesses. Then, she filed a police report and submitted a repair estimate for over $500. All with a serene smile.
Two days later, Derek knocked on her door, red with fury.
— “This is ridiculous, Emily. It was just Halloween.”
— “You damaged my property,” she replied, arms crossed. “The police and the neighborhood association already know about it. Do you want to go to court?”
The man fell silent and, finally, handed her a check. He paid every dollar.
That weekend, he appeared again, with a bucket and a rag.
— “I thought… I could help you clean up the rest,” he muttered, without looking at her.
— “Start with the mirrors,” Emily told him, opening the door. “And the tires are still dirty.”
Derek nodded and silently got to work. From the living room, the children watched fascinated.
— “Is the skeleton washing our car?” asked Max.
— “Because he got it dirty,” Lily replied with a knowing smile.
Emily joined them on the couch.
— “Exactly,” she said softly. “Bad things might seem fun at first… but they always leave a mess behind.”
By nightfall, the air smelled of melted caramel and children’s laughter. They baked cupcakes and dipped apples in sticky caramel. They decorated them with sugar eyes and black spiders.
— “Are we going to share them?” Max asked.
— “No, sweetie,” Emily replied with a tired smile. “This Halloween is just for us.”
The next day, while having coffee by the window, Emily saw Derek picking up the last remnants of paper from the yard. His lights were still hanging, but the generators were off. The music had also stopped.
The neighborhood was quiet.
Her car was clean.
Her soul was at peace.
Emily then understood what true justice meant: not yelling, not stooping to his level, but protecting what matters with calm and persistence.
And when Max asked her if she was still angry with “that skeleton,” she smiled.
— “No, sweetie. I’m not angry anymore. But I am very proud.”
Because sometimes, the sweetest revenge… smells like caramel and sounds like children’s laughter.