His eyes lit up, and I knew I had him.
Brad was predictable. If there was a chance to outshine the neighborhood, he’d take it.
I rattled off some brands I’d researched.
They were all terrible machines with one-star reviews that were notorious for breaking down and developing strange faults.
But he didn’t need to know that.
“You think so?” he asked, already mentally designing his Halloween masterpiece.
“Oh, absolutely. You’d be the talk of the neighborhood.”
And with that, I walked away, satisfied.
Now, all I had to do was wait.
Halloween night arrived and Brad’s house looked like something out of a horror movie. He’d gone all out, as expected.
There was a crowd of kids and parents gathered on the sidewalk marveling at the fog rolling out across his lawn.
Brad stood in the middle of it all, basking in their admiration.
I watched from my porch with Lily and Lucas bundled in my lap, feeling a bit like a villain in some low-budget drama.
I had to admit his setup looked impressive — until it didn’t.
The fog machine sputtered right on cue and instead of producing that eerie, atmospheric mist, it started spraying water like a garden hose. The crowd gasped, kids giggled, and Brad panicked.
He raced over to the machine and fiddled with the buttons, trying to make it stop.
But it wasn’t over. The ghost projector, his prized centerpiece, flickered on and off, casting a jittery, cartoonish ghoul that looked more like a deranged blob than a ghost.
Parents chuckled and the kids were outright laughing now.
Then came the final blow.
One of his inflatables, a giant Frankenstein, collapsed in slow motion, its deflating head rolling comically across the yard.
Some teenage boys thought it was hilarious and, with Halloween mischief in the air, they grabbed a carton of eggs and launched them at Brad’s house with gleeful precision.
Brad was losing it, running back and forth, trying to salvage what little dignity he had left, but it was too late.
His haunted house of horrors had turned into a haunted house of hilarity, and there was no coming back from it.
The next morning, just as I was feeding Lucas, there was a knock on the door. I opened it to find Brad looking… deflated.
Much like his Frankenstein.
He wasn’t his usual cocky self, and for a split second, I almost felt bad.
“I, uh, wanted to apologize,” he mumbled, not quite meeting my eyes. “For egging your car. I overreacted.”
I crossed my arms, taking my time before responding.
“Yeah, you did.”
“I just… I didn’t realize how hard it must be, you know, with the twins and all.” He rubbed the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable.
“I’m sorry.”
I let the silence hang for a moment longer, watching him squirm. “Thanks for apologizing, Brad.
I’m sure it won’t happen again.”
He nodded quickly, eager to escape the awkwardness. “No, it won’t.”
As he turned to leave, I couldn’t help but add, “Funny how things have a way of balancing out, huh?”
He glanced back, and for once, Brad had nothing to say.
