I live in a quiet neighborhood where people go all out for holidays—especially Halloween. My neighbor across the street is the most enthusiastic of all. Every October, his yard transforms into a haunted wonderland: fog machines, glowing skeletons, animatronic zombies, the works. It’s impressive, I’ll admit.
This year, I parked my car in front of his house. Not on his property—just on the public street. My driveway was full, and it was the closest spot. I didn’t think twice.
The next morning, I walked outside and froze.
My car was covered in eggs. Yolk dripping down the windshield. Shells stuck to the paint. I was shocked. Who would do this?
I checked my security camera footage. And there he was—my neighbor, sneaking out around midnight, hoodie pulled up, throwing eggs like a teenager with a grudge.
I confronted him later that day. Calmly. I asked why he did it.
He said, “Your car ruined the whole vibe. People couldn’t see the graveyard scene.”
I blinked. “So you vandalized my property… for ambiance?”
He shrugged. “It’s Halloween. Things get messy.”
I couldn’t believe it. He genuinely thought his decorations were more important than my car. No apology. No remorse.
I filed a police report. Not because I wanted drama—but because boundaries matter. Decorations don’t justify destruction.
Since then, he’s been quiet. No apology. No eggs. Just a slightly less enthusiastic fog machine.
And me? I park wherever I’m legally allowed. Because spooky season doesn’t override common sense.
