The Halloween Revenge of the Sleep-Deprived Mom
I was so tired that morning, the kind of tired where you forget if you brushed your teeth, fed the dog, or even ate breakfast. Ever since my twins, Lily and Lucas, were born, my days had turned into one long blur.
Don’t get me wrong — I adored those two. Their tiny smiles melted me every time. But handling two newborns mostly alone?
That was a marathon that never ended. Sleep? A fantasy. Showers? Optional. Halloween was around the corner, and while everyone else in the neighborhood was decorating and laughing, I could barely keep my eyes open long enough to find matching socks.
And then there was Brad.
Brad was that neighbor — the self-proclaimed “Halloween King.” Every October, he transformed his front yard into a haunted theme park.
Gravestones, fog machines, screaming skeletons, pumpkin towers — you name it, Brad had it. He even blasted eerie sound effects at night.
And the smug grin on his face every time someone said, “Wow, Brad, your decorations are amazing!” made my skin crawl.
Meanwhile, I was just trying to survive motherhood, not compete in some haunted house championship.
That morning, I stepped outside with Lily on one hip and Lucas in my arm, still half-asleep, when I froze. My car — my poor, exhausted mom-mobile — was covered in eggs. Sticky, dripping, half-dried yolk sliding down the windshield. Cracked shells everywhere.
“Are you kidding me?” I muttered, staring in disbelief. The smell was already hitting me.
I had parked in front of Brad’s house the night before because it was closer to my door. With twins, a stroller, and a diaper bag heavier than a small elephant, walking down the street was out of the question.
But when I saw the splatters stretching toward Brad’s lawn, something in me snapped. Oh, I knew who did this.
Brad.
That man would rather die than have something block his “spooky display.”
Fuming, I stormed across the street, eggs still dripping from my car. I banged on his door, hard enough to wake the dead.
After a few seconds, the door opened, and there he was — Brad in all his smug glory. Arms crossed, grin in place, standing in front of a house that looked like a horror movie exploded on it.
Cobwebs hung from the roof, fake tombstones cluttered the yard, and a plastic witch reclined in a chair beside the door.
I didn’t bother with pleasantries. “Did you see who egged my car?”
Brad didn’t even blink. “Yeah,” he said casually, “that was me.”
For a second, I thought I’d misheard him. “You did it?”
“Your car’s blocking the view of my decorations,” he said like it was the most reasonable thing in the world.
My jaw dropped. “You egged my car because it was parked in front of your house? You couldn’t just ask me to move it?”
He shrugged, completely unbothered. “How are people supposed to appreciate my display if they can’t see it? I’ve worked hard on this, Genevieve.”
I blinked. “Are you being serious right now?”
He actually puffed out his chest. “I’m the Halloween King! People come from all over to see this setup. You’re kind of ruining the vibe.”
The vibe. Oh, I wanted to throw one of those eggs right at his smug face.
I glared at him. “Sorry my real life gets in the way of your fake graveyard, Brad. I have newborn twins. I park close so I don’t have to carry two babies and a stroller down the block!”
“Not my problem,” he said, leaning on his doorframe like we were having small talk. “Just park somewhere else. After Halloween, you can have your spot back.”
My rage flared, but my exhaustion won. I didn’t have the energy to argue. “Fine,” I said coldly, turning around.
As I scrubbed egg off my car later, I muttered every insult I could think of. Brad wasn’t just annoying — he was a bully. And something in me shifted.
He thought I was too tired to fight back. He was right… but I wasn’t too tired to outsmart him.
That night, rocking Lily to sleep, the perfect plan formed in my mind. Brad’s weakness? His pride. His haunted house was his throne, and his ego was the crown. I didn’t need revenge that hurt — just one that embarrassed.
The next day, I caught him outside adding more fake tombstones. “Hey, Brad,” I said sweetly.
He looked up, suspicious. “What now, Genevieve?”
“I was thinking,” I said with a smile, “you were right about your decorations. They’re… impressive. But you could make them even better.”
He frowned slightly. “Better? How?”
“Oh, you know — upgrade! Maybe add some fog machines, or those fancy ghost projectors. People would love that. You’d totally be the talk of the town.”
His eyes lit up instantly. I could practically see the wheels turning.
“You really think so?” he asked.
“Oh, absolutely,” I said, nodding enthusiastically. “Go big or go home, right?”
What he didn’t know was that I’d spent half the night researching the worst fog machines and projectors ever made — the ones that broke, sputtered, or leaked. I gave him the brand names like a gift wrapped in evil.
He grinned. “Thanks, Genevieve. I knew you’d come around.”
“Anytime,” I said sweetly, walking back home with a tiny smirk.
Halloween night arrived.
Brad’s house looked like a Halloween carnival on steroids. Kids and parents crowded around, snapping photos. Fog rolled dramatically across his yard while Brad strutted around, soaking in the attention like a movie star.
From my porch, with Lily and Lucas bundled in blankets, I watched it all like a queen awaiting her victory.
And then — it happened.
The fog machine sputtered, coughed, and then exploded into a wild spray of water, soaking half the crowd. Kids squealed. Parents laughed.
Brad panicked, running over to fix it. “It’s just a glitch!” he shouted, pressing buttons that only made it worse.
The ghost projector started flickering too, turning his grand, spooky ghost into what looked like a twitching cartoon blob.
“Oh my God, what is that?” one of the parents laughed.
The kids were rolling on the ground laughing, and just when Brad thought it couldn’t get worse, his giant inflatable Frankenstein started deflating — slowly, pitifully — its massive green head collapsing into the grass.
And then came the cherry on top.
Some teenage boys across the street started chanting, “Egg the king! Egg the king!” and, before Brad could stop them, a few eggs splattered against his haunted house.
Brad was running back and forth like a man on fire, trying to save his decorations as the crowd laughed. The great Halloween King had fallen.
I couldn’t stop smiling. It wasn’t cruel satisfaction — it was justice.
The next morning, while I was feeding Lucas, there was a hesitant knock on my door.
Brad stood there, hair messy, shoulders slumped — like his inflatable Frankenstein.
“I, uh… wanted to apologize,” he muttered. “For egging your car. I overreacted.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You think?”
He sighed. “Yeah. I didn’t realize how hard it must be… with twins and all. I’m sorry.”
I let him squirm in silence for a few seconds before replying. “Apology accepted. I’m sure it won’t happen again.”
He nodded quickly. “It won’t.”
As he turned to leave, I couldn’t help myself. “Funny how things have a way of balancing out, huh?”
He paused, looking back, clearly knowing what I meant — but for once, Brad had nothing to say.
And that Halloween, as I rocked my babies to sleep, I smiled.
Because sometimes, even an exhausted mom can pull off the perfect trick. 🎃
