I was bone-tired, the kind of tired where you can barely remember if you’ve brushed your teeth or fed the dog.

My days had become a blur since the twins were born.

Don’t get me wrong, Lily and Lucas were my adorable darlings, but wrangling two newborns mostly by myself was a Herculean task. I hadn’t slept a full night in months. Halloween was just around the corner and the neighborhood buzzed with excitement, but not me.

I could hardly muster the energy to decorate, let alone keep up with the suburban festivities.

Then there was Brad.

The man took Halloween so seriously that you’d think his life depended on it. Every year, he turned his house into a haunted carnival complete with gravestones, dioramas of skeletons, huge jack-o’-lanterns, the works.

And the smug look on his face every time someone complimented him? Please.

His spectacle enamored the entire block. But me? I was too busy trying to keep my eyes open to care about Brad’s ridiculous haunted house.

It was a typical October morning when everything started to unravel.

I shuffled outside with Lily on one hip and Lucas cradled in my arm. I blinked at the sight before me. Somebody had egged my car! Broken bits of shell were stuck in the semi-congealed goo, which was dripping down the windshield like some twisted breakfast special.

“Are you kidding me?” I muttered, staring at the mess.

I had parked in front of Brad’s house the night before. It’s not like I had much choice. The twins’ stroller was impossible to push all the way from down the street, so I’d parked close to our door.

At first, I thought it had to be a prank. But when I noticed the egg splatters reached all the way to Brad’s front porch, my suspicion turned into certainty.

This had Brad written all over it.

Brad, with his grandiose Halloween display, had no claim to the curb but it didn’t matter to him. The man was as territorial as a wolf during the Halloween season.

I marched over to his house, barely able to contain the rage bubbling up inside me. I banged on his door, harder than I probably needed to, but I didn’t care. I was done playing nice.

“What?” Brad opened it, looking more smug than usual. He crossed his arms over his chest, and I swear, the arrogance just radiated off him.

His house was already in full Halloween mode. Fake cobwebs hung from the gutters, a plastic skeleton waved at me from the porch, and there was a witch lazing in one of the Adirondack chairs… the whole over-the-top mess.

I wasted no time. “Did you see who egged my car?”

Brad didn’t even blink.

“I did it,” he said, as if he was telling me the time of day. “Your car’s blocking the view of my decorations.”

I stared at him, stunned. “You egged my car because it was parked in front of your house? You didn’t even ask me to move it, you just ruined it?”

He shrugged, completely unfazed. “How can people appreciate my display if they can’t see it from the road?”

I blinked. For a second, I thought I might have misheard him. “Are you for real?”

He had the audacity to shrug.

“I’m the Halloween King! People come from all over to see this display, Genevieve. I’m just asking for a little cooperation. You’re always parked there. It’s inconsiderate and it’s ruining the vibe.”

Inconsiderate? I was balancing two babies, barely keeping it together, and this man, this egomaniac, was talking to me about inconveniences?

“Well, I’m sorry my life gets in the way of your spooky graveyard,” I snapped. “I’ve got twins, Brad. Newborn twins.”

“Yeah, I know,” he said, leaning against the doorframe like we were discussing the weather. “Maybe you should park somewhere else.”

“I park there because it’s easier for me to reach my car when I’m carrying two babies and hauling a stroller!”

Brad shrugged. “That’s not my problem, Genevieve. Listen, you can park there again after Halloween is over, okay?”

I stood there, speechless, my anger boiling over. But exhaustion is funny like that — it snuffs out rage before it can burn too brightly.

“Fine,” I snapped.

So instead of screaming, I turned on my heel and went back inside, shaking with a mix of frustration and disbelief.

But something clicked as I washed the egg off my car later.

Brad wasn’t just some harmless, overzealous neighbor. He was a bully and I had had enough. If he wanted to play dirty, fine. I was about to play smarter.

A genius idea hit me as I sat in the nursery rocking Lily to sleep that night. Brad’s weakness was his pride. He needed his haunted house to be the talk of the town. I didn’t have the energy for confrontation, but revenge? That I could handle.

I waited a day then casually strolled over to his yard while he was adding even more decorations to his front porch.

“Hey, Brad,” I said, trying to sound cheerful. “I’ve been thinking, it really was inconsiderate of me to block your display. You always put so much effort into it… have you thought about giving it an upgrade?”

He paused, suspicious. “Upgrade?”

“Yeah, like some high-tech stuff. You know, fog machines, ghost projectors. You’ve already got such a great setup, but if you really want to impress people, those would take it to the next level.”

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.