As I trudged back to my house, Derek’s laughter echoing in my ears, I knew I couldn’t let his childish prank go unanswered. I needed to send a message—one that he’d never forget. But how could I do it without stooping to his level? That’s when it struck me. I would give Derek a gift that would haunt him far more effectively than any egged car could ever haunt me.
The day of Derek’s much-anticipated Halloween party arrived. The neighborhood buzzed with excitement, half of it fueled by Derek’s over-the-top decorations that transformed his front yard into a scene straight out of a horror movie. Skeletons hung from trees, cobwebs draped over bushes, and eerie sounds emanated from cleverly hidden speakers. But none of it would compare to the scare I had in store for him.
I spent the afternoon preparing my “gift.” It wasn’t easy to pull off with three kids demanding my attention, but I was determined. I gathered my supplies: a large, plain box, some rope, and a lifelike tarantula—thankfully, a fake one from a party store. I meticulously arranged it inside the box, ensuring it would spring out the moment the lid was opened.
