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.
