When I finally went to bed that night, our house looked like something straight out of a storybook. The kids had been so excited they could barely sleep, counting down the hours until the next evening’s party.
I remember lying in bed next to Jake, feeling so relieved and happy. I thought everything was perfect.
But the next morning, things took an unexpected turn.
I woke up early to an awful smell drifting through the house. At first, I thought maybe we’d forgotten to take the garbage bin to the curb. I pulled on my robe and headed downstairs, rubbing sleep from my eyes. But when I opened the front door and stepped outside, my heart absolutely sank.
Our front yard looked like a hurricane had torn through it overnight.
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Pumpkins were smashed into mush across the walkway, orange pulp and seeds scattered everywhere like some kind of horrible crime scene.
Decorations were ripped to shreds, hanging limply from broken strings. The inflatable ghost that Ben loved so much lay deflated and torn. Even Jake’s fog machine was completely gone, stolen right from our porch.
The fence lights had been ripped out violently, wires dangling like snapped vines, and the “Welcome, Witches!” banner was torn in half.
For a few seconds, I just stood there frozen, unable to even process what I was seeing.
“Mom! What happened to our house?” Lucas’s voice cut through my shock. He came running out behind me in his dinosaur pajamas, his eyes wide with horror.
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