Everyone has that neighbor. Mine was Dan. Loud dogs, trash in my yard, garbage cans blocking my driveway—petty, relentless stuff. I smiled through it, until I built a brick fence for privacy.

To Dan, it was war.

“You’ll regret this,” he hissed.

Two weeks later, I woke to mountains of rotting trash dumped across my yard. Dan sipped coffee, watching proudly.

That’s when I called Tyler, a buddy with an excavator—and a grudge owed.

We scooped every rancid bag and returned it to Dan’s pristine lawn. His roof, chimney, porch—decorated with week-old leftovers and something I pray was only a diaper.

When Dan got home, he screamed bloody murder.

I stepped outside, phone in hand. “Smile for the security cameras, Dan. They caught your trash stunt, too.”

He cleaned until 2 a.m. in silence.

After that? No more barking dogs. No smug waves. Just wilted roses and a man who learned boundaries the hard way.

Now, I sip beer behind my peaceful wall.

Sometimes, to deal with a demon… you’ve gotta unleash your own.