I’m Amy. My boyfriend, Zach, and I moved into our new home last November. Our neighbors are a single mom, Sarah, and her two boys, Richard and Bill, ages seven and twelve. When we first moved in, Sarah was very sweet and welcoming. Her sons would say hi to us sometimes as well. That didn’t last long.
The house and neighborhood are lovely, but we haven’t had much sunny weather lately. Recently, though, it’s gotten better, and we’ve had a few hot days. A couple of weekends ago, Zach and I were enjoying a particularly sunny day sitting in our garden. We could hear Sarah’s kids playing in their garden next door. We didn’t mind until a jet of water came over the fence and hit me square in the face.
A house in a quiet neighborhood | Source: Pexels
“Zach!” I shouted, wiping water from my eyes.
Zach looked up, confused. “What happened?”
“Water,” I said with my eyes burning. “Why is there water coming from out of nowhere?”
Water being sprayed | Source: Pexels
Just then, another jet of water shot over the fence, hitting our garden furniture and plants. We scrambled to get our books and the rest of our little picnic inside before everything got soaked.
With the water still flying over the fence at intervals, I decided to go upstairs to see what was happening on Sarah’s side. From the window, I saw her two boys with huge water guns, aiming over the fence and spraying our garden.
A boy with water guns | Source: Unsplash
I hurried back downstairs. “Zach, it’s Rich and Bill with water guns! And they’re still doing it!”
Zach was already at the fence, calling over. “Richard! Bill! Please stop spraying water over here!”
The boys went quiet and disappeared. But no more than two minutes later, just as Zach dried off and walked into the kitchen to fetch his book, they started again. The water jets were relentless.
Boys playing with a water gun | Source: Pexels
I sighed. “This is getting ridiculous.”
Zach nodded. “I’ll go talk to Sarah.”
He walked around to Sarah’s front door and knocked. After a moment, she answered, looking flustered.
“Hi, Zach,” she said. “Is everything okay?”
Man knocking on a door | Source: Pexels
“Hey, Sarah,” Zach replied. “The boys are spraying water over the fence into our garden. Can you ask them to stop?”
Sarah frowned. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I’ll talk to them right away.”
Zach returned to our garden. “She said she’ll talk to them.”
I nodded, hoping that would be the end of it. But a few minutes later, the water jets started again.
A frustrated woman | Source: Pexels
“This is unbelievable,” I muttered. “They just won’t stop.”
Zach sighed. “Maybe I should try talking to the boys directly.”
He went back to the fence and called over again. “Richard, Bill, please stop spraying water into our garden. It’s not nice.”
The boys’ voices drifted over. “But it’s fun!” Richard said.
Angry woman | Source: Pexels
“We’re just playing!” Bill added.
Zach tried to stay calm. “I understand, but it’s getting our furniture and plants all wet. Please, find something else to do.”
There was a brief silence. “Okay,” Richard said reluctantly.
We waited, listening. For a moment, it seemed like they had finally stopped. But then, another jet of water shot over the fence.
A boy playing with a water gun | Source: Pexels
I threw my hands up in frustration. “What do we do now?”
Zach looked thoughtful. “Maybe we need to talk to Sarah again. She seemed understanding before.”
We were both frustrated with the boys continuing to spray water over the fence. This time, I went next door and rang the bell. Sarah answered, and I told her that her kids kept spraying water over our fence. I thought she’d be understanding like she was with Zach, but she seemed really offended.
Woman in an argument | Source: Pexels
“Amy, you’re overreacting,” she said, crossing her arms. “They’re just kids being kids.”
I tried to explain further, but she cut me off. “Look, I’ll tell them to stop one more time, but I’m not going to police my children playing. It’s only water; it won’t do any damage.”
Women in an argument | Source: Pexels
Now, I must admit, I don’t do well with confrontations. I thought she would be kind, but her response left me without anything to say. So I sort of froze. Sarah waited for a second then closed the door on me, and I just went home.
Zach and I decided to watch a movie instead, but before we closed our back door for the day, I noticed the water had destroyed my garland with lights that hung over our garden table. Sighing, I left it hanging and went inside.
A garland with lights | Source: Pexels
My Neighbor Refused to Stop Her Kids from Spraying Water Guns over My Fence – I Gave Her a Taste of Her Own Medicine
09:21 A.M.
I’m Amy. My boyfriend, Zach, and I moved into our new home last November. Our neighbors are a single mom, Sarah, and her two boys, Richard and Bill, ages seven and twelve. When we first moved in, Sarah was very sweet and welcoming. Her sons would say hi to us sometimes as well. That didn’t last long.
The house and neighborhood are lovely, but we haven’t had much sunny weather lately. Recently, though, it’s gotten better, and we’ve had a few hot days. A couple of weekends ago, Zach and I were enjoying a particularly sunny day sitting in our garden. We could hear Sarah’s kids playing in their garden next door. We didn’t mind until a jet of water came over the fence and hit me square in the face.
A house in a quiet neighborhood | Source: Pexels
“Zach!” I shouted, wiping water from my eyes.
Zach looked up, confused. “What happened?”
“Water,” I said with my eyes burning. “Why is there water coming from out of nowhere?”
Water being sprayed | Source: Pexels
Just then, another jet of water shot over the fence, hitting our garden furniture and plants. We scrambled to get our books and the rest of our little picnic inside before everything got soaked.
With the water still flying over the fence at intervals, I decided to go upstairs to see what was happening on Sarah’s side. From the window, I saw her two boys with huge water guns, aiming over the fence and spraying our garden.
A boy with water guns | Source: Unsplash
I hurried back downstairs. “Zach, it’s Rich and Bill with water guns! And they’re still doing it!”
Zach was already at the fence, calling over. “Richard! Bill! Please stop spraying water over here!”
The boys went quiet and disappeared. But no more than two minutes later, just as Zach dried off and walked into the kitchen to fetch his book, they started again. The water jets were relentless.
Boys playing with a water gun | Source: Pexels
I sighed. “This is getting ridiculous.”
Zach nodded. “I’ll go talk to Sarah.”
He walked around to Sarah’s front door and knocked. After a moment, she answered, looking flustered.
“Hi, Zach,” she said. “Is everything okay?”
Man knocking on a door | Source: Pexels
“Hey, Sarah,” Zach replied. “The boys are spraying water over the fence into our garden. Can you ask them to stop?”
Sarah frowned. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I’ll talk to them right away.”
Zach returned to our garden. “She said she’ll talk to them.”
I nodded, hoping that would be the end of it. But a few minutes later, the water jets started again.
A frustrated woman | Source: Pexels
“This is unbelievable,” I muttered. “They just won’t stop.”
Zach sighed. “Maybe I should try talking to the boys directly.”
He went back to the fence and called over again. “Richard, Bill, please stop spraying water into our garden. It’s not nice.”
The boys’ voices drifted over. “But it’s fun!” Richard said.
Angry woman | Source: Pexels
“We’re just playing!” Bill added.
Zach tried to stay calm. “I understand, but it’s getting our furniture and plants all wet. Please, find something else to do.”
There was a brief silence. “Okay,” Richard said reluctantly.
We waited, listening. For a moment, it seemed like they had finally stopped. But then, another jet of water shot over the fence.
A boy playing with a water gun | Source: Pexels
I threw my hands up in frustration. “What do we do now?”
Zach looked thoughtful. “Maybe we need to talk to Sarah again. She seemed understanding before.”
We were both frustrated with the boys continuing to spray water over the fence. This time, I went next door and rang the bell. Sarah answered, and I told her that her kids kept spraying water over our fence. I thought she’d be understanding like she was with Zach, but she seemed really offended.
Woman in an argument | Source: Pexels
“Amy, you’re overreacting,” she said, crossing her arms. “They’re just kids being kids.”
I tried to explain further, but she cut me off. “Look, I’ll tell them to stop one more time, but I’m not going to police my children playing. It’s only water; it won’t do any damage.”
Women in an argument | Source: Pexels
Now, I must admit, I don’t do well with confrontations. I thought she would be kind, but her response left me without anything to say. So I sort of froze. Sarah waited for a second then closed the door on me, and I just went home.
Zach and I decided to watch a movie instead, but before we closed our back door for the day, I noticed the water had destroyed my garland with lights that hung over our garden table. Sighing, I left it hanging and went inside.
A garland with lights | Source: Pexels
A few days after this confrontation, I decided to invite all the neighbors to a garden party. I told everyone it was a water gun party for the kids but didn’t tell Sarah. When Sarah arrived, she was all dressed up, wearing makeup and a cocktail dress. As soon as she stepped into the garden, the kids instantly targeted her, leaving her drenched.
“What on earth?” Sarah gasped, looking around in shock.
A woman in a dress | Source: Pexels
“Oh, it’s just water,” I said, trying to suppress a grin. “It doesn’t do any damage. I must have forgotten to tell you to bring a dry set of clothes.”
Sarah looked humiliated and quickly left the party. The kids continued playing, and everyone else seemed to be enjoying themselves. I felt a little guilty but relieved that the boys weren’t causing trouble anymore.
Kids playing with water guns | Source: Pexels
Suddenly, Sarah came back, now wearing casual clothes and holding a new garland with lights. She walked straight over to me.
“Here,” she said, handing me the garland. “It’s so dark in here; maybe now the boys will see better who they spray water guns at.”
I couldn’t help but laugh at her casual way of dealing with the problem. “Thanks, Sarah. I appreciate it.”
Woman holding garland lights | Source: Pexels
Sarah nodded and smiled. “No hard feelings, okay? Kids can be a handful, but they don’t mean any harm.”
“Of course,” I said, feeling the tension melt away. “Let’s enjoy the party.”
The rest of the evening went smoothly. The kids played with their water guns, and the adults chatted and laughed. As the sun set and the new garland lights twinkled, Sarah and I really got to know each other.
A backyard party | Source: Pexels
“You know, I might have overreacted the other day. It’s just been tough managing everything alone.”
“I understand,” I said. “We all have our moments. Honestly, I admire you for raising the boys on your own. And they’re good kids.”
She smiled, and we clinked our glasses together. Her boys were having a blast, excuse the pun, with their water guns, and Zach and I even had the opportunity to meet more of our neighbors.
Two women talking | Source: Pexels
And, to be honest, this is exactly the tight-knit neighborhood we were looking for. And I have a pair of rascals with water guns to thank for it.
How would you have handled this?
Here’s another story you might like:
My New Neighbors Bullied Me, So My Only Son Helped Me Teach Them a Valuable Lesson
After Maureen loses her husband, her son encourages her to move closer to him and his family. So, she packs up her entire life and moves into a neighborhood closer to him. But as she gets settled, she realizes that the people are not as friendly as they seem. Can Maureen win them over, or should she move again?
Imagine finding yourself in the twilight of your life, in a new place — without your husband of 50 years.
Recently, William, my husband, passed away, leaving me in our huge house in Virginia. I’ve been around for a long time, and I’ve had my heart broken by many things. But nothing prepares you for losing your spouse.
An elderly couple standing on a road | Source: Pexels
“Mom, please,” my son, Mark, said on the phone. “I need you to consider moving. Just come and be closer to us — the kids will love having you here.”
“I don’t want to lose my independence, Son,” I said. “Your father and I promised not to get involved in your life like that.”
“You don’t have to live with me,” he chuckled. “I’ll find you a place close by. I’ll start looking and send you options. Okay? Please, Mom.”
A man talking on the phone | Source: Pexels
I had to give in. At seventy years old, and although I felt absolutely fine and healthy, I didn’t know if living by myself, so far away from Mark, was a good idea.
“Fine,” I said. “You can start looking, and I’ll start sorting things out here.”
When William passed, a part of me did too. The world was suddenly less vibrant, the days seemed longer, and the silence in our home became suffocating.
Flowers on a closed casket | Source: Unsplash
I spent evenings in the kitchen, making fresh batches of scones — more than I could eat, prompting me to send them over to my neighbors.
We were all extremely close, and William and I often threw parties for everyone in our backyard.
“You’re really going to leave us, Maureen?” my neighbor and close friend, Shelley, said.
“It’s not set in stone,” I said, pouring tea into cups for us. “But it makes more sense for me to be around Mark. We’re not getting younger.”
“Then, you’ve got to throw another legendary party before you leave,” Shelley smiled.
Read the rest here.
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
