Rich Businessman’s Son Disturbed My Sleep with His Late-Night Parties – One Day, I Gave Him a Lesson

When a young man moves into the neighborhood, Michelle cannot stand the noise from his nightly parties. Soon, she tries to teach him a lesson by involving the police. But when that doesn’t work, she has to get creative…

I’ve lived in the same house my entire life. It’s a sweet little place by the forest, usually peaceful at night, with crickets and the occasional owl. I’ve always wanted the slow and quiet life, where I could happily bake during the day and be content in my solitude.

But that peace was shattered a few months ago when my neighbor, Greta, passed away and left her house to her grandson, Bill.

Bill, the son of a wealthy businessman, was barely twenty and had apparently decided that his new inheritance was the perfect place for nightly parties.

Every evening, without fail, the once-quiet house would light up with loud music, laughter, and the sounds of people enjoying themselves.

At first, I thought that it was a phase, a young man celebrating his newfound freedom.

“Mom,” my daughter, Sierra, said. “Just go over and tell him to cut it out. Or call the police. Are you really going to let him get away with that?”

“I know, darling,” I said into the phone. “But I’m just giving him a moment to be free. Maybe he’ll tone down.”

But he didn’t tone down at all. In fact, as the weeks passed, it was clear this was his new routine.

One morning, after another sleepless night, I saw my neighbor, Mrs. Thompson, in her yard.

“Can you believe these parties?” I asked, hoping for some support.

Mrs. Thompson shrugged.

“Oh, he’s just a kid having fun, Michelle,” Ruth said. “Besides, his father is a big shot. Best not to make trouble.”

“But it’s ridiculous,” I said.

“It is, but you’ll get used to it. Also, if you make any more strawberry jam, please send some over!” she said enthusiastically.

Later that day, I just knew that Bill was planning for another party, especially when he got his alcohol delivery around 4 p.m.

I continued making my dinner, wondering what I was going to do when the music started. Of course, as soon as the sun went down, Bill’s music began and gradually got louder.

Frustrated, I called the police that night, hoping that everything would change and Bill would finally get taught a lesson.

“It’s time to get you back,” I muttered, waiting for Bill’s friends to go running down his driveway.

But Bill had a different plan.

As the sirens and lights made their way down our road, Bill turned off the music and instructed his guests to act natural.

“Just be calm, guys!” I heard him say. “They’ll just look around and leave. We’re not doing anything wrong.”

The officers, not hearing any disturbance, talked to the other neighbors, who, fearing repercussions from Bill’s wealthy father, vouched for him.

“Okay, then,” an officer said. “There’s nothing to report here. Just be safe.”

Moments later, the officers came to my house and knocked loudly on the door.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but we don’t see any evidence of a disturbance,” one of the officers said, handing me back my ID to make sure that I was the one who called in.

“He’s just going to wait until you leave and then the noise will start again. Please, just believe me.”

“There’s no need for us to hang around. We have to get back on patrol. I’m sorry,” he said, dismissing me.

“But I’m telling you, this is going to start the moment you leave!”

“Ma’am, we can’t do much without more proof or complaints from other neighbors,” the officer said finally, and he turned to walk away.

Defeated, I watched the police car pull away, my anger boiling over.

“This can’t go on,” I muttered to myself.

I needed a plan, something that would make it clear to Bill and his friends that they weren’t welcome to treat our neighborhood as their playground.

The next day, as I was hanging up clothes on the line, I spotted Bill in his yard. He was yawning widely and holding onto a glass of orange juice.

I walked over.

“Bill, we need to talk about these parties. They’re disturbing the whole neighborhood.”

“Oh, come on, gran,” he said sarcastically. “It’s just a bit of fun. Why don’t you join us sometime, loosen up a bit?”

“I’m serious,” I insisted. “People are trying to sleep. It’s disrespectful.”

He shrugged, clearly not taking me seriously.

“Look, lady, no one else seems to mind. Maybe you’re just too sensitive.”

Fuming, I walked away. I knew I needed a different approach.

“Come on, Mom,” Sierra said. “Do something creative. But not something that would get you into trouble.”

That’s when I had an idea. I knew that our area, being close to the forest, had its share of wildlife.

Specifically skunks and raccoons.

Now, they were generally harmless, but they were drawn to food like moths to a flame.

“This is going to teach that boy a lesson,” I said to myself.

I went straight to the fridge and gathered meat scraps, chicken, eggs, and any other odorous items, placing them into a wicker basket.

Then, I waited until Bill left the house. The moment his car left the driveway, I went around the back of our houses and placed the items all over his garden in barely visible spots.

It was a gamble, but I hoped that the smell would attract enough animals to disrupt whatever party was planned for that night.

“I did something,” I told Sierra on the phone. “And I think it’s going to make a difference.”

“What did you do?” she chuckled.

“I’m only going to tell you if it works,” I said, laughing. “But I’m optimistic. I’m in a good enough mood to bake a cake.”

“You do your thing, Mom,” she said. “Call me as soon as your plan works!”

As night fell, I stayed awake, watching from my window. I had smooth jazz playing from my radio and I was still in a good mood.

Soon, the party started as usual. Loud music, laughter, and the unmistakable clinking of bottles.

I waited, tense and hopeful for the next phase of my plan to unfold. Sure enough, around midnight, I saw shadows moving near the edge of the yard.

At first, just a few raccoons appeared, sniffing around the bushes. Then, more came, along with a couple of skunks. Drawn by the scent of food, they ventured further into the yard.

The partygoers didn’t notice the animals at first, too engrossed in their revelry. But the raccoons, emboldened by the abundance of food, started rummaging through bags and even climbing onto the tables where there were snack platters.

“Come on,” I said to myself. “It’s time for the skunks to come and play.”

And then, it was their time. Someone must have startled them because suddenly there was a commotion. A mix of screams, shouts, and the unmistakable odor of skunk spray.

“There we go,” I laughed to myself.

From my spot at the window, I saw people scrambling away, covering their noses, and running toward their cars. The once lively party dissolved into a chaotic exodus.

The next morning, I peered out my window to see Bill and a few others trying to clean up the mess. The smell lingered in the air, a potent reminder of the night before.

I decided to approach Bill one last time.

“Bill, do you see what I mean now? This neighborhood isn’t the place for wild parties. A similar thing happened for one of my daughter’s birthday parties.”

He looked at me, his bravado gone.

“Yeah, I get it. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize how much it bothered everyone.”

“Just keep it down from now on,” I said, softening my tone. “It’s not just about you, it’s about all of us.”

And that was the end of the parties.

What would you have done?

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