While we were on a beach vacation, our neighbor sneaked into our yard and took our prized grill without asking. Thanks to our security camera, we watched his bold theft turn into a fiery disaster, teaching him a lesson about respecting others’ property.
Six months ago, my husband, Richard, and I moved into our dream home on a quiet, tree-lined street. The neighborhood felt safe, with friendly waves from dog walkers and space for our kids, Lily and Max, to play freely. After years in a tiny apartment, this house was our fresh start. “This is home,” Richard said on moving day, watching our kids race around. But then we met Oliver, our next-door neighbor. He greeted us with store-bought cookies, saying, “I’ve been here 15 years. I know everything.” His tone was off, but I brushed it aside, hoping to fit in.
Oliver’s behavior soon raised red flags. I saw him wander into another neighbor’s yard while they were away, acting like it was his own. When Richard asked, Oliver shrugged, “They don’t care.” At our housewarming barbecue, he fixated on our shiny new gas grill, a splurge Richard loved. “That’s fancy,” Oliver said, touching it. “Mine’s nothing like this. Seems wasted on you.” His comment hung heavy, and he kept eyeing the grill. Later, he’d show up uninvited, asking to borrow tools or commenting on our deliveries, like he was tracking our purchases. Once, he planted flowers in our yard, claiming he “ran out of space.” Richard was annoyed, but we let it slide to avoid conflict.
We grew cautious, installing a doorbell camera and locking our gate. When May brought plans for a family beach trip, we prepped carefully. The kids dreamed of pools and sandcastles. Before leaving, we covered the grill, locked its wheels, and secured the yard. “Should we move it inside?” I asked, uneasy about Oliver’s grill obsession. Richard said, “It’s too heavy. The lock’s enough.” We left, feeling secure with our camera app ready. At the beach, we relaxed, kids building sand forts. On day two, I checked the camera. The grill was gone. Rewinding, I saw Oliver at 7:30 a.m., cutting the lock and wheeling it to his yard for a party.
Richard was livid. “He stole it for a barbecue!” We watched him set it up, host guests, and show off. I called him, but he didn’t answer. “Police?” I asked. Richard said, “Let’s wait.” Then, disaster struck. Oliver hung a tablecloth on the grill, not noticing it caught in the lid. Smoke rose, then flames, as the cloth ignited his pergola and patio. Guests fled, and firefighters arrived, but his yard—and our grill—were ruined. “Karma’s quick,” Richard said, half-laughing. We enjoyed the rest of our trip, filed an insurance claim, and returned to a quiet Oliver. Our new grill, courtesy of insurance, gleams, while Oliver’s yard stays charred. He learned the hard way: don’t touch what isn’t yours.
