Panic ensued. Drinks were spilled, snacks forgotten, as our neighbors scrambled out of the jacuzzi, their bravado replaced with frantic haste. They stumbled over one another in their rush to escape, their retreat as chaotic as their unauthorized visits had been relaxed.

After their hurried departure, we doubled over in laughter, shedding our spectral personas and congratulating one another on a job well done. The plan had worked perfectly; the neighbors had received the message loud and clear: our space was not theirs to commandeer.

The next day, the neighborhood was abuzz with tales of the previous night’s events. It seemed our neighbors were too embarrassed to admit the truth, opting instead to speak of a “haunting” that had driven them from our yard. We never heard another complaint about the music, nor did we find any evidence of their return to our jacuzzi.