My Entitled Neighbor Demanded We Give out Cash Instead of Candy on Halloween

Every year, I go all out for Halloween. I hang cobwebs, carve pumpkins, play spooky music—everything. My front yard looks like a haunted carnival, and the kids around here love it.

They know our house gives out the best candy: king-sized bars, gummy worms, and glow sticks. It’s the highlight of my year, seeing them run up in their costumes, all excited.

But this year, Sandra, my next-door neighbor, decided to stir the pot. Sandra’s the kind of person who takes neighborhood rules way too seriously. If she isn’t running the HOA, she’s giving people grief about their lawns, garden gnomes, or Christmas lights. And don’t get me started on her favorite line: “The neighborhood needs standards.”

A few weeks before Halloween, I was setting up a giant inflatable spider on the porch when Sandra walked over with her usual tight-lipped smile. I could already tell she was about to say something I wouldn’t like.

“Got a minute?” she asked, folding her arms.

“Sure,” I said, wiping my hands on my jeans. “What’s up?”

Sandra tilted her head like a teacher ready to scold a kid. “Are you aware of how much sugar the average child consumes on Halloween?”

I shrugged. “A lot, probably. But it’s Halloween, Sandra. Kids love it.”

She smiled, but it wasn’t a friendly smile. “Well, my kids don’t need candy. It’s unhealthy. It encourages bad habits.”

“So, no trick-or-treating this year?” I asked, thinking that was the end of it.

“Oh, no. They’ll still go out,” Sandra said, her eyes gleaming. “But this year, Kyle and Jenna will only accept cash.”

I blinked. “Cash?”

“Yes. I think it’s a much better idea. They can save up for something meaningful. It teaches responsibility and financial literacy.”

I laughed, thinking she had to be joking. “Sandra, Halloween is about costumes and candy. No one’s handing out cash.”

Her smile faltered. “If you don’t want to support a healthier, more responsible Halloween, that’s your choice. But I’ll be talking to the other parents. I’m sure they’ll agree.”

And with that, she turned on her heel and marched back to her house.

Two hours later, an email popped up in my inbox. Of course, it was from Sandra. The subject line read: A Proposal for a Better Halloween.

The email outlined her whole plan in detail. She listed “suggested amounts” for cash gifts based on age groups, with a minimum of $20 per kid. Twenty dollars! She made it sound like Halloween was some fancy fundraiser instead of a night for costumes and candy.

In the days that followed, Sandra went all out. She started a group chat and flooded it with messages about how cash was superior to candy. She even cornered parents at the grocery store, lecturing them about how candy was ruining their children’s health.

Her kids, Kyle and Jenna, didn’t help either. At school, they bragged to everyone that they were “too good” for candy this year and only accepting cash. Some parents told me they were fed up with the whole thing but didn’t want to argue with Sandra.

That’s when I came up with a plan. If Sandra wanted to turn Halloween into a cash-driven event, I’d give her the perfect stage to do it. I emailed her directly.

“How about we hold a Cash Halloween Kickoff?” I wrote. “You could explain your idea to the whole neighborhood. It’d be a great way to introduce your plan and show the kids how cash is better than candy.”

Sandra loved the idea. She responded right away, saying it was “exactly what the neighborhood needed.” I spread the word about the event, but I also gave everyone a little warning.

“She’s gonna try to sell us on ‘Cash Halloween,'” I told them. “But just play along. I have a surprise.”

The parents laughed, all ready to see how this would play out.

The big day arrived, and Sandra was thrilled. She had set up a little booth in her driveway with Kyle and Jenna standing proudly by her side. There was even a flip chart titled, A Better Halloween: The Benefits of Cash. She passed out glossy pamphlets to everyone who showed up, looking smug as could be.

Once a decent crowd gathered, Sandra clapped her hands. “Thank you all for coming! I know this is different from what we’re used to, but change is necessary if we want to raise responsible children.”

She beamed, clearly loving the sound of her own voice. “Cash,” she announced, as if revealing a groundbreaking discovery, “is better than candy. It allows children to save, plan, and make meaningful purchases.”

Kyle and Jenna nodded on cue, holding pamphlets and smiling like spokespeople for their mom’s crusade. Sandra gestured to them proudly. “Kyle and Jenna are learning the value of money, and this Halloween, they will only accept cash. No candy for us!”

A few of the neighborhood parents exchanged amused glances. One mom whispered to her friend, “She’s really doing this, huh?” I just smiled, knowing what was coming next.

Then, Sandra gave the stage to her kids. Kyle cleared his throat and stepped forward.

“Uh… so, candy is, like, not good for you,” he mumbled, trying to sound enthusiastic but looking stiff as a board. “If we get cash, we can use it to buy stuff we actually need, like… books.”

Sandra nodded approvingly, her grin wide. Jenna chimed in, “And it teaches responsibility! We learn to save for important things.”

The other kids in the crowd fidgeted, sneaking glances at one another. You could tell they weren’t impressed. One kid whispered loudly to his friend, “I just want a Snickers.”

That was my cue.

“Thanks for the presentation, Sandra,” I said, stepping forward with a big smile. “Now, let’s show the kids what they’d really miss out on if we gave up candy this year!”

I reached behind me and pulled out a massive orange bucket. It was filled to the brim with king-sized candy bars, gummy bears, Skittles, and other treats. The kids’ eyes lit up as soon as they saw it.

“Who’s ready for some real Halloween fun?” I asked, holding up the bucket.

The kids cheered, and I started handing out candy left and right. One kid immediately ripped open a huge plate of chocolate, and another clutched a gummy worm like it was treasure.

“Me! Me!” they shouted, rushing toward the candy bucket.

Sandra’s smile froze as the joyful chaos unfolded. Her kids, Kyle and Jenna, stood there watching all their friends unwrap candy with glee. You could see the longing on their faces as one kid offered them a chocolate bar.

Kyle reached for it instinctively, but Sandra grabbed his arm and hissed, “Kyle, no! We talked about willpower.”

Kyle yanked his arm free, his face scrunching in frustration. That’s when it happened.

“Mom,” Kyle blurted out, loud enough for everyone to hear. “We know you want the cash so you can buy that Pilates thing for the house!”

The crowd went dead silent.

Sandra’s eyes widened in shock. “Kyle!” she whispered sharply, trying to shush him.

But it was too late.

“You said we could save money for you,” Jenna added, confused but honest. “So you can get that big workout thing you saw online.”

There it was. Sandra’s whole plan laid bare. The parents in the crowd slowly realized what was really going on. Sandra’s campaign to replace candy with cash wasn’t about health or responsibility. It was about her using the money for her own benefit.

A ripple of chuckles spread through the crowd, and some of the parents shook their heads, amused by the absurdity of it all.

Sandra’s face turned beet red as she tried to recover. “That’s not… I mean, it’s just… This was supposed to be for the kids!” she stammered, but no one was buying it anymore.

“Looks like Kyle and Jenna just want to enjoy Halloween like everyone else,” I said with a grin, tossing a Kit Kat to Kyle, who caught it eagerly.

The crowd burst into laughter. Sandra stood there, frozen in place, looking like she wanted the ground to swallow her whole. Kyle and Jenna happily unwrapped their candy and joined the other kids, leaving Sandra standing awkwardly by her flip chart, her “Cash Halloween” idea in tatters.

After that, the event wrapped up pretty quickly. The kids ran off to play, candy in hand, and the parents stuck around, chatting and laughing about Sandra’s failed plan.

“No way I’m handing out twenty bucks per kid,” one dad muttered, shaking his head. “I’d have to take out a loan!”

“Same,” a mom replied, rolling her eyes. “Halloween is supposed to be fun, not a financial seminar.”

Sandra, meanwhile, quietly packed up her flip chart and brochures, her big moment ruined. She gave me a tight-lipped smile on her way out, but she didn’t say a word.

After that day, no one heard another peep about “Cash Halloween.” Sandra never mentioned it again—not in the group chat, not in HOA meetings, nowhere. It was like the whole thing had never happened.

The neighborhood went back to doing Halloween the way it’s supposed to be: costumes, laughter, and, of course, candy. The kids still come to my house first every Halloween—they know that’s where the best candy is.

Liked this story? Consider checking out this one: Kevin had already made a costume with his mother, helped his dad decorate their home, and was imagining all the candy he would collect. But one undecorated house on his street kept bothering him. He couldn’t understand why someone would skip celebrating, so he decided they might need help.

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.