Vanessa, I relocated to my new neighborhood a few months ago to start over with my 10-year-old daughter. I’m Vanessa, and I relocated to my new neighborhood a few months ago to start over with my 10-year-old daughter Emma. After a difficult divorce, I wanted a quiet life and a safe location for my daughter to grow up.

We found a cute house on a leafy lane near a playground. Emma and I would stroll there every morning, laughing and appreciating the simple things. I thought, Finally, we’ll be fine.

For weeks, everything was OK. Life returned to normal with pleasant neighbors. I met Karen.

Karen, my neighbor, appeared pleasant at first. She arrived with brownies and a TV commercial-style smile on moving day.

“Welcome to the neighborhood!” she beams. “I’m Karen. Please inquire if you need anything.”

It moved me. “Many thanks! Though we’re still unpacking, it feels like home.”

She nodded excitedly, laughing. Moving is stressful, but you’ll enjoy living here. I’m next door if you need someone to watch your place.”

She said, “You know, packages disappear around here if left out too long. I can always steal yours if I see them.”

She seemed thoughtful at the time.

Not long later, things began to turn strange.

First came a small package—a book I ordered for Emma. The delivery app stated it was delivered, but when I got home, the porch was empty.

I tried to relax. Perhaps it will appear tomorrow, I thought.

Still no package the next day. I went to Karen’s house and knocked.

Hi, Karen! First, I tried to sound nonchalant. “Did you see my porch package yesterday? A children’s book for Emma.”

“Oh! That?” She said pleasantly, retreating into the hallway and returned with my opened package. I thought it could suit me! It was opened before I realized.”

Shocked. My name and address were on the label. She gave it back with a nice grin, like she hadn’t crossed a line.

“Thanks,” I nervously said. “Maybe next time leave it on my porch?”

“Of course, dear!” she exclaimed. “Silly mix-ups happen often.”

I went home anxious but tried to ignore it.

It happened again. Once again.

Karen always laughed and said she thought the parcel was hers. It started with books and craft items. Not terrible, but annoying.

It intensified.

I saved to buy myself a winter coat as a treat after years of putting others first. Tracking showed it arrived. I rushed home, excited. discovered a vacant porch.

I didn’t knock this time. I rushed over to ring her bell.

“Oh, Vanessa!” She spoke with a sugary smile. “What can I do?”

“My coat. You have it, right?

She tilted her head, confused. “Oh… let me see!” Inside, she vanished. She returned with my opened gift and coat partly out a few minutes later.

“I thought it was that jacket I ordered,” she joked, handing me the jacket. Silly me!

I took it with a stiff smile, but I was fuming.

Before Christmas was the final straw. I ordered a unique ornament for my mom, who collects them every year. Hand-painted, delicate, and special.

I ran home after receiving the delivery notice. Empty porch.

I stormed next door, too mad to feign.

Karen smiled and opened. “Hi there! What’s up?

I snapped, “You know exactly why I’m here. “Where is my ornament?”

She vanished and returned with the box open and the ornament unwrapped, as if she had been enjoying it.

“Oh, this?” I believed it was mine!” She laughed while singing.

The end. Enough was enough.

After Emma went to bed, I ordered a glitter bomb kit online. One of Karen’s few unstolen shipments, it arrived fast.

I put it together carefully. A spring would scatter glitter when the package was opened. I included a message saying “Caught you!” Call the police next time. Happy holidays!

It was wrapped in colorful paper with my name and address in large lettering. On my porch, I placed it front and center.

It went quickly. A few hours later, Karen walked by pretending to like the decorations. After looking around, she snatched the gift and ran home.

Almost had to hold my laughing.

Next morning, I heard riotous shrieking.

Karen was glittered on her porch when I looked outside. Her garments shone like New Year’s Eve confetti, her hair like a disco ball.

Flailing her arms, she tried to ignore it—impossible. Everlasting glitter.

She rushed to my house with the box like a bomb.

“HOW DARE YOU!” she yelled at my door.

I opened it grinning. “Oh, Karen! Was my package accidentally taken again?

“You find this funny?” Shaking the box, she spat.

“Funny? No,” I said sweetly. “Satisfying? Very.”

Her shock prevented her from speaking. Her chance was denied.

“If you don’t want to look like a Christmas ornament, Karen, maybe stop stealing other people’s stuff,” I suggested quietly. “Next time, I’ll call the police.”

Sputtered, she turned and stomped away, fairy dust glittering behind her.

News spread swiftly in the neighborhood. Apparently, others suffered too. Several neighbors reported missing shipments that appeared “opened by accident.”

My glitter stunt gave them the guts to face her.

Karen then kept to herself. She rarely left the house over the holidays, and I always saw sparkles in her hair and clothing. Even though she scrubbed hard, the glitter reminded her of her sticky fingertips.

As for me? Since then, no parcel has been missing.

Sometimes a little shine fixes things. And honestly? I gave the best Christmas gift ever.