Guy Fawkes was well and truly over, but that didn’t stop the neighbours carrying on their celebrations, more than a week later. Bangs and screaming explosions sounded from over the fence, sending the tough Rottweiler to cower beneath the bed with the cats.
Several requests from young families on the street had been made to cease fireworks after 11pm, but the alpha-males next door continued to light them into the wee hours of the morning.
Hearing the familiar whirr and flash of light as the clock ticked past 2am on a Monday morning was the final straw for William Burrows.
He apologised to the pets and retrieved his PT-80 from the safe.
The neighbours were relieved when it seemed the boys had run out of supplies a short time later, and most had finally fallen asleep when a car left the property with its lights off.
The next day, William was seen finishing his morning walk without his dog. He explained to Margaret, at the end of the street, that the poor thing was still hiding under the bed after the latest night of fireworks. She nodded sympathetically and told him that her cat still hadn’t returned home. He promised to look out for it.
A quiet night followed, and the street’s residents smiled when a moving van arrived at the boys’ house. The neighbours joked about throwing a street party to celebrate their leaving.
Several times over the next week friends and the occasional family member turned up only to peer through the windows and leave confused. Only one person knocked on William’s door. The father of one of the boys asked about the moving van and whether William could remember the company. He shrugged and said he didn’t recall, was thanked, then left alone.
It was nearly a month before the landlord, complaining about unpaid rent, discovered the empty house. New tenants were found quickly, and to the neighbourhood’s relief, they were a quiet couple, not fond of fireworks.

Advertisements