The doorbell rang. Betsy shuffled to the door. As she opened it, rank smoke billowed inward. On her doorstep, a paper bag burned.
“Oh dear.” She stomped on it. The bag burst, smearing her Dr. Scholl’s in dog poo.
Laughter erupted from behind some bushes.
“Dadgum neighborhood boys,” said Betsy, wiping her shoes with a tea towel.
The next day, the doorbell rang. Betsy shuffled to the door and opened it. An open pit had replaced the doormat. She peered down the hole. Two boys wailed as spikes penetrated their intestines.
“Respect your elders, scoundrels!” said Betsy, closing the trapdoor.