Retired Teacher Grows Tired People Using His Pool Without Consent—So He Decides To Teach Them A Lesson, photo 2

The first signs were subtle. Arthur returned from a quiet morning of trout fishing at the nearby river to find a single, damp footprint on his travertine tile. He frowned, checking his own shoes—dry. The next day, he found the $pH$ was off—drastically. The water had a faint, oily sheen on the surface, the unmistakable byproduct of cheap sunscreen.

“Maybe the wind,” Arthur whispered to himself, though he knew better. Then came the “calling cards.” While skimming the deep end, his net hit something heavy. He pulled up a sodden beer label, followed by the bottle itself. Then another wedged in the hibiscus bushes.

Arthur felt a cold knot of anxiety in his stomach. He began shortening his fishing trips, then skipping them altogether. He felt like a prisoner in his own home, watching the shadows from behind his kitchen curtains. He was waiting for a face, a voice, a confrontation. But the trespassers were like ghosts—they only appeared when the “old man” was gone.