The Incident With the Browns

*True story* A family moved into my neighborhood and they were familiar. (Though never mentioned in the story). They were very suspicious and my worst idea came true.

I heard a noise- no, it was more like a chatter and the sound of footsteps against wood and metal happening at the same time- coming from down the street on the east side. I ventured outside to take a look at what was disturbing the used-to-be peaceful afternoon. To my disbelief, a new family was moving in. But this was no casual family, no sir. This was a family with eight kids ranging from eighteen to two!
        I came back inside and tried to tell my brother, who was half asleep. It seemed that no one in my family cared about the new neighbors, but there was something inexplicable about the suspicious arrival of them.
         After a couple of days, I did not much care for the latent family; though, I still knew there was a secret about that barbarous clan. However, I kept a watchful eye on them for one of the boys I have known to be a troublemaker. As I perused them, I found out that they were watching my house. It is a rarity that we were perpetually being watched.
         Time went by and this family was getting brave. They would walk by our house a lot now. I thought they were very implacable in the way that they were now walking near our backyard.
         We had a go-cart in our backyard. My brother would drive it around quite a bit in our front yard. As usual, the new family (whom I found out are called the Browns) were watching. They took great interest in it, especially the younger kids.
        This family was starting to bother me. They were like wasps resting near your comfort zone that are impending to attack when chance comes. A strong abhorrence was building up because of them trespassing.
        I watched them for hours one night. I sat upon the top of our van and was vigilant. I could hear them talking about my house and saw them occasionally point to my backyard. The only clear word I could definitely make out was “go-cart”. I feared the calamity that could happen at any willing moment.
        I could not sleep that night. I could not help but ruminate about the possible theft. What is it about this strange perversity they have in walking through our yard and constantly watching the go-cart? I wavered all these worries and tried to go to sleep.
        As I lied in my bed, my brother comes running in and shouting at me. “The go-cart is missing!” he said repeatedly. I put some shoes on, grabbed a flashlight, and walked outside with him. The go-cart was indeed gone. All my worries became true. My brother had me look at our surroundings. I looked at the wet ground and saw a furrow in the grass. I followed it around the house, where it lead to the road. It seems that the go-cart was hauled away, though hard to do so because the tires were flat and the ground was soft. Though my mom and my brother were shaken up, I remained imperturbable.
        We called the police and told them what happened. We implicated that the Brown family took it. The cops looked around but found nothing. They said there was not much they could do.
        The next day I strongly wanted to look around the neighborhood myself. I made and intimation to my mother and she agreed to drive me around. The first road I had my mom take me on was the winning decision. I immediately saw the go-cart in the backyard of an abandoned house. We called the cops again and they gave us permission to take It home. My brother steered it and I pushed it halfway home and then traded places. I was not daunted by the family of thieves whom watched us as we returned the go-cart home.
        One thing I do know is that they never tried to make the fatuous decision of stealing from us again. That was the last time this family tried to bereft anybody on my street.

Author's Note

There may be grammar problems