"The sugardaddy didn’t pay, so they beat him up"

One enthusiastic volunteer caught two teens kicking apart the village pumpkin festival’s harvest. Knowing he couldn’t legally detain them, he let them go—but not before taking photos and spraying them with bleach water. He was very proud of himself, but the police warned him never to do that again, as it could blind someone.

A fellow civil guard swore his dog had an amazing nose, so we searched behind gardens for stolen items. We didn’t find any, but half an hour later, the dog returned with a decaying human hand in its mouth. The police still don’t know who it belonged to.

There were three attempted break-ins at houses with security systems, so all failed. A few days later, an agent showed up and sold that same security system to a bunch of homeowners. Two days after that, two break-ins happened, and both owners swore they heard the burglar entering the security code. The lesson? Never buy a security system from a door-to-door agent.

My dad’s second wife is American, and they live in a Florida suburb that’s not exactly upscale, so the neighbourhood watch was needed. One night, my dad was on duty with a friend, nervously watching a house where only big, bearded, bandana-wearing men came and went. It turned out a biker gang had bought the house, and the local retirees feared crime would rise. But their fears were unfounded—the gang’s arrival scared off nearly all petty criminals, so much so that eventually, volunteers weren’t even needed anymore.

The ice cream truck sometimes shows up at midnight. Pretty suspicious, right? We even bought ice cream from it once, and everything seemed fine. No one ever complains about the jingle at night. I’m convinced it’s not just selling ice cream.

We heard loud yelling from a house, and soon the arguing couple was out on the street. We learned the woman was chatting nightly with a man in prison and that he secretly signed up on Tinder but got caught. We helped them reconcile (they realized they truly loved each other). Half an hour later, they walked back inside arm in arm.

We’re pretty sure the small-town diner on the outskirts is actually dealing drugs, but we can’t prove it. They have few customers, mostly shady types who gather near closing time. They should have gone bankrupt long ago. We’ve sent health and tax inspectors their way, but they’re too clever to catch.

We were on patrol when we were called to a respected local man. His frightened wife put him in our car, saying the ambulance would take too long. We thought he was having a heart attack—he was older and overweight—but it turned out a sugardaddy deal went wrong: a young woman wanted him as her sponsor but offered too little money, so she had her friends beat him up.

A pretty girl lives in the village with her boyfriend and his parents. Every morning on her way to the bus, a man waits—usually jumping out of a bush. He always begs her, telling her how much he loves her, never crossing the line, but sometimes she lets him carry her bag to the bus stop. Sometimes he gives her notebooks. Once I took one from the trash (where she’d thrown it away)—it was full of love poems.

Every day between 4 and 8 pm, an elderly lady sits on her porch and yells at anyone approaching her property, "Get off my land or I’ll call the police!" Of course, no one ever tries to go in; she shouts at innocent dog walkers and kids coming home from school. Nobody pays attention anymore—this is her daily routine.