In the quiet hours of an Indiana night, long after the traffic lights had gone to flashing yellow and the last diner down the road had closed its doors, the small town of Cedarville slept. The only sounds were the crickets, the hum of streetlights, and the soft buzz from Ray’s Electronics — a family-run shop on Main Street that, until recently, had never seen any real trouble.
That changed at exactly 1:36 a.m.
A Curious Noise in the Dark
When owner Ray Campbell arrived the next morning, coffee in one hand and toolbox in the other, he immediately noticed something was wrong. The front window — shattered. The shelves — overturned. Televisions — smashed. Laptops — scattered like leaves in a storm.
At first glance, it looked like a classic small-town robbery. Ray’s stomach dropped.
“I thought someone had gone nuts and trashed the place,” he said later. “Then I realized nothing was missing. Not one thing. Who breaks into a store and doesn’t steal a single item?”
Confused, he turned to his security footage.
The Culprits Revealed
As the black-and-white video loaded, Ray leaned forward, bracing for the sight of masked burglars or teenagers pulling a prank. But what appeared on the screen made his jaw drop.
The camera caught the front door — rattling. A minute later, a small hand — covered in dark fur — reached through the gap, fiddling with the handle. Then another hand. Then another.
Ray blinked. “Are those… monkeys?” he whispered to himself.
Moments later, four chimpanzees shuffled through the doorway, one after another, their faces lit by the store’s glowing “OPEN” sign that hadn’t yet been turned off.
What happened next could only be described as pure, chaotic comedy.
Chimpanzee Mayhem
At first, the chimps seemed calm — curious, even. One pressed its face against a tablet screen, watching the flickering light. Another poked at a laptop keyboard.
But then one of them — the largest, wearing what looked like a tattered cloth around its shoulders — discovered the display of flat-screen TVs.
The footage showed him pressing buttons on a remote control, flipping through channels at lightning speed. When the remote slipped from his grasp, he smacked the screen in frustration — hard enough to crack it.
And just like that, the calm was gone.
“The first one hits a TV,” Ray said, laughing now. “Then the others see it break, and it’s like they think, ‘Oh, we’re doing that now!’”
The scene turned into what Ray would later describe as a “chimp frat party.” The four of them bounced from shelf to shelf, knocking over speakers, pounding on keyboards, and pulling cables like toddlers on a sugar rush.
At one point, one chimp even climbed onto the checkout counter, banged on the cash register until it popped open — and then threw a handful of receipts into the air like confetti.
“They looked like they were having the time of their lives,” Ray said, shaking his head. “I just wish they’d picked a different venue.”
A Town That Couldn’t Stop Laughing
When the footage hit social media later that day, Cedarville went from quiet farm town to online sensation. People crowded into the shop just to watch the video.
Within hours, comments flooded in:
“Planet of the Apes: Indiana Edition.”
“Guess they didn’t like the picture quality.”
“Those chimps really went bananas!”
Even the local sheriff couldn’t help laughing when he reviewed the evidence. “I’ve been in law enforcement twenty-five years,” he told reporters. “I’ve dealt with cows in the road, a raccoon in a church organ, even a pig that stole someone’s lunchbox. But chimps vandalizing a TV shop? That’s new.”
The Mystery of the Missing Monkeys
So where had they come from?
As it turned out, a small private animal sanctuary about five miles away had been doing maintenance work on one of its enclosures that night. Somehow, four of the sanctuary’s resident chimps had slipped out through a gate left ajar.
“They’re curious, clever, and strong,” explained sanctuary owner Carol Mason. “They probably followed the streetlights into town — and when they saw all the glowing screens, well, that must’ve looked like paradise.”
The chimps were safely retrieved later that day, unharmed and seemingly proud of their nocturnal adventure.
“They were calm when we found them,” Carol said. “Tired, but calm. Like they’d had a long night out.”
Ray’s New Reality: The Insurance Claim
For Ray, though, the cleanup was less amusing. Broken TVs. Cracked monitors. A store full of chaos. His biggest challenge wasn’t sweeping up the glass — it was explaining what happened to his insurance company.
“The lady on the phone thought I was joking,” he said. “She asked me three times who broke in. I told her, ‘Ma’am, it wasn’t who, it was what.’”
He sent the footage in as proof. There was a long pause on the other end of the line. Then, laughter.
“They’re still processing the claim,” he added with a grin. “But I’m guessing this isn’t in their standard policy.”
When the Wild Meets the Wired
Now, weeks later, Ray has replaced most of his inventory and installed sturdier locks — though he admits no security system on earth could have prevented what happened.
A framed still from the security footage now hangs near the front counter: four chimps caught mid-chaos, one proudly holding a remote control. Underneath, Ray added a small sign that reads:
“Customers Welcome. Chimps — By Appointment Only.”
Every now and then, when tourists stop in to buy headphones or phone chargers, Ray tells the story again — how four unexpected guests turned his sleepy shop into a viral sensation.
“Honestly,” he says, “it was the best advertising I’ve ever had.”
And then, with a wink, he adds, “But if those chimps ever come back — I’m charging admission.”
