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The clock on the kitchen wall ticks, a monstrous, echoing sound in the overwhelming silence of the Cooper house. Mary-Kate, perched precariously on a stool, her gaze fixed on the glowing digits, feels her stomach knot tighter with each passing second. It's 7:00 PM. Halloween night. The air outside buzzes with the shrill cries of tiny ghosts and goblins, the rustle of plastic capes, and the distant, tantalizing scent of burnt sugar and fallen leaves. And here they are, grounded. Banned. Thanks, Dad.
Ashley, usually the picture of composed grace, paces the polished hardwood floor, her glittery fairy wings (her intended costume for Carrie’s party, the one they’re not going to) shimmering with every agitated turn.
“This is SO not fair, Mary-Kate! Everyone is there. Carrie even said she made her famous eyeball punch!” Her voice, usually soft, has a sharp, desperate edge. Her meticulously applied iridescent eyeshadow feels heavy with the weight of injustice.
“Tell me about it,” Mary-Kate mutters, adjusting the ripped, fake-blood-splattered t-shirt of her zombie skater punk ensemble. “Like we’re still five. ‘No Halloween parties, girls. Too much sugar, too many unsupervised teens.” She mimics their dad, Kevin, with a cringeworthy accuracy that usually makes Ashley giggle, but tonight, nothing. “He probably thinks we’re going to turn into actual vampires.”
Just then, a furtive tap at the back door. Hope, sharp and electric, jolts through them. Mary-Kate lunges, yanking it open to reveal Max and Brian, their faces painted with varying degrees of amateurish monster-ness. Max, usually so chill, looks hyped, his eyes wide. Brian, ever the charmer, grins, a goofy clown nose perched on his nose, his gaze immediately finding Ashley’s.
“Ready for the great costume swap, ladies?” he drawls, his voice a low rumble. “Or should I say… gentlemen?”
The plan, hatched over a frantic phone call, is simple, insane, and utterly brilliant. Max, in his simple white ghost sheet, and Brian, in his oversized, polka-dotted clown suit, are their tickets to freedom. Mary-Kate shoves her zombie wig into Max’s hands.
“Okay, Max, remember. Slouch. Grunt. Pretend your brain is missing.”
Max, with a mischievous gleam, pulls the matted wig over his hair, the ripped t-shirt hanging awkwardly on his lank frame. He instantly adopts a vacant, lurching walk. Perfect. Ashley, meanwhile, is practically wrestling Brian out of his baggy clown suit. The bright red wig is a nightmare, catching on her fairy wings, but she’s determined.
“Brian, you have to be me . Giggle a lot. And for the love of all that is holy, do not mess up my glitter!”
Brian, now attempting to squeeze into Ashley's shimmering, sequined fairy dress, looks less like a fairy and more like a very confused, very colorful blob. He winks at Ashley, a hint of his usual flirty self breaking through the clown makeup.
"Anything for you, Ash."
Ashley rolls her eyes, a faint blush dusting her cheeks. Mary-Kate pulls the ghost sheet over her head, the scratchy fabric smelling faintly of mothballs. It's surprisingly liberating. She can barely see, which is probably for the best. Ashley, now swallowed by Brian's voluminous clown suit, struggles with the oversized shoes, nearly tripping. They look ridiculous, but they also look… like boys. Distinguishable, but passable in the chaotic darkness of Halloween. A low creak from upstairs. Kevin. Mary-Kate’s heart thunders against her ribs.
“Go! Go, go, go!” she whispers fiercely, shoving Max and Brian (now a zombie punk and a truly disturbing fairy) out the door.
The back door latches with a barely audible click. They’re out. The crisp, cool night air hits them, a jolt of pure exhilaration. The streetlights cast long, dancing shadows of trick-or-treaters. The sound of pop music, distorted but unmistakable, drifts from down the street: Carrie’s house. Mary-Kate, bundled in the ghost sheet, feels an impish grin spread across her face. This is it. Freedom.
Ashley, her face a mask of nervous excitement under the clown makeup, clutches Mary-Kate’s sheet-covered arm. “Do you think Dad will notice?” Her voice is muffled by the oversized costume.
“Not a chance,” Mary-Kate whispers, already half-jogging down the sidewalk, the ghost sheet flapping behind her. “He’s probably too busy making sure the porch light is off so no one asks for candy.”
The thought sends a flicker of triumph through her. They’re nearly there. The bass of the music grows louder, the laughter clearer. The porch lights of Carrie’s house blaze, illuminating a throng of costumed teenagers.