Airborne

02. I hate Halloween

Chloe

Home, Linsly street,
Greenfield

"Mum, what's that noise?" I ask, huddling closer to her under the blanket.

Peeking up at her from under the fluffy fabric, her brown eyes soften, hand creating comforting strokes down the length of my hair as she hushes me. "It's alright, darling"—she peers over to the window briefly— "it's just fireworks."

Glimpsing over the lining of the blanket, there are flickers of colours catching in the panes of glass.

"I thought you like fireworks," dad comments on his way through from the kitchen with a tray in hand. The fresh scent of baked cookies wafts up my nose.

I shake my head. "I love fireworks . . ." My eyes catch the movements of figures outside in temporary lights. "I hate Halloween."

Dad pops the tray on the coffee table in front of us before plopping down on the sofa. A squeal leaves my lips as I'm lifted abruptly from my spot so he can scoot closer to mum, have me on his lap, and keep us all huddled under the blanket.

He brushes a lock of my hair, cooing, "There's nothing to be afraid of, sweetheart." His green eyes beam down at me before reaching for the tray. "You have us, your favourite movie, and chocolate chip cookies."

Grinning, my greedy fingers snatch it up once it's offered to me, and mumble, "Thanks dad," around a mouthful.

Mum continues to play the movie from when dad had to tend to the treats, a tender smile playing at her lips. She plays with a lock of my hair—something she's done for years, because it's pretty and the auburn reminds her of a mixture of her own and her beloved husband's hair.

A high pitch scream resonates outside, causing me to whimper and duck under the blanket once more.

"Chloe, it's OK." Mum leans over to cuddle me while dad pecks the top of my head. "It's just kids messing around," she hushes.

I don't like it. It sounds real, and not even the approach of 'and at least I see the light' is helping.

"Have another cookie before your charming thief comes on," dad teases.

Staring at him with a 'how dare you' look, I yell, "Flynn is not a thief, he is my Prince Charming! We're going to get married, and Maximus and Pascal are going to be our children!"

"What about Rapunzel, sweetie?" Mum questions as she watches Mother Gothel.

"I shrug. "She can be my sister; he will like me more."

"Of course, Princess Chloe, any Prince would fall at your . . . feet!" dad cheers as he spins me around in his lap, blowing raspberries against them.

"N-no dad, s-stop!" I cackle as he attacks one foot, and mum starts tickling the other.

The torture feels as if it's been going on forever until there's a loud thump against the front door. Dad being dad carefully sets me on mum's lap before grabbing the pumpkin styled bowl stuffed to the brim with sweets.

"Am I too old to trick them as well?" dad asks cheekily when he stops in the doorway.

"Do you really need us to answer that for you?" mum retorts with a toothy grin that makes me giggle.

"Yeah dad, you're old!" I tease.

He gasps, hand on chest feigning hurt. "Fine, but it won't stop me." His fingers rustle through the mass of sweets before chucking a drumstick lolly onto the spot beside my leg. "I'm going to do it anyway."