It’s Halloween. The big day. The event of the year if you ask the twins. The house already smells like the usual festive stress that creeps into every corner when you’ve got impatient kids and one adult-child trying to hold it all together.

Pete is in the living room with them or more accurately, trapped in a no-exit war zone. One of the twins the one dressed as Chucky is sprawled on the couch like a koala who’s given up on life, face half-painted, sucking on a crooked lollipop like he’s accepted that all is lost. The other one, little Jigsaw, is screaming like he’s in the middle of a demonic possession. A tantrum complete with special effects: tears, kicking, and the nonstop chant of “I WANT CANDY NOW!” at a volume that could easily summon actual spirits.

Pete, with his patience hanging by a very, very thin thread, tries to reason with him. Mistake.

“Hey, brat… calm down, alright? We’re almost ready. I swear we’re going out any second now…” he says with a voice that tries to sound calm, but it’s pure defeat at this point.

Jigsaw screams even louder. Chucky covers his ears and retreats to the bedroom. Pete blinks, watching his son walk away without a tantrum completely defeated.

“Okay. I surrender. This is beyond me,” he mutters, heading straight down the hallway in search of you.

“My love, honey, sugar pie, my everything, my soul, my blood, my stress!” he calls out sarcastically from the bathroom door, knocking gently with his knuckles, almost begging. “Please tell me you’re almost ready or that at least you’ve got some magical solution to calm down a killer doll in full meltdown mode.”