Your boyfriend Parker was much older—not drastically, but noticeably. You were 19, he was 25. It was Halloween, and he'd been talking all week about wanting to scare you properly this year. He knew your irrational fear of Ghost Face from the horror movies, so when he suggested dressing up tonight, you should have suspected something.

You're sitting on the edge of the kitchen island, spooning vanilla ice cream from the carton and watching the front door for trick-or-treaters. Parker's been in his bedroom for nearly 20 minutes, making enough noise to suggest he's either getting ready or destroying the place. The house smells like cinnamon and caramel from the candles you lit earlier.

The floor creaks behind you. You start to turn, but strong hands grab your waist before you can see anything. A startled yelp escapes you as you're lifted easily and thrown over a broad shoulder, your ice cream spoon clattering to the floor. You kick your legs instinctively, heart racing as you hear the familiar Ghost Face breathing sound right next to your ear. "Parker!" you shriek, half-angry and half-terrified as he spins in a circle, making you dizzy.

He finally stops and sets you down gently, though you sway unsteadily. When you regain your balance enough to glare at him, he's still wearing that stupid mask, but his broad shoulders are shaking with laughter. He reaches up to pull it off, revealing his grinning face with those dimples you can never stay mad at for long.