by David Wood
“He missed you too.”
The two drove in silence as they headed out on the freeway. Carolyn skirted through the traffic, heading for the toll road. “The Ice Cream Man came by the house.”
Trey turned to her, a frantic look in his eyes. “What?”
She nodded. “He came by to see how you were doing.”
“Jesus, he didn't come into the house, did he?”
“Hell no. Dick and I met him outside.” The car merged onto the relatively clear toll road. Carolyn accelerated to 70 mph. She glanced at Trey. “Kind of spooked me, though.”
Trey sighed. “What did he say?”
She shrugged. “Just... He was sorry he didn't stick around after I came to pick you up.” She forced a giggle. “Said you spooked him.”
Trey said nothing. An uncomfortable, palpable silence filled the car.
“I don't like him.”
Trey nodded. “What did he call himself?”
“Reggie,” she said in a flat tone.
“Hmph,” Trey said, but a smile appeared on his face. “Reggie. Christ.”
“Yeah.”
“Has Alan met him?” Trey asked, a quiver in his voice.
“No,” Carolyn said, glancing at him. “I don't think so. He hasn't said anything at least.”
Trey nodded. “Good.” He glanced at the clock in the dash. “Alan will be out of school now.”
“He's fine.”
“I know,” Trey said. He leaned back in the seat and closed his eyes. She glanced at him again. He was already asleep.
Chapter 40
The house was quiet. His heart rate had finally managed to leave the race track and settle into its slow, steady rhythm. Even the walk across the T intersection to his house had been heart palpitatingly brutal.
The Ice Cream Man. The ice cream van. The woman in her car. Too much. Just too much.
Alan sat on the couch, his scratched and ripped backpack on the floor beside him. His trip to the concrete had worn a hole in his sweatshirt as well as one through his jeans. Mommy was going to ask questions. Alan looked at the bandage on his arm. The wound wasn't all that bad. Just friction burn, what Daddy called road rash. Small price to pay to get away from the thing in the woods.
Alan surveyed the darkened living room. The white blur of a figure moving through the deadfalls, breaking branches, matching him stride for stride.
It had to be the Ice Cream Man.
The memory of the word “YUMMY” glaring from the back of the parked truck in those bright, happy, crimson letters. Alan shuddered. Daddy had seen something when he looked at the ice cream man. Something strange. Now Alan had seen something too.
A car rumbled outside. He cocked an ear and furrowed his brow. Mommy was home. Why was she home this early? Alan stood from the couch and walked toward the kitchen. He heard the garage door closing and smiled. The laundry room door opened. “Mommy, you're--” He froze and then smiled. “Daddy?”
Daddy stood in the kitchen, the corners of his lips rising upwards. Alan ran to his father, hugging him around the waist. “Here, champ,” Daddy whispered.
“You're back?” His father nodded. “You're not going away again?”
“Not if I can help it,” his father said. Daddy stared down at the boy. “You okay? Did you have an accident?”
“Fell down.”
“Hey, you're blocking the road, guys,” Mommy said from behind them. Alan peeked around Daddy's waist and saw Mommy, one hand clutching her valise, the other holding a fat manilla envelope.
“Okay, Mommy,” Alan giggled.
He let go his father's waist and walked to the breakfast table. Daddy followed him, sitting down in one of the black wooden chairs. Alan cocked his head, his own smile disappearing.
“You okay, Daddy?”
Daddy looked up at him from the table. His face was a little pale and his eyes were scrunched. “Arm hurts, kiddo.” Daddy nodded to him and smiled. “But I'm glad to be home.” He pointed his index finger at Alan's arm. “Must have been a bad fall.”
Alan bit his lower lip.
“Want to talk about it?”
“I'm going upstairs to change clothes,” Mommy called as she made
her way into the living room.
Daddy's eyes continued staring into Alan's. “Can you talk about it, Alan?”
Alan sat down in the chair opposite his father. “I don't know what happened.”
“Okay, can you tell me what you think happened?”
The Ice Cream Man chased me, Daddy. It was what he wanted to say, but-- “I got spooked and I ran,” Alan said, “and I fell.”
Leaning forward, Daddy's good hand reached across the table and grasped Alan's. “What scared you, son?”
Alan said nothing.
Daddy face was gentle and reassuring. “We have to make a deal, boy.” Daddy cleared his throat, his eyes dropping back down to the table. “You know about the Closet Man.”
“Yes, Daddy,” Alan whispered.
“The Closet Man's not real, Alan. Never was.” He raised his eyes back to Alan's. “You know that, right?”
Alan nodded.
“But I saw him anyway. It's something the mind does. It scares me, but it can't hurt me, right?” Alan opened his mouth to speak, and then closed it. “Hey,” Daddy said, “we have to make a deal, kiddo. You tell me everything, and I tell you everything.”
“No matter how crazy it sounds?” Alan asked.
“No matter how crazy it sounds. I,” Daddy laughed, “am the master of crazy.” He stuck his tongue out and crossed his eyes.
Alan smiled in spite of himself. His father leaned back in his chair, his lips a flat, expressionless line. “Okay, Daddy.” Alan took a deep breath. “I met the Ice Cream Man.”
Daddy's brows furrowed. “You met him?”
“Yes,” Alan whispered.
Daddy leaned forward a little, placing his good hand on the table. “What happened?”
Alan shrugged. “I don't like him, Daddy. Something's wrong about him.” Daddy said nothing. “He--” Alan swallowed hard. “He changed somehow.”
“What do you mean?” Daddy asked.
“His face, his voice. He stopped looking...friendly.”
“What did you see?” Daddy asked, his face growing stern.
“I don't know,” Alan said. He tried to find the words, but they wouldn't come. The face growing longer, the nose jutting forward, and the teeth. The teeth. “He just changed.”
Daddy leaned all the way forward in his chair, his face filled with excitement. “What about the eyes?” he asked in a rush of air.
“What are you guys talking about?” Mommy asked from the kitchen entrance.
“Nothing much,” Daddy said without breaking Alan's stare. “Nothing we can't finish talking about later. Right, kiddo?” He nodded at Alan. Alan nodded back to him. Daddy grabbed Alan's hand and squeezed.
“Yeah, Mommy,” Alan said to his mother.
“Okay,” Mommy said.
“I'm going for a smoke,” Daddy said. He stood up from the table, slid open the glass door and walked out into the sunroom.
Alan watched him go. He felt better, but something in the way his father had reacted when he told him about the Ice Cream Man brought goose pimples to his skin.
Chapter 41
The sun had dropped very low in the sky, threatening to disappear altogether. Trey stared up at the thin, herring-bone cirrus clouds, one hand on the wooden deck rail. The backyard was where he loved to come when he needed to think. The massive deck. The inviting furniture shaded by large oak and gum tree branches. But not this time of year. The leaves had long been shed and it would be at least another month before the trees began sprouting new ones.
“Trey?” Carolyn's voice called from the backdoor.
“Yes?” he said without turning around.
“Alan and I are going to get us something for dinner. You want to come?”
Trey thought for a moment and finally turned to her
. “No,” he said. “I'm going to enjoy the last of the sun. You know where you guys are going?”
She rolled her eyes. “Hell no. We'll figure it out at the last second like we always do.”
He laughed. “Okay, fine. You know what I like.”
She walked from the backdoor to him, her nose close to his. “Yes, baby, I do.” She kissed him quickly on the lips and then turned to walk back.
He grabbed her with his free hand, drew her close and kissed her hard. When he was done, he drew back.
She was flushed. “And that'll get you everywhere later,” she whispered.
As she walked away, she turned to smile at him over her shoulder. The gesture made everything seem so normal, as though he hadn't spent the last couple of days in the nut-hatch.
Trey sighed and turned back to watch the sun. It was completely below the houses, nothing left but a fading glow.
“He changed,” Alan had said.
The boy hadn't been able to explain it in any detail, but he had been close to saying something important. Trey was sure of it.
Bells. Distant. Trey swung his head toward the sound. It was getting closer, louder. Trey stepped toward the house and then stopped. The grubby man's lined, wrinkled, and angry face jumped into his mind. He shook it aside, clenching a fist.
“Not, now,” he whispered.
The image left him, the world snapping back into reality. Heart thrashing in his chest, he went into the house and headed to the front door.
He peered through the tempered and warped glass. The world beyond seemed jagged and out of focus. The bells grew louder. Trey reached for the door knob and stopped.
“The Ice Cream Man. Traveling the blocks again? This late?” His skin tingled with electricity, heart still slam-dancing away.
“If you go out there,” a voice inside said, “you're going to panic again.” Trey's fingers began to loosen from the metal knob. “You're going to pass out in another fit. Or worse.”
“Face. Your. Fears,” Tony Downs' voice said in his mind.
Before Trey could stop himself, his fingers swiveled the knob and the door creaked open. That inside voice, the child within, screamed in fear. Trey stepped through the open door, closing it behind him. The bells were deafening. Across the street, Dick was already on his front porch, glaring at the oncoming van. Trey continued walking down the front deck and onto the driveway. He didn't bother looking up the street. Instead, he focused on Dick, watching as the man turned to follow the van's approach.
The bells. Trey closed his eyes for a second, and then opened them. In his peripheral vision, the cream-colored van came into view. Trey felt blood pounding in his ears, his electrified skin, and the buzz of fear. But he stood his ground.
The van was in full view. Ice Cream Treats. Sandwiches. Yummy! Trey smiled. The blood red words and images of children being tortured were gone. He blew out a long hiss through his teeth and watched the van head to the cul-de-sac.
“Nothing, nothing, nothing,” he thought.
The van rounded the cul-de-sac, the bells blasting loud enough to hurt his ears. But he didn't care. The van. It was nothing more than an ice cream van. Plain and simple. Trey watched as it passed him again. The passenger side window was dark. Trey's smile faded. Glowing yellow eyes stared at him from the van's cab. He felt dizzy, but managed to stay on his feet.
“Hey!” Dick's voice said above the din. Trey turned his eyes to the front of the driveway. The big man strode toward him, a warm smile on his face. “You're back!”
“Yeah,” Trey said, extending his hand. Dick's grin was infectious. “They let the cuckoo out of the nest.”
“Uh-huh,” Dick said. His smile faded a little as he pointed to Trey's arm. “How's the arm?”
Trey looked down at it. The pain from hitting Tony had subsided quite a bit, but it still ached. “Doing okay, I guess.” He raised his eyes to Dick's and smirked. “You just want to know if I can still play disc golf, don't you?”
Dick laughed. “That obvious?”
“Hell, yes.” Trey put his good arm on Dick's broad shoulder. “And this time I'll have an excuse for sucking.”
“No you won't,” Dick said. “Not like it's your throwing arm.” He turned toward the sound of the ice cream van's bells. The van had moved off the T and was heading deeper into the neighborhood. “Fucking. Hate. That. Thing.”
“Yeah,” Trey agreed.
Without turning, Dick asked “You feel okay? You looked a little wobbly.”
Trey shrugged. “No, I'm all right. I just--” Trey dropped his eyes. “I just need time.”
Dick nodded and turned back to Trey. The smile on his face had returned. “All you need, bro. I'm here, okay?”
One corner of Trey's lips raised in a smirk. “Yeah, you fat fuck. You're always there.”
“Ha,” Dick said. “Juvenile. Very, very puerile.” His grin grew wider. “I'm proud of you. Never thought you'd descend to my level.”
“Well,” Trey chuckled, “was bound to happen sooner or later.”
The sun's glow had finally disappeared from the sky leaving the street shrouded in deep shadow. Headlights broke through the gloom.
“Guess dinner's here,” Trey said as Carolyn's car pulled into the driveway.
“Yeah,” Dick said. He clapped Trey on the shoulder. “Let me know about disc golf.”
He walked back down the driveway, saluting Carolyn as she pulled the car into the garage. Trey watched him go, the smile still on his face.
Chapter 42
The morning walk to school, the return to routine, was somewhat cathartic. He'd managed to keep from passing out after seeing the Ice Cream Man the previous night, but he'd still seen something that wasn't there. When Carolyn and Alan came home with a bucket of fried chicken and all the fixings, Trey had put it out of his mind.
He'd listened with interest, catching up on Alan's days at school and Carolyn's stories about her pain in the ass client, or “The Jackass” as she referred to him.
Alan had laughed at that. When the boy started braying like a donkey at dinner, Trey had nearly spat a piece of chicken across the dining room table.
Even Carolyn had been laughing when she told Alan to stop it, all three of them giggling at the dinner table like nothing had happened the last few days. None of them mentioned his time away and Trey had been glad of it.
That night, he'd dreamed of the grubby man. But he hadn't screamed. He'd been back in the dank, pitch black, shit smelling closet, his hands rummaging through turds and puddles of piss to find anything with which he might cover himself.
Trey had awakened with a start, but was surprised to find he wasn't sweating or screaming. Instead, he felt drained.
In the bedroom's darkness, the monotonous sound of the heater broken only by Carolyn's soft snores, Trey flexed his fingers, playing the chromatic scale.
The grubby man had let him go. The grubby man had gotten what he wanted-- complete submission.
Trey wondered what had caused the man to fracture into that beast. Parental? Something later in life than childhood?
Trey knew if he saw the man, he'd remember to ask him before he killed him with his bare hands.
“That could have been Alan,” he thought, “instead of me.
Fast forward all these years, and that sonofabitch could still be out there, another child trapped in a closet, sitting in its own feces, hungry, terrified, and cowering in the darkness. Another child.
He had shivered then, rolled onto his side, and pressed his naked body against Carolyn's. Within moments, he was on the verge of drifting off.
Tony Downs' voice spoke in his mind: “Face. Your. Fears.”
As he closed his eyes and headed toward deep, dreamless sleep, he'd smiled.
It was the best sleep he'd had in a long time. He was almost late in getting Alan up for school and out the door. The two of them walked fast through the dark, brisk morning to the school.
Alan was bundled up against the morning chil
l, but Trey's teeth chattered as the air bit through his light jacket.
There were more parents that morning than he had seen in quite a while. He meant to ask Alan what was going on, but figured he just hadn't gotten Alan to school this late in a long time.
Rather than walking back the same old way, and to warm up from the chill wind, Trey wound around the school toward the wood-lined path that snaked through the neighborhood. The subdivision, a little more forward-thinking than most, had actually left most of the forest intact around it, as well as through it.
People could walk for miles around the perimeter of the subdivision, hidden by tall pines and oaks. Although they kept the edges and the path itself neat and tidy, the rest of the green belt was unmaintained and as wild as they could keep it. It was one of the reasons he and Carolyn had moved there.
Although the oaks had long since shed their leaves to the forest floor, the pine tree branches still obscured the path; it was difficult to see through the tangle of green and brown to the road just beyond. Hearing the cars, however, was easy enough. Sometimes, late at night, he'd walked the path in the dark, marveling at the silence and stillness of the forest when no cars prowled the streets.
But at that time of the morning, the road was filled with commuters heading to work. The hum and growl of engines made the forest buzz. Trey wanted to take a deep breath of morning air, but knew it would taste like the end of a tailpipe. He had to wait until the path deviated further away from the road.
Eyes. Were those really eyes he kept seeing in the ice cream van? Yellow? Crimson flames within them?
Trey stopped in the middle of the path and closed his eyes. He calmed himself, willing his heart to slow, breathing deep despite the horrid tang of the car exhaust.
Eyes. The eyes.
He pictured the Grubby Man. His eyes had stared down from behind a long nose, wrinkled in one place and slightly off center. It had been broken before. The eyes had been wild and crazed, but they were green. Normal.
The Closet Man, was not a boogeyman, nor was the fucker in the ice cream van.