Tales From Twistwood

We All Scream For Ice Cream

    It was three in the morning. My eyes fluttered open to the dark room in front of me. I was just in the middle of a very pleasant yet odd dream about a sheep and a sailor. So what had woken me up?
    I sat up in bed and let my legs dangle over the edge, my toes almost touching the floor. Rubbing my eyes, I looked around. Did I hear something in the distance? It sounded almost like... the ice cream truck?
    I glanced out the window to where I thought the sound was coming from. Sure enough, there was an ice cream truck. My brain was too foggy to process what was going on, let alone even question why the ice cream truck was parked in our driveway. I kept staring at the thing and tried to let my eyes adjust to the darkness outside. For some reason, the truck pulling up hadn't turned on the motion light in front of our garage. It was just sitting there in the ominous darkness. The truck itself was a bit unnerving as well. A giant ice cream cone gave a wide smile from the top. I could only see one side of the truck, but the side I was looking at was boarded up with rotting planks of wood. In fact, the whole truck looked old and outdated. The paint on the sides probably had asbestos in it or something.
    The whole time, the truck continued to play a slightly off-key music box song. It wasn't even the same as the generic ice cream truck tune. It was something different, something sickly sweet, like cough syrup.
    I got up from my bed and walked to the window, pressing my palms to the glass. For some reason, I was really craving ice cream right now.
    Now that I was closer, I could see all around the truck. The other side wasn't boarded up, and it looked like someone was in there. And was someone getting ice cream from whoever was in the truck?
    I gasped. "Isabelle?"
    My four-year-old daughter stood on the other side of the truck, smiling up at the faceless figure inside. Turning away from the window, I dashed out of my room and started to scramble down the stairs. How had I not noticed her before? There had been murders in town lately. Kidnappings. People have disappeared into thin air. Not even in this town, in my neighborhood. We had packed up the day before, ready to go to my mother's house until all of this was over with. But what if this was the criminal? The fugitive had to be whoever was in that truck.
    They weren't going to get away with my daughter, that was for sure.
    I grabbed the phone off of the hook as I made my way outside. I started to dial 911 as I pushed open the screen door.
    Isabelle turned to me with a delighted look. "Mommy! The Wolf-Dog Man says he'll give us free ice cream forever and ever! Isn't that fun?"
    "Sweetie, come here right now."
    Her lip quivered. "But you need to talk to the Wolf-Dog Man! Don't you want free ice cream? You love free things, you said so."
    "Isabelle, come here."
    "I don't want to!"
    I broke into a run across our driveway. I finished punching in the number for 911 and grabbed my daughter's hand. I didn't even bother to look inside the ice cream truck - the police would deal with whoever was in there.
    "No," came a voice from inside. "Not allowed."
    I felt sharp teeth, almost animal-like, dig into my ankle. Pain spread from my leg to my back to everywhere. More and more and more teeth stabbed their way everywhere on my body. I was being dragged, dragged into the house and away from my daughter. She started to scream and cry. I still couldn't see who was inside the ice cream truck, or whatever the things dragging me were. A scream ripped through my throat. Everywhere was in so much pain. I was dying. I was going to die.
      "Isabella!" I screamed. "Run, Isabella!"
      She didn't run.
      Then, everything fell away into darkness.