Creeptober Horror Spree: Volume One

Vanilla Ice Cream

Kayla hated vanilla ice cream.

It wasn't something she could explain, but it also wasn't something for which many people demanded an explanation. Still, once in a while, she would get an incredulous look. Kayla would shrug and say, "I don't know why. I can't stand the smell of it, either."

If she had a dollar for every time someone told her that was weird, Kayla would be a rich woman.

It was a quirk of little consequence. Kayla lived a large majority of her life just fine. Friends would either let it go or tease her playfully about it. Strangers wouldn't even care. It wasn't a big deal, anyway. Kayla was firm that she wasn't the only person that didn't like vanilla ice cream. Rarely, the smell of it would make her nauseous. For a long time, Kayla believed she might have a vanilla allergy and avoided it entirely. However, on a Saturday in mid-July, Kayla got her answer for certain.

Her mother called. "Kayla, are you free today?"

"Yeah, why? Everything okay?" She asked. "You sound upset."

There was a pause, and her mother made that anxious noise when she was trying to find the right words to say. "That's because I am upset. May I come over?"

"Of course, mom, but...is it serious? You can't leave me hanging here."

"Nobody in the family is dead, if that's what's worrying you," She laughed a little. "But it is serious. I'm okay. I just have to ask you some things."

"O-okay. Come on over. Love you, bye."

"Love you too. See you soon."

Kayla hung up and waited, mind racing. What questions? She ran through every possibility during the twenty minutes it took her mother to arrive. Kayla hadn't done anything significant with her life of late - there were no investments or risks to scold her about. She hadn't made any irresponsible purchases. Briefly, she wondered if an angry ex had done something, messaged someone on social media. But Kayla wasn't in the habit of messy breakups. She couldn't name anyone that would be that angry. So...she waited. Painfully, on her porch, failing to enjoy the coffee she'd brewed before the call.

Her mother's sedan turned sharply and sped up the driveway, and Kayla knew just by that that something was deeply wrong. She met her on the sidewalk. "Okay, spill it. You're driving like you're running from someone."

"Do you remember our neighbor, growing up? Mrs. Klein?" Kayla walked her up to the patio table to sit. Her mother looked like she'd seen a ghost.

"Y-yeah, but, like, vaguely," She stammered, frowning. "She was a nice lady, but I don't remember much else."

"Kayla," She sounded like she was about to cry. "You should remember more than that."

"What are you talking about? Please just...out with it! You're scaring me." Kayla held her mother's hand.

She sighed, nodding. "Okay, I'm sorry. Look. You used to go over to her house all the time, every Sunday, in fact. 'Sundae Sunday', you'd call it. She'd make you these decadent abominations, four scoops high, vanilla-"

Kayla interrupted. "Are you mixing me up with Jeanie?" She asked, smirking. "Mom, I hate vanilla ice cream. And I don't remember any of that."

"No, it wasn't your sister. Jeanie always said she creeped her out." Her mother looked at her with so much pity; it scared her. "She died this week. They found...t-they found..." The tears came.

Kayla comforted her mother, patiently waiting for the situation to make sense. "What did they find?" She asked once her mother composed herself.

"They found skeletons of children. Hundreds of them. She never even buried them, they were just around the house. Preserved and put on, on display-" She choked and sobbed again. "It just. It made me think."

Kayla's heart quickened. At the edges of her mind, something threatened to boil up like vomit.

"Kayla, one day you came home from 'Sundae Sunday' and told me you didn't like Mrs. Klein anymore, and you stopped going over there. You would never tell me why, and, well, life happened and we all forgot about it."

"Why don't you give Henry some extra whipped cream?" The voice broke through a wall Kayla had put up to protect herself when she was six, and her stomach turned.

"Try to remember. Did she ever have other kids over while you were there?"

"No running, Steven! Find your sister, and let's get ready for Sundaes!"

"I...I d-don't remember..." Kayla squinted, picking at the cracks in the wall. "I...Steven? Henry? And..."

"Kelly! Come get your Sundae!"

"Kelly?" She covered her mouth with her hand as the wall toppled.

Her mother cried. "They've identified the bodies of children from all over the state. If you are starting to remember, you need to come to the police station with me."

"Oh, you're mistaken, Kayla! You don't get the special sprinkles because you are my favorite!"

Kayla gagged. "M-mom," She whined, feeling numb and sick. "I...I h-helped her...s-she told me they were...special sprinkles."

"You were a child." Her mother wept, moving to hold her daughter. "You are not responsible. But if you remember the names, more families can find closure."

Her ears rang. Kayla felt faint, and the world began to spin.

"Don't worry, sweetie. They're just asleep. They ate too much! Thank you so much for the help. You make Sundae Sunday go smoothly! Head on home, sweetheart. I'll see you next Sunday."