Darkness Creeping Read Free Page B

the Creamy-Cold truck! It had screeched around a corner and was heading straight for him. CATCH ME IF YOU DARE, the sign had said. Now the truck would be at his mercy!
    Marty stepped out of the way as it came crashing past, bringing an icy wind in its wake, then it hit the spike strip. Boom! Boom! All four tires blew, the spike strip flew from the street, snagging in a hedge, and the truck lost control. It spun a full three-sixty before hitting a streetlamp so hard, it blew out its light.
    And there it sat with four flat tires. It was pure white, with a shiny silver grille. Its front windows were dark, so he couldn’t see in. The music it always played had fallen silent, and all Marty could hear was the engine in a menacing idle.
    Marty slowly approached it, ready to relish his victory. The solid steel gate of the service window was down, but as he drew near, it slowly began to rise, and fog spilled out; the icy breath of the mechanical beast. Then, inside, someone began to sing in deep, gravelly tones.
    “All around the mulberry bush . . . the monkey chased the weasel. The monkey thought ’twas all in fun . . . Pop! Goes the weasel. . . .”
    In the darkness of the truck, a figure came forward to the service window. A man. He was entirely bald, but had a bushy brown beard covered in frost. He wore a white-and-pink polka-dot outfit. The official uniform of the Creamy-Cold man. “Well, well, well,” he said. “A customer!”
    “I caught you fair and square. I want my ice cream.”
    The man leaned on the window’s little silver ledge. “It’ll cost you,” he said.
    Marty pulled out a dollar from his pocket and looked at the pictures of ice-cream choices. “I want a Cosmic Raspberry Swirl Bar. Now!”
    The man reached his hand toward the dollar, but he didn’t take it just yet. He hesitated, then said, “Are you offering me this money in exchange for my ice cream?”
    “Of course I am.”
    The man smiled, his lips stretching so thin, they disappeared between the hair of his mustache and beard. “Well then. The bargain is made.” He took the dollar, then turned around, reached into his freezer, and produced an ice-cream bar. He held it out to Marty. “One Cosmic Raspberry Swirl Bar.”
    Marty grabbed the bar, ripped off the paper, and took a bite.
    It was, just as he suspected, the most marvelous, the most creamy, the most flavorful ice cream he had ever tasted. The sensation was so overwhelming it took over all his senses. Bite by bite, he devoured the bar, and when it was done, he licked the stick clean. Only after the last bit of ice cream had dissolved on his tongue did he notice that he wasn’t standing where he had been standing before. He was still looking at the ice-cream man, but now Marty was standing inside the truck, and the ice-cream man was standing in the street. The man was smiling even wider than before.
    “Wait a second,” said Marty. “How’d I get in here?”
    “The bargain has been made. Enjoy your ice cream.” He bowed deeply to Marty, but it was more a mocking gesture than a respectful one, and when he rose from his bow, Marty realized that the man wasn’t wearing the uniform anymore. He was wearing clothes that were so small on him, they were popping at the seams. A red shirt, white pants, with a red baseball cap covering his bald head. It looked like a Little League uniform.
    “It took thirty-nine years for someone to catch me. Now I’m finally free.” Then he began to back away.
    “Hey, ice-cream man, wait! You get back here! I demand to know what’s going on!”
    “Oh, I’m not the ice-cream man,” he said, and pointed a long-nailed finger at Marty. “You are.”
    And sure enough, when Marty looked down, he saw that he was wearing a white uniform with pink polka dots.
    “As for me, my name is James,” said the man in the Little League outfit. “But my friends call me Jim-Jim.” Then he turned and ran away.
    Marty’s whole body suddenly felt as cold as the ice cream