We’d all heard the urban legends. Heeded the warnings. Followed the rules to a tee. Well, most of us, that is.
Christian and I weren’t like normal kids. We were always getting into trouble. From playing hooky to shoplifting to going on joyrides, we did it all. We were without a doubt the most despised pre-teens in town. Little did we know, all that mischief would inevitably lead to the worst day of our lives. God, I wish I could take it back.
People in my town were always very superstitious. Not like “oh, you spilled the salt, so throw a pinch over your left shoulder,” superstitious. No, something happened here a long time ago. Something sinister. Something that still bears its burden on the townsfolk half a century later.
You see, back in the seventies, kids started going missing. The disappearances always occurred at night. Always. And always in the same fashion. Parents would lock their homes down tighter than Fort Knox only to find the front door hanging wide open the following morning.
The kidnappings were beginning to pile up at the same time that nightly reports of an ice cream truck circling neighborhoods began to flood into the police station. Every time the authorities were called, the truck would be gone when they arrived, no matter the response time.
The strange thing was, we didn’t have an ice cream truck in the seventies. Hell, we still don’t. This has always been the kind of place where everyone knows everyone. And none of the families in town have ever owned an ice cream truck.
Naturally, people began to associate the truck with the disappearances. Obviously, people tried to catch the mysterious abductor behind the wheel. That’s when the adults started going missing. No one who confronted the driver was ever seen again.
The fear was beginning to reach a boiling point. People panicked. Families with children started packing their things. Even some people without families at all were looking at relocating. And then, just when nearly half the population was about to split, it stopped. The almost nightly kidnappings, the sightings of the ice cream truck, all of it.
The townsfolk never truly recovered. I mean, how could they after that? Most families of the victims moved away, eventually losing any hope of ever seeing their loved ones again. Can’t say I blame them. I wouldn’t have stuck around after that either.
The ones who did stay grew paranoid, so they did everything in their power to ensure that nothing similar would ever happen again. That, unfortunately, manifested into an extremely strict set of rules.
Girls aren’t allowed to walk anywhere alone, the doors and windows to every house must remain locked at all times, and of course, no one is allowed outside after dark for any reason. The town shuts down well before sundown as a not-so-subtle reminder.
Growing up, I always thought the stories were bullshit. I thought it was just another lazy excuse for parents to keep a close eye on their children. To prevent us from causing mayhem. I should have listened.
“Sarah, for the last time, I’m not sneaking out with you tonight. You know the rules,” Christian whispered, tapping the eraser on his pencil against his notebook absent-mindedly.
“Come on, this is the one rule we haven’t broken yet. You’ve spray painted Officer Dawkins’s police cruiser, and this is what you’re afraid of?”
“I’m not scared. This is different. It’s something sacred. You’ve lived here for just as long as I have. You should know that,” he hissed, pretending to dial in to Mrs. Huckabee’s mind-numbing lecture on mitosis.
“Aren’t you at least a little curious? You can’t seriously tell me that you’ve never wondered about going out at night. There’s gotta be something more than they’re letting on.”
“Sarah, I’m not going with you. If you want to risk your life by going out after dark, go right ahead. But leave me out of it,” Christian said with a stern finality in his tone. I’d never seen him so serious about anything before. And that frightened me.
We muddled through the remainder of the class in silence. Christian gave me the cold shoulder all day. I was beginning to wonder if I’d overstepped. I’ll give it some time to blow over.
I had just finished cramming my textbooks into my locker when Christian approached me. I jumped, nearly dropping my backpack. I hadn’t expected to see him again that day.
“What’s up, dude? Thought you were gonna make me walk home alone.” He locked eyes with me, sending a chill creeping up my spine. A bitter determination was scrawled across his visage.
“I’ll go with you.”
I was taken aback. He’d been so adamant earlier. What changed?
“Are you sure? I mean, I don’t want you to go if you’re not comfortable with it.”
“I’m sure. I have to know,” he said, averting his gaze.
“Okay. We’ll meet at your house at midnight. Sound good?”
“Yeah.” Christian sheepishly glanced up at me. “And you didn’t seriously think I’d let you walk home by yourself, did you?”
I giggled, flashing him a grin. “No, I guess I didn’t.”
Christian was seemingly back to his old self on the way home from school. I listened intently as he babbled on about his latest revenge scheme. He was planning on setting off a fart bomb in Becky Nelson’s locker for snitching on him. I didn’t care if I was being suckered into another one of his devious pranks. I was just happy that things were back to normal between us.
“I’m going to make that bitch pay,” Christian hissed, smashing his fist into his palm.
“Can’t wait to see the look on her ugly-ass face. Anyway, I’ll see you tonight,” I said as I trudged up my driveway.
“You bet.” We waved goodbye to each other and I watched as Christian continued down the sidewalk.
Midnight couldn’t come quickly enough. I giddily awaited nightfall. I felt as though my heart would burst from my chest at any given moment. My adrenaline always spiked before one of our little misadventures.
I was watching the time like a hawk. My parents had already turned in for the night, so I was left to my own devices. That was a dangerous game.
My eyes were glued to the numbers on my phone screen. 11:58 P.M. It was so close. And that’s when I heard it.
Clunk.
Something hard pelted my window. My eyes grew wide and a smile inched across my lips as I raced to the source. Christian was standing outside, his arm cocked like a quarterback.
“Oh, there you are. Hey,” he said, dropping the rock in his hand.
“Dude, you scared the shit out of me. Weren’t we supposed to meet at your place? And why didn’t you just text me like a normal person?”
“Sorry, I got restless,” he muttered, staring at his feet, “and my parents took my phone last week, remember?”
“Oh yeah. Not sure how I forgot. Coming down,” I said, cautiously climbing out and steadying myself on the step ladder that I’d strategically placed below my window. I hopped down from the last step, landing in the grass with a soft thump.
“Ready?” I asked, eager to set off.
“Yeah, let’s go,” Christian said, taking my hand. I blushed and he quickly recoiled. Even in the dim, yellow light provided by the street lamps, I could tell that his face was bright red.
“Uh- I’m sorry I-I didn’t mean to do that. I just want to get going is all.”
“No, no, you’re good. I get it.”
There was a long, awkward pause before Christian spoke up. “So, where are we going?”
“Uh, I dunno. I hadn’t thought this far ahead. Where do you wanna go?”
“How about the park? Might be kind of fun with no kids around.”
“The park it is. Lead the way,” I said, dramatically extending my arm. A big goofy grin plastered itself on Christian’s face as he willingly obliged.
We walked in silence, drinking in the scene around us. We passed by dozens of houses, their looming presence lending an unsettling air to the stillness of the night. The faint light cast an eerie glow that glinted off their windows, making my blood run cold.
Another strange thing I noticed was that it was deathly quiet. The only sounds we heard were our own light footfalls against the pavement and the blood rushing in our ears. There were no noises from creatures of the night. No bugs, no frogs, nothing. We couldn’t even hear any crickets chirping. And that sent a chill down my spine.
I was sweating bullets by the time we arrived at the playground. Christian looked unfazed, but I highly suspected that he was putting on a front. Don’t get me wrong, Christian was one tough cookie, but truth be told, I was the braver of the two of us. Usually, if I was feeling on edge, he’d be ten times worse off.
We plopped down on adjacent swings. I cringed as the rusted metal swing set creaked and groaned under our weight. Even though we were alone, I couldn’t shake the feeling that we were being watched. Like something sinister knew we were there. I shuddered at the thought that something evil might be lurking in the darkness, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
I told myself that I was freaking out over nothing, but I couldn’t stop intermittently peeking into the shadow-veiled trees behind us. I was seriously beginning to regret leaving the safety of my home.
“So, Sarah? Is it just me, or is this place, this town, does it feel like there’s… a presence? You know, like we’re not the only ones out here?” He kept his voice hushed like he was afraid that someone else would hear him.
“Yeah. I feel it too. It’s really creepy,” I said, sensing the oppressive weight of that feeling slightly lift from my shoulders. It was nice to know that Christian felt it too.
Christian stared into the mulch at our feet. He looked lost in thought, as if his body was there, but his mind was in some far-off dimension.
“You know, I wasn’t originally planning to come with you. There’s a reason that I chose to come out tonight.” He sighed, a weary ambition written across his features. There was something he was hiding from me, but I could sense that he was slowly mustering up the courage to tell me what it was.
“So, I know you’ve heard all the stories about the ice cream truck that went around abducting kids in the seventies. And I know that you think it’s all a pile of steaming horseshit… but it’s not.” He paused, searching my face for a reaction.
“How can you be so sure? We weren’t alive back then, so-”
“My uncle was one of the children who were kidnapped.”
My heart plummeted into my gut. Not only for the fact that Christian was related to someone who was taken, but that the stories were… true.
“Christian, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. I-”
“It’s okay,” he said, interrupting me again. “He was three when it happened. It’s been decades, but I don’t think Dad ever really forgave himself. He was only five at the time, but he feels like he should’ve done more. He won’t tell me that, but I know. I can see it in his eyes. It still tears him up, even now.”
A tear began to trickle down Christian’s cheek, but he quickly swiped it away.
“I know it’s stupid of me, but I just had to know if it was true. If that thing was still around. I was honestly sorta hoping that it would be. I know that I don’t stand much of a chance at killing whoever’s behind it, but this might help a bit, right?” He cracked a smile and flashed a sharp, black switchblade.
“Yeah, I think that would help your chances a bit,” I chuckled. “You know I wouldn’t let you fight alone, either. Hate to burst your bubble though. I don’t think we’ll run into that thing tonight.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Christian said, standing from his swing, “let’s go home.”
“Works for me. I’ve seen enough.”
I joined him and we began to make our way back towards our houses. We’d only made it to the street when I heard it. A jingle.
The sound sliced through the silence like a rusty knife. It was slow. Melodic. But something about it was… wrong.
Christian and I glanced at each other, eyes wide as saucers. My heart thumped furiously against my chest as it grew closer. It blared the tune of “London Bridge Is Falling Down” intertwined with the sound of a jack-in-the-box cranking up, sending waves of panic rippling through me at every interval. And then, it slowly rolled into view.
A white truck rounded the corner to the street we were standing on. A comically large pink ice cream cone was perched atop it, facing the sky like a rocket ready for liftoff. The windows were tinted to the point that I couldn’t see who - or what - was behind the wheel.
I wanted to run. To scream. To hide, anything. But I was paralyzed with fear.
The truck crept closer and closer. Dread seeped into my bones. I didn’t know what to do.
Eventually, it passed. I gawked at it, drinking in all the different selections pasted on the side. And then it stopped. Directly in front of us.
The music cut out, bathing the night in that all-encompassing silence. My breath hitched in my throat waiting for something to happen. Without warning, the back doors of the ice cream truck swung open.
I looked at Christian. His horrified expression had melted into one of curiosity. He began to make his way toward the open truck. His legs moved like they had a mind of their own, dragging him closer and closer. To this day I don’t know why, but I didn’t even try to stop him. No, I joined him.
I can’t explain it, but there was something alluring about that truck. Something that effortlessly took hold of me and pulled me in. And I was powerless to stop it.
We both tentatively walked closer, coming to a halt directly behind it. I peered inside, my mouth agape. It was spotless. A sparkling white interior with rows upon rows of freezers shined inside. It boasted every flavor of ice cream you could imagine. At that moment, I wanted nothing more than to step into the back of that truck and try every variety of ice cream it had to offer. Nothing bad would happen. It was just an ice cream truck, after all.
Christian stepped in before I could react. He turned back to me, outstretching a hand to hoist me up. I didn’t even have a chance to take it.
The doors suddenly slammed shut, locking Christian inside. I’ll never forget the look of abject fear on his face in that split second before the doors closed.
I was ripped from my stupor as the ice cream truck floored it down the road. Its tires squealed as it went, leaving me standing alone under a street lamp. I broke down, fat tears streaming down my cheeks as I bolted home. I couldn’t lose Christian. He was the only real friend I’d ever had.
I burst through my front door, spewing nonsense to my parents as I crumpled to the ground at their feet. I didn’t care if I’d get in trouble anymore. I just wanted to find a way to bring my friend back.
The police were called. Christian’s parents were notified and a search party was assembled. I don’t think I need to tell you that they didn’t find him. Christian is still missing to this day.
I was never the same after that. It didn’t matter how much time passed, how many therapy sessions I attended, how hard I tried to forget. That image of Christian’s terrified face is still burned into my memory.
But there’s something that chills me even more than that look of pure dread scrawled across my best friend’s countenance. Something that I still can’t comprehend.
When I peered into the back of that ice cream truck, there was no one behind the wheel.
So why am I telling you this? Why now? Well, my son went missing last night.
I awoke with a start next to my snoring husband. A sinking pit of dread sank into my stomach when that horrible tune met my ears. London Bridge is Falling Down.
I raced to the front door. It was wide open. I watched helplessly as my baby boy climbed into the back of that truck. I couldn’t even scream. I was rooted in fear just like I had been on that night two decades ago.
A surge of panic coursed through my veins like venom. Because as the ice cream truck sped away with my child, I noticed that the window was rolled down. And I swear that for a split second, I saw Christian wink at me from the driver’s seat.