I haven’t lived in Queens very long, just approaching 2 years now, but Ive already stayed too long. I never really had any inclenation to move to NYC after growing up in a rural suburb of Albany, but my Fiancée got accepted to a competitive graduate program and I wasn’t going to let my living preferences get in the way of that.
It took some getting used to for sure, especially since my Fiancée was visiting family the first 3 weeks I was here. We didnt live in the worst neighborhood, but we’re still told by our building’s super that its better not to go out at night if you could avoid it. There was the occasional gun violence and a high rate of missing persons. So, I got to know the neighborhood by wandering the streets during the day waiting to get a job.
I soon found the hidden gems of our new community, and learned an ice cream truck would park outside our apartment around 3pm every day and i made it a daily treat to stop by after a walk. I would get some ice cream and chat with the driver giving me some much needed socialization. The ice cream man or woman would change every 2 or 3 weeks but they were always friendly, they would also pretty regularly offer me an application saying they needed new drivers. I had other more lucrative offers but they asked each time.
“Do you need a job? We always need new drivers.”
I always just chocked it up to friendless or desperation from the overworked, but I got to know a few of them and they soon recognized me as a regular and would have my order ready when they saw me in line.
The biggest change though was the night. After spending 23 years of my life falling asleep in the pitch dark with only the sounds of crickets and frogs lulling me to sleep, the constant noise and light kept me up pretty late the first few weeks of the summer being here. Those late nights up reading or playing a game were when I first noticed something strange. Most nights, I could hear the ice cream truck music playing as they drove around at 1 or 2 in the morning. My first instinct was that it was just on its way back to wherever they stored the trucks for the night, but my curiosity grew. After a week of hearing it drive around well after midnight, I brought it up to the driver.
“Oh, that’s something that we’ve picked up on for this route. There’s a lot of younger adults in the area and enough bars that if we’re willing to stay out late we can lure in one or two who are looking for a late night snack.”
Seemed reasonable enough for me and it explained why the driver of the route changed so often, it was given to anyone who wanted to put the extra time in for tips. That was how things stayed for a while, I settled into my new environment and I still heard the ice cream truck working late.
It wasn’t until last week that I saw what was really happening. I was coming home late from work, a big project had kept me there until nearly 9pm, and by the time I stepped off the subway it was nearly midnight. Two blocks away from my apartment I heard the tell tale song of the ice cream truck and could see them sitting one block past my apartment. The thought of treating myself after a long day sounded great, and since I had started working I hadn’t had a chance to chat with the drivers I had become friends with.
There was a young couple staggering home from the bars currently in line and I stopped to make sure I had the cash on hand for my treat. While I was fumbling with my wallet, I heard a scream. My eyes shot up to see something that took me precious moments to comprehend. The woman was halfway through the serving window, screaming and struggling against something pulling her in. Her date had managed to grab onto her leg and was trying to pull her back out.
Thinking someone was trying to adbuct her I started to run forward to help when I saw the roof the the truck come crushing down on her leg and a terrible crunch echoed down the empty street. The man stumbled back holding her severed leg. He started screaming and tossed the leg into the street as he ran. I dove into the nearest pile of trash, stifling my own scream, not wanting whatever…thing was in that truck to notice me. The screams the victims date grew fainter and I could hear him running away from me. Not daring to move I sat in my neighbor’s trash, nearly gagging from the stench I was hyperventilating for what felt like hours. What was probably closer to minutes later, I heard the truck pulling away following after the man who had fled. As soon as it turned down the street I had last seen him go, I ran as fast as I ever had before, keys shaking in my hand as I desperately tried to get my door open.
I didn’t think I would sleep that night, which became a surety after I heard a scream pierce the night and I knew the ice cream truck had caught up with its second victim. I didn’t hear the music the rest of the night and I swore to myself I would never walk on the same side of the street as an ice cream truck again, let alone interact with one. I told Abbey the next morning but she just laughed it off as a nightmare. An ice cream man abducting people? Sure that’s just New York, but an ice cream truck massacring people and biting off body parts? That’s too much sugar late at night. And if she didn’t believe me, I didn’t see myself having much luck with the cops.
I was able to keep my promise for 3 whole days, avoiding the truck when I saw it and just trying to ignore what I saw. All until my fiancée finished a big test and wanted to reward herself. She called me when she got home asking me to come to the lobby. The ice cream truck was parked across the street and she wanted to celebrate. I tried talking her out of it, saying I’d buy her Ben and Jerry’s from the shop down the street, or drive her to the nearest Coldstone Creamery but she was adamant, all she wanted was a fudge bar.
With no good excuse as to why we couldn’t, my numb legs carried me across the street. I pushed my resolve to get in, buy the ice cream, and get away without letting anything happen to either of us. We were greeted by a smiling young woman who asked us what we wanted, I ordered the fudge bar making sure to position myself between the window and Abbey at all times. As I reached my shaking hand out to pass the money and take the ice cream, the bar slipped between my fingers and fell behind the counter. The driver had already turned to her register so I quickly reached over the counter to grab it and be on our way but as I did I got a glimpse below her waist and I froze knowing what I saw would never leave me. Her right leg was gone. No prosthetics, no bandages, just a rough stump covered in dried blood, and snaking up from the floor to her back was a fleshy tendril that originated from the floor of the truck, puppeting her.
I must have stood frozen for a solid minute and only came to when Abbey started pulling me away. I looked up to see the ice cream woman, the dead woman, the puppet, the lure smiling at me.
“The job offer still stands, we’re always looking for new drivers”.
It’s been 3 days since and every night I hear the music playing, and now it always stops outside my building playing its familiar song for me to hear. I stay inside at night now, refusing any plans that would keep me out past sundown. It knows, I’ve seen it, and I know it doesn’t like that. It doesn’t want witnesses. It doesn’t want anyone warning others away. I hoped it would leave me alone once we move. I haven’t told anyone about this until now hoping to prove my silence. But, Sunday was mother’s day and in my parents rural house I heard the familiar music driving up and down the street.
It’s not going to stop following me, not until it had me, so everyone who’ll listen will know it’s secret. I don’t know if it’s one of a kind, or an epidemic across the country. But if you live in Queens, or just want to be safe, buy your ice cream at the store.