I’m writing my tale here as a warning for others, so if anyone comes upon this creature, they know what to do. He's gone now, but I fear he might still be out there, preying on new victims, so here I am, typing.
Monday, 03:14 AM, July 2nd 2012
My name is Olivia. Olivia Smith. It all started the summer of 2012, when I was just shy of eleven years old. It was a hot Monday night and the heat of my small room was so oppressive, I had thrown away my sheets and was staring up at the ceiling, sweat trickling down my temple.
My sleeping habits have always been terrible and, without initiative, I had no reason to try counting sheep.
I waiting for my father to come up the stairs and go to bed, for the snoring to begin shaking up the house so I could sneak to the kitchen and nibble on some cereal and maybe even make a sandwich.
There’d be hell to pay if he caught me stuffing myself like a pig. The previous year, he’d gone as far as to put a lock on the cabinets after catching me with beef jerky in my pockets.
Summer was always the worst. No school meant no backpack, no backpack meant I had to find other places to hide my stash. It was too hot to wear anything but shorts with tiny pockets, the convenience store was not convenient at all and worst of all, he would enroll me in some sport and I’d be growling with hunger by the end of it.
It wasn’t that my dad wanted me to starve, but he wanted me to be healthy and healthy was a strict vegetarian diet. Or at least that’s what mom said.
All I wanted in that moment was a turkey sandwich lacquered up in mayo and paprika, along with a cold Cola to wash it down with. We had none of that at, so I’d have to concoct some other monstrosity instead.
It was then I’d first heard it. The Turkey in The Straw song, coming faintly from my window. It was almost like it was directly outside, like I could open the curtains and an ice cream truck would be floating on the second floor.
Its silhouette was visible from down the street, slowly making its way up towards my house. At the same time as it crossed the crossroad, he nearly caught me awake, peeking from a small crack in the door.
My father shut the door and I heard his footsteps go forward then take a right. The tap was running for what seemed like forever, but eventually, the bathroom light went off and he got into his own sheets. Dad was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow, his snoring was audible above all else, shaking the foundation of the house.
No wonder I couldn’t shut my eyes, with all the noise everyone made at night.
It took me a second to realize that the song was still playing, now stronger. It was starting to piss me off. I craved for spicy, salty and sour treats, not the aftertaste of a bad trip to the toilet.
Wouldn’t it be nice if it was a shawarma truck instead?
Why was an ice cream truck doing rounds in the middle of the night anyway? Who could possibly want to go outside and buy an ice cream at- what time was it?
The clock said 03:14, and I could only to grunt and open the window again. It had parked right outside Mulligan’s and was setting shop right in their pavement. A man with a striped apron and one of those silly hats was circling and checking the wheels.
Just then, I saw Max Mulligan open his front door, wearing a robe over his pajamas. He looked ridiculous, especially wearing long sleeves in 80֯ F and those big Harry Potter glasses that were too big for his face.
I scoffed to myself as he waddled to the truck and ordered himself a frozen treat. He slipped from my eyesight behind the vehicle, so I was left counting the comically large stickers of melting ice cream taped to the sides of the van.
My mouth watered suddenly; surely, they sold other things other than freezer burn, right? Maybe I could still get a Coca-Cola, hell, I’d settle for a Pepsi! I pondered it over, but my hunger was starting to fog my head. Maybe they sold real food too. Waffles or pancakes; I could go for some salted caramel and peanuts actually. Yes, I’d go and ask, what’s the worst that could’ve happened.
I was just about to jump off my bed, when I realized I had no cash left. The Unwritten, Volume V, was discarded face down on the floor, mocking my hasty purchase. It wasn’t my fault that the comic had nearly sold out before I got to the shop, but the last 10$ of my weekly allowance was a small price to pay to rub it on Owen’s face and letting him borrow it later.
My mood soured even more after that. The music was starting to grate my brain, like having to listen to my aunt’s cheerful voice on Christmas until I wanted to shove my fist down her throat to make it stop.
I took one final look out of the window. Max was happily licking his cone, mouth stained with red cherry flavoring. The man next to him was saying something, gesturing wildly with his hands. He was smiling, widely, and for a moment his teeth seemed to… shine?
They both snapped their heads at me, staring at me staring at them. Max’s mouth was agape, and even though I couldn’t see his exact expression, he looked petrified. He scrambled on his feet and stumbled back home, shutting the front door behind himself.
The man just stood there, looking up. The hair in the back of my head stood up and my blood ran cold. I knew it then; I knew there was someone right behind me. The bed gave in beneath a knee that wasn’t mine, but I couldn’t move. I was frozen, distantly aware that seeing my breath fog up in the middle of summer wasn’t normal.
He waved at me, forever smiling widely, like a cartoonish nightmare. I pulled the curtains closed with trembling hands, then whipped around to see who had broken into my house.
The room was dark, hot and empty. My heart hammered, but no one jumped out from beneath my bed or inside my closet. Eventually, I decided I must’ve dreamt it all. If not, tomorrow someone would whine to the police about the noise and the truck would never return.
I wish it hadn’t.
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I didn’t get to eat anything that night or that morning.
I slept through my alarm and my father, in his usual Monday frustration, was livid. He lived for perfection and anything less than that was unacceptable.
It’s why he hated summers as much as I did. Working a 9 to 5 office job with no air conditioning and having to deal with a failure of a daughter would drive anyone mad. Without homework and test grades to compare my existence to, he resorted to whatever he could find at the moment.
I wouldn’t say he was an abusive parent at the time; he was just stressed. His more narcissistic tendencies were shielded by my mom, who would talk him down when he was angry and had the belt out.
I actually felt relieved when he let me get away with it mostly unscathed. My measly allowance, 15$, felt almost like a reward for staying put with my eyes on the corners of the table while my parents ate breakfast.
Mom sneaked another 10$ on my pocket, pretending to fix my shirt before we left. She gave me a wink and motioned for me to be silent, like I didn’t already know that.
It was a fifteen-minute drive to the Sport’s Centre, which was coincidently close to my dad’s workplace. I would stop by his office later to have the lunch mom had packed for both of us. Until then, we sat in easy silence, Carly Rae Jepsen’s Call Me Maybe playing in the radio.
I hummed along with it, ponytail swishing with my head movements. He was too masculine to do that, but tapped his fingers on the beat against the wheel. His bad mood had melted away when we found easy parking right next to the tall glass buildings.
“Work hard. Don’t let me catch you slacking, ok champ?”
“I won’t, I promise.”
He patted my hair in approval. “I’m sorry about this morning, but when you grow older, there’ll be no long vacations. Discipline and dedication are the only things that will get you far in life.”
“I know dad, I’m sorry.”
“Ok, Liv. I won’t hold you anymore, go ahead.”
I gave him a kiss and ran to the gates, stopping briefly to wipe my feet on the ancient welcome mat.
The Sport’s Centre was a big open space with three different fields of basketball, volleyball and soccer. A long running track separated them, joggers doing laps at any time of the day and occasionally playing the audience for the athletes.
I was always the first to arrive at 8:50, so I had nothing to do but wait for the clock to strike 11 and maybe join the middle-aged women into doing some yoga. But first, I had other priorities.
I paced slowly, feigning nonchalance at where I was heading for. I took a moment in front of the vending machines, trying not to make a face at the pathetic excuses of a refreshing drink, then picking a can that claimed it was lemonade with reduced sugar. It tasted of battery acid with a hint of citrus and it burned my tongue of with its bitterness.
“Ew.”
There wasn’t much to do after that. I did a light walk, then a jog, barely working up a sweat. A team of players ran amok over a deflated ball, each blaming another for its condition. 9:25. Stretched, did some yoga, had a chat with a random lady about where the bathrooms were. 10:05. Tried doing a double backflip, landed on my ass, kept doing it until I was too dizzy to get up. 10:33.
After convincing myself that I’d done enough not to be considered lazy, I hid behind a large plant and just stayed on my phone, keeping it plugged in so it wouldn’t lose battery. The best thing about the Sport’s Center, which made it much more popular than it would’ve otherwise been, was the free Wi-Fi. 11:14.
The first to arrive was Owen. He looked strung up, looking around until I waved him over. He let out an audible sigh of relief and sat down in the narrow space between myself and the hibiscus.
“You ok?”
“He’s following me again.”
Owen’s brother, Kevin, also known as Twat Supreme, was what I still consider to be a budding sociopath. He was as tall and thick as a tree with an anger streak that made him a vicious football player. If it wasn’t for the same tight black dreads, no one would ever presume that they were siblings.
He was the terror of the neighborhood and the apple of his father’s eyes, a washed-out NFL quarterback with a back injury. It wasn’t easy for Owen to be asthmatic in a house that had testosterone for tap water. At least I knew my father did what he did out of hard love.
There was a sizable bruise on his arm. I didn’t ask about it, I already knew. It’s why we stuck to each other like glue.
“I can sneak you into the girls’ bathroom and tell you to come out when it’s safe.”
He chewed on the inside of his cheek, but nodded. I waited for a while, watching Kevin and praying he wouldn’t pick up a ball and doing rounds.
God must’ve picked up, because his phone rang with a jarring death metal music and he loudly answered it, hopping on his dad’s jeep and driving off without a seatbelt. His girlfriend on the other side made a great catch.
We kind of just kicked around after that, doing random stunts and sending each other tumblr links. The site was new and exciting, especially for two Harry Potter obsessed pre-teens.
Magic seemed so cool back then.
“Did you see the ice cream truck last night?” I asked him.
“You heard it too? I thought I was going crazy.”
“I know right! It stopped right across the street. Saw Max Mulligan go outside and get an ice cream.”
“Lucky bastard. I wanted one too, but pops fell asleep on the sofa and I couldn’t sneak out. I was craving a chocolate bar all night. Do you think maybe the truck will come around again?”
“Who knows? In the middle of the night, too. Who wants ice cream at 3 am?”
He put two thumbs up and pointed at himself, doing a little shimmy dance. “This guy does! But like, it’s probably one of those quirky business plans, like that fast food truck that only sells grilled cheese for a dollar and doesn’t give change.”
“What do you mean they don’t give change? How the fuck does that make sense?”
“It’s like, you give them five dollars and they give you five grilled cheeses.”
And just like that, the topic shifted. I didn’t even notice the time passing until my phone rang with the signature tune for dad’s calls.
I let it ring for one, two, three chirps before picking up. “Hi dad!”
“Hey champ. Do you want me to pick you up?”
“No, no, I got it. Do you want me to bring anything?”
“I already got the newspaper today, don’t worry.”
“All right, I’ll be right there.”
I turned to Owen, who was already picking up his skateboard. “I’ll meet you at the field?”
“Thanks. Do I look sweaty enough?”
“Like you ran through the sprinklers.”
Dad had a half hour lunch break, which we ate in the kitchenette of D&M accounting’s office. I knew all his coworkers by name, age and lifestyle at that point.
They weren’t incredibly interesting people, but they had one thing in common; they all hated their supervisor, an old dude in his mid-fifties who hated anything that wasn’t a straight white middle-aged man with a productive job, a wife and two and a half kids. So, he disliked his entire staff.
“GlaxoSmithKline settles the largest healthcare fraud case in history for US$3 Billion,” dad said, taking a bite out of his apple. “What a nightmare the world has turned into Liv, can’t even trust the medicine these days.”
“Do you think they’ll go under? That’s a lot of money.” I took small, finger-sized bites despite my stomach’s protests. If the lunch went well, I could go to the skate park and knock back cheap hot dogs from Costco.
“It’s a big company, so who really knows. They say they’re making changes.” He snorted. “Anyway, how are your friends doing?”
“Owen’s fine. Met his brother today. He’s still a- You know how he is.”
“A gorilla pretending to be a man, that’s how he is. Unbelievable how they just let him loose like that without any sort of supervision. It’s a miracle how his brother is the most mentally stable in the family.”
“I saw him drive without a seatbelt.”
Dad clicked his tongue in dissatisfaction. My chest tightened with a short-lived pang of fear. If Kevin found out I was talking shit behind his back, he wouldn’t take it very well. I didn’t want Owen to know either, some of the things dad said about his family were… insensitive at best, racist at worst.
“We’re going to skate at the park for a while, but I promise to be back before five. I can wait in the lounge?”
“I might be late.”
Silence.
“I can come at five thirty? Or maybe I can walk home?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, it’s too far. Be here at seven.”
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