Closet Treats

by Paul E. Cooley

  "Small price for the zing." She put her elbows on the table, resting her head on clenched fists. "What is it about him that creeps you out?"

  Dick shrugged. "Don't know, exactly. But those tinted windows on the van... Who the hell does that? I mean, it's just-- Well, it just makes me distrust him." Dick shook his head. "After meeting him today, I like him even less."

  "The hat?"

  Dick nodded. "Yeah, the way he keeps it down so low over his fore- head you can barely see his eyes. And," Dick said, raising his hands in the air, "who the hell wears gloves like that? Did you feel his fingers through them? Christ," Dick said, "something wrong with that guy."

  "What do you mean about his fingers?"

  "I held him a bit tighter than you," Dick said, "they felt...wrong. I don't know how else to say it. Plus," he said, taking another cookie, "his voice sounds all jacked up. Like he's on the verge of dying or something." Dick shook his head. "Diseased."

  Carolyn nodded. She'd heard the rattle in the man's chest as well, breathing as if through cheesecloth. "Okay, yeah, I don't like him either," Carolyn said.

  Dick munched, holding up a finger, and then swallowed. "So, Trey's in the hospital?" he asked.

  The tension from meeting the ice cream man had faded a bit, but it suddenly returned. When Dick left, she'd be all alone in the house until Alan came home. She nodded. "Yeah."

  He clasped his hands around the coffee cup. "For the broken arm?"

  "And for the...episode," she whispered.

  Dick nodded. "None of my business, Carolyn. I like you guys a lot and just want to know you're safe." He thrummed his fingers on the table's surface. "Okay?"

  "I appreciate that. I really do."

  He leaned back in his chair. "Okay, so here's the deal," he said, crossing his arms across his ample chest. "I want you to call me if anything strange happens. I don't care if it's a false alarm, you just call me. I'll keep watch." He chuckled. "Hell, I'm almost always home anyway."

  Carolyn nodded. "Thank you."

  He smiled. "Now," he said as he reached for the packet of biscuits, his face set in a manic grin, "may I have another?"

  Chapter 30

  The hospital room was still dark, but the sunlight had managed to break through the clouds enough to clothe the room in twilight. Through the half-open door, he heard nurses walking past, medicine carts traveling through the hallway on squeaky wheels and the occasional conversational fragment.

  Trey lay with his eyes closed, focused on his breathing. They had given him another sedative after Carolyn left.

  "Something to help you sleep," the nurse had said.

  Sleep? Shit, the stuff had knocked him flat. He didn't so much sleep as pass out. The next time he opened his eyes, the sunlight had shifted. A look at the clock on the wall told him it was already 3 p.m. Alan's school day would soon be at an end.

  Trey felt his heart rate rise. He closed his eyes again, and imagined Alan's happy face. His heartbeat slowed a bit.

  Carolyn would pick him up. Carolyn would walk or drive him home. It would all be okay.

  The thing at his bedside. The ghoul dressed in the the ice cream man's uniform. It had surprised and scared the hell out of him. But hadn't there been something else? Something familiar? The thing had... rasped.

  Trey felt something click in his mind. Raspy voice. The long nose. The eyes. They had been yellow and then turned green. Closet Man green. Something was so--

  "You sleeping, Trey?"

  He didn't bother opening his eyes, but smiled. "I've been lying here for hours waiting for you to show up."

  "Uh-huh," Kinkaid said.

  Trey opened his eyes and watched as she entered the room.

  "I wanted to make sure we weren't going to need the rubber room."

  "Oh," he growled, "you tell that to all the crazy people?"

  "Only the ones that need to hear it."

  "Quack," he said.

  Kinkaid stared at him, a mischievous grin on her face. It was infectious.

  "So, what do you have to say for yourself?"

  She bent down and looked at his chart. "Nothing serious. Been getting updates on you from the nurses every couple of hours. They say you slept like a baby."

  "Slept? Fuck," he whispered, "more like they kicked my head in. What the fuck was that shit?"

  "Just something to keep my favorite psycho asleep until I got here."

  "Ah," Trey said. "So your bedside manner is only at your convenience?"

  She put the clipboard down, her smile fading a bit. "You aren't my only patient, Trey. Just the only patient I'm currently interested in."

  "Quack," he growled.

  Kinkaid pulled over a chair and sat down beside him. "They've cleared your concussion. You're out of the woods."

  "Just like that?"

  She nodded. "Just like that. Last time the nurse peered in your eyes and asked you your name, you actually passed the test." She licked her lips. "Now let's talk about the hard stuff."

  He sighed. "You're going to commit me."

  The grin on her face disappeared. She sucked in a breath. "Trey? You checked yourself in. Even though you're in the hospital ward, that doesn't really mean much. You asked me to more or less admit you for treatment, and that's what we're doing." Trey said nothing. "Do you remember the last time we did this?"

  "Yes," Trey said, his voice flat. "You asked me to admit myself. And I did."

  She nodded. "And I let you out again, didn't I?" He said nothing. "Last time you'd hurt yourself. You'd hurt your wife." She paused. "Do you want to do that again?"

  "Fuck no," Trey said at once, his voice loud in the quiet room.

  Kinkaid didn't flinch, but her smile returned. "Good. Now. Do you have any questions?"

  "Just until the delusions pass?"

  She nodded, her smile growing sad. "Yes. Once we're sure you're not going to have any more hallucinations, I'll kick your ass out of here." She chuckled. "I like my favorite psycho being on the streets. It's good for my reputation."

  "Uh-huh."

  "Trey, there's someone I would like to bring in on your treatment." She paused again, staring into his eyes, unblinking. "Is that okay?"

  "Who?"

  "You'll meet him tomorrow, if you agree. I think you'll like him."

  "Okay," he said. "Guess I'm going to have to sign something?"

  She shrugged. "Actually, I'm going to have Carolyn sign something. Although it's really just a formality. I wanted to get your consent, though. Don't want you wasting anybody's time by being more of a pain in the ass than you already are."

  "Okay, fine. I give you my verbal consent to bring in someone else to fuck with my brain."

  "Good," she said with a laugh. "The more quacks, the better, right?"

  The smile was getting to him again. His lips turned upward of their own accord. "Bring in a fucking flock of geese if you think it's going to help."

  "Sure. I will, believe me. Now," she said and pulled a notebook from her valise, "can you talk to me about your visitor?"

  He shivered and turned away from her toward the side of the bed where the thing had been. "What do you want to know?"

  "Can you describe him to me?"

  Trey shrugged and looked back at her. "It was the ice cream man, again. But..."

  "But, what? What did he say to you?"

  That voice. The rasping voice. The green eyes. "You dirty, little boy! You're coming back with me! Or I'll split you in half like I should have!"

  The shiver wracked his entire body. The voice echoed in his brain. "He told me he was going to take me back."

  She furrowed a brow. "Back? He was going to take you back? Where?" she asked.

  "I-- I don't know," he whispered.

  She nodded and scribbled in the notebook. She dropped it to her knees, her hands clasped atop it. "You remembered something this time, didn't you?"

  "Yes," he said. "The voice. It was-- I've heard it before." He looked away from her again, staring at the hal
f-open door. "I just can't remember where," Trey whispered.

  "Shhh. It's okay, Trey." She clucked her tongue. "Do you remember who you were talking to last time you had an incident?" He shook his head. She picked up the notebook, thumbed through the pages until she encountered a sticky note. "According to Carolyn, you said 'You leave him the fuck alone.'" She looked up at him. "Does that mean anything to you?"

  Trey thought for a moment. Who the hell had he been talking to? That voice. The rasp.

  "I was telling him to leave Alan alone."

  She inched forward in the chair, leaning toward him. "Who were you telling, Trey? Who?"

  "The-- The man," he whispered.

  A tall figure, dressed in jeans that smelled like dirt and oil, a soiled denim jacket covering broad shoulders. Dirt encrusted work boots. A belt swinging from one hand. Frantic green eyes staring with malevolence.

  The sound of snapping fingers caught his attention and he looked over at her. "Still with me?" she asked, her brows furrowed. "Still with me, Trey?"

  He swallowed hard. "How long this time?"

  She shrugged. "About a minute. What did you see?"

  "The-- The man." His vision began to blur..

  "Stay with me, Trey," she whispered.

  His vision snapped back, the world once again solidifying around him.

  "I need you to take some deep breaths, okay? Deep breath." She pulled in a lungful of air and held it. As he watched her, he found himself doing the same. She exhaled slowly, Trey following suit. "Good," she said. "Keep doing that for a moment, okay?" Trey nodded. "Now close your eyes."

  The room disappeared behind his lids. He heard her shift in her chair, but continued the breathing. The world spun a little and then righted itself. Alan's face floated across his mind.

  "Now," she said, "can you picture the man?"

  Alan's face melted, a long nose pushing its way through the boy's smile, long teeth crunching through his cheeks. Trey opened his eyes and sat up in bed, screaming.

  Chapter 31

  The final bell rang. The twenty children in the room had been shifting in their seats the last ten minutes. Even as the teacher read aloud from their history text, Alan knew none of the class was listening.

  All he'd heard at lunch that day was about the Ice Cream Man. Kids talking about how nice he was, how he helped them count out the change, and always had something to recommend.

  Alan said nothing while his classmates blathered on about the Ice Cream Man. When they asked why he hadn't met the Ice Cream Man, Alan had only shrugged-- he didn't want to tell them.

  It was at recess, though, when the day had gotten bad. He was playing on the monkey bars, throwing one hand in front of the other, swinging across them in the darkened afternoon when Jimmy Keel walked over with his three friends. The rest of the children knew they were the bullies, the ones who would trip you when you were late to class, or steal your lunch. They were bigger. Mean. Jimmy was the largest of the group and by far the worst.

  "Hey, freak," Keel called to him as Alan stepped off the monkey bars. Alan said nothing, ignoring him and going to the other end to start again. "Hey, freak, I'm talking to you," Keel said from behind him.

  Alan continued to say nothing. He just put one hand in front of the other, swinging from one metal bar to the next.

  "Your dad is shit-house nuts," Keel growled.

  Alan dropped from the monkey bars, landing on his feet beneath the horizontal metal ladder. A sudden flush of heat had filled him. His skin had become volcanic, cheeks burning with... What? Rage? Embarrassment? He turned, listening to Keel's laughter.

  The other three boys with him looked at one another, giggling.

  "What did you say?" Alan asked in his high-pitched voice.

  Keel stepped forward with slow, deliberate steps. His savage smile displayed all of his ivory teeth. "I said your dad is shit-house nuts." Keel advanced a few more steps until he stood just in front of Alan, his face staring down into Alan's flushed face. "What do you say to that?"

  "I don't know what you're talking about," Alan said.

  Alan tried to step around Keel, but the boy moved back in front of him. "My brother saw your old man yesterday, freak." Keel chuckled. "Said your old man freaked out and then went face first into the fucking pavement." The boy spat into the dirt, right next to Alan's shoe. "Your dad's afraid of the Ice Cream Man, you wuss," Keel said.

  Alan tried to step around him again. Keel matched the move. "Leave me alone," Alan whispered.

  "Ah, little sissy boy. You afraid of the Ice Cream Man, too?" The other three boys behind Keel giggled again. Jimmy turned back to them, laughing. "See," he said to them, "he's afraid too." Jimmy turned back to Alan, bending down so his foul breath chuffed into Alan's face. "A crazy little pussy, just like your dad."

  The lava of rage that had been building in his stomach overflowed. Alan's left leg shot up in a soccer kick that connected with Keel's balls. Keel let out a whimpering breath and fell to his knees. The three boys behind him all winced, their faces surprised o's.

  The memory of his father, laying on the pavement, his mother kneeling over him, and the Ice Cream Man standing above them filled his mind. A single tear welled up in his eye and he wiped it away. "Don't you ever talk about my dad that way again," Alan whispered.

  He walked past Jimmy's kneeling form. Keel's bully buddies moved out of his way to let him pass. "I'm going to get you for that," Keel shrieked from behind him.

  Alan didn't turn around. He just continued walking toward the swings where he knew Mrs. Sinclair would be.

  The rest of the afternoon, the children whispered. They wouldn't talk to him. Some looked at him with a new found reverence. Others practically crossed themselves.

  He knew what they were thinking: he was a dead man. Jimmy Keel and his friends would catch him. Not today, since his mother was coming to pick him up. But one day soon. They'd catch him, and they'd beat him up.

  When the school bell sounded, Alan stuffed his small notebook in his backpack and pulled it up. The teacher was babbling something, but Alan didn't pay attention. He made his way through the doors and into the hallway.

  Sure enough, Keel and his boys were standing at the wall near the school exit. The four of them glowered at him as he passed, but said nothing. He knew why, too. The Assistant Principal, Mr. Herman, was within earshot. Alan didn't bother making eye contact with them. He knew he'd pay for what he did, but not that day.

  Alan walked through the school doors while the smaller kids ran past him. The ice cream van's cheery, loud bells rang across the playground. A crowd had already gathered in front of the white van. Alan walked toward the parking lot and stopped. His mother wasn't there yet.

  He turned and stared back toward the ice cream van. Even through the trees, he could make out the Ice Cream Man's bobbing head as he exchanged treats for the pocket money.

  "You're fucking dead," a voice from behind him said.

  Startled, Alan turned. Jimmy Keel stood alone, his feet on the park- ing lot's cement curb. His grim face highlighted the hate in his eyes.

  Alan felt a pang of fear, and then remembered what the boy had said about his father. "Not today," Alan whispered.

  Keel grinned. "No," he said, "not today. But I'll get you, you little shit." Keel walked past him, purposely bumping him hard with his elbow.

  Alan's ribs screamed in pain but he forced himself to stay quiet. "I'm going to see the Ice Cream Man," he said. He turned around and glared at Alan. "I'm not a pussy like your daddy." He smiled at Alan, his eyes still filled with that glittering rage. He flipped Alan off and then made his way toward the van.

  Alan watched the boy make his way toward the Ice Cream Van. The Ice Cream Man had made short work of the crowd and most of the children had left, heading home. Jimmy Keel's tall, bulky form strutted through the copse of trees.

  "Alan!" a voice yelled behind him. He turned. His mother's car was behind him now, parked in the space. "You ready?"

&n
bsp; He took one look back and watched Jimmy Keel standing at the edge of the curb, staring into the Ice Cream Van.

  "Yeah, Mom." He turned back toward her. She looked like she'd had a rough day. He felt...like crying. She looked a little lost, a little scared. He choked back the feeling and forced himself to smile. "Daddy isn't here to make her smile," he thought, "so it's my job now."

  Chapter 32

  Dinner was blessedly short. Mommy took Alan to Chipotle where they each had a burrito, although Alan didn't feel much like eating. He knew from the moment she picked him up that she'd seen Daddy. The worried look on her face and the way her eyes didn't make contact with his told him everything he needed to know. But Mommy still tried to talk to him, as best she could.

  In as few words as possible, he related his day, leaving out the confrontation with Jimmy Keel and the hallway whispers. She didn't need to know any of that.

  When he asked how her day was, her face grew pale. "It was a day," she'd told him. "Daddy said he loves you."

  Alan had smiled at that. "Is Daddy okay?"

  Mommy nodded. "Dr. Kinkaid is taking care of him. They've got his broken arm all fixed up and he's sleeping a lot."

  Although he didn't say it, Alan knew what that meant. Daddy was sleeping a lot because they were making him sleep. Daddy had looked so lost in the hospital. Lost and in pain. Alan had wiped at his eyes, but said nothing.

  Sitting in the living room with his math book in front of him, Alan read the word problem again and again, but none of it made sense. His mother sat on the couch, a book splayed open on her lap. He didn't think she was really reading either

  "Mommy?"

  She looked up from the book. "Yes, dear?"

  "When can I see Daddy?"

  Her face froze and then slowly relaxed. "Daddy will let us know."

  Alan nodded. "Is it bad?" Mommy didn't answer. She broke eye contact with him, staring down again at the book in her lap. Alan felt a wave of depression wash over him.

  "Is it as bad as last time?"

  She didn't look up. "I don't know," she whispered. "I just don't know." A tear slid down her face.