Closet Treats

by Paul E. Cooley

  "Mommy?" She wiped her face and looked at him. "It's going to be okay. Daddy will be back. Right?"

  A reluctant smile spread across her face. "Yes, honey. Daddy will be back."

  Alan let the conversation drop and stared back down into his book.

  "Alan?" she said after a few minutes.

  "Yes, Mommy?"

  She cleared her throat. "I want you to stay away from the Ice Cream Man."

  The shiver in her voice caught his attention. "I will, Mommy. I don't like him."

  "Good," she said, staring back into her book. "Now finish your homework, kiddo. It's getting late."

  Alan stared back down at the numbers on the page.

  The Ice Cream Man.

  He looked up at his mother.

  The whispers. The eyes. Should he tell her? He looked back down at the page, feeling his heart race. It wasn't real. No more real than The Closet Man. Mommy didn't need to hear about the whispers. She didn't need to know about the eyes.

  The pencil moved on the notebook next to the book as he scrawled answers, showing his work as always. Ten more math problems, and then he could... what? Go to sleep? Read more Harry Potter? He looked up at Mommy again. She was staring into her book, but her eyes weren't moving across the page.

  As fast as he could, Alan ran through the problems. His pencil raced down the page. As he wrote the answer to the last homework problem, he put the pencil down and took a deep breath.

  "I'm done, Mommy," he said in a breathy whisper.

  She looked up from the book. "What, honey?"

  "I'm done."

  "That's my boy," she said. "Why don't you go and get ready for bed?"

  His heart beat faster in his chest. "You'll come tuck me in?"

  "Of course," she said.

  Alan grinned. "Okay," he said. He closed the book and shoved it into his pack. With a yawn, he carried the pack to the front door and hung it from the credenza hook. He turned to the dark stairway.

  He reached for the light switch.

  "Alan," a voice whispered in his mind.

  Alan closed his eyes.

  "Alan," it whispered again. "I'm waiting for you."

  Alan flicked the light switch and took a deep breath. He opened his eyes. The stairwell was lit, the shadows and darkness had retreated. With a shuddering exhale, he trudged up the stairs and into the hallway. He walked forward and then stopped. His parents' bedroom was to his left, the open door leaving a gaping rectangle of darkness.

  "Won't be there if I don't look," he whispered. He took another deep breath and walked past the bedroom without glancing inside.

  With the hall light, the bathroom light, and that of his bedroom, few shadows remained. He brushed his teeth and made his way back to his room. He left the door open as he undressed and put on his pajamas. He turned on his lamp and then turned off the overhead light. As he crawled between the sheets, he heard the sound of his mother's footsteps on the stairs. He pulled the blankets up to his neck and stared at the ceiling.

  "Alan?" she called from the hallway with a laugh, "did you have to turn on every light in the house?"

  Alan blushed as she entered the room. "Sorry, Mommy. Forgot to turn them off," he lied.

  She nodded to him. She sat on the edge of his bed and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. "You going to sleep now?"

  He nodded. "I'm tired."

  "So am I" she yawned. "Get some sleep, kiddo. I'll take you to school tomorrow, okay?"

  "Yes, Mommy," Alan said.

  She smiled at him. "Good night, baby." She kissed his cheek, rose from the bed, and headed for the door.

  "Mommy?" She stopped and turned, her brows raised. He opened his mouth and then closed it. "Good night."

  She smiled at him and walked out of the bedroom. The lights in the hallway went out. He took a deep breath and then snapped off the lamp. The room instantly fell into darkness. Alan lay on his back, the covers up to his neck, and closed his eyes.

  "You afraid of the Ice Cream Man too?" Jimmy Keel's hateful voice whispered in his mind.

  "Yes," Alan whispered.

  "I am."

  "You should be," a rasping voice answered back.

  Alan opened his eyes and stared around the room, but nothing was there. No yellow eyes staring back at him. No menacing silhouette in the darkness. He took in a shuddering breath, closed his eyes and tried to keep the whispers at bay.

  Chapter 33

  She'd checked her work email the night before. She was going to have to go in. There was no question about it, really. A pain in the ass client was demanding another meeting to go through the final contract details. Carolyn was going to have to placate the asshole, again.

  She surely wasn't going to tell Trey about Alan having to walk home by himself. That wasn't something he'd be able to handle right now. She made a mental note to call Kinkaid when she got to the office the next morning and find out how he was doing.

  Alan had been very quiet. The two of them had shared the living room in silence while she pretended to read a book and he pretended to study. She knew he wasn't able to concentrate. She wanted to talk to him about it, but she just didn't have the energy.

  He went to bed without a fuss. She'd managed some sleep, but not much. Trey's frightened, haggard face kept flashing through her mind. The shadowy face of Reggie the Ice Cream Man did the same.

  Even in her dreams, she heard Alan saying "I want Daddy to protect us from the Ice Cream Man."

  When her alarm finally screeched in the darkness, she was glad. Once she made sure Alan was awake, she returned to her normal work ritual: shower, make-up, the choosing of clothes from the closet, the hunt for hose that didn't have a run, and the frantic effort to get coffee made and swallow down some breakfast before having to jump in the car and head for work. On top of all that, she'd also have to get Alan to school.

  As they made their way toward the school, she glanced at him. "You going to be okay walking home from school?"

  Alan nodded, his face pressed against the window. The clouds had disappeared leaving a bright, blue sky in their place. "Yes, Mommy."

  "Good. I want you to come straight home, okay?"

  He turned to her. "Okay. I'll come home and get my homework done, in case we get to see Daddy tonight."

  She pulled into the side street and parked near the thicket of pines. "You okay to walk from here?"

  "Oh, yeah," he said with a smile. He leaned over and kissed her cheek. "Bye, Mommy."

  "Love you," she said. "Have a good day."

  He opened the door and bounded out, his backpack slapping against his back as he ran up the curb.

  She shook her head and drove down the side street away from the school.

  Chapter 34

  The small windowless room was dark. Light from the hallway streamed through the small glass rectangle set into the door, barely illuminating the bottom of the sheets. Trey turned his head, looking for a clock he knew wasn't there.

  Day. Night. Didn't matter anymore. Every waking moment was just a brief interlude before the next descent into dreamless sleep. He didn't know how long he'd been awake, only that the light in the hallway had been disturbed three times by people walking past it.

  Carolyn. He wanted to call Carolyn. He wanted to talk to Alan. He wanted--

  The lights in the room began to glow. Soft. Even the gradual change from darkness to twilight stung his eyes. Trey forced them to stay open. The pain slowly subsided as the light grew and grew. After a minute or so, the darkness had fled the room. He took a deep breath and stared at the door. Was this real? Would the thing come through the door?

  As if on cue, the rectangle darkened. Someone was in the hallway. Trey took a deep breath, not knowing what to expect. His diaphragm primed itself for another throat-shredding scream.

  The door opened and a man rolled a wheelchair into the room. "Good afternoon, Mr. Leger. You have visitors."

  Trey blinked at the man. He couldn't remember the orderly's name, alth
ough he'd seen him more than once. "Visitors?" The man nodded. "my little boy?"

  The man's brow furrowed. He dropped his eyes and finished rolling the wheelchair next to the bed. "Let's go, Mr. Leger."

  Alan. Seeing Alan would make all this more real. It would banish the boogeyman, make the Ice Cream Man rest in peace. Somehow. Alan would--

  "Mr. Leger?" the orderly said again. Trey swiveled his eyes toward him, blinking. "You all right?"

  He smiled. "Sorry. That happens sometimes." The man nodded to him. Trey made his way off the bed and dropped into the chair. They'd removed his restraints sometime during the night. Although his wrists still itched, at least he no longer felt like a prisoner.

  The orderly said nothing as he rolled Trey out of the room and into the hallway.

  They passed a number of other rooms. Some were quiet; others buzzed with whispered ramblings. Trey shivered. Was that what he sounded like when the Ice Cream Man came to visit? "Am I really that insane?" he wondered.

  The hallway curved around to a much more friendly part of the ward. The walls weren't painted white, but blue. Trey smelled coffee, lunches being eaten at desks. The scents of normalcy. He sighed aloud, eyes closed, letting the aromas fill his nostrils.

  The wheelchair turned. Trey opened his eyes. The orderly wheeled him into a large room with a steel table bolted to the floor. A goateed man stood from his chair at the table, a smile on his face. Dark hair, tied back in a loose pony tail. Stylish, silver rectangular glasses glinting beneath the bright fluorescents.

  "Hello, Trey," the man said.

  Trey blinked at him.

  The man's voice was smooth, a medium tone, a slight lilt in the syllables. "My name is Tony Downs."

  Trey said nothing as the wheelchair stopped in front of the metal table.

  "Thank you, Stephen," Tony said to the orderly.

  Trey didn't turn, but heard the padded footsteps as the man left the room, closing the door behind him. Tony offered Trey his hand. Trey tepidly shook with his good hand.

  "Dr. Kinkaid asked if I'd look in on you."

  "That quack," Trey said. "She too busy to see her favorite psycho?"

  Tony laughed, his eyes dancing behind the lenses. "Not at all," Tony said. "Think of this as more of a consult."

  Trey turned toward the glass on one wall. He waved his good hand at it. "Hi, doc!" he yelled with a smile.

  "Right," Tony said. "Crazy, not stupid."

  Trey returned Tony's smile and placed his good hand on the table.

  Trey tapped his foot and stared into Tony's face. The man exuded intelligence, but also a kind of sadness. He furrowed a brow.

  "So, Tony, there something on your mind?"

  Leaning back in his chair, Tony crossed his arms in front of his chest. He tilted his head slightly, the smile disappearing from his face. "As a matter of fact, yes."

  The man stopped speaking. If not for the occasional blink of his eyes and the nearly imperceptible rise and fall of his chest, it would have been difficult to tell he was alive. The silence was broken only by muffled hallway conversations and the occasional squeak of a gurney. Trey sighed. "You going to tell me what?"

  "Glad you asked," Tony said, his lips pursing into a reserved smile. "I have a question for you. I've had it since Dr. Kinkaid told me about you."

  "Okay," Trey said. "Shoot."

  Tony nodded. "I want to know who your Ice Cream Man is."

  Trey blinked. "I-- He's the guy who drives around my neighborhood. I know he's just a delusion, but--" Trey stopped speaking.

  Tony was shaking his head, the smile wiped from his face.

  "What?" Trey asked.

  "That Ice Cream Man isn't who I'm talking about," Tony said. He drummed his fingers on the metal table, and turned in his chair. "I've read your file, Trey. I know there's some information missing from it." Tony paused, leaning forward in the chair. His breath smelled of cigarettes and coffee. "Do you?"

  "I--" Trey frowned. "I don't know what you mean." The pace of his breathing increased, but he didn't know why.

  "Do you know?" Tony said again. "Do you know what's missing?"

  "I--" Trey felt something crack the slightest bit in his mind. Something... "I don't know."

  Tony smiled, leaning back in his chair once again. Trey noticed the man's face was flushed as though he'd done something difficult. "There's nothing in your file describing your earliest childhood. Nothing but bullshit about it being a happy childhood."

  "It's not bullshit, it's--"

  "It's bullshit." Tony stood. His palms rested on the table, his face leaning closer to Trey's. The man's eyes were glittering, dancing with something malevolent.

  Trey shuddered.

  "You know it's bullshit, Trey."

  Trey leaned back in the wheelchair. "I don't want to--" He stopped speaking as he stared into Tony's manic grin. "I don't want to talk about this anymore," he said.

  Tony shook his head. "We are going to talk, Trey," Tony said with a leer.

  The image of the thing at his bedside, the thing standing over him, promising to punish him for having a child without asking permission. The thing. The Ice Cream Man. The Closet Man. It flooded his vision, saliva dripping from its canines and carrion crusted maw, razor sharp talons dangling just above its chest.

  Trey put his hand to his head. "I don't want to--"

  "Remember?" Tony asked. His voice was savage, on the verge of a shout. His eyes were changing color, turning green. "Remember? Good little boys remember," Tony said in a low growl. "Good little boys tell the truth."

  The Ice Cream Man. Long nose. White stained uniform replaced by soiled jeans, soiled black boots, a red-checkered torn flannel shirt. The Closet Man. Crooked teeth in a jaw that didn't quite close. Bright green eyes leering down at him from a smiling face.

  "Good little boys--" Trey muttered. "Good little boys ask permission." Trey wept.

  "Ask permission for what?" Tony's voice was still edged, but quieter. Tony's eyes returned to their brown color. When Trey didn't answer, the booming voice returned. "Good little boys ask permission for what?"

  "I can't!" Trey screamed, his eyes glaring up at Tony. "I can't say--"

  Tony growled, his face a mask of violence as he stepped around the table. He stood in front of Trey, leaning over him. "Ask permission!" Tony yelled at him. "Ask permission now!"

  The man before him melted, the nose growing longer, hair dripping into a crew cut, brows lengthening, cheekbones narrowing. Perfect white teeth shifted, the jaw offset. Dockers and the polo shirt morphed into the dirty, filthy thing's outfit.

  "ASK PERMISSION," it growled.

  "Don't hit me," Trey sobbed. He put his hands over his head. "I didn't mean to pee in the corner!"

  "You must ask permission," the man before him said, its fist mere inches from him. "Ask permission for everything. To eat. Even to breathe, you dirty boy. Dirty little boy." It paused, foul breath steaming into Trey's face. "Look at me, dirty little boy!"

  Trey dropped his hands, staring up into the giant, leering form.

  "You will ask permission, boy. You are never going to say anything." The man slapped a fist into his palm, the sound like a belt cracking. "You will ask permission."

  "I--" Trey sobbed. "I will ask permission," he said in a shuddering voice.

  "Ask permission to save your son!" the man screamed at him. Saliva dripped from the side of the man's mouth, droplets hitting the tile floor.

  Something fractured in Trey's mind. Alan. Alan's in trouble?

  "My son?" he breathed.

  The man before him grew a little smaller. "What have you done to Alan?"

  Rage. Pure rage. The thing wasn't a thing. It was a man. The man before him had done something to Alan. Touched his boy. Hurt his boy. Savaged his boy. Trey stood from the chair. The thing had grown shorter, almost to Trey's height.

  "Ask permission, boy."

  The fear rose again in his mind, but the rage tamped it down, overwhelming the icy feel wit
h wrathful fire. "No," Trey whispered. He took a step toward the man. "Tell me what you did to Alan." He took another step.

  The man grinned. "Ask permission, boy, and I'll tell you." The man licked his gray lips, the stench of unwashed teeth filling Trey's nose. "Ask," the man said and chuckled. "Ask now, or I tell you nothing."

  Trey's hate rose another notch. He spat the words, saliva flying with each syllable. "I ask permission to ask a question."

  "That's better," the man replied, a smile exposing crooked teeth. "Ask."

  The noxious odor. The smile. The rage. Trey took another step closer, his nose nearly touching the ugly face of the man in front of him. "What have you done to my son?"

  In an instant, the smile disappeared into a flat expressionless line. The man leaned forward, eyes filled with malice. "You. Tell. Me."

  The closet. The black. The unending darkness. The fetid smell of sour shit and stale urine. The feel of dirty carpet beneath a bare bottom. Hugging himself in the cold, the sting of endless tears down his face. The hurt in his throat from crying, from screaming. The fear. The pain. Alan. Alan was in the closet.

  Trey screamed and swung his cast toward the man's face. The man jumped backward, but too late to completely miss the blow. The cast bounced off a shoulder blade and connected with the man's chin.

  Searing pain split through Trey's mind and he crumpled to the floor. He looked up through his wavering vision, expecting to see dirty boots, soiled jeans, and that leering grin. But there were only sneakers. Dockers. And Tony Downs.

  The door swung open. Two orderlies appeared in the room, followed by Dr. Kinkaid. "Trey!" she shouted as he tried to get up. "Stay down!"

  The pain in his arm was a screaming hot needle. He fell to one knee and felt arms grab his waist. Trey collapsed into the chair, his good arm holding his bad one.

  Tears welled up from his eyes, but he smiled through it. "I'll tell you, you fucker."

  As they wheeled him out of the room, he heard Tony's soft voice. "Nice to meet you, Trey."

  Chapter 35

  Back in his room, Trey felt drained. His broken arm throbbed and he gritted his teeth against the pain. The scuffle with Tony had set his entire body into an adrenaline overdrive, but it was fading and there was little left except pain and confusion.