Closet Treats

by Paul E. Cooley

  Alan's lips curved up just the slightest bit. "Hi, Daddy." He stopped in front of his father, holding his pack by one strap. "It was okay, I guess."

  Trey nodded. "Then why so glum?"

  Dropping his pack to the ground, Alan rummaged and brought out a slip of paper. He handed it to his father, holding it between thumb and forefinger. Alan looked as though the paper might bite him.

  Trey took it from his son and opened it. He scanned it and then looked back at Alan. "Do you know this boy?"

  Alan nodded.

  Trey folded the piece of paper and slipped it into the back pocket of his jeans. "I saw his mother this morning."

  Alan looked up at him. "He's still not home, is he?"

  Trey shook his head. "No, kiddo. He's not." Trey placed his hand on his son's shoulder. "When did you last see him?"

  Alan said nothing for a moment.

  "Come on, give."

  "We had a fight the other day."

  "Um, fight?" Trey asked. "What kind of fight?"

  Alan stared down at the ground. "Jimmy's a bully, Dad."

  "Ah," Trey said. "So what happened?"

  Alan shrugged again. "He said some mean things, so I kicked him in the balls."

  Struggling to keep from laughing, Trey managed to keep his face serious. "That, um, that's not good, Alan."

  "No," he said. "It's not."

  Trey sighed. "Come on, let's walk." Alan looked up at Trey, his expression confused. "Oh, you're in trouble, all right. But," he said, kissing the top of Alan's forehead, "I can tell you're being punished already." Alan blinked his eyes and then dropped them again. "Let's walk."

  Alan lifted the pack back up, making sure to loop both arms through the straps. They walked toward the road, Trey's eyes locked on the ice cream van. There were only two kids getting treats.

  "Did you see Jimmy again after that?"

  Alan nodded. "He met me here the day Mommy picked me up." Alan followed Trey's gaze to the Ice Cream Man. "He said he was going to get me."

  "Sounds about normal," Trey said. "What happened then?"

  With a shrug, Alan pointed toward the ice cream van. "He went that way. I think he went to buy something from the Ice Cream Man." Alan wrinkled his nose. "I don't like him."

  "No one likes bullies, Alan. Except for other bullies."

  Alan shook his head. "No, Daddy. I don't like Jimmy, but I don't like the Ice Cream Man even more."

  The Grubby Man, Trey thought. No, it's not the grubby man. "I understand that, too," Trey whispered. They walked in front of the van, still far enough away he could barely make out the man's hands as he exchanged money with the two young customers. "So what did you and Jimmy fight about?"

  Alan said nothing.

  "Alan?"

  "Yes, Daddy," Alan said, refusing to look up at his father.

  "What did you fight about?"

  "You," Alan whispered.

  "Me?"

  "Yes, Daddy," Alan said. "He heard about... your accident."

  "Ah," Trey said with a nod. "So. What did he say?"

  "That you were crazy. That you were afraid of the Ice Cream Man."

  "And that bothered you?"

  "Yes," Alan agreed.

  "Why?"

  Alan looked up at him. They had made it past the ice cream van without Trey seeing anything. Alan swung a quick look back toward it and then stared up at his father. "Because you're not crazy," Alan said. "You're my Daddy and you're not crazy."

  The two continued walking in silence for a moment, watching the cars make their way up the street. "Do you think you're crazy because I am?" Trey asked.

  "You're not crazy," Alan snarled.

  "I am, you know." He pinched his thumb and forefinger nearly together and smiled wide. "But just a little bit."

  Alan giggled. "Okay, Daddy. Maybe a little."

  "But," Trey said, his voice losing all trace of humor, "that doesn't mean you are. Okay?"

  "Okay," Alan said in return, his voice flat. "I don't like the Ice Cream Man."

  Trey nodded. "I don't either."

  "He--" Alan broke off and cleared his throat. "I saw--" He stopped speaking again. What had he seen? Something moving through the woods. Something near the ice cream van. But he had no idea what it was.

  "What's that, Alan? What'd you see?"

  "Nothing," Alan said. "I saw nothing."

  They walked in silence the rest of the way home. Alan watched the tree line, looking to see if anything followed them, but there was nothing there. A part of him wished there was, so he could show Daddy. So he could prove neither of them was crazy. But nothing happened. They didn't see the ice cream van on the way home.

  Chapter 44

  The winter wind rose and fell. Behind closed eyes, Trey imagined the pines and the naked oaks swaying to the beat. A branch outside the windows scratched at the Hardie Plank. Meant to trim that one, Trey thought.

  The bathroom door opened and he heard Carolyn's soft footsteps across the carpet. The bed barely moved as she lay down next to him, pulling the covers up over her body. He felt her cool flesh rub up against him, her breasts pressing against his back.

  He purred. "Ready to go to sleep?"

  She kissed the side of his neck and wrapped an arm around him. "How you doing, baby?" she asked.

  He smiled in the darkness. "I'm doing okay."

  "Did you--" She paused for a moment. He listened to her breathing, the feel of her heart beating in her chest. "Did you see anything today?"

  "No," Trey said. "Nothing to speak of."

  "Good," she whispered. For a moment, neither said a word. Trey felt the gentle tug of sleep and began to fall into its void when she said "Alan was pretty quiet tonight."

  As much as he wanted to let go and disappear into sleep, he fought to stay awake. "We didn't talk about James Keel tonight," Trey whispered.

  "I read the slip of paper he brought home."

  "Yes," Trey said. "Alan knows the Keel kid." He paused. "I met his mother this morning." He listened as Carolyn took in a deep breath. "I watched her putting up those signs. Poor woman was freezing."

  "Jesus, Trey," she whispered.

  "Yeah." Trey rolled onto his back. Carolyn sidled over a bit to allow him more room, and then lay her head on his shoulder, her legs entwin- ing with his. "I told her we'd find the kid."

  "Where do you think he is?"

  Trey shrugged. "I don't know, baby. But Alan had a fight with him the day he disappeared. Think he's feeling pretty guilty."

  "What did they fight about?"

  "Me," Trey said with a sigh. Carolyn was silent. "Guess James said some unflattering things about me." He chuckled. "Alan took exception and nutted him."

  "Oh, boy," Carolyn said. She squeezed him close to her. "Is Alan okay?"

  "I told him that wasn't the right thing to do. I handled it."

  "Okay," she said and kissed his neck once more. "Should I talk to him about it?"

  Trey yawned. "Let him come to you, baby. He's pretty embarrassed about it."

  She curled her fingers in his chest hair. "Okay," she said again, kissing him again on the neck, her lips lingering longer than before.

  "Better stop that," he said with a sigh.

  "Just glad you're home, baby," she whispered in his ear. Her hand moved lower, grasping him. He let out a soft growl.

  "Getting up early to play disc golf with Dick," he mumbled as she caressed him.

  She chuckled. "Then I better get started," she said, nibbling his ear.

  Chapter 45

  Wind, driving rain, and the apocalypse were the only natural conditions that would ever keep Dick from playing disc golf. At least that's what he always told Trey. Saturday morning, Trey dressed in his sweat pants, a thick pair of socks, and a Houston Aeros sweatshirt.

  Carolyn and Alan had already left the house, on some mission of errands he guessed. That meant there might be breakfast when he got home. The thought made him smile.

  He filled a travel mug wit
h coffee, grabbed his disc bag, and headed out the front door. Dick was already in his driveway, disc gear in hand, and leaning against the Regretta.

  Trey smiled. "We ready to rock?" he yelled across the street.

  Dick looked at him and then the sky. It had clouded up over night, sealing in the chill. "Yeah, I think it's just about cold enough to whip your ass but good," he drawled.

  "I bet," Trey said with a laugh.

  Dick waved him over, opened the trunk, and Trey tossed in his bag of discs. Dick followed suit with his own and closed the trunk with a bang. The car shuddered. Trey laughed. "You sure you didn't break it this time?"

  "Shit, you kidding?" Dick stepped in and put the key in the ignition. The car chuffed and spat as he tried to start it. "Fuck," he said.

  Trey laughed, opening the passenger door. "You want me to push?" Dick turned his head, eyes glaring at Trey. "Okay, forget I asked." Trey sipped his coffee.

  Dick stomped on the gas pedal and turned the key at the same time. The engine roared to life and then settled into a constant purr. "There we go," Dick said. He gave Trey the finger, took the car out of park and they rolled down the driveway.

  At nine in the morning with the temperature hovering at just over 43 degrees, the usual joggers and dog walkers were conspicuously absent from the sidewalks. Even the morning breakfast traffic seemed sparse. Trey looked over at Dick as he kicked on the Regretta's heat.

  "We're going to freeze to death on the first hill," Trey chuckled.

  Dick turned to him and smiled. "Wuss," he said. "You been here in Texas your whole damned life. You're lucky. Try living in the Great White North."

  "Whatever," Trey said. "I bet you weren't crazy enough to play disc golf in the freakin' winter up there."

  The older man shook his head. "Hell, no. Just crazy enough," he said, "to go sledding in zero degree weather with snow blowing sideways."

  "And let me guess," Trey grinned, "it was uphill both ways?"

  "Something like that, young'n," Dick said.

  They were both quiet for a moment as the Regretta wound through the twists and turns heading for the disc golf course. As they pulled in, Dick pointed at the parking lot. "See? We're not the only ones." A number of cars were parked. Trey watched as a stray disc flew high into the air, stalled and then swerved off into the ground. "And it looks like the wind might make things interesting."

  Trey groaned. "I haven't played in a week and you get me out here in the frozen tundra and shrieking wind?"

  "Oh for fuck sake, Trey. It's a 2 mile an hour wind and it's the mid forties." He parked the car and pulled the keys. Dick turned to Trey and slapped him playfully on the shoulder. "Stop being a pussy."

  "And here I thought you Canadians didn't curse."

  "Shit," Dick said laughing, "I've been down here too long, hanging out with Texas scum like you."

  They stepped out of the warmth, retrieved their bags from the trunk, and headed toward the practice tee. As Dick pulled out a disc to throw through the trees at the first basket, he looked at Trey. "Everything okay, man?"

  "Yeah," Trey said. "I'm, um, better."

  "Good," Dick said. He turned back to the brush choked, wood-lined path. He pulled in a deep breath and then forehanded the disc into the air at chest level. The disc flew between the trees, pinging the metal basket stand, bouncing off the post, and landing a yard shy of the basket. "Fuck."

  "Yeah," Trey said. "Shitty throw. You should practice more."

  "Asshole," Dick breathed and stepped back.

  Trey stepped up to the starting line painted on the concrete path. He took a deep breath and backhanded his disc with a tight snap at the end of the arc. The disc wobbled from the spin, veering the slightest bit to the right, far enough for it to slam into a thin pine. The disc bounced off the trunk and flew at a diagonal. It landed about fifteen feet shy of the basket in heavy brush.

  "Wow," Dick said. "That was a stellar throw. Just like last week." He winked at Trey. "Championship worthy."

  Saying nothing, Trey reached down, picked up his bag, and began walking. The recent rains had left the ground pliable and sticky. He just knew his sneakers were going to be covered in mud by the ninth basket. Dick walked with him, pointing to the disc trapped in a pile of dead branches and leaves. Trey walked over to it, picked it up from the brush and held it. "How much you bet I can get it into the basket from right here?"

  Dick shrugged. "Using that disc, or another one?"

  "This one."

  "I will bet you breakfast," Dick said with a grin. "An expensive La Madeleine breakfast."

  "Oh, fuck," Trey said. "No bet, man. I've seen you eat." With Dick's laughter as a soundtrack, Trey tossed the disc softly toward the basket where it landed just in front. "Not bad, though."

  "You know," Dick said, "you can talk to me about anything you need to."

  Trey walked out of the brush and glanced at Dick. "Yeah, I know." He walked and retrieved his disc, not bothering to throw it in the basket. Dick nodded and got his own. "First tee?"

  "You're brave today," Dick said.

  "I'm out here with you, aren't I?" Trey stopped and turned toward Dick. He raised his eyebrows. "Aren't you going to--"

  Dick shook his head. "Not today, bro."

  Trey laughed. "You run out already?"

  "Shit no!" Dick said. "Just don't feel like it." Trey shrugged and turned back to the first tee.

  The course, once a giant landfill, had been molded into contoured hills. They were steep and inevitably channeled the wind. As the two men struggled up to the first tee, a cold blast hit them both. Trey looked at Dick, smiling as the older man shivered. "Pussy," he said.

  Puffing from the exertion, Dick smiled. "Uh-huh. Keep talking like that, boy, while I kick your ass with my par shots."

  "Right," Trey agreed. "Because I never get those."

  "Damned right you don't." They reached the top of the hill. Dick laid his bag down on the ground with care while Trey dropped his next to the tee marks. "Mugs go first," Dick said.

  Trey sighed. "One day I'm going to get to say that to you, you damned Canuck."

  "One day," Dick agreed. "When Texas becomes part of Canada, maybe."

  The metal basket gleamed in the channel between the tree branches. Trey started to throw and then stopped. The pines, oaks, and sweet gums were all mixed together, their branches snaking in and out, creating a face made of wood. It grinned at him. It was the Grubby Man. No, he thought, not the grubby man. The fiend. The Ice Cream Man. Trey shook his head.

  "What's wrong, man?" Dick asked. Trey turned to him and shook his head again. Dick walked forward, placing a hand on Trey's shoulder. "Hey, man. You got that look in your eyes again."

  "Just give me a sec," Trey said. He closed his eyes, but the shape was still there. "Fuck," he said.

  Dick tapped him again on the shoulder. "Take as long as you need, kid." Trey opened his eyes and looked back into the brush. He couldn't see the shape anymore. He blew out a long sigh.

  "That guy creeps me out too, you know," Dick said.

  "Who?" Trey asked. He turned back toward Dick, ignoring the tee.

  "The guy. The Ice Cream Man. Think he said his name was Reggie."

  Trey nodded. "Carolyn said he'd come by the house."

  "Yeah," Dick said, "and he freaked her the hell out." Trey said nothing. Dick leaned against the course post, his disc dangling from his fingers. "I don't like him."

  "Glad you're not the only one," Trey muttered.

  "No, man. You don't get it," Dick said. "I like everybody. And I don't like this guy. Anyone who hides their eyes like that--"

  Trey frowned. "What do you mean he hides his eyes?"

  "When he showed up at your house," Dick said, "he was wearing that hat. That porky thing. Anyway, he had it slung way down. Never got a really good look at his face, other than that damned nose. And his teeth? Christ."

  Dropping his disc to the ground, Trey rubbed his hands together to keep them warm. "Teeth? Dick
, tell me what you saw, man."

  He shrugged. "They were, I don't know, abnormal or something. Guy could use a trip to the dentist. Fucking things were curved bad. And they were stained. And his breath," he shuddered. "Smelled like he'd been eating turds."

  Trey laughed. "Turds, eh?"

  "You know what I mean. Like he hadn't brushed his teeth in forever. Guy belongs in a Listerine commercial."

  Trey's expression flatlined. "What do you think?"

  "That depends," Dick said. "What do you see when you look at him, Trey?" Dick's mouth was set in a thin line, his eyes glittering in anticipation.

  Shifting to lean on one foot, Trey looked down at the ground. He tried to find the words, and then gave up. "I'll sound crazy, man."

  "Fuck that, Trey," Dick spat. The sound was enough to make Trey look at him. "Tell me what you see."

  Dick didn't look like he wanted to know. Dick looked as though he had to know. "I see a ghoul."

  "A what?" Dick asked.

  Trey sighed. "Told you, you wouldn't--"

  "Shut up and describe it."

  It. Trey blinked at him and frowned. "I see eyes. Glowing yellow eyes with crimson fire for pupils." Trey took in a deep breath. "I see an impossibly long nose, canines dripping with saliva and hunger. I see talons for fingers."

  Dick shuddered. "You have one fuck of an imagination," he said. Trey opened his mouth to say something and Dick put a hand out to silence him. "You have psychosis." Trey nodded. "You see things that aren't there." Trey nodded again. "But," Dick said, licking his lips, "how do you know they're not there?"

  Trey blinked at him. "I-- Well, um, people don't see--"

  "I see," Dick whispered. "I don't see the-- the thing the way you do, but Reggie's not, well, normal."

  "Dick," Trey said, "what do you know?" Dick dropped his eyes and rolled the disc between his fingers. "Dick? I know I'm crazy. What about you?"

  Dick shook his head. "I'm not crazy, Trey." He stared into Trey's eyes. "I'm not." Dick let out a sigh. "I've been watching that fucking van go around the cul-de-sac for days." He brushed his free hand against his beard. "I hear those damned bells in my sleep." Dick was silent for a moment, looking up at the sky as if to gather his thoughts. "So, I thought I'd call the Yummy Company to complain."