The Ice Scream Man

by Salmon, J. F.

  Of more interest to him was the fear their work had on audiences. Ordinary people were physically leaving their seats and running for the door when the Exorcist hit the screens for the first time. Others threw up in the aisles. He had all the movies representing their work, of course, and spent hours watching stills while trying to recreate impressions and variations of what he saw. He was particularly fond of the Werewolf genre and he aspired to be just as creative.

  Life-casting was an essential first element to his prosthetic work and for future plans. In order to realise his fantasy, it was necessary to make a life cast of his head and face. The cast would then become the canvas for all future prosthetic work with the certainty that what he created fit comfortably. It was easier said than done. To produce a decent life cast normally required two people’s hands. Eamon only had himself as the subject and one pair of hands to work with. It meant working blind for the first and most difficult part of the process. It took seven stressful attempts working with the gloopy alginate to keep his nostrils clear and produce a cast he could confidently work with. He filled it with Ultracal 30 cement and when set, he carefully removed the cast to reveal a perfect, life-size replica of his head. It had been messy, trying work but now he was in the position to sculpt and create a variety of masks that would only be limited by his imagination. The whole world was about to find out just what his imagination was capable of.

  He placed the plate of lamb on the corner of the bench and walked to the cage. He tipped a handful of birdseed into the palm of his hand from a small carton that sat underneath the cage, pulled back the cover and absently tossed it into the cage. The bird immediately fluttered to the base of the cage and pecked furiously at the seed. He dropped the cover back down.

  “Enjoy. That’s your last supper.”

  He went back to the workbench and sat in his black leather chair. He carefully displaced the middle drawer and placed it on the wooden surface. He pulled the chair in close and rested his elbows on the bench to study his collection. Neatly laid out in perfect rows of ten-by-seven were small transparent boxes displayed with the care and attention usually given to that of butterfly anthology. He took his time studying the decadent array of theatrical contact lenses in turn, each with a thin strip of white cardboard, displaying the name of each set. The diversity was impressive by make-up accessory standards. Some, once placed on the iris, made the eye look traumatised: bloodshot, with the iris glazed and fogged over. Others were of unbroken colours that spanned the rainbow and some demonstrated quirky patterns with names that included Sith, Goliath, Bahamut, and Yellow Sclera.

  He opted for the set he called “Possessed,” pure black lenses with a dark shade of grey that defined the pupil, and set the small box to one side. He rubbed his hands in a washing motion, excited that things were finally coming together. It had been a long, disciplined wait.

  He stood up from the chair, gyrating from side to side as he strutted to the two-door cabinet. The key in the small lock turned effortlessly and the display lights turned on when he opened the doors. He turned and took a few steps back, paused for a moment, then twisted back on the soles of his shoes. He stretched out his arms like he had just finished a difficult dance routine.

  “How’s zat?” he asked aloud, admiring the cabinet’s contents.

  Ten Styrofoam heads on two shelves faced him, five on each, with equal spacing. Nine of the ten were enveloped with a prosthetic mask, each one different and all horrifyingly real in appearance. The tenth head was undressed, a work in progress soon to join the gang.

  He pondered at his genius, eyes flicking from one mask to the next, and then the next, until he reached the last. He already knew the one he wanted, that wasn’t in doubt. There was still some touch up and sealant work to be done in front of the mirror but that was no trouble.

  He went back to the bench and took a set of dentures from the shelf and inserted them into his mouth. They were comfortable. These were his most recent set with many hours spent getting them just right for the occasion, the canines long and pointed, the incisors sharp as razor blades. He picked up the leg of lamb from the plate and stood in front of the mirror. The white shirt was a nice touch. Seeing himself in the full-length stand-alone mirror for the first time with the teeth in was pleasing, very pleasing. He brought the lamb up to his mouth and bit into the leg. The teeth sank effortlessly into the meat. A couple of tugs and prising was all it took to tear away a sizeable piece.

  Everything was set to plan. Helen Dooley was indeed a very lucky lady.

  14:

  “Three blind mice see Helen run.”

  Helen Dooley quietly descended the stairs in her favourite faded black tracksuit bottoms with the purple stripes that ran down either side of the outside leg. The length fell just below the knee, showing off her toned calves. Her orange sport ankle socks matched her orange running shirt and the blue running shoes with orange laces that she strung on her fingers. Helen liked to be stylish when she ran.

  She entered the living room and saw the light on in the kitchen. She could see her Mum, Kate, through the glass panels of the door, dressed in her cream dressing gown and pouring boiling water from the kettle into a cup. Helen placed the trainers beside the armchair before pushing the kitchen door open.

  “Morning, Mum, what are you doing up so early?” she asked as she opened the top kitchen press and retrieved a beaker and a sachet of protein powder, which she began to mix with the milk left out.

  “Good morning, darling. I’ve been up a while, couldn’t sleep. Your father kept me up half the night with his snoring. You know how he is after his so-called darts night out with the boys.” She raised her eyes up to the ceiling and smiled.

  “Yep,” Helen agreed. “I could hear the snoring from my bedroom, and at the bottom of the stairs. How you ever manage to sleep beside that racket, I will never know.”

  “You just get used to it, honey. Believe me, after twenty years of marriage, you get used to anything. Besides, I wanted to be up for my little girl’s big day.”

  “Not so little anymore, Mum.”

  “I know, but you will always be my little girl.” Kate reached her hand out behind the kettle and produced a small box that Helen already had her eye on. It was gift-wrapped in Mickey Mouse paper with a card attached to it. Kate handed the parcel to her daughter. “Happy birthday, sweetheart, I couldn’t wait.”

  “Ah, thanks, Mum,” Helen said as she took the parcel and gave her a big hug and a kiss on the cheek. “What is it?”

  “Well, you’ll just have to open it to find out.”

  “Can I open it now?”

  “Why not? It’s from both of us, but if we were to wait for your dad to wake up, we could be here ’til next year. Come on, let’s sit inside. Do you want a quick cuppa?”

  “No thanks, Mum. I’ll get something once I get back from my run. You seem more excited than I do about this.”

  “Well, I am excited, honey. It is your birthday, why wouldn’t I be excited? Seventeen years ago today you gave me the best surprise of my life. Come on in here and open it up.”

  They both went to the living room. Helen put the beaker of protein shake down by her trainers and began to tear away the wrapping paper, careful not to rip through Mickey Mouse’s face. She examined the box for a moment.

  “Oh, excellent, a mobile phone! I don’t believe it.”

  “It’s the latest one on the market. You can listen to your music and even take pictures. Apparently, it can do everything except cook your dinner for you, so the man in the shop told me. It’s just as well you have me for your dinners. I don’t understand them at all. Whatever happened to the days when you could just make and receive a simple call?”

  “It’s called progress, Mum. Thanks a mil, Mum. It’s brill, just what I wanted.”

  “Don’t forget to open your card.”

 
Helen put the box aside, opened the envelope and took out the card. On the cover was a picture of a woman running with her back to the camera in an idyllic country setting. The tag line read Run with pride. Helen opened the card and read it.

  To Helen,

  Happy sweet seventeenth birthday.

  May all your dreams and wishes come true.

  You make us the proudest parents in the world.

  Love, Mum and Dad

  oxoxox

  Helen closed the card, stood it on the mantelpiece, and gave her mum another hug.

  “The card selection for birthdays wasn’t great, and I thought with your race coming up this one was more appropriate.”

  “Ah, thanks, Mum, it’s really sweet.”

  “We mean every word of it. Don’t forget to thank your dad, if he ever manages to get himself out of bed.”

  “I will, don’t worry.” Helen put on her running shoes.

  “When is the race?”

  “It’s not a race, it’s a marathon. Two weeks’ time. I need to get as much training in as possible between now and then.” Helen took a sip from the beaker.

  “Following in your father’s footsteps. I couldn’t run twenty-six feet let alone twenty-six miles. Your father was a great long distance runner, just like you, although you’d never think it looking at the state of him getting into bed last night. What time will you be home?”

  Helen smiled and looked at her watch. “Well, it’s half six now, so eight latest. I’ll only be about an hour and a half today, as it is my birthday.”

  “Well, you be careful, I don’t like you running down there in Brushy Park in the dark on your own. You promise me you won’t run down by the river. Not while it’s dark with all those overhanging trees. You’d never know who could be lurking around. Would you not wait a couple of hours or until your father gets up and he can go with you on the bike? He’d like that.”

  “Mum, we’ve had this conversation. I’ve been running the same route every morning before school for almost two months now and nothing even remotely bad has happened. Besides, nobody is ever out this time of the morning, especially on a Saturday. And the sun will be up by the time I get there. So I won’t be running in the dark. Remember, I am a big girl now and I can take care of myself. Anyway, if something was to happen, I can always run away; I’m fast, you know.”

  “I know you can, darling; I just worry, sometimes. I don’t like it. I have a feeling.”

  Helen finished off the drink and went to the front door, Kate on her heels. “Okay, I’ll be back as soon as I can. I love you, Mum. Thanks again for the phone; can’t wait to see what it does.”

  “I love you, too. Be careful.” Kate pulled the dressing gown tight around her waist to block out the slight chill. She watched her daughter run from the driveway, fumbling with a set of ear plugs and putting them in her ears. “Be careful,” Kate called after her.

  Helen raised her arm without turning around and gave her mum one last wave, knowing she would still be watching. Kate waved fruitlessly back and stood there for a moment with a doting but concerned look on her face. When Helen ran out of sight, she went back inside and closed the front door. Everything spoke of calm and routine, but Kate could not shake her sense of unease.

  The run started off like it did every other day. Helen had already run through two estates and cleared a long stretch of road before approaching the footbridge that arched over the River Liftey. Against her mother’s wishes she crossed the bridge to the path on the far side. The alternative route was to carry on straight and run along the main road where cars and buses blasted out exhaust fumes in a constant stream, making it difficult to keep pace with her breathing. To Helen’s mind, it defeated the purpose of her training and wasn’t healthy. Even though the traffic would be almost non-existent at this time on a Saturday morning, none was better than some.

  It had been raining heavily the last few days and although the rain had stopped since yesterday afternoon, the path was still wet. Water from the river was running with more ferocity than she had seen in some time. Helen reached for the volume and turned the music down to silent. She preferred to listen to Mother Nature’s Surround Sound on this part of the run. She enjoyed watching the rush of the water as it splashed and bucked against the bank and under the bridge as she reached the far side. Another couple of feet higher and there would have been no path to run on. It had happened in the past.

  Once across the bridge, the path ran alongside a high wall that enclosed Brushy Park, one of the largest parks in the city of Farnham. People visited the park from all walks of life. It was open to families who came to the park for a picnic or to feed the ducks and swans down by the manmade lake. Others walked their dogs through the forested area and specially mapped-out nature trails. The numerous playing fields accommodated groups of all ages who gathered to play football, rugby and softball. Others flew their kites or tossed Frisbees. Helen especially liked the smell of wild garlic that grew beyond the wall. It smelt of Chinese food, her favourite. The park was busiest on weekends and during the summer months. Liftey River was also a popular fishing spot at the time of year when the river was replenished with fresh trout and the fishing permits were issued.

  The run was a delight with no two days the same. The early mornings meant the path and riverbank teemed with wildlife, often caught off guard scavenging for their breakfast. A countless variety of birds habituated the branches of the trees, calling out to one another in a mix of broken song. Squirrels frequently scurried across the path in front of her and scampered up the trees of the bank—never with nuts in their tiny paws, she noticed. Ducks and swans floated effortlessly down the river with siblings in toe, periodically plunging their heads into the water to try to catch whatever it was they liked to eat. Not on this morning, though, the water being what it was. Water rats were but seldom seen, but commonly heard rustling in the bush under the bank, often sending Helen closer to the wall.

  The most interesting sight was when an otter came out of the river on the far bank with a fish caught in its mouth. She’d stopped and watched in wonder from behind a tree as it took its time to eat its prey and then disappear into a hole on the side of the bank. She wished she had a camera to capture the moment. Once she got familiar with her new phone and downloaded all her songs onto it, she would never miss another opportunity like that. All these things made Helen feel at one with nature and at peace. It made her appreciate the gift and wonder of life. Her mind would drift effortlessly off into a dreamlike state and before she knew it, she would have covered a couple of kilometres without any recollection of it. Running the road on the opposite side of the river was never really an option when you had all this.

  There was evidence of activity on the path that was not so tranquil. Goings-on which were taking place after the sun went down when the gates of the park were locked up by one of the groundskeepers. It made her aware that the world was not always so perfect. There was evidence of groups or gangs of teenagers indiscriminately drinking and leaving their empty beer cans, two-litre bottles of cider, naggins of vodka and cans of coke strewn at intervals on the path, where small alcoves along the wall were used as temporary camps before heading off to one of the local discos. Bins were never far away, but rarely used. Discarded cigarette butts defined the perimeters of space and the size of the group. It was definitely not a time for running, unless you were running away. Saturday and Sunday mornings were the worst for the rubbish.

  At this time of the morning when the sun was making its move to daylight, Helen experienced nothing more than nervous energy and felt safe. Rarely was there any news of attacks on the path, none that Helen could remember hearing on the news or reading in the papers. And Mum would definitely have brought such news to her attention, forbidding her to ever run the path on her own again, day or night. But it still didn’t mean the path was free from violence or
mishap. She had seen splatters of blood on the path on occasion, which creeped her out a bit, probably members of the gangs fighting among themselves. She put those sights to the back of her mind and calmed her nerves by using the surge of energy to pick up her pace. By nine o’clock in the morning all trace of underage drinking would vanish from view, thanks to the state, and the pathway would return to its tranquil setting, ready for anybody who wanted to use it. At this time of the morning, with the sun coming up, there was hardly a soul to be seen. The runners and dog-walkers would not be out for another hour or two, many of whom Helen had become familiar with on her later runs.

  She decided to turn the volume back up as the sound of the river gave little chance of hearing anything else. She hummed along to some tune that picked itself randomly from a list of over a hundred and looked at her watch. She had been running for over thirty minutes and was making good time. The sun was high enough in the sky to make her feel she was no longer running in the dark but the path was dimly lit due to the overcast sky and the branches that intertwined from the river bank and the far side of the wall.

  With her eyes following the run of the wall, she recognised the all-too-familiar shapes of cans and bottles strewn on the ground. One of the larger cider bottles had separated itself from the cluster to the centre of the path. Helen advanced toward the bottle with a level of revulsion. She timed her run with the intention of kicking the plastic bottle back into the cluster and off the path. Just as her foot was about to strike, she perceived what appeared to be a healthy mound of dog excrement resting up against the bottle. At least she hoped it was. She stopped short of contact, knowing that it could have splashed up and got her in the eyes, nose, and mouth. Her momentum managed to carry her foot over the bottle and miss it by mere centimetres. She almost lost her balance in the process. She held her remaining breath in case a single molecule that may be contaminated could fly off it and into her mouth or get sucked up her nose. She held it for as long as possible before puffing out the last bit of air from her lungs. Just in case that it too was contaminated. Then she cupped her hands around her mouth and sucked in what she hoped would be a fresh gulp of air and continued to run.