Anthology - Dark Whispers Part 4

WHEN JOEL HEARD the birds chirping the arrival of the sun, he opened his eyes. He hadn't been asleep, just waiting for morning, so he could go to a neighbor's house and talk. Someone must be concerned, and if they weren't, maybe they could explain exactly why the h.e.l.l they were dragging their kids out for ice cream in the middle of the night.

He got out of bed quietly, so not to wake Katherine. When he stepped outside, the sun still wasn't all the way up. Half of it showed at the horizon, burning a deep shade of orange. The fog had dissipated and everything glowed in the soft colors of a morning which was at once beautiful and unpleasant, because he was only awake at this hour when he was on his way to work.

The house next door was vacant with a "For Sale" sign posted in the lawn's dead gra.s.s, so he went to the next house over. It was a large Victorian like his own, only not as well kept. It was white and two stories, with a front window that must have been eight feet tall with beautiful white drapes that were drawn closed. Years ago the house must have been the height of elegance, but like everything else in life, time had claimed much of its beauty. Now the paint was peeling, the wood beneath was rotting, and its whole frame seemed to sag slightly, as if after years of standing regal and proud, it had grown tired in its old age.

The steps creaked as Joel ascended to the front door. There was a round steel knocker and he struck it twice, knowing full well that whoever was inside was probably asleep and would no doubt be irritated that he was waking them to ask about the ice cream man. He tried to think of another reason he could give for coming by so early. Wanted to meet his neighbors? No. Wanted to borrow something? Maybe. What would he need at six in the morning? Sugar? Coffee? Newspaper? No.

He heard the plodding thud thud thud of feet tromping down the stairs inside. Just as the door began to open, he decided that he was going to ask to borrow some medicine because his wife was sick, but when the door opened, the question froze in his throat. Standing in the doorway in pajamas, with sleep-glazed eyes, was the man Joel had seen in the street the night before. But what threw Joel was how much younger the man looked.

His hair was darker, even his bushy eyebrows, and the wrinkles on his forehead and around his eyes were less deep. Despite the changes, Joel was sure it was him, with his hard eyes and square face.

"Yes?" the man said gruffly.

"Hi,I'm sorry to bother you. I uh ... wanted to ask if I could, uh..." d.a.m.n, Joel thought, what was it? "borrow some..." s.h.i.+t, borrow what? "Some medicine," he said with relief. "My wife's feeling sick to her stomach and she asked me to come over here and get some medicine."

"Come on in," the man said, sounding not the least bit pleased.

Joel followed him in and closed the door. The house looked even older and more run down on the inside. Everything was covered in a thin layer of dust and the furniture was old and tattered. There was an old TV with a small, nearly round screen in the living room. The couch and love seat were made of a coa.r.s.e brown fabric that was frayed on the armrests, exposing the white stuffing. There was a hardwood floor with a red and brown oriental rug in its center. It was dark in the house. The only light was a soft beam that filtered through the curtains in the front window and illuminated the dust particles that danced through the air.

The man walked into the kitchen without a word, and Joel followed, hoping for a cue to bring up the real reason he'd come.

"I just moved into the house on the corner," Joel said and waited for a response. The man shuffled bottles of vitamins, insecticides, and medicines in a cupboard above his refrigerator and didn't respond. "Yeah," Joel continued, "I used to live there when I was just a kid. It's strange to come back after all this time."

Joel had finally caught the man's interest. He turned and looked at Joel as if he was trying to see through a thick fog. "You must be Bill Caplin's kid."

"Yeah," Joel said, surprised, "you knew my father?"

"Yes I did. He was a good man. And a good neighbor."

"We haven't lived there for twenty-five years."

"I've lived here for almost sixty."

"Boy, you don't look sixty." At least not today, Joel thought to himself.

"He just pa.s.sed away last month."

"Yes, I know. Good man, old Bill was." The man looked back in the cupboard and pulled out a pink bottle of Pepto Bismol. "Think this'll help?"

"Yeah, this is fine." Joel took the bottle from the man's thick hand. "Thanks."

Joel heard feet scamper quickly down the stairs, then the crackle and hum of the TV turning on in the livingroom.

Joel didn't find a smooth transition, so he asked directly, "Does the ice cream man always come by so late? He woke me up around two o'clock this morning."

"No, very rarely," the man said and began walking back toward the front door.

"I was surprised to see so many kids out that late."

"Like I said, he doesn't come around much. It's sort of a special event."

Joel didn't think much of the man's response, but he didn't know how to press further without being rude.

"Do you have kids?" The man said.

"My wife's pregnant with our first. Due In April."

"Well, then. You'll understand soon enough."

As they walked through the living room, Joel saw a boy sitting cross-legged on the rug. He was wearing the same light blue, cartooned pajamas as the boy he'd seen the man with the night before, but it was a different boy. Probably his older brother. He seemed a little more filled out through the shoulders and several inches taller. Joel noticed that the boy's toes went all the way to the end of the feet of his pajamas.

"How many kids do you have?" Joel asked.

"Just one. This is my son Alex."

The boy turned around and Joel could see that it was indeed the boy from last night. His hair hung straight across his forehead, just as before. Same little nose, same freckled cheeks.

"I hope the medicine works for her," the man said.

"Huh?" Joel said, still staring at the boy.

"Your wife. I hope the medicine will make her feel better."

"Yeah, uh, I'm sure it will," Joel said as he backed out the door, onto the porch.

"Take care, Joel," the man said, and shut the door.

AT EIGHT O'CLOCK, when the sun went down and the sky changed from its fiery oranges and yellows, to cool lavender, to dark purple, Joel went to his bedroom window to wait. Tonight he was going to confront him, the ice cream man himself. He was going to wait by his window all night until he came. He wasn't worried about missing hima"he couldn't miss him if he trieda"he just couldn't concentrate on anything else until he talked to him.

During the day, he had helped Katherine arrange the furniture and hang the plants. He tried to be talkative but he was certain she knew something was wrong.

Sometime after nine, Katherine came into the room carrying a plate of lasagna. "I brought you some dinner," she said.

"Okay," he mumbled without looking at her, not wanting to break his stare out the window.

There was a long silence and he wasn't sure whether or not she'd left until he felt her hand on his shoulder. "So what's bothering you? Why are you up here by yourself?"

"I'm waiting," he said absently.

"For who?"

"The ice cream man."

"We have ice cream in the fridge," she said with a laugh.

He laughed too, and turned to look at her kneeling beside him. The light s.h.i.+ning up from the street lamps gave her face a soft warm glow. When she saw that she had his attention she repeated: "I brought you some dinner. I called for you about an hour ago. I guess you didn't hear me."

He ran his hand through her hair and gave her a soft apologetic kiss.

"The ice cream man?" she said, and smiled.

"Yeah, I'll explain later."

She stood behind him and wrapped her arms around his neck, resting her chin on his head. "Good night. Enjoy your ice cream."

"Goodnight," he said, then turned and kissed her belly and said goodnight to their son.

She got into bed and he resumed his stare out the window. Within minutes her breathing got slow and deep and he knew she was sleeping.

Outside the window, little happened. No cars drove up the street and no one walked by. By eleven o'clock, the lights were out in all his neighbor's houses. Occasionally a gust of wind came by, swirling and scattering a pile of leaves or running off with a stray piece of newspaper. Joel watched patiently, his gaze never leaving the street below his window.

At two forty-five he heard what he was waiting for. Faintly in the distance he heard bells. His head felt clouded from staring so long out the window. He tried to shake it clear but it didn't work. The bells were getting louder. He looked up the street to the west and saw the ice cream truck moving through the darkness. As the truck came closer and the bells grew louder, he realized that he wasn't as nervous as he had been only an hour ago.

The murkiness in his head wasn't going away.

He watched the truck rolling slowly up the street, driving close to the curb to stay in the shadows. It continued on past where it had stopped the previous nights and parked on the corner, across the street from Joel's house.

He wasn't thinking clearly and he felt half asleep. He knew to go outside. He knew to go see the ice cream man. Why he was going, he couldn't remember.

He also knew that the clanking bells didn't seem so horrible anymore. He felt drawn to them, as if the bells were hands that had come in through his window to lead him to the ice cream truck.

He went with the feeling. He got up from the window and went downstairs. He opened the front door and stepped into the cool misty night. He could see, but it was hazy, as if he was looking through a silk curtain.

He could just make out the shape of the truck in the shadows. Several parents and children were in the street,walking toward the truck and forming a line at the back. Instinctively, Joel got at the end of the line. It didn't even occur to him to go to the beginning.

As he stood in line, he tried to shake his head clear again and concentrate on what he was doing. Ice cream man. Talk to him. Why? He couldn't focus. Each thought that flashed in his head fluttered away before he could get a good grip on it.

The couple in front of Joel stepped forward. The music clanked louder and the invisible hands guided Joel forward a step.

He could see that the line led to the open freezer where the ice cream man was standing, but he couldn't see what he looked like or what he was doing.

Joel saw the mother and daughter at the front of the line leave, and each group took a step forward. When he followed, he could see the ice cream man. Had he been thinking at all clearly, the sight would have shocked him.

The ice cream man was dressed like a clown. He had a bushy head of white hair, and a baggy, red, one-piece suit with blue and yellow spots. Even with the white face paint, Joel could tell he was an old man. His lips were thin and painted black, the paint curling up at the ends, making his frowning mouth appear to be smiling. His cheeks were painted red, but they were sunken. Aside from the white base, the eyes were unpainted and the skin underneath was baggy.

The pair at the front of the line finished and everyone took another step forward. There were now only three couples between himself and the ice cream man.

A father and son were now at the front of the line. Joel watched as the ice cream man went into the freezer and came out with something in each hand. He had what appeared to be an ice cream bar for the boy and something else for the father. The people in front of Joel blocked his view of what happened next.

The father and son at the front of the line left and everyone took another step forward. Only two groups to go. He'd be up there any second and would need to tell the ice cream man why he was there. He had to focus, but his thoughts were so foggy.

The couple at the front of the line left. Only a mother and daughter stood between him and the ice cream man. Now he could see what was happening. The ice cream man went into his freezer and came out with an ice cream bar in one hand that he gave to the little girl. What he had in the other hand, the object he gave to the mother, was a syringe.

Joel didn't know what to make of this. It didn't make sense to him. He could feel himself swaying on his feet. He had stopped worrying about what he was going to say when he got to the front of the linea" now he simply wanted to watch.

The little girl took the ice cream listlessly. The ice cream man un-b.u.t.toned the front of the girl's nights.h.i.+rt, then took the mother's arm and helped her as she lowered the syringe and sunk the needle into the center of the girl's chest. She drew back on the plunger and the needle filled with a thick yellow liquid. As this happened, Joel swore that he saw the girl getting oldera"she grew in height, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s enlarged, her hips widened.

Joel tried to scream out, to say something to make them stop, but he couldn't. All that came out of his mouth were m.u.f.fled groans that went unnoticed.

The mother pulled out the needle. The ice cream man reached out with his long white fingers and began unb.u.t.toning the mother's blouse. When he was done, he took the syringe from her hand and stuck the needle into her chest. He pushed down on the plunger and as the liquid emptied from the tube she became younger. The gray faded from her hair and the wrinkles washed from her face.

They stepped aside and Joel, painfully confused, stepped forward.

The ice cream man reached into the back of the truck and the bells grew loud again. When he came out, he didn't have an ice cream, but he did have a syringe. He held it out to Joel. He didn't want to take it. He tried not to. He knew it was wrong, even through the confusion that filled his head like clouded water, but the bells got louder...

POP! Goes the weasel...

...until each note throbbed in his temples. He felt the invisible hands again, but now those hands had claws. They dug in and made him reach out and take the needle. The ice cream man pointed to Joel's left, over his shoulder. Joel turned. He hadn't even realized it, but Katherine was standing there beside him in her nightgown, eyes almost completely closed, swaying slightly from side to side.

The music pounded fiercely. A smile grew on the ice cream man's lips.

A penny for a spool of thread...

Joel knew what the ice cream man wanted him to do, but he tried to fight with every bit of will power he could muster.

A penny for a needle...

His head spun. The invisible claws of the music dug in and raised his arm above his head. It shook as he tried to fight.

Saliva dripped from the ice cream man's white chin.

That's the way our money goes...

Joel brought the syringe down hard, the needle plunging into his wife's swollen belly, into the fetus growing inside, to draw life from his unborn son.

The next few minutes were a blur as Katherine's belly swelled, the baby inside moving like a cat under a blanket. Her water broke, soaking the bottom of her nightgown.

Joel ran back to the house to get the car, his head as light and empty as a helium balloon.

As he helped her into the car to take her to the hospital where she would deliver a healthy but premature baby boy, Joel felt the ice cream man put a hand on his shoulder, like a father who's proud of his son. He would not remember any of this later, but from time to time he would wake up with his heart pounding, thinking he was being held by the grip of an old man's cold white hand.

The Service of the Dead by Stephen Dedman Stephen Dedman has appeared in an eclectic range of magazines and anthologies, including; "The Years Best Fantasy and Horror," edited by Ellen Datlow and Terry Windling, and "Little Deaths." Also he has appeared in "Asimov's Science Fiction," Science Fiction Age," "Wetbones," "Bloodsongs," "Aurealis" and "Eidolon." Recently his first novel, "The Art of Arrow Cutting," was published. He currently resides in Western Australia where he claims to have been a science fiction bookshop buyer, former experimental subject and used dinosaur salesman.

Pour le Drapeau Pour le Patrie Mourir est beau!

(For the flag/For the country/Dying is beautiful) 'The Dessalienne', Haitian National Anthem Also shall be qualified as attempted murder the employment of drugs, hypnosis, or other occult practice which produces lethargic coma or lifeless sleep; and if the person has been buried it shall be considered murder no matter what result follows.

Article 249 of the Haitian Penal Code YOU DON'T SEE many zombis in Port-au-Prince, except for an occasional glimpse of the General's bodyguards in the Place des Heros, or a truckload being s.h.i.+pped out from the Casernes Dessalines. Further away from the cities, you may see them working on the roads or in the fields, but it's here in the mountains where they're at their most useful. At least, that was what I'd always been told. Sitting in one of our few working jeeps and staring through ancient binoculars as they trudged into what the tonton macoutes claimed was a hideout for collaborators, I wasn't so sure. "What do you expect them to find?" I asked.

Legrand, the Artist (painters and karateka are artists, magicians are Artists; calling them bokors or magicians or witch-doctors is stupid and sometimes fatal), looked up from his tarot deck and laughed, showing long, yellow, crooked teeth. "You haven't worked with zoms long, have you, lieutenant?"

I glanced at my watch, and shook my head. "About an hour and a quarter."

"Yeah? Heard somewhere that nightmares supposed to last ninety minutes.This one should be over soon, hey?" Legrand looked more like a Joshua tree than anything human; Major Dupre had told me that the Artist cut and washed his hair, beard and nails every June, and this was mid-April. He wore a uniform, of coursea"the zombi guards were ordered to attack anybody who didn'ta"but spoiled the effect with Raybans, snakeskin shoes, a battered black top hat, and a silver-topped cane which I'm sure concealed either a sword or a gun. "They find bullets, mostly. Mines, too, mines they're real good at ... but that's about all."