When I was 8, me and my family lived in the small town of Ogdenville. It was a normal town, with around 3,000 people living here, and all the neighbors knew each other very well and lot of neighborhood barbeques happening in the summers. My family lived in a cul-de-sac close to the center of the town. And at the end of the cul-de-sac, there was a park. In the park, we had a playground with swing sets, a roundabout, a see-saw, chin-up bars, a sandbox and a couple of spring riders. And I remember how often me and my friends would go to the roundabout, it was our favorite. After the playground, there was an open field of grass. It was in this field that the majority of our neighborhood barbeques would happen. One neighbor stands out. Aaron Barnes. Or as we called him, Mr. Ice Cream. He had that nickname, because he worked as an ice cream seller. He also had a truck. A big, red ice cream truck. And on the sides of that truck was written in big, white letter on a black background, Mr. Ice Cream. There was also the picture of a clown with a big smile on his face and a couple of popsicles in each hand. The clown did scare me, with his big smile, blue face, white lips. The clown was called Mr. Bingles. Aside from that creepy clown, I can distinctly remember the feeling I got whenever I heard the song coming from Mr. Ice Cream’s truck. It was as if every cell in my body had to get to that ice cream truck as fast as possible. And it was like that for every kid in town. When the tune of the ice cream truck called, we ran outside and to Mr. Ice Cream. And there he was, outside his car, smiling his wide smile, and chatting in his cheery voice. He was always happy to see us. I even remember one time, a girl I knew, Jodie, was riding a bike and fell. She started crying, but he had been in the vicinity. He came up to her, smiled, offering her a hand. As she got up, he offered her an ice cream, and she smiled. Mr. Ice Cream made it all good again. I think he was generally happy for the company. You see, he didn’t have a wife. The word around town was that she had left him, and it had crushed his spirit apparently. They had only been together for two or three years I think. So they hadn’t gotten to having children. But everyone knew how fond he was of kids. I think he saw us as his family, of sorts. Everyone knew how glad he made us kids, and everyone knew how glad us kids made him. So did each summer go by, and everything was good in our little town of Ogdenville. Then the fateful summer of my eighth year came. No one was prepared for what was about to happen.

It started innocently enough. We had a big neighborhood barbeque, and everyone was there. There was lots of smiles, lots of laughs, and lots of play from us kids. We ran around, playing all sorts of games you play as a kid. And at one point, we could hear the song of Mr. Ice Cream’s truck. And all of us ran towards his car. And we saw him stand there, smiling as always. I got my favorite, strawberry delight. My friends got their favorites too. Everyone was happy, and Mr. Ice Cream drove away. Some time later, one of the moms called out. “Frankie? Where are you?”. There was no reply from us, we hadn’t seen Frankie in a while. We hadn’t really thought of it, we were busy playing our games. “Frankie sweetie, come on now. We are heading home.” Still no answer. Maybe he was hiding, and didn’t want to go home, I thought. I could understand that, in my eight year old mind there was nothing as fun as our barbeques. “Frankie, come on now son.” More parents chimed in this time. My eight year old mind didn’t quite understand it, but people were getting worried. The game had stopped. Everyone of us kids was looking at each other, not really grasping the gravity of the situation. A kid was missing. Surely he was either here or at home, safe and sound. These are the only two options when you are eight. My mom took me home, while my dad was with Frankie’s mom. Everyone of us kids went home at that point, but there were still people with Frankie’s mom. A search was started. I only heard about it the next day. People came in and questioned me about when I last saw Frankie. After a while, I realized it was when we were getting ice cream. So I told them that I saw him when Mr. Ice Cream came by. They thanked me and left. Two days later, a gruesome discovery was made. Frankie was found. In the woods. Dead. Later I would find out that he was naked, and there were signs of abuse. When news of his death came out, everyone was shocked. Frankie’s mom was devastated, of course. She cried, she screamed, then cried some more. Everyone tried to help her in any way possible, from comforting her to assist her with the day-to-day life after the massive loss of her only child. However, when Aaron (or Mr. Ice Cream as the children called him) came to her to offer his condolences and any assistance, she shouted at him, telling him in no uncertain terms that he wasn’t welcome on her property. My father later told me, he could see how it affected him. Like someone had told him he had lost a loved one. He bowed his head, sighed and apologized. He left, walking slowly and with his head down. My dad could see he was very much affected by all the events, and Frankie’s mom’s accusations. In a month’s time, she would take her own life. Although it’s sad, it isn’t important to this story. So, two weeks pass. A new neighborhood barbeque is held, albeit in a more somber tone. The parents talk to each other, trying to come to terms with the horrible fate of young Frankie. The kids, meanwhile, ran around, playing and having fun. Although we missed poor Frankie, barbeques were the epitome of fun and happiness. It was our time of childish innocence. Nothing, we felt, could take that away from us. How wrong we were. As the evening went on, everyone’s spirits were improving and the grown ups were talking about all sort of things, although avoiding the subject of Frankie. A short while after we had eaten, we heard the song of Mr. Ice Cream’s truck. As us kids went running towards the sound of his truck, some parents looked wary, and some shouting at the kids to be careful and to look after each other. To me, most of the kids ignored the warnings, just running towards the promise of delicious ice cream. As we came to the parking lot, we saw Mr. Ice cream standing. Smiling. He said:”Hey kids, what do you want tonight? We are full of surprises, me and Mr. Bingles.” Everyone shouted their preferred ice cream. And everyone got what they wanted. We strolled lazily back to the playground, devouring our ice creams.

After enjoying the refreshments in the warm summer evening, we started playing our games, running even more, with our energy levels raised to a high due to the sugar we had just absorbed. As it got dark, the parents started calling for the children, and everyone returned. Except for Josh. His mom and dad started calling out for him, but as us kids returned, there was no sign of him. Again, the mothers took the children home, while the fathers started looking for him. There was no sign of him. Josh’s parents were obviously shaken by the disappearance, his mom inconsolable for the next couple of days and his father a shadow of his former self. Then the grown ups came to my room and asked when I last saw Josh. I thought about it, and I told them. When Mr. Ice Cream came by. Us kids were all in a frenzy, trying to get his attention, and getting our favorites. But after that, when we were on our way back, I couldn’t recall if he had followed us. And apparently, no one else could verify him returning from that point on. People started talking after that, two times a kid had gone missing after Mr. Ice Cream had shown up. He, of course, maintained his innocence, saying how much he loved us kids, and that we were his missing family. That simply exacerbated things. And when, two days later, they found Josh’s body, in the same settings and circumstances as poor Frankie was found, the atmosphere came unglued. I remember, my parents were talking to each other in rather loud voices, not arguing, but angry about the situation. Then, one day, my dad told me things would be taken care of. At first, I didn’t know what he was talking about. Then the realization slowly crept up on me. I ran over to Aaron’s house, but one of the grown ups, Taylor, stopped me. He said, “don’t go there. That man is sick. Just stay away, and everything will be OK.” I looked at him, stunned. How could they possibly think that sweet old Mr. Ice Cream had anything to do with these horrible events. I started crying, with the situation overwhelming me. However, in my young mind, little did I realize how far this would go. If I had had the faintest idea of what was about to transpire, I would have ran right up to Aaron’s house and warned him. However, I just went home and my mom consoled me. That night, I couldn’t sleep. I tried and tried, but my mind was racing. Why were my parents angry at Aaron? Why didn’t Taylor want me to go to Aaron’s house? What happened to those poor kids? As my mind pondered all of these questions, sleep did eventually find me. Time went on, and our lives turned back to normal. However, people started avoiding Aaron, and telling their kids to stay away from him. This made him sad, and also a bit angry I think. I, however, never turned my back on him. I talked to him whenever I could. Then, one day, my dad saw me talking to him. He stormed up to us and grabbed me by the shoulder. He asked him sternly:”And just what do you think you are doing to my boy here?”. Aaron looked at him, puzzled. “We were just talking. Talking about how the neighborhood’s spirits have plummeted. We were thinking of a new barbeque, to lift our collective spirits up.” My dad snorted. “Yeah, right. You need new victims, that’s what you are thinking. Now. I will only say this one. Stay. Away. From. My. Son”. With each of the last sentences, my dad moved closer to Aaron, and at the end, they were almost touching. Aaron turned pale and said:”wait, you think I had anything to do with those terrible deeds?”. My dad glared at him for a second, then said:”No. I know you did”. As he said the words, he poked him in the chest each time. Then he turned and we left. I looked back at Aaron, mouthing “I’m sorry”. He halfheartedly waved back, then turned back and headed home. When we got back my dad started berating me for talking to Aaron. I tried reasoning with him, but he was furious. He told me in no uncertain terms that I was forbidden to contact Aaron ever again. It made me feel bad, because not only did I lose a friend, but Aaron now had no one. Everyone seemed to be against him. I felt so bad for him. I went to my room. I cried for what felt like hours, but most likely was no more than twenty or so minutes. The situation was getting to me. And probably Aaron too. I needed to do something to help him. I remembered his words about a new barbeque, to help lift the spirits. So, after waiting a few days, I suggested to my mom that we should have a barbeque. I wanted to play with my friends, and wanted to experience the fun again. So, the parents started to plan a new barbeque. I was hopeful that it would help the neighborhood, as well as Aaron. They would see that he didn’t have anything to do with the murders of the kids.

Then the day came, us kids were so happy to play with each other, while the parents were, for obvious reasons, quite somber, and alert. Watching the kids intently. Making sure no one would be caught this day. Eventually the mood rose to a happier level, and the parents started talking about other stuff. Us kids just played any game we thought of. After a while we ate. I had some ribs, my favorite. As we finished our meal, we heard the alluring tune of Mr. Ice Cream’s truck. The kids went into almost a trance as they ran towards the truck, and Mr. Ice Cream. Some parents shouted, warning the kids to not go to Aaron. Others ran and grabbed their kids. But there were some of us who managed to get to him, and shout our favorite ice cream. Mr. Ice Cream was ready, he already knew most of our favorites. He smiled as he handed us our rewards. Then, some parents came up and shouted at him. Telling him he wasn’t welcome. His eyes teared up, and he said OK, and left. The parents counted the kids. No one was missing this time. Those of us who had gotten ice cream enjoyed them, and afterwards we started playing again. This time we played hide and seek. Everyone hid, and Liam started looking for us. I had found a superb hiding place I thought. Behind some thick bushes. Liam quickly found a score of us, and the kids went back to playing some new game while Liam continued his search. He found me, along with several others. This went on until he had found all of us. Except. Except he hadn’t found Nicole. After a while all of us started searching for her. Even the parents joined the search, being fearful of a new victim of this terrible malefactor. In the end, the mothers went home with the kids, while Nicole’s mom screamed for her child. A neighbor of hers took her home, while me and my mom went home. I went straight to bed, feeling guilty for this latest disappearance. I cried myself to sleep, the guilt overwhelming me. My sleep was disturbed by sirens blaring. I slowly rubbed my eyes and looked out the window. There was a fire. A large fire. Aaron’s house was in flames. I ran out my room, to the stairs, where I saw my mom with tears in her eyes. She looked up at me, then put her hands to her eyes. As she sobbed, I asked her:”What’s wrong, mommy?”. She replied:”oh sweetie, everything’s wrong. They did something very wrong. But go to bed. Everything will be better tomorrow.” I did as she told me, but was quite confused. Who had done what? Later, my father would tell me of the events that happened that night. After a futile search for Nicole, a few of the men snapped. They started talking pretty aggressively about Aaron. Soon, they had everyone on their side, and a mob of angry men strode towards Aaron’s house. They knocked on his door, while shouting obscenities towards him. As he opened the door, the men had grabbed him, pulling him outside, throwing him down onto the pavement. They then kicked him repeatedly. He had begged them to stop, told them he had had nothing to do with the disappearances. He begged for mercy, telling them how much he cared for the kids, that they were like family to him. That made the mob angrier. They continued kicking him until he passed out. Then, one of the men, Taylor, dragged him inside. Then he went to his car, and took a can of gasoline. No one stopped him or even questioned him. Everyone just stood there in silence. When Taylor returned, he doused a part of the house in gasoline. Then, he set fire to it. Some of the men cheered. The fire quickly spread, and as the flames licked the frame of the house, the men heard screams from inside. Aaron had regained consciousness, but couldn’t move. They looked at the flames and listened to his screams of agony. A few even laughed. Then, my father told me, Aaron said something. “You bastards. You have known me for 15 years. I have served your kids ice cream for all those years, and cared for them. They have been like a family to me. And now you want me dead? For crimes I didn’t commit? Mark my words, as the flames devour me, I shall return and take everything from you, as you have from me.” A few of the guys laughed, some nervously, and after his words a terrifying scream of pain and agony echoed throughout the neighborhood. A few of those who had stayed inside came outside to look at what was going on. Someone called for the cops and told what was going on. Soon, the neighborhood was full of cops and firemen, the firemen fighting a losing battle to save what was left of Aaron’s house, the cops rounding up the members of the mob and questioning them. My father was among those who had to spend the night in jail, until the cops could find out what had happened. My mom was inconsolable, I’m pretty sure she liked Aaron as much as I did, and was devastated at what had transpired that night. I was a mess too, and hugged my mom as we both cried over these events. The next days were a kind of a blur. I walked around in a state of shock, doing my regular things, but not really registering what was going on. A few days later, the police came over to our house to investigate. To see if my father had been the leader of the mob. My mom shouted at them and cried, but they were soon out of our house. My father had only been a pawn in a messy game. Two days later, the cops raided the house of Taylor. In there, they found some very disturbing things, like pictures of us kids playing, schedule for when Mr. Ice Cream visited during barbeques, plans to kidnap children when we were heading for ice cream, ideas as to how to pin it on poor Aaron and, most disturbingly, they found the remains of Nicole in his cellar. Everyone in the neighborhood was shocked at this finding. It was, without a shadow of a doubt, the darkest moment in the neighborhoods history. A couple of months went by, with me and my mom trying to come to terms with the events, and with my dad’s jail time. Since the event of that night, all of the members of the mob had been given sentences of two years, apart from Taylor, who got lifetime without parole. Nicole’s granddad was a judge in a nearby town, and had made sure he would never see the outside of a prison for the rest of his life. At this point, you probably think this is where the story ends. Tragic events, ending in a punishment for the perpetrator. But no. These events were only the catalyst for what was to come. The events that instigated what my mother and I called The Reckoning. So. A few months after the trials, and the sentencing of those responsible for the fate of poor Aaron, the neighborhood began to come unglued. It started with Taylor’s apparent suicide. The guards had found him in his cell, where he had made a make-shift rope out of a sheet, and proceeded to hang himself. The official story was suicide. Nothing unusual, prisoners were known to commit suicides. However, with Taylor, this seemed to be… implausible. Taylor didn’t seem to have any remorse for his actions, with either the kids nor with Aaron. And a guard we knew, Stephen, had said something about the case. My mom had met him while grocery shopping one day. He was a good friend of the family, and they had chatted a bit. My mom said that when she asked about the Taylor case, his face turned pale, and he apologized, and explained that he couldn’t reveal anything about the case. Both had turned silent, and just looked at each other. After a few moments though, he whispered to her about what had really happened. The part with the sheet was correct. However, what had been left out was that it was as if it had not been tied to anything, rather it just somehow had been tied to a pipe inside the ceiling. That had many guards to believe it had had some supernatural origin. And they had also found something weird on the floor. A wrapper. From an ice cream. He couldn’t remember the brand, but it shouldn’t have been there. When my mom told me this, a cold chill ran down my spine, as I thought of poor Aaron. Little did I know about the events that were about to unfold.

A few days went by. With the atmosphere being at it’s lowest point in it’s history, people were talking about moving. Not many felt like staying after the barbaric crimes of Taylor, and the loss of Aaron, along with many of the men, and dads, being in prison for the foreseeable future, people were thinking of seeking pastures new. People were slowly getting to terms with what had happened, so we hadn’t had a barbeque since the night of Aaron’s passing. I began asking my mom if we could soon have one, since our neighborhood needed to recuperate. Needed a better mood. Better spirits. Better times. She looked at me and smiled. “Sure honey. That sounds like just what we all need. Now, go up to your room, I’m pretty sure I saw it needed some cleaning.” I grumbled as I walked up the stairs and into my room. She then proceeded to make a few phone calls, and after a few minutes, she came up to my room, smiling. “Great news honey”, she said. “Next saturday, we will be holding a new barbeque. Not everyone will be coming, as some are still shaken up by the events. But the ones who will come, have assured me that they want to start fresh, and get the fun times rolling again.” She then gave me a hug. I remember the hug lasting longer than usual, so I ended up with asking:”mom, is everything OK?” She let go, looked me in the eyes and said:”yes honey, everything’s OK”. After she left, I was in a good mood. I couldn’t wait for the barbeque. Hopefully the start of a new chapter for our troubled neighborhood. The next days I met with a couple of friends and we played, as 8 year olds do. People were in a more buoyant mood, and everyone was looking forward to the barbeque.

Then the day arrived. The day of the barbeque. The long awaited barbeque. As I woke up that day, my head felt like it was made of rock. I had an intense headache, my nose was runny and I had a sore throat. I had been stricken with cold. When my mom came up to my room, I almost cried because I thought I would miss the barbeque. “Mom, I’m not feeling well”, I told her. She came over, felt my forehead and said:”oh sweetie. You have fever. Just rest for a while, we will see how it goes later.” I sighed, and tried to go to sleep again. I didn’t sleep any good at all. Kept on waking up with aches and pains in my joints and head. Eventually my mom came up and asked:”How are you sweetie?” “Not good”, I replied sadly. She said:”well honey, I know how much you have been waiting for this. We will go, but we go home early, OK?” I smiled and said “Oh yeah, that sounds great.” We started preparing, packing our food and drinks, as well as some medication my mom decided to take just in case. I still wasn’t well, but I was a bit better than in the morning. As we made our way to the park, we could see some of the regulars had arrived. I quickly found some friends and we started running and playing our favorite games. We played and had so much fun. At some point I stopped, and just surveyed the scene. The kids were playing and running, of course. The parents, mostly moms, were sitting on the benches and chatting. A much more lively chat than it had been for weeks. I even heard laughter. I felt all warm and fuzzy inside, and I thought that this was the beginning of a new era for our neighborhood. I went back to playing with my friends, and everything was good. As usual, we ate around six. Again, I had my favorite, ribs. When we were finished, me and my mom started packing up, since we were going home early. When we were about halfway done, we heard it. A song. A song we all recognized. Mr. Ice Cream’s song. And yet it was not. It was somehow twisted. The tune was the same, but slower. And yet, it had the same effect on the kids. All of them ran towards the sound, as if in a trance. I felt a need to go towards the sound, but something inside me also warned me. I’m not sure, but it might have something to do with my cold that day. I slowly crept along with the children, and hid behind a tree. What I saw, chilled me to the core. The kids were going towards Aaron – or what was left of him. I’m not sure why no one screamed, but the music might have had them in some sort of a trance. I saw his truck, with the hideous clown mr. Bingles painted on the side of it, smiling as creepily as ever. Aaron, on the other hand, had put on some sort of make-up. To look like mr. Bingles, I guess. But he didn’t. Through the make-up, I could see a charred face, and I screamed. He slowly looked up, smiling. “Oh, don’t you worry”, he said with a dry, raspy voice. “There’s plenty of time. Eventually I will be coming for you.” And he laughed the scariest, creepiest laugh I had ever heard, or will ever hear. I screamed again and was rooted to the spot, due to fear. I saw Mr. Ice Cream – or Aaron – hand out ice creams to the kids. As they took their first bite, they fell down on the ground, dead. Mr. Ice Cream then made some gestures with his hands, swaying them back and forth, and to the sides in a rhythmic motion. Then, to my horror, the kids stood up again. Eyes glazed and staring at Mr. Ice Cream. He looked at me and laughed. “Don’t worry, today is not your day. Today is the day of my revenge. Or, first day of my revenge. I will be back, and eventually everyone that had anything to do with my death will have their…just desserts.” He laughed maniacally at his own pun. I, however, screamed as hard as i could. I also felt tears running down my cheek, the horror of the situation crashing on me like a tsunami. Mr. Ice Cream opened the back of his truck, and the kids went in. I stood there, and watched in horror as they all went in somehow. And afterwards, Mr. Ice Cream waved at me, still laughing, as he himself went in and the truck…vanished. Eventually my mom and the other parents came over to me, asking what was wrong and where the others went. I couldn’t speak for two whole days, the event had traumatized me. I still wake up in sweat as I have nightmares about this horrid event. After that night, everyone just moved. A lot of families split up, including my own, as my mom just wanted a new start. I still had contact with my dad, so it all worked out for us, I guess. But the reason, the main reason, for me to share this with you now, is that yesterday, around 35 past six, I heard something. Something chilling. I heard the music of a forgotten Ice cream truck. Mr. Ice Cream’s truck.