Ice Cream Man

The Ice Cream Man

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πŸ“… Published on August 18, 2018

"The Ice Cream Man"

Written by

Estimated reading time β€” 2 minutes

Little Johnny got a fudge pop laced with razors.

Susan got an orange pop filled with hydrochloric acid.

Billy got Dip N’ Dots dipped in fire ant poison.

97 more to go.

A new park everyday; new deaths every night.

He was careful, always making false leads, always covering his tracks. He was clever, he was quick. He always made sure the poisons varied, so there was never a link to the ice cream. The hydrochloric acid took two days to kick in and the fire ant poison started as flu like symptoms. The razors, well, he just threw those in as a nod to the old classic poison scheme. He liked keeping them close, but not too close.

Anti-freeze lemon pops; those took a while to perfect, but in the end, he got it right. The chocolate bon-bons that turned them into cement from the inside out he had bought from a fellow down off Bourbon Street. They had cost a heavy penny, but it was worth it, as it took his count down to 80.

In Ashland, Oregon, he mixed a variety of snow cone flavors with sap from the Chobani Tree, causing them to dissolve into mulch the minute their little fingers touched warm water. This brought him down to 50. Picturing the mothers scream as their children dissolved before their eyes at bath time made his stomach clench, but he couldn’t stop. Not with 50 left to go.

Klondike bars injected with South Sea Coneshell venom were next. That one was good; it took almost two weeks for the poison to be absorbed, and by that time, it was too late. The newspapers of Bodi, California called it the most deadly virus of the year; he called it numbers 39-49.

A tar like substance called Godtish that he bought from a wicked looking gypsy filled in the two weeks that it took the venom to work. That went into the Spongebob Squarepants pineapple pops. It shrunk them so little, not even the most powerful microscope on earth could see them. Godtish brought him down to 20.

Jakku seeds went into the sprinkles. Almost every one of the children in the small town of Arnold, California asked for sprinkles. Never before had Arnold seen such a string of mass child suicides. But it was only a tragedy to them, as his count went down to nine.

He was in the home stretch now, so he picked his victims carefully. The twins from Lakeshore got two cones of arsenic. The lonely boy in East Palo Alto got a frozen black widow in his grape popsicle. Baby Gretchen got the last of the Chobani sap.

Five more to go.

He was parked outside Stafford Park. He watched carefully as children ran in and out of the water sprinklers. Then he turned on his music. They came to him like flies to honey. Parents smiled appreciatively as they handed him their money, oblivious to whom they were actually smiling at.

The girl in the pink swimsuit got a chocolate ice cream with Jakku sprinkles.

A boy named Nancy bought a Mickey Mouse Pop with rattlesnake venom.

A brother bought him and his sister matching Spongebob pops.

Anticipating the arrival of the last of his victims, a familiar face caught the man off guard.

β€œDaddy?”

The man smiled sadly, and then handed the boy his ice cream.

1 more to go.

 

CREDIT: Kathleen Stahler

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