I wiped sweat, dirt, and dust off my forehead. My back was aching, my muscles sore after hauling in boxes after boxes of our things. My eyes snagged on my reflection of the mirror that leaned against the floor. My hair was a nightmare. My hair was usually wavy, but this was taking frizzy to a whole new level. I tried to finger-comb it, but it was to no avail.

“Astrid?” I turned at the sound of my name. A large cardboard box entered the room, gripped on either side by the hands of my fiancé. “Honey, could you move that bag to my right?”

His eyes peeked over the top of the box he was carrying and focused on the garbage bag he had mentioned.

“What- this one? Where do you want me to move it? Should I move it… here?” I dragged a different sack in the opposite direction from where I knew he wanted to move it.

“Ast-rid.” Oscar’s voice was strained. Whenever he stressed the syllables of my name, his Swedish accent coming out, I knew he was irritated. Nevertheless, I continued teasing him.

“Oh, you meant this one here?” I picked up the bag and dangled it from my fingertips.

“Yes. That one.” his teeth were gritted in frustration- he was no doubt as tired as me, and I wasn’t helping by getting on his nerves.

I chuckled, and set it down to his right. He heaved a sigh of relief and lowered the box, shaking his arms out. He narrowed his eyes at me in mock anger, and I rolled my eyes I kissed his cheek.

“Ew! You need a shower. Desperately, I might add.” I screwed up my face in disgust, knowing full well that it applied to me too. I subtly sniffed my armpits, gauging how bad the situation was. My nose wrinkled with disgust.

“So do you!” he laughed, lunging for me and tickling me until I squealed.

“Oh, you’ll pay for that, mister!” I growled at him.

He arched a daring eyebrow at me, and thus initiated the next ten minutes of us chasing each other around the house. We weaved a path among the boxes scattered around our new house, racing up the stairs and darting between rooms.

Oscar was just closing in on me, hand outstretched, less than two feet between us.

“TIME OUT! TIME OUT!” I bellowed, making the symbol with my hands, before bending over and resting my hands on my knees in an effort to catch my breath.

“What?! Nooooo!” Oscar yelled in disappointment, like a petulant child. A very good-looking, fully grown child. (Just to clarify, not in a pedophilic way).

“I was about to win!” he grumbled, seriously bothered by this injustice.

I opened my mouth to make a very sarcastic comment when the sweet melody of an ice cream truck snaked in the open window I had been standing by.

Oscar’s eyes lit up in delight, ever the child (I have got to stop with these child analogies), and his gaze snapped to mine.

“ICE CREAM!” we both yelled at each other excitedly, almost falling over each other to scramble down the stairs.

(Yes, we are adults, and yes, we still love ice cream. Stop judging.)

I made it out the door first, sticking my tongue out at Oscar behind me, who was struggling to release his shirt from where it had caught on a nail.

I exited the house, ready to have to queue behind a swarm of sugar-addicted children.

But the strangest sight met my eyes.

Most of the house surrounding us were families with children. On the right, a harried-looking soccer mom and her husband lived with their three kids; one sulky thirteen-year-old boy, who talked in grunts; his twin, a popular girl in middle school (she was one of the main reseasons we were considering not buying the house) who possessed approximately three brain cells; and a ten year old boy with a serious Gatorade addiction. I personally avoided all communication with anyone from that family, but Oscar was generally a nicer person than me, and of course, he’d already made plans for a barbeque with them sometime this summer.

On the left of our house, however, was a much more appealing household. A gay couple lived there, and they were my favorite neighbors by far  (It didn’t hurt that they were one of the few houses on the street without children. Pesky little buggers.). I had already discussed them coming over -once the house was in order- for wine.

The houses opposite us were nothing special- one elderly couple, and two other houses with children of varying ages. No matter the inhabitants, in almost every yard children flitted about, and adults lounged on blankets, sipping Mojitos, under the pretense of watching over their children. Couples clad in summer wear walked leisurely with dogs panting from the heat. Everyone was outside, soaking up the sun, and enjoying the weekend.

But as that ice-cream truck melody floated down the streets, everyone froze.

Froze for one second, before hell was unleashed.

Parents leaped to their feet, drinks and magazines long forgotten, and children were scooped up and shoved inside the house, and kiddie pools stopped being filled, and lazy dogs found the energy to sprint inside their houses with their owners at their heels, and yes, that was screaming I could hear, and doors slammed, and windows were locked, and the whole street went silent.

I stared. What happened? Where were all the children rushing to get ice cream? The parents shaking their heads as they handed over money?

The music was getting louder as the van came closer to the street. Oscar’s face was likely mirroring my own, confusion playing on his features. My head swiveled around, trying to find the cause of this odd behavior, and at the exact same moment, Oscar’s eyes grew wide with horror, blood draining from his face, leaving him looking as if he had just seen a ghost.

“Astrid. Get inside. Now.” he urged.

“Wh-” I pivoted, trying to see what my fiancé found to be such a big threat, but he blocked the way- as if shielding me from some unspeakable evil and began tugging me back towards the open door leading to our new home. I resisted, demanding that he tell me what the matter was, but he was unyielding and stronger than me.

All the while, the melody of the ice cream van came closer and closer and closer, it’s cheerful music becoming a haunting tune in the stillness of the air.

A creeping feeling slithered over my skin and I fought the urge to shiver.

Even the sun, the embodiment of summer fun, hid behind clouds, dreading what was about to happen, and the air took on a chill that had not been there before.

The questioning side of my brain fell silent as my fight-or-flight response took over and I couldn’t sprint to the house fast enough.

We reached the safe threshold of the house, flung ourselves through the door, and slammed it shut, the noise echoing in the hushed air. And then, only then, did I allow myself to look.

And what I saw

What I saw

That ice cream van was not a normal ice cream van.

No, this ice cream van radiated wrongness and sin.

For this ice cream van did not sell ice cream.

It

Sold

VEGAN ICE CREAM.