Scary Stories - Twist in the Tale Series

Strawberry Icecream

"Will you kidsplease quiet down?" snapped Barry, taking a hand from thewheel and swiping away the beads of sweat from his forehead.

"Don't be so grumpy, Barry," said Carol. "You'vedone nothing but complain for ages. We're hot too, you know."A shrill screech from the back of the car interrupted thebeginnings of another bad-tempered exchange with her husband."Robert," she cried, turning angrily, "Don't dothat to your sister - and Jason, don't encourage him. You shouldknow better at your age."

The two boys subsided into sulky silence, while Holly, theiryounger sister, smiled smugly in triumph at having brought theirmother's wrath on them.

It had seemed a good idea at the time: to take the family for adrive out into the country with no particular destination inmind, to just follow where the road led. It would be a sort ofmystery tour. Now Barry was deeply regretting his inspiration. Ithad not been part of his plan to be cooped-up in a baking oven ofa car on the hottest day of the year miles from anywhere. Thechildren were bored and fractious, his wife's mood was gettingsourer by the minute, he was hot and sweaty and his clothes clunguncomfortably to him. All in all, he wished he were back home,stretched out in a shady part of the garden with several coldbeers close at hand.

"You're lost, aren't you?" said Carol in a challengingtone. "Go on, admit it, you haven't a clue where we are."He hadn't realised before just how grating her voice could be.

"No, we're not lost," he replied through gritted teeth."We've simply gone further out than I intended and I don'tknow this area very well. All we have to do is stick to this roadand it'll take us back to civilisation soon enough. You just see."

"Ugh," tutted Carol, turning her head disdainfully togaze out of the window.

Barry wished he felt as confident as he had tried to sound. Ithad all been so pleasant at first. Miles and miles of green,rolling fields and meadows, wooded hillsides and meanderingstreams as far as the eye could see, surmounted by an archingcanopy of clear, blue sky. Nonetheless, the English countrysidein all its glory had begun to pall after a time; the seeminglyendless emptiness all around them and the peaceful quietness hadbecome monotonous. The Hillards were city-dwellers, and theymissed the sights and sounds of human habitation, its comfortsand distractions. Most of all, they needed rest and refreshment.
The trouble was, such comforts seemed non-existent in this partof the world. For the last hour, aside from the odd, distantisolated farmhouse, the unrelenting sunbaked rural landscape hadbeen unbroken. Where were all the quaint, thatch-roofed villages,with their shaded greens and duck ponds? Wondered Barry, asanother bead of sweat rolled off the end of his nose. Where werethe cosy little cafes, offering cream teas and quenching cuppas?Where were the oak-beamed pubs, with their horse brasses andexotic beers with names like Old Thunderer and Ploughman'sPorter? Barry's parched mouth tried hard to salivate as his mindconjured images of cool, foaming pints.

"When are we going to stop, Daddy?" asked a peevishvoice behind him. "I'm ever so thirsty and I'm bored too."

"We'll stop soon, Holly, love. Just as soon as I findsomewhere likely."

"Oh yes, the great explorer will soon find us all somewherenice," grunted Carol.

"There's no need to be sarcastic, Carol. I'm doing my best."

"That's a matter of opinion. Why couldn't we go to theseaside, like we always do?"

"I just thought you might like a change, that's all. You'realways telling me we never do anything different."

"Well, being lost is certainly different; that's for sure."

"We're not lost," replied Barry with barely suppressedfury.

"Where are we then, eh?"

Thankfully, he was saved from what was developing into a full-scalerow. The twisting road they were travelling had been climbingsteeply for some time. As he was about to vent his buildingfrustration with his wife, they crested a rise to find themselveslooking down into a small valley. Nestled in its bottom, like anoasis in a desert, was a tiny village.

"There, I told you we'd find somewhere soon," exclaimedBarry, triumphantly.

"Not before time, too," was the grudging comment fromhis side.

He refrained from countering his wife's remark and concentratedon driving down into the valley. The descent was steep but notprecipitously so; it wound steadily downwards through countrysideas wide-open and unremarkable as previously. The difference wasthat now they had a definite destination, and all eyes in the carfocussed on the approaching village almost as if it were somekind of Disneyland. Each mind was occupied in varying ways: thechildren's by visions of long, fizzy drinks, of exploration andbrief freedom from parental control; Carol's by thoughts ofbrowsing gift and craft shops full of charming handmade countrywares. Barry thought only of escape from the stifling car and theoak-beamed pub his imagination had been taunting him with for solong.

As they drew nearer though, each of their illusions began to fallapart. From a distance the village, though small, had appearedlarger than it actually was. Now, as they rode into it, Barryrealised with a sinking heart that it hardly constituted avillage at all. It consisted merely of a few shabby little housesclinging to either side of the road, all of which looked desertedand neglected.

"What a dump!" Carol ejaculated, echoing his thoughtsas he slowly steered the car past each obviously long-empty house."It's like a ghost town."

This was far from the ideal that she'd seen pictured in glossymagazines: thatch-roofed whitewashed cottages with roses climbingall over them and friendly country people with welcoming smiles.All she saw was overgrown gardens, peeling paintwork, brokenwindows and no sign of human life anywhere.

"I wonder where everybody went?" mused Barry. "Itlooks like it must have been nice at one time. The houses arewell built, even though they're run down. It wouldn't take muchto get them back as they were."

Barry drove on, each house they past as forlorn and deserted asthe last. "It's weird!" he said, "It's as ifeverybody just decided to up and go one day and never come back.I wonder why?"

"I don't know," answered Carol, "But it's obviouswe can't stop here."

There was a chorus of 'Oh Mum's' from the back as the childrenprotested. The word 'ghost' had aroused their interest; they wereentertaining ideas of investigating the empty houses andfrightening each other silly.

"I don't care," responded their mother, impatiently,"We're definitely not stopping here. It's spooky."

By now they were approaching the last of the houses and Barry wasabout to resignedly put his foot down and leave them behind whenhis attention was drawn to the last building on the left. It wasset back further from the road than the rest and he might havemissed it were he not driving so slowly.

"Hang on a minute, what's that?"

The building was different from the others. It was lessdilapidated for one thing, though it had seen better days. It hada large multi-paned window at the front and a sign above its doorproclaimed it to be more than simply a residence. The sign read:MARTHA'S ICE CREAM PARLOUR.

"Wow!" exclaimed Barry, stopping the car. "Ihaven't seen one of those since I was a kid - a good old-fashionedice cream parlour. Amazing! You don't see them any more. What astrange place to have one, though."

"Yes," agreed Carol, "Why have something like thatout here in the back of beyond? It's not as though there's anymore shops or anything; they couldn't have done much trade. Who'dwant to stop for ice cream here?"

"We would!" was the unified reply from behind her,"We'd love an ice cream."

"Oh, I'm sorry kids, but I'm sure it can't be open. Nothingelse is around here."

As if to prove her wrong, at that moment the white-painted doorof the parlour opened and out stepped the fattest woman any ofthem had ever seen. Her vast round body was wrapped in anenormous flowery apron, her head was a mass of dark curly hairsurrounding a huge red face which broke into a big cheery smileas she gazed back at the five pairs of eyes staring from the car.

"Well, that must be Martha," said Barry, wondering howshe had managed to get her bulk through the door. "So thisplace isn't entirely dead after all. What do you think," hecontinued, turning to Carol, "Shall we give it a try?"

Before his wife could answer there was an eager cry of, "YesMum, let's," from the combined voices in the back seat.

"I guess that decides it. Come on, you lot, it's ice creamtime."

Without further encouragement, everyone piled out of the car andheaded towards the parlour and the waiting, smiling fat woman.Barry followed on behind his family, feeling the heat of thescorching sun and remembering when, as a child, his parents oftentook him to a little place much like this one that served everykind of ice cream you could imagine. There was vanilla,raspberry, chocolate, lemon, orange, coconut, pistachio andcountless more; to his young mind, the list had seemed endless.They had been happy times, long before the responsibilities ofadulthood. It was hard to suppress the slight ache he felt inside.

As they approached the woman they took to be Martha, her smilegrew broader, and in a high, girlish voice she greeted them with,"Why, hello my dears. You all look very hot; it seems to meyou need a nice, cool ice cream. Am I right?" Her questionappeared to be directed mostly to little Holly, who, with theopen wonder of a child, was goggling wide-eyed at the woman'simmense girth. "Come in, come in, my dears. Come in to mylittle parlour." With that, she placed a hand the size of ashovel on the top of Holly's head and led the way inside.

By the time Barry caught up with his family, they were allclustered in front of a longish display counter, his children'sfaces pressed up against its glass front. It was like steppingback in time: the white painted walls and wooden beams, thelittle white-clothed tables, the ranks of neatly labelled tubsbehind the glass counter. Here however, childhood image andactuality parted company. For, in his memory the tubs had allbeen filled with mouth-watering ice creams of every colour andconsistency. All the tubs behind this counter, save one, wereempty.

"Ah, you look a little disappointed, my dears," saidMartha, observing their reaction to the lack of variety. "Yes,there was a day when I could have offered you any kind of icecream you could dream of - all made by my very own little hands,I might mention. Sad to say though, my dears, I don't get manyvisitors any more, and it's not worth my effort to make all thedelights I used to. There's just not the demand there was."

"I was going to ask you about that," interrupted Barry,"We couldn't help noticing that there doesn't seem to beanybody living here any more, though it looks a nice littlevillage. What happened - where did everybody go?"

Yes, it's true, my dear. Thriving it was - thriving. A lovelyplace. They all used to come in here to taste my delights.Couldn't get enough, they couldn't. Then, bit by bit, one by one,they all drifted away," she looked a little sad, "Ireally can't say where they went, I really can't. Perhaps thequiet of the countryside got too much for them; who can say?"

"So, there's just you here now?"

"That's right, my dear, just little old me."

"But how do you make a living?"

"Oh, there's always someone passing through on their way tosomewhere else. Just like you, my dears. Now, enough of all that.You came into Martha's for ice cream, and ice cream you shallhave." She indicated the one tub with any contents. "Asyou can see, there's one delight I still make ... did I tell youI make all my own ice cream? I did? Oh, silly me, I'm soforgetful. Well anyway, this is my very own speciality -strawberry. Do you like strawberry? Course you do; everybodylikes strawberry ice cream."

"Yes, we all like strawberry," answered Carol.

"Good, good, good. Now, sit yourselves down, my dears, andI'll bring you all a nice big helping. You really look as if youneed cooling down. It's such a hot day, isn't it?"

They dutifully trouped to a table and arranged themselves aroundit while Martha busied herself behind the counter.

They had only a short expectant wait before Martha came bustlingtowards them remarkably rapidly for someone of her bulk, In herample hands she bore a large tray, on which were five immense,brimming bowls. Placing a bowl and a spoon in front of each ofthem, she said, "There you are, my dears. I guarantee thatwill be the best ice cream you'll have ever tasted. Go on tuckin, tuck in ... and don't worry, there's plenty more where thatcame from."

The two boys picked up their spoons and immediately dug greedilyinto their bowl; Holly followed suit a little more demurely butwith the same obvious relish. Carol hesitated, calculating theamount of calories in the huge serving before her. Barry too, wasconcerned for his already expanding waistline, but Martha hoveredover them with a proprietorial manner, rather like a massivemother hen; loath to upset her, he dipped his spoon into hisoverflowing bowl. When finally Carol began to sample her own icecream, Martha gave a huge, satisfied beam.

"That's it, my dears, enjoy, enjoy," she said, withevident pleasure, "I do so like to see people appreciate mydelights. I'll leave you to it for now, but I won't be far awaywhen you want some more. Enjoy, enjoy." With that, shewaddled off and disappeared into a room behind the counter.

She had no need to exhort them to enjoy. The ice cream was themost delicious any of them had ever eaten. The children werealready well down their bowls; Carol and Barry had begun moretentatively, but were soon spooning it into their mouths with thesame vigour.

"It's funny, but it doesn't taste like strawberry,"whispered Carol to Barry. She did not know why she waswhispering; only that she felt a strange reluctance to let Marthahear her say anything derogatory about her 'delight'.

"You're right," agreed Barry, in the same low tone,"I'm not sure what it tastes of - in fact, I don't thinkI've ever tasted anything like it before - but isn't it good?"To emphasise his remark, he scooped up another huge spoonful andstuck it in his mouth.

The ice cream looked liked strawberry, in that it was a dark pinkcolour, but there the comparison ended. It had a sharp, almostmetallic smell, not unpleasant, but unexpected and not one thatcould be associated with fruit. It was thick, creamy andsubstantial, unlike the whipped and airy mass-producedconfections they were used to. As for the taste: it defieddescription. It was tangy, yet sweet, with a rich, luxuriousflavour that lingered in the mouth, tingled on the tongue andleft one wanting more. The texture was smooth and velvety; itslid down the throat in cool, luscious waves. Though Barry hadnever encountered a taste so exquisite and delectable, he thoughthe detected a hint of something he half recognised, an underlyingtantalising, savour of something he could not bring to mind. Hejust could not put his finger on it.

As he watched his family wolfing down the ice cream withoutregard to delicacy or manners he felt slightly embarrassed, untilhe realised he was behaving in exactly the same way. He wasshovelling the pink, flavourful substance into his mouth with thesame greedy gusto as the others. He no longer thirsted for beer,he wanted only more and more of the ambrosial ice cream.
The children were the first to finish their bowls; Carol wasabout to scoop up the last spoonful when she looked up insurprise to discover Martha standing over them with another traycontaining five more bowls. How the huge woman had approachedtheir table so silently she did not know; she must have been tooabsorbed in eating to hear her.

Martha beamed broadly down on them. "Ah, my dears," shesaid, "You don't have to tell me you enjoyed my littledelight; I can tell, it's written all over your faces. Now, I'msure you could manage a little more, couldn't you?" Withoutwaiting for an answer, she took their empty bowls and replacedthem with fresh ones overflowing with dark pink coolness.

"Oh, I'm not sure we can ..." began Carol.

"Nonsense, course you can. I get so few customers these daysand I do so like to see people appreciate my little concoctions."

"Well, all right then," said Carol, not wanting todisappoint the massive smiling woman. "I suppose a littlemore won't harm. But tell me, I was wondering - just what do youput into it? It's so lovely."

"Ah, I can't tell you that, my dear, I really can't. It's mylittle secret. It really wouldn't do to tell everybody, now wouldit? If I did that, then no one would come to Martha's ever again.Then where would I be?" So saying, she ponderously turnedand returned to the room behind the counter.

Carol turned back to the table to find the rest alreadygluttonously gorging themselves. With a shrug, she picked up herspoon and sank it into her new bowl. After finishing the firstbowl, she thought she was too full to eat any more; now, all ofsudden, she found if anything her appetite had increased, and shebegan to eat with as much ferocity as the others.

The family continued eating mainly in silence, too absorbed inthe sensations their taste buds were providing for conversation.Soon the second bowls were emptied and once more Martha magicallyappeared and despite their protests replenished them with newones. When those were emptied, even though they felt Martha wouldcontinue serving them for the rest of the day, they had to call ahalt. They were simply too sated to manage another mouthful. Thechildren went off to play and explore, while Carol and Barry satback, deliciously cooled and satisfied.

"Well, I never thought I could enjoy something as much as Idid that ice cream," commented Barry. Whatever the secretrecipe is, it's a winner. You'd think she'd market it, wouldn'tyou? She'd make a fortune."

"Yes, it's funny that she should be stuck out her all on herown. She can't get many people passing through."

"Yes, weird, isn't it? Still, she seems happy enough.Anyway, love, I think it's about time we were making tracks.We've a fair way to go before we get back home." Barry hadbeen studying a map he had taken into the parlour with him andfound that if they continued on the road they had beentravelling, they would eventually reach a motorway that wouldtake them in the right direction.

"Yes, you're right, I'll go call the kids while you pay."

She left the parlour, calling out goodbye to Martha, who seemedto be busy in the back room again. Though Barry too calledseveral times, he could not attract the large woman's attentioneither. Shrugging, he took some money from his wallet placed iton the table, shouted a last goodbye, and followed his wife.

Outside, it was still baking hot and the car was stifling as heclimbed in beside the waiting Carol. "All set?" heasked.

"Yes, all that ice cream must have made the kids sleepy,they were curled up in the back when I came out. I know how theyfeel, I could nod off myself."

Barry sympathised, he too felt half-asleep and had to forcehimself to concentrate as he started the car and steered it alongthe winding road. He really shouldn't have eaten so much butwasn't that ice cream gorgeous? He still had that haunting tastein his mouth. What did it remind him of?

They had travelled several miles and signs pointing to themotorway were beginning to appear when Carol, who had beendozing, turned to check on the children.

"Barry! Stop the car!"

"What?"

"Stop the car. Holly! Where's Holly?"

"What? What do you mean?"

"Holly's not here!"

Barry braked the car and looked round. The two boys stirredgroggily and stared bleary-eyed at their parents.
"Where's your sister? Where is she?"

"She ... she went into the back of the ice cream place withthe fat woman," said Robert, "I ... I thought you knew."
"Yes," confirmed Jason, "It was when we wentoutside, the fat woman came out and asked her if she wanted towatch her make some ice cream. She said you'd told her it wasalright. They went in the back door."

"How could you be so stupid?" demanded Barry, "Youtold me they were all in the back."

"I thought they were. I saw them stretched out - you knowhow she likes to curl up small in the corner when she sleeps inthe car - I just assumed she was there. We'll have to go back.Anyway, she'll be all right with Martha, she's probably stuffingherself with ice cream."

Angrily, Barry manoeuvred the car around in the narrow road.Driving as fast as he dared, he drove back the way they had come.

They pulled up outside the ice cream parlour with a screech ofbrakes. Barry said, "You stay here and watch the boys, wedon't want them straying too. I'll get Holly."

He dashed into the parlour, expecting to see his daughter sat ata table waiting for him. The tables were empty. Without troublingto announce himself, he hurried behind the counter and enteredthe back room.

Slumped in a chair, asleep or unconscious, was Holly. Her leftarm was resting on a low wooden table, into it was inserted along, thin plastic tube. The tube led to a large stainless steelbowl. At the table, her back to him, stood Martha. Humminghappily to herself, she was industriously stirring the dark pinkcontents of the bowl with a long wooden spoon.