Monsters

The ice cream truck rolled down the street where the Pinketts lived. It passed slowly and kept on going, towards the park that was three blocks away, its siren song got lost in the distance like a popsicle melting in the heat of that summer day.

Nancy was lying in bed with her daughter Carrie Mae. Both dozed under the canopy of the child’s four-poster bed. The canopy curtains were white with pink lace flowers and they matched the motif of the wallpaper, a repeated pattern of a delicate bouquet of roses. Most things in the room had touches of pink and white. Outside, a blue jay landed on a branch of the oak tree that stood next to the house, chirped its heart out for a few seconds, and then flew away. It was a soft and sweet afternoon in a strawberry vanilla little girl’s room.

Activated by the truck’s music, Carrie Mae got up from the bed and began to jump. Her two thick braided ponytails, which Nancy had made for her in the morning and tied with brightly colored elastic bands, bounced lively in all directions.

“Did you hear, ma? An ice cream truck! Buy me an ice cream. Pleeease.”

Nancy had not seen her daughter so happy since they had moved to that house, just two weeks ago.

“All right, Carrie Mae. Let's see what the ice cream man brought today.”

As soon as she said those words, Nancy regretted them. Her first impulse had been to say no, to make up some excuse not to leave their small heaven. But her daughter's enthusiasm had disarmed her. It was Saturday afternoon and the park must be full of people. Nancy imagined herself standing on the grass, holding hands with Carrie Mae, surrounded by those strangers, and shuddered. The scene resembled a nightmare that had been visiting her for the past few days: the crowd approached them, closed in on both of them, slowly choking them like a boa constrictor.

She went with her daughter to the bathroom and helped her wash her hands. Then she retouched her makeup, applied some hairspray to her bob, checked that there was enough change and a new bag