The first time Daniel heard about the Popsicle Man, he was at the corner store. He didn't know what to make of it, mostly because no one could give him a clear answer.
"I've seen him," an older man said, his voice barely above a whisper, his hand shaking as he gripped his soda. "Popsicle Man comes by every year, like clockwork. He shows up, makes his rounds, then disappears. Nobody knows where he goes. Some folks say he brings the cold with him. Some say he's just a shadow."
Daniel didn't take it seriously at first. It sounded like one of those old stories people told to spook the kids. But as the weather got colder and the days got shorter, it stuck in his head. He passed the story around at school, mostly to get a laugh. But when the others had just nodded and kept talking, his thoughts kept returning to it.
A week before Halloween, the first sign came.
It was a Wednesday, one of those days when the wind made the trees tremble and the sky turned a dull grey. Daniel was walking home from school when he spotted him. He stood at the end of the street, his back to Daniel, unmoving. The figure had a long, dark coat that reached the ground, and a thick, white scarf wrapped tight around his neck. What really caught Daniel's attention was the cart—old and wooden, with a long handle and the faintest scrape of red paint.
The man didn't turn around, didn't acknowledge Daniel in any way. He just stood there, still as the wind howled around him. The cart was piled high with colorful popsicles, their shapes sharp and oddly out of place. It wasn't hot enough for anyone to want one, and the popsicles looked old, frozen over, some of them split and cracked in strange patterns.
For a moment, Daniel hesitated, then shook his head and walked past him. He told himself it was just some street vendor who hadn't packed up yet, but that gnawing feeling in his stomach stayed. The chill in the air seemed sharper now, and his breath came out in little clouds. He quickened his pace. The man didn't follow.
By the time Daniel reached his front door, he was already shaking.
------
The next day, Daniel didn't see him. Or the day after that. But as the week dragged on, something in the air felt different. It wasn't just the weather. There was a constant, unnatural stillness to everything. It was as if the world had quietly held its breath.
On Friday, Daniel came home late. He had been hanging out with his friends, trying to drown out the unease that had been eating at him all week. But as he walked down the street toward his house, he saw him again. The Popsicle Man.
He stood in the same spot, his back to the street, his cart piled high with the same cracked popsicles. This time, the air was colder. The wind had died down. All around him, the neighborhood was silent. Not a car. Not a person. Not even a dog barking.
Daniel hesitated, then, against every instinct, approached the cart. He was drawn to it, like something was pulling him closer. The Popsicle Man didn't move as Daniel stopped right in front of him. The air tasted of metal and frost.
"What are you selling?" Daniel asked, his voice weak, unsure.
The man didn't answer.
For a long time, Daniel stared at the popsicles, unable to look away. They were wrong—too still, too silent.
"You're not from around here, are you?" Daniel said, louder this time.
Finally, the man turned, his face obscured by the scarf.
Daniel froze.
There was something about him. The way his coat barely swayed in the breeze. The way his movements felt... wrong. Like a mannequin. Or something that hadn't moved in a long, long time.
And the eyes. They were hollow, dark pits. Empty.
The Popsicle Man didn't say a word. But his hand reached into the cart and grabbed one of the popsicles. He handed it to Daniel, who took it out of reflex.
"I—" Daniel started, but the words stuck in his throat.
The man didn't speak.
Daniel stepped back, clutching the popsicle in his hands, and started to walk away.
But then he heard it. A voice.
"Don't... forget."
Daniel froze. His breath caught.
He turned around, but the Popsicle Man was already gone, the cart empty, the street empty, the silence stretching out farther than it should have.
------
The next few days were a blur. Daniel didn't sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the man. He saw his hands—too pale, too thin—and he couldn't shake the feeling that the Popsicle Man was still out there, somewhere.
When Daniel walked to school on Monday, it felt colder than usual. A biting cold that sank into his bones, and the world seemed quiet, unnaturally still. The trees had begun to strip their leaves, but there was no wind to carry them. The sky hung low and gray.
And then, there it was again.
The cart.
The Popsicle Man stood at the corner of the street, his back turned as usual, a wooden cart filled with popsicles. But something was different this time. The popsicles were melting—dripping thick, red syrup, staining the sides of the cart. They weren't frozen anymore. They weren't bright and colorful. They were something else. Something darker. The melted popsicles had the shape of faces—eyes, mouths, twisted expressions of pain.
Daniel couldn't look away.
As he walked toward the cart, he noticed something in the air. A smell.
It was sickly sweet and rancid all at once, clinging to the back of his throat. He coughed, but it didn't go away.
The Popsicle Man turned then, slowly, too slowly. He raised his hand and offered Daniel another popsicle.
"No," Daniel said, his voice trembling. "No, I don't want it."
The Popsicle Man's lips moved—slow, deliberate.
"You'll take it," he whispered, so quiet Daniel almost didn't hear him.
But the voice... it was familiar.
Daniel's heart stopped. He thought of his mother's voice. His sister's. His own. How the Popsicle Man had known him.
He took a step back, but his legs felt heavy, numb. He couldn't move.
And then it hit him.
The Popsicle Man was waiting for him to take it. He was waiting for Daniel to reach out and grab it. As soon as he did... something would happen. He couldn't explain it, but he knew it. Deep down in his chest, in his gut.
He looked at the popsicle again. The faces in the frozen mess of red seemed to twist, contort, and scream.
His stomach turned.
Daniel backed away, faster now, running as fast as he could. He heard footsteps behind him. Not heavy or fast. Soft. Deliberate. They followed him, and with every step, the cold pressed harder against his skin.
He ran until his legs burned, until the world around him blurred. He didn't know where he was anymore. He didn't know how far he'd gone, but the cold still nipped at his skin.
The streets were empty. There was no one. Nothing. Just the echo of his own breathing.
When he turned around, the Popsicle Man was there.
His face, those hollow, empty pits, stared at Daniel as he reached out with one cold hand.
Daniel tried to scream, but the air choked him. The man's cold fingers wrapped around his wrist. The popsicle dropped to the ground, melting into the frozen earth.
He tried to pull away. It was useless.
The Popsicle Man's hand moved, fingers stretching too far, too long. They twisted into his flesh.
Daniel couldn't feel his legs anymore.
The ground beneath him cracked, splintered, the earth shuddering, as the Popsicle Man's voice whispered once more.
"Don't forget."
The last thing Daniel heard was the sound of his bones cracking.