My uncle Gerry Karlsson was a storyteller—a great one. My cousins and I loved his stories and even loved the fact that they changed a bit—sometimes a lot—with each retelling. We'd all listen closely for any new twists, colorful additions, or shifting exaggerations; and thrilled at pointing them out to him. But one of his stories never changed no matter how many times he told it, not by a single word. It was the one he said was true. The one that he swore actually happened—to him.

 

Gerry was the youngest child in a family of proud Wisconsin dairy farmers. But his family's real passion was ice cream. They made ice cream on the farm and sold it in a small shop in town. Before he was in high school, Gerry had become the best ice cream maker in the family. The family's recipes for a dozen assorted flavors became so popular with the townspeople and with all the farm families in the county that after a year in business, his father put a sign above the store that announced: Karlsson's Ice Cream, The Best in the World. No one argued with that claim.

 

One day a new customer came into the store and ordered butter pecan. After only a few licks of the two scoops atop his waffle cone, the customer declared that Karlsson's ice cream was not only the best in the world but was the best in the whole universe. The next day, Gerry's father put up a new sign. This one proclaimed: Karlsson's Ice Cream, The Best in the Universe. After that, the family couldn't make its ice cream fast enough. The boost in sales kept their dairy cows very busy, and new T-shirts with Karlsson's Ice Cream, The Best in the Universe printed on the front generated even more sales. Gerry and his family wore them when working at the store and most other times as well to advertise the business.

 

One night Gerry and his older brother closed shop and headed home in the family car. The night was unusually dark. Low rolling clouds extinguished any light from the stars and moon. The road was visible only as far as the car's weak headlights could stretch before the night swallowed them. Tall fields of corn hemmed the road, hiding any beacon of light from the few farmhouses along the way. The rumble of the car drowned out all sounds except for the piercing crackle of the crickets and the coarse rustle of corn stalks in the car's wake.

 

The dark and hush made Gerry a little afraid. He was beginning to imagine a host of scary scenes when he heard a loud pop. The car shuddered, swerved onto the road's gravel shoulder, and stopped. Gerry and his brother got out of the car and inspected it. One of the rear tires was flat, the rubber shredded. And they didn't have a spare. Their dad would have to come with the tractor to get them and pull the car home. Gerry's brother assigned him the task of walking to the nearest farmhouse to use the phone to call their father. He would stay with the car until Gerry returned.

 

Gerry began the walk to the nearby Foley farm. Mr. and Mrs. Foley were both ancient, no longer farmed, and lived by themselves in a worn-out, clapboard house next to an empty, sagging barn. Gerry hoped they would be awake when he got there. As he walked, the sounds of the night surrounded him. There were howls of coyotes, the mournful hoots of owls, the unseen but felt darts of bats above him, and the rush of invisible beings through the cornfield. The crunch and dry rattle from the corn stalks grew louder and closer. The darkness magnified the sounds, and Gerry imagined frightening things stalking him with malice in their hearts. The night grew even darker, and he wasn't sure anymore where the Foley farmhouse was.

 

He started to run back to the car but stopped when the clouds parted and the moonlight revealed the dirt path that led to the Foley house. As he stepped onto the path, a shooting star streaked overhead followed by a bright flash behind the old home. The dirt path was rutted and uneven and Gerry stumbled and tripped several times in the dark before he finally reached the house. He climbed the porch stairs, dusted himself off, and knocked on the door. But no one came. He knocked again, louder this time, but the door remained closed. He called out to Mr. and Mrs. Foley but got no answer. He knocked once more, harder this time. The door opened a crack, but no one peeked out. Gerry pushed the door, and it slowly swung into an empty living room. Before he entered, he loudly announced his presence, but again no one answered. Gerry then stepped into the house. A light shimmered through the partially opened door to the kitchen.

 

Gerry crept toward the kitchen and peered through the crack in the doorway. His eyes fell on a blood-curdling scene. He froze in fear, unable to move a muscle. Mr. and Mrs. Foley lay on the kitchen table, their bodies stiff and unmoving like toppled marble statues, their eyes wide in terror, their mouths open in a silent scream. Around the table, hunched over them, stood six tall, thin, beings with long arms, bulbous heads, and giant bulging eyes. Their bodies radiated with a greenish glow, their hands clenched and unclenched with long needle-like fingers, and glinting knife-like teeth shown from their gaping mouths.

 

Suddenly a dozen giant eyes swiveled toward him. In his head, he heard these words in a low scratchy growl, " We have traveled far for this feast and you have interrupted our meal." 

Gerry tried to run, but he couldn't. His limbs were like stone. He tried to scream for help, but no sound came.

 

He hadn't meant to interrupt their meal. Did that mean they were going to eat him instead?

 

One of the beings floated toward Gerry and its needled hands reached to grab him. But just before they dug into his flesh, he heard a voice in his head say, "Stop. Look."

 

The creature leaned low, its eyes looking into Gerry's, and he heard another voice in his head.

"Yes, this will do nicely."

"M-m-me?" Gerry stuttered. "Oh, no. You wouldn't like the way I taste."

 

At that, Gerry heard what he felt certain was laughter in his head. He swallowed hard. The Foleys were old. He was young. He was probably exactly what they wanted to eat.

 

Then the first voice spoke. "We do not seek to eat you."

The creature gestured at the Foley's bodies. "We have eaten. But we understand that the custom here  is to end a meal with . . . dessert?"

 

One of the beings joined the other in front of Gerry and glowered at him. Then, with its sharp fingers, it plucked at Gerry's T-shirt and lowered its face to examine it. "Is it true?" asked the voice.

 

Although Gerry couldn't speak, in his mind he asked, "Is what true?"

The voice responded with, "Is it true Karlsson's ice cream is the best in the universe?"

"Everyone says so," said Gerry in his mind.

 

All the beings bobbed and spun. Their razor-edged teeth vanished and were replaced with what looked like smiles to Gerry. Then the voice said, "We have traveled to ten thousand galaxies searching for the treasure of ice cream. It is the greatest delicacy and most delicious food in all the universe. The beings in every world crave it. We must have it."

 

"I know the recipe. If I give it to you, will you spare me and leave?" said Gerry in his mind.

The voices in Gerry's head chanted, "Yes, yes."

And then, because he was his father's son, he had an idea. "And will you keep my family's name on the ice cream for all time?" he added.

"Yes, yes, yes," chimed the voices.

 

And so, Gerry gave away the family's secret ice cream recipes to the space aliens.

 

Gerry watched from Mr. and Mrs. Foley's back porch as the creatures' spaceship rose from the ground, hovered in the air for an instant, and then shot up into the night sky, disappearing into a tiny white dot among the stars. As he headed back to the car and his waiting brother, Gerry wondered if someday, far into the future, travelers from Earth to another planet would find a sign that said, "Karlsson's Ice Cream, The Best in the Universe."