Book I: The Ice Cream Man

"Oh, the sweet sounds of childhood," Master Renton Howling whispers, his voice lingering in the air like a cold breeze. "The joyful cries of children playing, the innocent delight of a summer's day. And yet, my dear reader, even the most innocent pleasures can turn to horror. Have you ever wondered why certain things, simple things, like an ice cream truck, can fill you with dread? Perhaps, it's because sometimes, the things meant to bring joy can be twisted into something far darker."

He steps into the light, his black eyes glinting with amusement, lips curling into a slow, wicked grin. "This next tale is not about the sweetness of childhood. No, it is about what happens when the past refuses to stay buried. When something as simple as an ice cream truck comes back... for revenge."

His smile fades into something more sinister. "Be careful, dear reader. The Ice Cream Man might just be waiting for you, too."

The candle flickers, and once again, the shadows close in.

The Ice Cream Man

The small, quiet cul-de-sac had seemed like the perfect place to raise a family. James and Rebecca Martin had just moved into their new home with their two children, Ethan , who was 10, and Lily , who was 14. The house was charming, the yard spacious, and the neighbors were friendly. It seemed like the perfect suburban dream.

But something wasn't right.

On the day they moved in, a woman from across the street had come over with a casserole, offering a warm smile but a strange sense of urgency in her eyes.

"You'll want to keep your kids inside on Saturdays," she said, her voice low. "Between 3 and 4pm. It's not safe."

James had laughed it off, brushing the comment aside as local superstition. "Oh, c'mon. What's going to happen, a sudden rainstorm?" he joked. But Rebecca had noticed the woman's uneasy expression. Something about her tone had struck a nerve.

"Why?" Rebecca asked cautiously. "What happens between 3 and 4pm?"

The woman's face tightened, her eyes darting around as if she feared being overheard. "It's... just best to stay inside. Trust me. Lock your doors. Close your windows. Don't let the kids out during that time. Especially around 3:33pm."

Before Rebecca could press further, the woman had hurried back across the street, leaving the Martins standing in their doorway with a growing sense of unease.

James scoffed. "Superstitious nonsense."

But Rebecca wasn't so sure.

Saturday arrived like any other weekend day, filled with the sounds of children laughing and playing outside. Ethan was eager to join the neighborhood boys who were playing street hockey in the cul-de-sac.

"Can I go play, Dad?" Ethan asked, bouncing excitedly.

"Sure, just be careful," James replied, not giving much thought to the neighbor's odd warning.

Rebecca, however, hesitated. The words of the woman from across the street still echoed in her mind. "Don't be out too late, okay? Come inside well before 3."

Ethan grinned and ran outside, calling out to the boys who reluctantly let him join their game. As they played, Ethan got to know the other kids. Everything seemed normal, until one of the boys, Ryan , glanced at his watch.

"We need to wrap it up soon," Ryan muttered, his voice tense. "My mom wants me home by 2."

Ethan, still panting from running after the ball, frowned. "Why so early? It's Saturday!"

The other boys exchanged uneasy glances. Lucas , the tallest of the group, spoke first. "You haven't heard about... him?"

"Him who?" Ethan asked, confused.

Ryan dropped his hockey stick, his face pale. "The Ice Cream Man."

The name sent a shiver down Ethan's spine. "Ice Cream Man? What are you talking about?"

Lucas stepped forward, his voice low and serious. "There's this... ghost. Every Saturday at 3:33pm, an ice cream truck comes down our street. But it's not like any other truck. It's the Ice Cream Man's truck, the one that crashed on the coldest day in July. He froze to death because of some kid..."

Ryan took a deep breath, continuing the story. "He was trying to swerve to avoid a kid who wanted ice cream. His truck hit a tree, and it pinned him. He couldn't get out... he froze, alone, surrounded by snow."

Ethan stared at them, trying to hide the chill creeping up his spine. "And now... he's back?"

"Every week," Lucas said. "At the exact time he died. And if anyone goes out there... if they ask for ice cream... they're never seen again."

One of the younger boys, Tommy , spoke up, his voice shaky. "I saw him once. From my window. He looked... normal at first. But then I saw his face, it wasn't human. It was... icy, like a skeleton. And he smiled at me, like he was waiting."

Ethan scoffed, though the fear in the other boys' eyes made him uneasy. "That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard."

The kids fell silent, their fear palpable.

"Just stay inside, okay?" Ryan finally said, picking up his hockey stick. "No one goes out after 3."

Ethan walked back inside, his mind swirling with their words. He didn't believe in ghosts, but the way they had spoken about the Ice Cream Man unsettled him. He shook it off and tried to focus on his video games.

As the day stretched on, the usual hustle and bustle outside died down. By 3pm, the cul-de-sac was eerily quiet. No kids played in the street. No cars passed by. The entire neighborhood had gone still, as though the world itself was holding its breath.

Ethan glanced at the clock on the wall. 3:32pm.

A strange chill crept into the air, and the temperature in the house seemed to drop suddenly. He looked out the window, expecting nothing, just an empty street.

But then, at exactly 3:33pm, he heard it.

The sound was faint at first, a familiar tune carried on the wind. The jingle of an ice cream truck, but slower... distorted... like a record being played at the wrong speed.

Ethan's heart skipped a beat as he peered out the window. Sure enough, there it was. A white ice cream truck, turning slowly into the cul-de-sac, the music still playing, its once-cheerful tune now twisted and haunting.

The truck rolled to a stop in front of the house. For a moment, everything was still.

Then, the driver leaned out of the window.

He looked normal enough at first, dressed in a crisp white uniform with a wide smile on his face. "Hey there, kid!" the Ice Cream Man called out in a cheery voice. "Want some delicious ice cream?"

Ethan stared at him, his pulse quickening. His parents were upstairs working on their projects, and his sister was in her room, headphones on. No one was paying attention. No one was around.

And, in the back of his mind, the other kids' story echoed.

It's not real, he told himself. It's just a stupid story.

He hesitated, but curiosity won out. Slowly, cautiously, Ethan opened the door and stepped outside, approaching the truck.

The Ice Cream Man's smile never faltered, though his eyes seemed strangely empty. "What flavor do you want?" he asked, his voice a little too smooth, a little too eager.

"Uh, vanilla," Ethan replied, his voice trembling slightly.

The Ice Cream Man blinked slowly, turning back to the freezer. He worked quietly, scooping the ice cream into a cone. Then, he turned back to Ethan, holding out the cone with his bony hand.

"Here you go, kid. Just take it," he said softly.

Ethan reached out, but before his fingers touched the cone, he heard a scream.

"Ethan! NO!"

His mother's voice rang out from the front door. He whipped around to see her standing there, her face twisted in horror.

Ethan looked back at the Ice Cream Man, and froze in terror.

The once-cheery figure had changed. His skin had turned pale, almost translucent, and his face had become a skull, covered in frost. His hollow eyes gleamed with malice, and his wide, skeletal grin stretched across his face as his bony hand gripped Ethan's arm.

The Ice Cream Man's voice turned to a rasping whisper. "Come with me, boy..."

Ethan screamed, struggling to pull free, but the Ice Cream Man's grip was impossibly strong. His mother rushed forward, grabbing Ethan's other arm, trying to pull him away, but the skeletal figure didn't budge.

The Ice Cream Man let out a bloodcurdling shriek, the sound piercing their ears, sending waves of pain through their bodies. The force of it made Ethan's mother lose her grip for just a moment, but it was enough.

The Ice Cream Man yanked Ethan into the truck.

"No!" his mother screamed, reaching out as the truck's door slammed shut. The familiar tune began to play again, eerily slow and distorted as the truck began to pull away.

Ethan's mother fell to her knees, helplessly watching as the ice cream truck drove away. Her breath caught in her throat as she screamed her son's name, over and over again, the sound ripped from her chest like a primal wail of despair. The ice cream truck moved slowly, almost mockingly, the distorted jingle echoing down the deserted street. It was a twisted, nightmarish tune, like a children's lullaby gone horribly wrong.

Her vision blurred with tears, but through her terror, she forced herself to watch. The truck's taillights blinked in the fog, fading into the distance, but something else caught her eye, something far more horrific.

The once pristine white ice cream cone perched on top of the truck began to change. At first, it was just a small spot, a red dot blooming at the base of the cone. But as the truck continued to pull away, the red spread like a stain, oozing upward, turning the entire ice cream cone blood red. Her heart froze.

Ethan's blood...

She gasped, her hands flying to her mouth as bile rose in her throat. The truck, with its horrible red cone, felt like a twisted mockery of everything innocent. And then, just when she thought it couldn't get worse, she saw it.

In the truck's rear window, floating just behind the driver's seat, was Ethan's face . His wide, terrified eyes locked onto hers, his mouth hanging open in a silent scream. His head floated in the back of the truck, disembodied, surrounded by shadows and mist. His expression was frozen in pure agony, as if the very moment of his death had been captured for eternity.

Rebecca's world crumbled. Her knees buckled, her body collapsing onto the cold pavement as she let out a strangled sob. She reached out, grasping at the air, as if she could somehow pull her son back from the grip of the phantom truck.

"No... no, no, no..." she whispered, her voice broken.

The truck continued its slow, torturous journey down the street, its eerie tune fading into the dense fog that had rolled in, shrouding the cul-de-sac in an oppressive gloom. The last thing Rebecca saw before it disappeared entirely was her son's blood-painted face staring back at her, pleading for help.

And then, it was gone.

The air around her was freezing, her breath visible as it escaped in frantic gasps. Her entire body shook uncontrollably. She could still hear the faint, distorted melody of the ice cream truck echoing somewhere far away, a ghostly whisper in the cold wind.

The street was eerily silent, as if the world itself had been stunned into submission by the horrors that had unfolded. Neighbors peeked out from behind drawn curtains and locked doors, their faces pale and terrified. They had heard the scream; they had seen the truck. But no one dared step outside. They all knew what had happened.

The Ice Cream Man had claimed another victim.

Rebecca knelt on the pavement, her body wracked with sobs, her mind unable to process the nightmare she had just witnessed. Her child, her son, was gone. Taken.

"Ethan... Ethan, no..." she whimpered, her hands grasping at the cold ground as if trying to anchor herself to reality.

James burst out of the house, panic etched across his face. "Rebecca? Rebecca, what the hell happened?"

She didn't respond at first, her voice lost in the haze of grief. But when James saw the look in her eyes, the sheer terror, he knew something terrible had happened.

He knelt beside her, shaking her shoulders. "What happened? Where's Ethan?"

Rebecca pointed weakly down the street, her eyes wide and hollow. "The truck... it took him... the Ice Cream Man... he took our son."

James stared at her, disbelief clouding his face. "What are you talking about? What truck? What Ice Cream Man?"

The neighbor from across the street emerged cautiously from her home, her face grim and pale. She hurried over, her eyes filled with sorrow and fear.

"I told you... I tried to warn you..." she whispered, her voice shaky.

James looked between them, his mind struggling to comprehend. "What do you mean? What's going on? Where's my son?"

The neighbor took a deep breath, her words trembling. "The Ice Cream Man... it's not just a story. He comes every Saturday at 3:33pm, and if any child goes to him... they're taken. He's been doing it for years. No one ever comes back."

James's face twisted in rage and disbelief. "No. That's insane! My son is out there, he can't be gone because of some... ghost story!"

Rebecca grabbed his arm, her nails digging into his skin, her voice a terrified whisper. "I saw him, James. He was in the truck. His face... his head... oh God, I saw him."

Her words hung in the air like a death sentence. James's anger melted into horror as the reality of the situation hit him like a wave of ice-cold water. His son was gone. Taken by something that shouldn't exist.

"I... I don't understand..." James stammered, his voice breaking. He turned to the neighbor, desperation in his eyes. "What... what do we do? How do we get him back?"

The neighbor shook her head slowly, her eyes filled with grief. "Once the Ice Cream Man takes a child, they never come back. They're gone... forever."

Rebecca let out a heart-wrenching wail, collapsing into James's arms. The weight of their son's loss crushed them both, suffocating them in a grief so deep it felt like drowning.

One week later, the Martin household was a shell of its former self. Rebecca barely left her room, her eyes red and swollen from endless tears. James moved through the house in a daze, haunted by the silence that now filled their once-happy home.

Lily, Ethan's sister, hadn't spoken a word since the day he was taken. She locked herself in her room, refusing to come out, her mind trapped in a loop of fear and confusion.

Saturday came again, and with it came the same cold, eerie stillness that had descended upon the cul-de-sac the week before. The neighbors, as always, locked their doors and closed their windows, hiding from the terror they knew was coming.

At exactly 3:33pm, the haunting, distorted jingle of the ice cream truck echoed through the neighborhood once again. It was slower this time, more ominous, as if the truck itself was savoring its victory.

No one dared to look outside. Not a single window opened. The Ice Cream Man rolled through the cul-de-sac, his truck gleaming white in the cold light of the overcast sky.

But this time, something was different.

The white cone on top of the truck, so innocent, so pristine, remained untouched. No red stain. No blood. But inside, through the rear window of the truck, Ethan's face floated once more.

His eyes, wide with terror, stared out at the world, frozen in that same silent scream. His head hovered in the misty air, his expression locked in endless agony.

And just behind him, the skeletal figure of the Ice Cream Man grinned, his hollow eyes gleaming with malice as the truck crept through the fog. The twisted jingle played on, distorted and haunting, until the truck disappeared once again into the cold, unforgiving mist.

Epilogue

Master Renton Howling emerges from the darkness, his eyes glinting with malicious amusement. His voice is cold, like a breeze sweeping through a graveyard at midnight.

"Ah, the Ice Cream Man. A childhood delight turned into a living nightmare. But why, you may ask, does he come? What drives him to return every week, to take the innocent away from their families?"

He steps closer, his grin widening. "Perhaps it's revenge. Or perhaps... it's simply because he can. After all, some things from the past refuse to die."

He leans in, his voice dropping to a whisper. "So the next time you hear the jingle of an ice cream truck... listen closely. If it sounds slower, if it sends a chill down your spine, then run. Lock your doors, close your windows, and whatever you do, do not look outside ."

The candle flickers, and the room plunges into darkness.

The End