The late afternoon sun beat down on the asphalt of Moon Valley High's parking lot, turning it into a shimmering mirage of heat waves and scattered puddles. Jessica Tumblerlee flipped her blonde hair over one shoulder, feeling sweat trickle down her spine as she arched her back in an exaggerated stretch. Her crop-top clung to her skin, and her cutoff denim shorts rode high enough to show off the toned legs that had earned her a front spot on the cheerleading pyramid.

  "Hey, Jessica! Heads up!"

  Jessica spun just in time to dodge the water spray from Amber's hose. She shrieked, half-laughing as droplets splashed her bare midriff.

  "Watch it! Some of us are trying to look professional here." Jessica grabbed a sponge from a nearby bucket and flicked suds back at her teammate, who ducked behind a Toyota.

  "Professional?" Mia snorted, leaning against the hood of a freshly washed sedan. "We're in bikini tops and shorts, washing cars for horny teenage boys. Not exactly NASA."

  "It's a legitimate fundraiser," Tiffany Barns called from where she scrubbed a minivan's windshield. "Besides, we need three thousand for new uniforms before the championship.”

  Jessica nodded, returning to the Jeep she'd been working on. The car wash had been Tiffany's idea—their cheer captain knew exactly how to leverage their popularity into cash. And it was working. Moon High's parking lot had transformed into a parade of vehicles driven by teenage boys, overprotective dads suspiciously concerned about their car's cleanliness, and the occasional older men who lingered a bit too long, their gazes a little too appreciative.

  One such man, balding and sporting a Hawaiian shirt stretched tight across his belly, stared openly as Jessica bent to dunk her sponge. She straightened quickly, forcing a peppy smile that didn't reach her eyes.

  "That'll be fifteen dollars, sir," she said, holding her hand.

  The man fished out a twenty from his wallet, deliberately brushing his fingertips against her palm as he passed it over. "Keep the change, sweetheart. You earned it."

  Jessica's smile froze. "Thanks," she said flatly, turning away to drop the bill in their lockbox.

  Camella sidled up beside her, dark eyes narrowed. "Creep alert at two o'clock," she muttered. "Want me to accidentally hose him down?"

  "Nah." Jessica shook her head. "Just doing the captain's bidding. Speaking of which..."

  Tiffany clapped her hands, drawing the squad's attention. "Ladies! We're killing it today! Already over eight hundred dollars, and it's only—" She checked her phone, squinting in the bright light. "—four-thirty. We've got another hour before we wrap up."

  Another car pulled into the lot—a sleek black convertible driven by a senior boy Jessica vaguely recognized from calculus. Three more vehicles lined up behind it, eager for the cheerleaders' attention.

  Jessica grabbed her sponge and bucket, moving toward the next car in line, when something at the edge of the parking lot caught her eye. It wasn't so much the vehicle itself—though the faded ice cream truck stood out among the newer cars—but the stillness of it. The truck sat idling, its engine emitting a low, uneven rumble that reminded Jessica of an animal growling.

  The side panel featured a garish painting of an oversized clown head, its red-lipped smile stretched impossibly wide beneath dead-looking eyes. Peeling letters spelled out "Jolly Cream" in once-cheerful font. No one stood at the serving window. No one seemed to be inside the cab.

  Yet Jessica couldn't shake the feeling that someone—or something—was watching.

  "Earth to Jessica!" Amber's voice snapped her back to reality. "You're dripping all over your sandals!”

  Jessica blinked, realizing her sponge was indeed sending rivulets of soapy water down her bare legs and over her sandals. "Sorry," she mumbled, returning to her task. "Just got distracted."

  But her gaze kept drifting back to the ice cream truck. It remained motionless, no customers approaching it, no vendor calling out to advertise sweet treats.

  "Hey," she called to Mia, who was collecting money from a sophomore boy. "That ice cream truck—has it been there all afternoon?"

  Mia glanced over, shrugging. "No idea. Kinda weird, though. Who parks an ice cream truck at a car wash?"

  "Maybe he's hoping we'll give him a discount," Camella joked, wringing out her sponge. "Lord knows that thing could use a detailed job."

  Jessica frowned. "I'm gonna check it out."

  "Seriously?" Tiffany raised an eyebrow. "We've got paying customers waiting, Jessica."

  "It'll just take a sec," Jessica insisted, already moving across the lot.

  As she approached the truck, her steps slowed. Up close, the vehicle looked even more dilapidated—rust eating away at the wheel wells, the once-white paint yellowed with age. The clown's head on top seemed to follow her, its grin more like a leer.

  "Hello?" she called, stopping a few feet away. "Anyone there?"

  No response came from inside the truck, but the engine's rumble deepened, almost like a warning growl.

  Jessica took another step forward, her heartbeat quickening inexplicably. Something about this truck felt wrong—predatory, even. "Hey! Your music's not playing," she said, trying to sound casual. "Aren't ice cream trucks supposed to play music?"

  The truck's engine suddenly revved, loud and aggressive, making Jessica jump back. Without warning, it lurched forward, tires squealing as it shot out of the parking lot. Jessica stood frozen, watching as it disappeared around the corner, leaving only a cloud of exhaust and the lingering feeling of unease.

  "What the hell?" she muttered.

  "Making friends with the competition?" Tiffany called from across the lot, hands on her hips. "Come on, Jessica, we've got cars lined up!"

  Jessica jogged back to her squad, but the encounter left her distracted. For the rest of the afternoon, she scanned the street, half-expecting the ice cream truck to reappear.

  "Something wrong?" Camella asked, bumping Jessica's shoulder playfully as they packed up their supplies an hour later. "You've been spacing out."

  Jessica shook her head. "Just tired, I guess."

  "Well, perk up," Tiffany announced, waving a stack of bills. "Final count: one thousand, two hundred and twenty-three dollars! Not bad for one afternoon."

  The girls cheered, high-fiving each other as they finished loading buckets and hoses into Tiffany's SUV.

  "Party at my place tomorrow to celebrate?" Mia suggested, twisting her dark hair into a bun. "My parents are in Aspen until Tuesday."

  "Done," Amber agreed immediately. "I'll bring the—" She caught Tiffany's warning look and amended, "—sodas. Definitely just sodas."

  Jessica laughed along with her friends, but her mind kept drifting back to that strange truck. As they said their goodbyes and split up to head home, she scanned the streets warily.

  "Need a ride?" Camella offered, jangling her keys. "My mom's letting me use the car this weekend."

  Jessica hesitated. Her house was only two miles from school, and she usually enjoyed the walk. But today...

  "Thanks, but I'm good," she decided. "Could use the fresh air."

  "Suit yourself," Camella shrugged. "See you tomorrow at Mia's!"

  Jessica watched her friends drive away, leaving her alone in the parking lot as shadows lengthened across the asphalt. The sun hung low now, casting everything in a golden-red glow that would have been beautiful if it didn't remind Jessica of blood.

  She hitched her gym bag higher on her shoulder and set off toward home, sticking to the main streets where summer evening traffic still flowed steadily. The normalcy of passing cars and the occasional dog-walker calmed her nerves. By the time she turned onto Maple Avenue, she was feeling foolish about her earlier unease.

  So what if an ice cream truck had been acting weird? It was probably just some creep trying to get a free look at cheerleaders in bikini tops. Gross, but hardly supernatural.

  The thought had barely formed when Jessica heard it—the faint, tinkling melody of an ice cream truck's jingle, floating on the evening breeze.

  She froze, head snapping up as she scanned the street. There, at the far end of the block, the Jolly Cream truck idled. Even from a distance, she could see the clown's head, its eyes seeming to fix directly on her.

  Jessica's heart hammered against her ribs. The rational part of her brain suggested it was a coincidence—the driver had simply continued his route and ended up on her street. But deeper instincts—the ones that had awakened within her since that fateful night in the woods—screamed danger.

  She quickened her pace, cutting across a neighbor's lawn to turn down Elm Street instead of continuing straight. If she could make it to Pine Road, she'd be just two blocks from home. Her dad would be there, probably cleaning his service weapon at the kitchen table like he did every Friday after his shift.

  The music grew louder behind her.

  Jessica risked a glance over her shoulder. The truck had turned too, maintaining its distance but following her path.

  This isn't happening, she thought, heart racing. It's just paranoia. It's—

  The truck's engine revved suddenly, the sound echoing off the quiet suburban houses. It surged forward, closing the gap between them with alarming speed.

  Panic shot through Jessica like an electric current. She veered sharply left, ducking between two houses and cutting through a backyard. If the truck was following her, she couldn't lead it home. She needed to confront it at an isolated location.

  The alley behind Elm Street stretched before her, narrow and shadowed by the tall privacy fences on either side. Jessica sprinted down it, her sandals slapping against the pavement. Behind her, the impossible sound of the ice cream truck squeezing into the alley sent icy fear trickling down her spine.

  She reached the end of the alley and darted left, then right, zigzagging through the maze of residential back streets. All the while, the tinkling melody of the truck pursued her, sometimes fading but never disappearing completely.

  Her lungs burned as she pushed herself faster, harder. The evening had deepened into twilight, street lamps flickering to life around her. She'd run almost ten blocks, away from the residential areas and toward the industrial district near the railroad tracks.

  Finally, she ducked into a narrow passage between two abandoned warehouses, pressing her back against the brick wall as she struggled to catch her breath. The music had stopped. Had she lost it?

  For several long moments, the only sound was her ragged breathing and the distant hum of traffic from the highway. Then—a low, mechanical growl. The rumble of an engine drawing nearer.

  Jessica peered around the corner. The street was empty save for the Jolly Cream truck, which sat motionless in the center of the road, its headlights cutting through the gathering dusk like malevolent eyes.

  She swallowed hard, weighing her options. She could try to outrun it again, but her legs felt like jelly, and the truck had proved terrifyingly persistent. Or she could face it—confront whatever the hell was happening.

  A familiar prickling sensation crawled across her skin. The change was coming, triggered by her fear and adrenaline. Jessica closed her eyes, focusing on the sensation. Since she drank Salina’s special potion, she received the power to control it, to channel the feral power that lurked just beneath her human skin.

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  Her bones shifted, muscles stretching, skin prickling as coarse white fur pushed through. Jessica gritted her teeth, accepting the pain as her body reconfigured itself. Her senses sharpened dramatically; suddenly, she could hear the ping of cooling metal from the truck, smell the ancient grease and something else—something rotten beneath the vehicle's exterior.

  When she opened her eyes, the world had changed. Colors dulled, but shapes became sharper, more defined. And the truck—she could see it now for what it truly was: not just metal and paint, but something infused with malevolent energy, a darkness that swirled around it like toxic smoke.

  Jessica stepped out of the alley, her transformed body powerful and ready. A growl rumbled from her throat—a challenge.

  The truck's engine revved in response. For a heartbeat, they faced each other in perfect stillness—predator versus predator on an empty street.

  Then the nightmare truly began.

  The clown's head on the truck’s roof moved. Its mouth stretched wide to reveal rows of misshapen, jagged teeth. And its headlamps flashed from yellow to red as if it had turned evil.

  Jessica recoiled, her werewolf instincts screaming at the wrongness of what she was seeing. This wasn't just a haunted truck—it was something else entirely, something that defied natural law.

  The clown head lunged toward her, mouth gaping. Jessica leapt aside, her enhanced reflexes saving her from those snapping jaws. The truck itself spun with unnatural agility, tires squealing as it whipped around to face her again.

  She darted between two parked cars, using them as barriers. The truck smashed into them, shoving them aside with terrifying force. Metal screamed against metal as the vehicles crumpled.

  Jessica's mind raced. How do you fight a possessed ice cream truck? Its movements were too erratic, too powerful for direct confrontation. She needed a strategy.

  She sprinted down the street, faster than any human could run, her werewolf form a blur of motion. The truck pursued, its engine howling like a demonic beast. The clown head rested on the roof, laughing like an unhinged maniac from hell.

  Jessica veered suddenly, leaping onto the hood of a parked car and using it as a springboard to reach a fire escape ladder on a nearby building. She scrambled upward, scaling the metal rungs with preternatural speed.

  From the rooftop, she looked down at the truck circling below. It rammed the building's foundation, the entire structure shuddering with the impact. The clown head stretched upward, elongating like taffy as it strained to reach her, teeth clacking hungrily.

  This thing would not give up. And Jessica couldn't stay on this roof forever.

  She surveyed her surroundings, searching for anything that might give her an advantage. The abandoned warehouses surrounded her, their broken windows like dead eyes watching the surreal battle unfold. Beyond them, the railroad tracks gleamed dully in the moonlight.

  The railroad tracks.

  An idea formed—desperate, but possibly her only shot. Jessica took a running start and leapt to the next building, then the next, working her way toward the tracks. Below, the truck followed, smashing through chain-link fences and debris as it kept pace with her.

  She reached the last building before the open space of the rail yard. The truck waited below, engine idling as though it sensed her plan and was preparing to counter it.

  Jessica closed her eyes, focusing on her heightened senses. There—in the distance but approaching rapidly—the rhythmic clack of wheels on rails. A train was coming.

  She launched herself from the roof, sailing through the air and landing heavily on the gravel beside the tracks. Pain shot through her left ankle, but she ignored it, sprinting along the rails.

  The truck burst through a fence behind her, closing the distance with frightening speed. The clown head extended fully now, stretching a good six feet from the top of the vehicle, its teeth snapping just inches from her heels.

  Jessica could feel the vibration of the approaching train through the rails, could hear its whistle blaring in the distance. She pushed herself harder, lungs burning, muscles screaming.

  The truck was almost upon her, the stench of its unnatural existence filling her nostrils. Jessica feinted left, then dodged right, leaping across the tracks to the opposite side. The truck swerved to follow—and in that moment, Jessica saw her chance.

  She doubled back, darting between the rails of the track where the train would pass. The truck, momentarily confused by her change in direction, spun in a tight circle, its tires kicking up gravel.

  The train's headlight appeared around the bend, a blinding circle of white cutting through the darkness. Its horn blared in warning.

  Jessica leapt clear of the tracks, rolling onto the embankment as the truck regained its pursuit. It shot forward, the clown head snapping at the space she'd occupied seconds before.

  Too late, it sensed the approaching train. The truck tried to reverse, tires spinning in the gravel, but it had committed too fully to the chase. The train bore down, impossibly fast, impossibly heavy.

  The collision was both more and less spectacular than Jessica expected. More, because the truck seemed to explode on impact, fragments of metal and machinery erupting in all directions like a dropped bomb. Less, because the sound—the expected crash of metal against metal—never came. Instead, there was a high, wailing screech, more like a living creature's death throes than mechanical destruction.

  The train thundered past, its engineer oblivious to the supernatural confrontation that had just played out. When it cleared the crossing, Jessica stared at the tracks, expecting to see the mangled remains of the ice cream truck.

  There was nothing there.

  No twisted metal, no shattered glass, no spilled ice cream. Not even a drop of oil on the gravel. It was as if the Jolly Cream truck had never existed.

  Jessica stood shakily, her werewolf form already receding as the immediate danger passed. Her clothes hung in tatters around her human body, and cuts and bruises covered her skin from the night's ordeal. From the running needed to survive, filth caked her bare feet.

  She stared at the empty tracks, a chill running through her that had nothing to do with the night air. Whatever that thing was—ghost, demon, something else entirely—it wasn't a normal vehicle. And while she'd witnessed its destruction, some instinct told her that this wasn't over.

  In the distance, faintly, she thought she heard the tinkling melody of an ice cream truck's jingle floating on the night breeze.

  Jessica wrapped her arms around herself and began the long walk home, every shadow making her flinch.

  *****

  Jessica slouched through the halls of Moon High, her muscles stiff from last night's encounter. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting an unflattering glow on the rows of lockers. She'd spent the morning dodging questions about the dark circles under her eyes, mumbling something about late-night practice. As if cheerleading routines kept her up—not fighting supernatural ice cream trucks.

  She pushed through the library's double doors, the familiar scent of old books and lemon cleaner momentarily calming her frayed nerves. Kevin and Salina were already at their usual table in the back corner, heads bent together over something. Their unofficial headquarters, tucked away from prying eyes and judgmental whispers.

  "Look who decided to grace us with her presence," Salina drawled, not looking up. Despite her sarcastic tone, Jessica noticed the pallor of her friend's skin, the slight tremor in her hands as she turned a newspaper page. Salina had been out sick all week, though "sick" was Salina-code for dealing with some witchy backlash.

  "Sorry I'm late. Coach Harris cornered me about Saturday's routine." Jessica dropped her backpack and slid into the empty chair. "What are you guys looking at?"

  Kevin pushed his glasses up his nose, a habit that had followed him since sixth grade. "This." He tapped the newspaper, his dark finger resting on a small article at the bottom of page three. "Local train conductor reports hitting an unidentified vehicle at the crossing near Blackwood Forest. Vehicle described as 'resembling an ice cream truck.' No wreckage found."

  Jessica's blood turned to ice water. "When?"

  "Last night," Salina said, her dark-rimmed eyes finally meeting Jessica's. "Sound familiar?"

  Jessica snatched the paper, scanning the brief article. The conductor reported hitting something solid, feeling the impact reverberate through the train. But when emergency services arrived, they found nothing—no debris, no skid marks, not even a drop of oil.

  "You know something," Kevin said. It wasn't a question.

  Jessica glanced around. The library was nearly empty—just Mrs. Phelps shelving books at the far end and a freshman dozing over calculus homework.

  "It was after the car wash event," she said, lowering her voice. "I was walking home when this ice cream truck started following me."

  "Before summer?" Salina's eyebrow arched skeptically.

  "Exactly. It had this creepy clown head on top, and it just... watched me at the car wash earlier." Jessica ran a hand through her hair, still damp from her morning shower. "I thought it was just some perv, but when it followed me later, I knew something was wrong."

  "Your spidey-sense tingling?" Kevin asked, half-joking.

  "Werewolf sense," Jessica corrected, unconsciously touching the scar on her arm where the beast had bitten her months ago. "It didn't feel... normal. So I led it away from the neighborhood, into that alley behind the old movie theater."

  Salina leaned forward, her silver pentagram necklace swinging. "And?"

  "And it tried to eat me." Jessica's voice cracked slightly. "The clown head—it came alive. Its mouth stretched open like a snake's, with rows of these awful metal teeth."

  Kevin whistled low. "What did you do?"

  "What do you think? I wolfed out." Jessica flexed her fingers, remembering the feeling of claws erupting from her nail beds. "But it was strong—stronger than me. And fast. I couldn't take it head-on, so I led it to the railroad tracks and..." She mimed an explosion with her hands.

  "Holy cheese balls," Kevin breathed. "You actually destroyed it?"

  "I thought so." Jessica gestured at the newspaper. "But if there was no wreckage..."

  "It might not be over," Salina finished grimly.

  A heavy silence fell over the table. Through the library windows, Jessica could see the cheerleading squad practicing on the lawn, their purple-and-white uniforms bright against the green grass. Tiffany was leading them through a new routine, her voice carrying faintly through the glass. A life that felt increasingly distant from Jessica's reality.

  "Hang on." Kevin pulled his battered laptop from his backpack. "This is ringing a bell." His fingers flew over the keyboard, the blue glow illuminating his focused expression. "Here we go. The Jolly Cream legend."

  "The what now?" Jessica leaned over to see the screen.

  "Urban legends database," Kevin explained. "There's an entry about a ghost ice cream truck called Jolly Cream. Started in the 1950s."

  "That tracks," Salina said, her interest piqued. "That aesthetic was pure retro kitsch."

  Kevin scrolled through the article. "According to this, there was an ice cream man who operated in several small towns in the 1950s. Gordon Jellicoe was his name. Beloved by the local kids—always had a smile, gave extra sprinkles, remembered everyone's name."

  "Let me guess," Jessica said flatly. "Secretly a psycho?"

  "Bingo. After a string of child disappearances, the FBI got involved. Turns out good ol' Gordon had been lacing his special 'Jolly Cones' with rat poison. They found evidence linking him to at least seven missing children."

  Salina made a disgusted noise. "People are the real monsters."

  Jessica glared at her.

  “Except you, Jessica.” Salina smiled. “You are a good monster.”

  “So is Frankie,” Jessica whispered. “And Nikki.”

  "When they cornered him, he led them on a high-speed chase that ended with him driving off Crescent Cliff,” Kevin continued. “The truck exploded on impact. They never even found enough remains for a proper burial."

  Jessica shivered despite the library's stuffy warmth. "And let me guess—ever since then, people report seeing his ghost truck on lonely roads."

  Kevin nodded. "The earliest sighting was just three months after his death. A couple claimed a vintage ice cream truck tried to run them off the road, then vanished into thin air. There are dozens of similar reports over the decades—all describing the same truck with the clown head on top."

  "Great," Jessica groaned. "So I didn't actually destroy it. I just pissed it off."

  "Maybe," Salina said thoughtfully. "Or maybe it got bored and faded away. Spirits don't usually stick around for decades without a reason."

  Kevin continued reading. "The last known victims were a family in 1982. Parents survived, but they claimed the truck spirited away their son. Police found the boy three days later in an abandoned freezer, covered in ice cream wrapper residue. He couldn't remember anything that happened."

  "That's..." Jessica swallowed hard. "That's horrible."

  "The pattern's always the same," Kevin said, scrolling through more reports. "The truck appears, someone goes missing, then it disappears until the next time. There are gaps of years between sightings."

  "So why is it here now?" Jessica asked. "Why Moon Valley?"

  Salina shrugged. "Maybe it's random. Maybe it sensed something supernatural—like you."

  "Great, so this is my fault?" Jessica pressed her palms against her eyes. She'd thought becoming a werewolf was the worst of her problems. Now she had ghost trucks to deal with?

  "Hey." Kevin's voice was gentle as he reached across the table to touch her arm. "This isn't on you. If anything, you saved people by leading it away."

  Jessica nodded, not entirely convinced. The weight of responsibility—for her werewolf nature, for the things that seemed to follow in its wake—pressed down on her chest like a stone.

  "So what do we do now?" she asked finally. "Wait for it to show up again?"

  "We research," Salina said firmly. "There must be something more about how to destroy it permanently. Most spirits have a weakness."

  "I'll check the county historical archives," Kevin offered. "See if there's any connection to Moon Valley that might explain why it's here."

  "And I'll look through my grimoire," Salina added. "There might be a banishing spell that could work."

  A familiar warmth spread through Jessica's chest as she looked at her friends—the friends she'd abandoned for pom-poms and popularity, who welcomed her back without question when her life imploded. Kevin with his encyclopedic knowledge of the weird and unexplained. Salina with her practical approach to the supernatural. They'd been there for her through the werewolf transformation, helping her understand and control her new abilities.

  "Thanks, guys," she said simply. "I don't know what I'd—"

  The tinny melody cut through the library's quiet atmosphere like a knife. A familiar jingle, the kind that called children from their homes on hot summer days. Jessica froze, her enhanced hearing pinpointing the sound immediately.

  "Is that..." Kevin began.

  "Shh!" Jessica held up a hand, her heart hammering against her ribs. The melody grew louder, closer.

  As one, they rushed to the library windows, pressing against the glass to scan the parking lot below. The battered pickup trucks and hand-me-down sedans sat undisturbed under the autumn sun. No sign of a vintage ice cream truck.

  "I don't see anything," Salina whispered, her breath fogging the glass.

  The cheerleading squad had paused their practice, heads turning in confusion as they too searched for the source of the music. Then they dropped their pom-poms and rushed to the parking lot where a white ice cream truck stopped.

  Jessica beamed her eyes toward the vehicle. This truck doesn't appear to be the same Jolly Cream truck that haunted her last night. Just a normal truck with a person handing out ice cream cones to the girls.

  She sighed. “Perhaps I was being totally paranoid.”

  Kevin rubbed her back. “It’s okay to be paranoid. Sometimes, it will help you stay aware of your surroundings.”

  “Considering we live in a town where anything can go bump in the night,” Salina added with a wink.

  Jessica smiled at them both. If the Jolly Cream truck does return, she will be ready.