Boxes were scattered around his room, spilling into the hallway. His family had just moved into a new neighborhood, and despite days of unpacking, the chaos seemed never-ending.

After spending hours helping his father set up the office room, he slumped onto the cozy couch for a quick nap. He hadn't even closed his eyes for long when his little sister's excited scream jolted him awake.

"ICE CREAM! ICE CREAM!" she shrieked, jumping up and down behind the door.

Groggily, he peered out the window. An ice cream truck was making its way down the street, its cheerful, unmistakable jingle floating through the air.

"Let's go get some!" his mother chimed in, her enthusiasm mirroring his sister's. She skipped to the door and rushed out to flag the truck.

As they stood on the porch, something strange happened. Their neighbors, who had been outside moments before, hurried into their homes, shutting their doors and windows. The lively street suddenly turned eerily quiet.

"What's going on? Why is everyone hiding?" he asked, scanning the neighborhood for anyone who might explain.

The truck pulled up to their driveway, and his little sister was the first to reach it. She squealed with delight, pointing at her favorite ice cream. His mother followed, turning to him with a smile.

"Don't you want one?" she asked.

"Sure, I'll take a look. You two head inside—I'll pay," he said, glancing at the deserted street before walking up to the truck.

The ice cream man, an elderly figure with weary eyes, waited patiently as he picked out a few flavors. When he handed over the money, the man's eyes glistened with unshed tears.

"Thank you, young man," the vendor said, his voice heavy with emotion. "You're my first customers in days."

"Really?" he asked, surprised.

The man nodded. "Yes. People here don't buy from me anymore. They run inside as soon as they hear the music."

Curious and concerned, he pressed for more. "Why? What happened?"

The old man sighed, his shoulders slumping under an invisible weight. "It started about a week ago. People began complaining about the truck, saying the driver didn't look human—like something out of a horror movie. They said he was terrifying kids and even attacking people."

"What?" he exclaimed, incredulous.

The vendor continued, his voice trembling. "The truck was originally driven by my son, but someone attacked him, and he's been in the hospital ever since. A few days later, my younger son took over. He was attacked too. The truck kept moving on its own, driven by...someone—or something—else. People claimed it was a zombie, handing out 'blood ice creams.'"

The man's tears flowed freely now. "This business has been in my family for generations, but now, no one will come near the truck. I don't know how to support my family anymore."

Hearing the man's plight, he shook his head. "That can't be real—a zombie driving an ice cream truck? Someone must be playing a cruel prank."

The old man wiped his eyes. "But why? What did I do to deserve this?"

Feeling a pang of guilt, he offered, "Listen, I own an ice cream parlor in town. If you're willing, you can work with me as an ice cream maker. I could use someone with your experience."

The vendor's eyes widened in gratitude. "You'd do that? Thank you, young man! I'll start tomorrow!"

He watched the truck drive away without its usual jingle. A sly smirk crept across his face as he marched back to the house.

"Poor man," he muttered under his breath.

What the old vendor didn't know was that this entire ordeal—the zombie driver, the blood ice cream, the attacks—had been orchestrated by him. In just two weeks, he had dismantled the competition, ensuring his parlor would dominate the market.

Sure, it was a crime—knocking out drivers, stealing the truck, and terrifying the neighborhood—but he had no other choice. If the truck continued operating, his business would fail. He had invested too much to let that happen.

With the vendor now working for him, he exhaled in relief. There would be no competition, no distractions.

"I've poured everything into this shop," he thought, stepping inside. "Poor man, but what else could I do?"