Chapter 4: Grandma's Favorite Flavor

The footsteps stopped just outside James's bedroom door.

James and Kenny froze, barely daring to breathe as they listened to the silence that followed. It stretched on for what felt like hours but was probably only seconds, heavy with the weight of something waiting just beyond the thin barrier of wood and metal.

Then came the gentle knock.

"James, honey?" His grandmother's voice drifted through the door, as sweet and warm as it had always been. "Are you awake, dear? I thought I heard voices."

James felt his heart stop. In the video, he'd seen her kneeling in that circle, that same vacant smile on her weathered face. But now she sounded exactly like the grandmother who'd raised him, who'd made him pancakes every morning and told him stories about the old days.

Kenny grabbed his arm, shaking his head frantically, but James was already moving toward the door. Maybe he'd been wrong. Maybe the video had been too dark, too unclear. Maybe—

"Coming, Grandma," he called out, reaching for the doorknob.

Kenny tackled him before he could turn it, both boys hitting the floor in a tangle of limbs. They rolled across the carpet, Kenny clamping a hand over James's mouth to muffle his surprised yelp.

"James?" The voice came again, still sweet, still concerned. "Is everything alright in there?"

"Don't," Kenny whispered directly into his ear. "It's not her anymore. You saw the video."

James wanted to fight, wanted to insist that Kenny was wrong, but something in his grandmother's tone made him pause. There was a patience to it that seemed unnatural, like she could wait outside his door forever without growing frustrated or concerned.

"I'm fine, Grandma," James called out, his voice muffled by Kenny's hand. "Just... just had a bad dream. I'm going back to sleep now."

"Oh, you poor thing," she replied, and James could hear genuine sympathy in her voice. "Would you like me to make you some warm milk? Or maybe something sweet? I have some lovely ice cream in the freezer."

Ice cream. The word hit James like a physical blow, and he saw Kenny's eyes widen with the same realization. Their grandmother had never kept ice cream in the house—she was diabetic and couldn't eat it, and she'd always insisted that too much sugar would rot their teeth.

"No thanks," James managed. "I'm really tired."

"Are you sure, sweetheart? It's a very special flavor. Pink strawberry cream. I think you'd love it."

The description sent ice through James's veins. Pink, like the substance they'd seen in Kenny's video. Like the goo that creature had been preparing to inject into Janine.

"I said no," James repeated, louder this time.

The silence that followed was different from the first one. Heavier. More ominous. When his grandmother spoke again, her voice had changed—still sweet on the surface, but with an undertone that made James's skin crawl.

"That's alright, dear. Perhaps your friend Kenny would like some. I know he's in there with you."

Both boys went rigid. There was no way she could have known Kenny was there—he'd climbed through the window, and they'd been whispering. Unless...

"Kenny, honey," the voice continued, taking on a sing-song quality that was nothing like his grandmother's usual tone. "Come out and say hello to your old grandma. I have something special just for you."

Kenny's hand was still over James's mouth, but James could feel his cousin trembling. They were trapped—the window was their only escape route, but it would take time to open, time they might not have if whatever was wearing his grandmother's face decided to stop being patient.

A new sound reached them from the hallway—footsteps, but different from before. More of them. Multiple sets, all moving with that same measured, unhurried pace.

"James," came another familiar voice. His father. "Open the door, son. Your grandmother's worried about you."

"We just want to help," added a third voice that James recognized as Dr. Martinez. "You boys have been through a lot. Let us take care of you."

More voices joined the chorus—neighbors, teachers, people he'd known his entire life. They spoke in calm, reasonable tones, all trying to convince him to open the door, to come out and join them.

"It's going to be wonderful," his grandmother said. "No more fear, no more pain. Just peace and belonging. Isn't that what you want, James?"

James found himself nodding before he caught himself. There was something hypnotic about her voice, something that made the offer sound almost reasonable. Part of him—a large part—wanted nothing more than to open that door and let them take away all the terror and confusion of the past few days.

Kenny seemed to sense his wavering and tightened his grip. "Fight it," he whispered. "Whatever they're doing, fight it."

"We know you saw the ceremony," his father's voice continued. "We know Kenny was there, watching from the trees. But it's alright. We're not angry. We understand your fear."

"It's natural to be afraid of change," Dr. Martinez added. "But change is part of growth, boys. Part of becoming something better."

The voices were overlapping now, creating a strange harmony that seemed to resonate in James's bones. He could feel his resistance crumbling, his eyelids growing heavy despite his terror.

"Sleep," his grandmother said, and her voice seemed to come from everywhere at once. "Just sleep, my darlings. When you wake up, everything will be better."

The word hit James like a sledgehammer. Sleep. The same command the Ice Cream Man had used in Kenny's video, spoken in that same deep, alien tone. But now it was coming from his grandmother's mouth, wrapped in her familiar accent.

James felt consciousness slipping away from him like water through his fingers. His vision blurred, his limbs grew heavy, and the voices from the hallway began to sound like a lullaby.

Kenny was fighting it too, but James could see him losing the battle. His cousin's eyes were rolling back, his grip loosening as the supernatural command took hold.

"Sleep," the voices repeated in unison, no longer bothering to maintain their individual personalities. "Sleep and join us."

James's last coherent thought before the darkness claimed him was a desperate prayer that they would wake up at all.

---

Consciousness returned slowly, accompanied by the worst headache James had ever experienced. His mouth tasted like copper and old pennies, and every muscle in his body ached as if he'd been hit by a truck.

He tried to open his eyes but found them gummy and resistant. When he finally managed to pry them apart, he immediately wished he hadn't.

He was in the back of the ice cream truck.

The cheerful exterior belied the horror within. The walls were lined with what looked like cocoons—pink, translucent sacs that pulsed with their own internal rhythm. Some were empty, hanging like deflated balloons, while others contained dark shapes that James didn't want to examine too closely.

Kenny was beside him, still unconscious, both of them zip-tied to metal rings that had been welded to the truck's walls. There were other prisoners too—James counted at least six, all young, all terrified.

One of them was Jenny Hall.

She was alive, but barely recognizable. Her hair had fallen out in patches, and her skin had taken on a grayish pallor that made her look more dead than alive. When she saw James looking at her, she tried to speak, but only managed a weak croak.

"Don't try to talk," whispered another prisoner, a boy James didn't recognize. "It makes it worse."

"Makes what worse?" James asked, though he was afraid of the answer.

The boy gestured weakly toward one of the occupied cocoons. "The changing. They're getting us ready."

Before James could ask what that meant, the truck lurched into motion. Through the small window in the back door, he could see they were heading deeper into the woods, toward whatever fresh nightmare awaited them.

The Ice Cream Man's voice drifted back from the driver's seat, no longer bothering with his friendly facade. When he spoke, it was in that same deep, alien tone they'd heard before.

"Soon," he said, and James could hear the smile in his voice. "Very soon now."

The truck bounced and swayed as it navigated the rough forest roads, carrying its cargo of human livestock toward a fate that James couldn't even begin to imagine. Outside, the familiar landscape of his childhood rolled past like scenes from someone else's life.

Everything he'd ever known, everyone he'd ever trusted, had been a lie. And now, trussed up like an animal heading to slaughter, James finally understood the true scope of the horror they were facing.

The invasion wasn't coming.

It was already here.