A smoke, a hair so sparse you can see right through me. A ghost, a flare in foresty swamps leading you astray.

I can be scary, in one story, a carved version of me was a head. I can be tasty, my name is synonymous with a flavor combo, with my name, that does not include me. Add Head to the end, and you have a series of horror movies. Score me, carve me, scoop me, bake my insides, and put a candle in my remains.

In greeting, I am five In fighting, I am zero In cursing, I am the center one In approving, I am the end one What am I?

Maybe I'm a musical session Possibly I'm a sticky treat on bread but if I get angry you'll be stuck in traffic.

I come from an egg, yet the egg came before me.