The Last Mystery
Expecting a visitor.
Scooby Doo: The Last Mystery
Disclaimer: I do not own Scooby Doo
Prologue: Expecting a Visitor
In a small, quaint house in rural Ohio, just a the very last light was leaving the sky, Velma Dinkley was at her reading desk, wearing her favorite orange sweater, face turned down toward a hardback edition of A Study in scarlet lying open atop the table. She had drifted to sleep, as so often she did, waiting up for a n old friend. Her head lolled forward, almost giving the impression that she was awake and reading still.
All along the shelves were other volumes of mystery, along with a hearty dose of science books to round them out. The desk, as well, held some various other volumes, as well a heavily used ring bound note pad, were she kept ideas for her own mystery novel in progress, and her laptop, which served mostly to house the actual body of the story. All the research material she needed, she had in the books. Though Mystery Inc. was long disbanded, her love of the unknown remained as strong as ever.
Throughout the entirety of the house, evidence abound of how much Velma missed the old gang. Big group photos of them all smiling together lined most walls, and she had drawers filled with news clippings about their mysteries. Many of them were now on the desk, brought out by the nostalgia that came with the expected visit. With Freddy finally taking time to come see her again, she was more than excited, even going so far as to bake him a cake. Now it sat in the fridge, emblazoned for all to se with her heartfelt message.
"Welcome back, Freddy."
The silver suburban rolled into the driveway steadily, slowing to a halt just in front of the modest home. From within the unassuming vehicle, Fred Jones pulled the handle, opened the door, and stepped out onto the driveway. A smile curled his lips as he approached the door, just as it always did whenever he visited Velma. He knocked three times, and when no answer was forthcoming, he rang the door bell. Must've fallen asleep again, he thought, pulling out the house key she'd given him. Some things never change.
He gently pushed open the door, and walked into the tiny sitting room, from where he could see the eat-in kitchen, the door to the single bedroom, and the hallway to the study, where he figured she would be. He saw from were he was, a large framed photo of the old gang. Him, Velma, and Daphne across the top, all wearing big goofy grins. The only thing goofier was Shaggy's grin in the foreground, where he knelt down with his dog, Scooby, giving the Great Dane a hug on the neck. He looked away from the picture quickly, trying not to scowl at the thought of the creep.
He walked down the hall, adjusted his ascot, and pushed open the door t Velma's study. She was sitting in her chair with her back to him, hunch over a book, he was sure. He could make out only a bit of her shape, obscured as she was by the high-backed chair. Even so, he could see she was wearing that familiar orange sweater. Well, didn't that outfit bring back memories? He walked up beside her chair, and shook her shoulder to wake her up.
As he did this, Velma's body lurched limply to one side, and fell, crumpled and lifeless at Fred's feet. Her eyes were still closed, but the raw and bloody hole, the size of a silver dollar and bored deeply into her skull, made it clear that she was no longer asleep. Close as he was now, Freddy saw that her book, her desk, her face and a bit of the front of her clothing were all splattered with blood, some of which was just barely dripping to the floor from the end of her desk.
Velma Dinkley had been murdered.
Fred jumped as he saw he fall, and could not remember whether he had screamed when he saw the splayed corpse of his dearest friend splayed out before him, motionless, and almost peaceful, except for that garish wound which now horribly marred her pretty face. For several moments, he couldn't speak, couldn't think. Couldn't do anything at all except cry and try to avoid falling to his knees. After those moments, he decided it was a lost cause, and fell beside his beloved friend, sobbing.
As the sobs began to subside, he pulled out his phone, and dialed a number with shaky hands. Twice he had to repeat it, but he was too deep into shock to care. The phone rang twice, and then the other side picked up. "Da-Daphne," He asked, trying to hold back the tears. "I ne-need to see you. Something horrible has happened."
Disclaimer: I do not own Scooby Doo
Prologue: Expecting a Visitor
In a small, quaint house in rural Ohio, just a the very last light was leaving the sky, Velma Dinkley was at her reading desk, wearing her favorite orange sweater, face turned down toward a hardback edition of A Study in scarlet lying open atop the table. She had drifted to sleep, as so often she did, waiting up for a n old friend. Her head lolled forward, almost giving the impression that she was awake and reading still.
All along the shelves were other volumes of mystery, along with a hearty dose of science books to round them out. The desk, as well, held some various other volumes, as well a heavily used ring bound note pad, were she kept ideas for her own mystery novel in progress, and her laptop, which served mostly to house the actual body of the story. All the research material she needed, she had in the books. Though Mystery Inc. was long disbanded, her love of the unknown remained as strong as ever.
Throughout the entirety of the house, evidence abound of how much Velma missed the old gang. Big group photos of them all smiling together lined most walls, and she had drawers filled with news clippings about their mysteries. Many of them were now on the desk, brought out by the nostalgia that came with the expected visit. With Freddy finally taking time to come see her again, she was more than excited, even going so far as to bake him a cake. Now it sat in the fridge, emblazoned for all to se with her heartfelt message.
"Welcome back, Freddy."
The silver suburban rolled into the driveway steadily, slowing to a halt just in front of the modest home. From within the unassuming vehicle, Fred Jones pulled the handle, opened the door, and stepped out onto the driveway. A smile curled his lips as he approached the door, just as it always did whenever he visited Velma. He knocked three times, and when no answer was forthcoming, he rang the door bell. Must've fallen asleep again, he thought, pulling out the house key she'd given him. Some things never change.
He gently pushed open the door, and walked into the tiny sitting room, from where he could see the eat-in kitchen, the door to the single bedroom, and the hallway to the study, where he figured she would be. He saw from were he was, a large framed photo of the old gang. Him, Velma, and Daphne across the top, all wearing big goofy grins. The only thing goofier was Shaggy's grin in the foreground, where he knelt down with his dog, Scooby, giving the Great Dane a hug on the neck. He looked away from the picture quickly, trying not to scowl at the thought of the creep.
He walked down the hall, adjusted his ascot, and pushed open the door t Velma's study. She was sitting in her chair with her back to him, hunch over a book, he was sure. He could make out only a bit of her shape, obscured as she was by the high-backed chair. Even so, he could see she was wearing that familiar orange sweater. Well, didn't that outfit bring back memories? He walked up beside her chair, and shook her shoulder to wake her up.
As he did this, Velma's body lurched limply to one side, and fell, crumpled and lifeless at Fred's feet. Her eyes were still closed, but the raw and bloody hole, the size of a silver dollar and bored deeply into her skull, made it clear that she was no longer asleep. Close as he was now, Freddy saw that her book, her desk, her face and a bit of the front of her clothing were all splattered with blood, some of which was just barely dripping to the floor from the end of her desk.
Velma Dinkley had been murdered.
Fred jumped as he saw he fall, and could not remember whether he had screamed when he saw the splayed corpse of his dearest friend splayed out before him, motionless, and almost peaceful, except for that garish wound which now horribly marred her pretty face. For several moments, he couldn't speak, couldn't think. Couldn't do anything at all except cry and try to avoid falling to his knees. After those moments, he decided it was a lost cause, and fell beside his beloved friend, sobbing.
As the sobs began to subside, he pulled out his phone, and dialed a number with shaky hands. Twice he had to repeat it, but he was too deep into shock to care. The phone rang twice, and then the other side picked up. "Da-Daphne," He asked, trying to hold back the tears. "I ne-need to see you. Something horrible has happened."
♠ ♠ ♠
Author's notesThis is a realistic portrayal of the classic cartoon, meaning that while all the cases seen in the show happened, and in about the same way, the characters react in ways differing from the show, in ways I find more believable. The single biggest difference between this fic's universe and that of the cartoon is that while he can emote expressively as any dog, and acts just like his canonical self, Scooby Doo does not speak, though Shaggy may at one point believe he does due to drugs. Also, as you might have noticed, the story may be a little graphic at some points, and I will not say whether this is the only character death. You have been warned. Please enjoy, and read and review.