Status: co-write
Copenhagen
The Article
Shaggy held his breath for what felt like centuries. With cautious steps, he descend his stairs in the middle of the night, tightly grasping a baseball bat in his right hand.
The noise never ceased reverberating from the kitchen. From a distance, he began to think of all the possible ways a murderer may have gotten inside his home. Had he locked all the windows and doors? Had someone found his strategically hidden spare keys in the front porch? Had someone discovered he had his secret recipe in his fridge? Worse of all: had someone dared to steal his trademark condiments?
He became enraged at that thought alone. With a newfound burst of adrenaline and courage, he rose the bat over his shoulder, slowly creeping against the wall that led to the kitchen’s framed door.
“One,” he whispered the countdown.
“Two,” the undeniable sound of somebody rummaging through items intensified as the distance shortened.
“Three!” he shouted as he flung his body forward, positioning his bat directly in front of him, ready to use it at any given time.
The room was dark like he had anticipated and the only light illuminating the kitchen came from the opened refrigerator. Shaggy’s furrowed eyebrows and shaky breaths soon melted into a look of relief and a silent prayer to the gods of Scooby Snacks.
“Scooby!” he scowled at the silhouette.
His head spun around and his frightened expression resembled that of a deer caught in headlights. He remained silent for his mouth was filled with what Shaggy presumed to be the new burger he had been working on, one he had bragged one too many times to Scooby.
“God! You know you’re not allowed to do this. The first time was alright, the second time not so much, the third time—well, now that was something. I still can’t believe you even brought your date here to munch on my fridge!” he bellowed.
Shaggy placed his bat against the wall and switched on the lights to reveal chaos. The floor had smeared stains of all sorts of sauces and crumbs of bread dirtied it, much like a dead colony of white ants.
After several chews, his bite went down with a gulp and he muttered an apologetic, “Rorry.” He closed the fridge and whipped leftovers from his mouth with his paw. “The rarticle made me scared so I just had to reat!”
Shaggy shook his head in confusion, “Article? What article?”
“The Ropenhagen monster ris back!”
The noise never ceased reverberating from the kitchen. From a distance, he began to think of all the possible ways a murderer may have gotten inside his home. Had he locked all the windows and doors? Had someone found his strategically hidden spare keys in the front porch? Had someone discovered he had his secret recipe in his fridge? Worse of all: had someone dared to steal his trademark condiments?
He became enraged at that thought alone. With a newfound burst of adrenaline and courage, he rose the bat over his shoulder, slowly creeping against the wall that led to the kitchen’s framed door.
“One,” he whispered the countdown.
“Two,” the undeniable sound of somebody rummaging through items intensified as the distance shortened.
“Three!” he shouted as he flung his body forward, positioning his bat directly in front of him, ready to use it at any given time.
The room was dark like he had anticipated and the only light illuminating the kitchen came from the opened refrigerator. Shaggy’s furrowed eyebrows and shaky breaths soon melted into a look of relief and a silent prayer to the gods of Scooby Snacks.
“Scooby!” he scowled at the silhouette.
His head spun around and his frightened expression resembled that of a deer caught in headlights. He remained silent for his mouth was filled with what Shaggy presumed to be the new burger he had been working on, one he had bragged one too many times to Scooby.
“God! You know you’re not allowed to do this. The first time was alright, the second time not so much, the third time—well, now that was something. I still can’t believe you even brought your date here to munch on my fridge!” he bellowed.
Shaggy placed his bat against the wall and switched on the lights to reveal chaos. The floor had smeared stains of all sorts of sauces and crumbs of bread dirtied it, much like a dead colony of white ants.
After several chews, his bite went down with a gulp and he muttered an apologetic, “Rorry.” He closed the fridge and whipped leftovers from his mouth with his paw. “The rarticle made me scared so I just had to reat!”
Shaggy shook his head in confusion, “Article? What article?”
“The Ropenhagen monster ris back!”