Tales from the Crypt: Monster Mashed

Chapter 1

(Opening Sequence)

Thunder roars as a gate with an inimical carving of a dragon forebodingly creaks open for you. Lightning crackles overhead as you make your way through the fogginess of the creepy yard. Overlooking it from atop a rather steep hill is a ramshackle of a mansion. Rasping caws from unseen birds float down from the dusky skies as you approach the door of the lurid manor. An echoing screech sounds from the interior of the mansion before the door opens. Your gaze scans the dusty foyer and cobwebbed furniture before you make your way past the staircase into a study. A bookcase opens like a door and reveals a stone stairwell, flames burning in the mouths of despairing faces carved into the stone columns aligning it. Your descent ends at the wooden door at the bottom of the stairs; it swings open and you step into the candlelit, whispery crypt―its residents several skeletons. But in the heart of the crypt…you catch sight of a slender casket. You gradually approach it…take in the elegance of its white surface…

And the lid swings open. Out pops the cackling decaying host, the Cryptkeeper, eyes cadaverous and maniacal. Green slime pours down the screen, and the title logo appears:

"TALES FROM THE CRYPT!"

***

At his rickety desk, the Cryptkeeper holds a cracked magnifying glass before his undead eye. "Welcome kiddies! Welcome to a bloodcurdling session of Tales from the Crypt." He carelessly tosses away the magnifying glass. "Y'know, your old pal Cryptkeeper has always been quite the fear-leader for anything emanating from the savory chill of the spine-tingling genre of horror, but that shouldn't imply that I don't enjoy a nice mysteryon occasion. In fact, tonight's tale of terror centers around four teenage sleuths and their talking canine. Their public alias: Mystery Incorporated."

He reaches under the desk and blows a layer of dust off the leather cover of a thick book, drops it onto the desk's surface, and opens it to a chilling picture: voodoo dolls of Fred Jones, Daphne Blake, Velma Dinkley, and Shaggy Rogers hung from nooses, the background nothing but darkness. Outstretching from the black are two spindly hands. One holds a voodoo doll of Scooby-Doo and the other a long lethal needle.

"Foiling the misdeeds of ambitious villains is bound to spell trouble in the future for any Private Die!" he shrilly punned. "And it would seem that the bitterness of their enemies has come back to bite our poor crime solvers in their well-meaning rears...

"I call this tale: Monster Mashed."

***

Monster Mashed

The Faux Ghost was a nightclub that played host to a rather anomalous demographic of patrons. The definition of anomalous:every creep in Coolsville that had played the clandestine role as the "mastermind" of some horrifying scheme that featured the feigned presence of various paranormal entities. For a year and a half, the notorious men and women had nightly coalesced to furiously devise the baleful event that was to transpire within the walls of the lavish lair tonight.

For a considerable amount of the vanquished villains, employment was a near impossibility. Their once-clean records were stained immensely after being revealed as murderous, avaricious frauds, and nearly all of them descended into poverty following their release from prison. These criminals had had various goals in mind when they terrorized various establishments and areas in disguise, but they'd all felt the same ireful lust for vengeance upon the crime-solving youth. Now, after a lengthy period of going over the meticulous details of the kidnapping plot, everything had fallen into place. The Faux Ghost's parking lot had never been more crowded; vehicles owned by every villain to have been thwarted by Mystery Incorporated filled every square of black pavement before the club.

None of them dared to miss this glorious event…

Milton Wickles, former curator of the County Museum, glared at the setting sun as its orange reflection blared menacingly upon the lens of his spectacles. The failure of his art heist―doubled with his exposure as "The Black Knight Ghost"―landed him a lowly job at a community library, an occupation far below his strengths. He was but one out of the incensed legion of criminals that sought reprisal.

He angrily pulled back the sleeve of his trench coat and glowered down at his watch. "Where are Carswell and that illiterate hick?" he lowly snarled. It was ten minutes until six and the patrons inside were eagerly awaiting the arrival of the honored guests.

By the time it had reached six, the sun was gone, and the night's ingress had commenced. "Ah…" Mister Wickles's swollen gut compressed a sigh of relief when the tie-dyed van rolled into the parking lot, its headlights beaming bright as it came to a stop before Mr. Wickles. He―like everyone else inside the Faux Ghost would―recognized this insufferably splendorous vehicle as the Mystery Machine.

"It's about time!" he barked at the old man stumbling out of the passenger door.

Hank―who'd rose horror at the Gold City Guest Ranch as "The Miner 49er"―apprehensively shrunk away. "Dag-blasted, it was a nightmare deciphering that there map! My brain ain't what it used to be, y'know!"

Former bank president Deacon Carswell scoffed as he turned off the engine and made his way around the Mystery Machine. "Quiet, old man. If you had enough vigor to chase guests through that rattrap tourist attraction, your gray matter should at least be competent enough to―!"

"Bicker on your own time!" Mr. Wickles snapped. "I assume they're all in the back, Carswell?"

Carswell―revealed by Mystery Incorporated to have been "The Creeper"―sneered and responded with a solemn nod. The trio walked to the back of the van, Wickles leading the formation. With not a moment's hesitation, he threw open the doors so that he and his cohorts could glare down at the wriggling pentad―gagged and bound in thick ropes. Shaggy, Daphne, Velma, Fred, and Scooby looked helplessly up at the surly glares of their captors. Underneath his muzzle, Scooby whimpered.

"Wonderful!" Mr. Wickles clapped his hands together. "Our meddling party favors have arrived…"