Tales from the Crypt: Monster Mashed

Chapter 3

Author's Note: There is something I'd like to clarify for the readers: The villains at the party are those of the three original seasons of SDWAY. Each and every villain from that timeframe are in this story, even if they aren't mentioned. That's all!

***

Master P's Scream was now pulsing ominously through the Faux Ghost. Several villains had gone to the storage at the back of the club to gather various weapons, while the majority stood behind to converse and enjoy the festive moments before the "main event" of the evening commenced. And judging from the ill-omened glances many of them stole towards their captives, dread was the most appropriate emotion to be felt. Various methods of murder were exchanged amongst them in very gory detail.

The club was enormous, but had only two exits: the main entrance and the one in the club's rear. The only window was the wide skylight above their heads, casting a square spotlight upon Mystery Incorporated as though in acknowledgement of their dire position.

Velma shakily whispered to Fred, "There must be some way out of here. Whatever they're planning…it can't end well for us."

Fred's jaw clenched, his fear mirroring Velma's. "If there's any way out of this, we'd better figure it out soon before…" He gulped audibly and didn't speak the end of his prediction.

"Like, we're going to be trophies on their mantels if we don't get the heck out of here, man!" Shaggy moaned.

"And what a delightful incentive that is!" Mr. Pietro – "The Phantom Puppeteer" – jovially exclaimed. The five of them jumped at the sound of the former toymaker's gravelly voice. His presence hadn't been acknowledged until after he'd spoken. "I must say: I don't think I've made so much as one puppet that's head was more hollow than yours, little hippie." He roughly jabbed Shaggy's forehead with his spindly finger.

"Leave him alone!" Fred exclaimed. Despite the position they were in, the friends would never tolerate one of their own being played with like a worn chewtoy.

Pietro sneered towards Fred. "Your corpse will make a splendid design for a life-sized Ken doll, wouldn't you agree? Excuse me while I go converse with dear Wickles."

The counterfeiter walked over to the club's bar to Wickles, who sat down his drink as Pietro whispered to him. Wickles's eyes widened slightly before he shot a nasty smirk towards the captured group. "Is that correct? Well let's see which countermeasure we can employ so that our rats don't escape their cage."

At that, Bluestone the Great – "The Phantom of Haunted Isle" – piped up, as though he'd been waiting all night for this particular opportunity to offer a form of service. "Might I be of assistance? I have a few tools from my magician days that could aid us in keeping our guests from escaping…"

Pietro and Wickles both turned to Bluestone. "We're listening," said Wickles.

Ten minutes later, the doors of the club were chained shut by thick titanium chains that sported a heavy padlock before them. To test their sturdiness, Bluestone pulled the doors' handles. Not so much as a rattle from the chain's thick links, or even a groan of protest from the entrance doors. "Ah, yes! No one will be escaping this establishment tonight. These chains were used in one of my greatest magical performances, you know! The audience was utterly spellbinded by - !"

"Cease your self-flattering loquacity and give me the key, you washed-up Houdini," Wickles snarled while Hank and Carswell sniggered like a pair of little boys behind him. With a glare of bloody murder, Bluestone tossed the key at him. Wickles pocketed it and went to further taunt the members of Mystery Incorporated, Hank and Carswell following close behind.

"I must say, dear sleuths, if I had known how elementary group cooperation would've made your capture you would've been in our clutches the first day of my release from prison," he sighed peacefully. "No masks. No tedious investigations. No exhausting chases. Not even any bitter exclamations of - !"

"Let me guess: us meddling kids?" Daphne said with exaggerated weariness.

Wickles's glare flickered. He quietly approached Daphne and…slapped her. Hard. The noise of his palm making stinging contact with her face audible mainly to him and Daphne's friends. Daphne shrieked in pain as the force of the blow whipped her head into Shaggy's shoulder. Though Velma's near-sighted optics couldn't see what had happened, the sound alone made her gasp.

"Your sass will deduce your final hours alive, my dear," he murderously warned the now-quivering redhead.

"ASSHOLE!" exploded Shaggy. The unadulterated rage in his voice was frighteningly out of character for the easygoing hippie. "YOU GODDAM COWARDS! ALL OF YOU!"

Not a nervous chuckle or one like was included in his outburst.

"Ooooh, well look at this! The useless hippie actually grew a spine while we were away," Wickles remarked, grabbing a fistful of Shaggy's hair. "I'm going to enjoy ripping it out…"