Tales from the Crypt: Monster Mashed

Chapter 4

"Daphne! Shaggy! Are you both alright?" Velma cried.

"Like, yeah," Shaggy weakly replied, though his scalp ached severely. "What about you, Daph?"

The sting of Wickles's open-palmed blow lingered faintly on her cheek. "Yes. But how much longer it'll stay that way I'm not too certain of…"

As if on cue, the club's lights dimmed to a malevolent scarlet as the villains who'd went into the storage room returned with various weapons. A sea of wicked simpers surrounded the fearful five; their visible fear indicated their acknowledgement of the "main event" at last commencing. With the vicious tune of Getting Away With Murder by Papa Roach providing vindictive ambience, the circle of several of the villains began to collectively enclose around the teens and their dog.

Hank's withered face wore deranged menace as he crept towards the group with a rusted pickaxe. Carswell toyed with a noose in his hands. A chainsaw revved to life in Greenway's bloated grasp. C.L. Magnus – "The Ghost of Redbeard" – kept his grasp tight around the lethal cutlass in his hand. Though he was the only one without a weapon, Wickles led the circle with an aura of leadership. The rest of the villains served as the anticipating audience, licking their lips and bouncing madly in their seats. They psychotically desired to hear their screams, the wet sounds of their flesh tearing, their blood splattering over the club's interior like indoor sprinklers of crimson…

"L-Like, I think this is it," Shaggy hissed, his voice thick with despair. Scooby's canine frame tremored furiously with fear across Shaggy and Daphne's lap. Velma closed her eyes and buried her head in Fred's shoulder, briefly thankful for once to not have her glasses, her own grim demise something she sought no clear vision of.

Beads of sweat rolled down Fred's masculine complexion, fear and anger mixed together within the pointed glare he cast up at Wickles.

"So, Fred, our fearless leader. What trap have you set that'll get you and your friends out of this pickle?" Wickles spat. "What ace in the hole do you have under your sleeve? I hold the only key to your freedom! Our trap is one that offers no escape! Ironic, no?"

"Enough talk!" Carl shouted from the audience.

"SKIN THEIR MYSTERY-SOLVING REARS!" screamed Mama Mione.

"You..." Fred growled through clenched teeth, "...have the only key?"

Wickles's beady eyes narrowed to derisive slits. "That's right, dear himbo."

Instantly, the unnerved expression on Fred's face evaporated, being replaced by a cocky sneer. "Then we can cut the crap now."

Wickles blinked. "What…?"

Fred threw back his head and shouted up to the skylight, "NOW, SCRAPPY!"

The villains had no time to react to Fred's confounding outburst, for large shards of thick glass came raining down upon them. Hank dropped his pickaxe and curled up on the floor to shield himself from the shattered fragments. The crowd of villains screamed collectively and shuffled away from the vicinity of the falling shards. Wickles released a startled cry and fell to his knees, covering the back of his head with his arms.

One zipped down past Greenway's wrist, gracefully slicing through the back of his hand. The swift agony made him emit a croaking scream as the fully alive chainsaw fell from his grasp and cut through his shoe. Within seconds, he had toppled to the floor, screaming at the top of his lungs as his own intended tool of murder assaulted his left foot. His shoe and foot were horrendously shredded. Hank looked up just in time to be sprayed in the face by the blood spouting from Greenway's mutilated stub of an ankle. Hank gasped and gagged at the metallic tang intruding the dry regions of his mouth, and then screamed in terror at the sight of Greenway's severed foot.

Shards of the club's skylight were impaled into the floor like transparent stalagmites after the glassy assault had ceased. Wickles stood sharply. "WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?!"

Over the sound of Greenway's screams and the screeching volume of the song playing, an exhilarated battle cry floated down from the gaping hole where the skylight once was.

"PUUUUUUPPY POWEEEEER!"

Wickles's head shot up to see the small, frenetic puppy diving down towards him, eyes burning with determination and little paw wrapped around a large crowbar. Before any perplexed exclamation could leave him, Wickles was knocked out cold.