Warhaven
Member
- Joined
- Jun 6, 2006
- Messages
- 13
Hey all.
This is my first post, I think. Honestly, I've been looking all over the net for a place to get some feedback on a few of my writings. I think I may have found a good spot here.
Anyway, I was looking at some artwork the other day for a discontinued card game called Hecatomb. Came across one (was going to show you peeps the actual picture, but I can't post URLs atm) which had a silhouette of the Scooby Doo gang -- titled "Meddling Kids" --, and it had me chuckling. Although the card was obviously intended to provide a bit of comic relief to an otherwise very morbid and spooky card game, I couldn't help but start imagining a very morbid and spooky version of Scooby Doo.
In books and historical text, demons always have silly names in the first place. Balthazar, Baphomet, and what have you. To me, Scooby Doo sounded perfectly demonic too. So, I decided to write a short story, giving a morbid twist to the characters. Well, I don't want to give away too much, so I'll just post the story. It's based in the Hellboy comic universe.
-------
Black, bloated, clouds stuck to the nighttime sky like a thick layer of tar over a newly paved street. They threatened the ground with heavy rain, as if waiting for someone to taunt them into releasing more than a little drizzle. Occasionally, a streak of moonlight would pierce through thick blanket, offering glimpses into the otherwise black and drizzle-laden courtyard. In the distance some twenty yards away, an ancient and decrepit manor slumped mournfully atop a muddy knoll.
Daphne Blake removed a beret from her hair and smoothed back her long auburn hair, now soaked from almost two hours of standing in the hazy mist Californians liked to call rain. It was nothing like the torrential downpours in the many parts of Europe she and the team had traveled through in the last five years, but she was glad to be back in the States nonetheless.
Daphne glanced worriedly up at the thick clouds where the moon tried in vain to offer even the meekest show of light. Quickly, she returned her focus back to the ancient manor, not wanting to upset whatever sort of abomination controlled this unnatural overcast. The last thing they needed were sheets of acrid rain to make an already difficult assignment that was -- in Daphne’s eyes anyway -- on the verge of disaster.
A groan, distant and laced with a cold chill that trickled down Daphne’s neck, echoed from deep within the house. Daphne shifted her weight as putrid mud oozed out on either side of her waterlogged shoes. Turning slightly, she took a reassuring glance at an old Dodge A100. Tried and true, the old Mystery Machine had never failed them, and something inside Daphne told her they’ll be needing the old Dodge’s reliability.
Without warning, a flash of blinding white light followed by a sudden and deafening boom sent Daphne reeling. Lightning had struck a lifeless tree not thirty feet from her position.
Coupling her ears in pain, Daphne said to the ozone thick air, “Something’s wrong. Something’s terribly wrong.”
As if on queue, a dark figure appeared in the doorframe of the ancient manor, grunting and breathing with an immensity that suggested the figure had just finished a decathlon. Raising its hand, a streak of brilliant red light shot into the hazy night sky, basking the entire area in an unnerving red halo.
“Daphne!” the figure called out in a panicked and angry voice as it continued to drag something.
Without hesitation, Daphne put on a burst of speed born to someone who lived day to day in a state of mild paranoia. Despite the inordinate amounts of stinking sludge trying its best to make Daphne lose her footing, she ran full tilt with assured footing. Stopping a good ten feet from the figure’s position, Daphne slid the rest of the way.
Fred Jones, his once-blonde hair now soaked in sweat and wrapped in a red bandanna, stood in a dark doorway. He gave an almighty heave and pulled a body over the threshold. Daphne gasped in horror as the red gloom illuminated what used to be a human face. A bloody mass occupied the spot where eyes, a nose, and mouth would normally be. Immediately, Daphne came to her senses, grabbed one of the arms, and began helping Fred drag the body. Daphne let out a short yelp and dropped the arm she was carrying. The bloody mass had just opened its lipless mouth. It spewed forth a mass of red bubbles, and let out a gurgling pain-filled groan.
Daphne quickly regained her composure again and picked up the arm. She attempted to avert her blue-gray eyes, now gleaming with a sinister red in the temporary lighting, and looked fixedly back at the manor doorway. The silhouette of a bald, shapely woman began to emerge, and Daphne gave an audible sigh of relief. The woman’s hair was cut extremely short, nigh baldness. She too was breathing heavily and hauled another body by the arms through the door. Moments later, another dark figure followed suit, but this one was gangly, lanky, and emaciated. It wore a very long shirt, and although it appeared to be carrying the legs of the body with apparent ease, the figure panted loudly. Most disturbingly, was the two-foot long tongue that lolled around near its navel, protruding from its equally disturbingly large mouth.
Fred and Daphne dragged the still-groaning body through the muddy courtyard to the side of the van and set it down gently. Fred turned the latch to the two side-access doors and opened them, completely unphased by a pair of sinister, crimson-red eyes floating within the depths of the van.
“On three,” Fred said as he took both arms and Daphne moved around to grab the legs.
“One, two, three!”
Fred lifted the body and shuffled into the side of the van. Daphne quickly followed, and they eased the body into position.
“Don’t help or anything,” Fred snarled to the pair of crimson eyes.
“Don’t mind if I do,” a deep voice replied with barely concealed eagerness.
Fred tapped a light on the inner roof of the van, bathing the inside and immediate area in a soft white light. To Fred’s left, the head of a great boarhound leaned forward and began licking the pool of blood that had collected in the gaping holes of a head that once held eyes.
“You mangy piece of...” Daphne grabbed the dog by the neck, and shoved it bodily to the back of the van with a scream of anger.
“Not…” she yelled in frustration while taking a moment to catch her breath at the same time, “…Scooby snack!”
Still seething, Daphne gave the great red-eyed dog one last shove then yanked free a shiny white box adorned with a red cross from the side of the van. Ripping the lid off unceremoniously, she grabbed a pair thick gauss pads and gingerly covered the bloody sockets. The body gave off a gurgling groan of pain as she started to expertly roll bandages around the mutilated head and face, careful not to cover the nose cavity and lipless mouth.
With a soft pop, the red light from the flare faded completely and darkness once again resumed its claim to the mud soaked courtyard. The only light remaining was from the soft glow of the tap-light. A guttural laugh issued from the darkness just beyond the edge of light, as a shapely woman inched into the view. The red-haired woman breathed heavily as she carried the arms of the other body. The lanky figure from before followed with legs in tow, still giving off its sickly chuckle.
“Can it Shaggy!” Fred bellowed in anger, pointing a blood stained finger at the ghoulish figure.
The gaunt man immediately retracted its drooling, slithering appendage and sneered at Fred. Fred helped Daphne with the last of the bandaging then threw himself into the drivers seat.
“Here Velma,” Daphne said as she reached down and took one of the arms from the other woman. They heaved the second body into the van, Shaggy pushing from the rear.
Daphne glared at the boarhound with sheer animosity and said, “If you so much as drool on this one, its your hide dog!”
The boarhound simply rolled its eyes and rested its head on its forepaws.
“Cut the crap, and just get in!” Fred called to the back.
Shaggy gracefully leaped into the van, closed the side doors, and joined the demonic boarhound in the back. Velma rushed around the front of the van, and with a yelp of surprise vanished from view.
Fred shot straight up and looked out over the front of the van in immediate concern. Velma slowly rose, dripping from head to toe in the smelly courtyard muck. Cursing loudly, she wrenched open the passenger door and jumped in.
Fred turned the key, and the van dutifully rumbled to life. Putting the van in reverse, Fred backed the old A100 out briskly from the courtyard, careful not to spin the tires too much. Once on solid asphalt, he switched to drive and pressed the gas pedal solidly with his mud-caked foot. A loud screech ensued, and the old Dodge tore down the rain soaked road.
Had this been a dry nightfall the tires would have left a deep scar on the roadside. It would have been a reminder to those involved on this terrible night, but the rain now poured in torrents. Like the government, it would make sure any evidence that this night ever occurred would be covered up. They would make sure that everything was kept quiet and the public unaware. Everything, that is, except for an age-old cartoon that glorified the team’s early days as paranormal investigators. They hadn’t started out as Abomination hunters, and they certainly hadn’t intended to become rescuers of wannabe kids eager to be the next big hero.
Daphne cradled the head of one of the bodies as it squirmed in pain and gurgled protests. The other body lay silent. Fred pushed the old but reliable Dodge to its limits, determined to save at least one life this night. Moments later, the van screeched to a halt in front of the Valley Medical Center.
Fred threw open his door while shouting over the van to Velma, “Grab a doctor!”
Velma rushed through the sliding doors, shouting down the hallway for a doctor. With a loud and rusty squeak, Fred opened the side doors to the van. Four EMT specialists quickly rushed to his side and loaded the two bodies onto stretchers. Then, just as quickly, the two EMT teams rushed the mutilated bodies through the double sliding doors and into the safety of the hospital. Velma followed closely behind them, explaining to the EMTs that the two teenagers had been mauled by mountain lions.
Fred sat down on the edge of the van’s side access and heaved an enormous sigh. Velma arrived shortly thereafter still covered in smelly muck, and slid down to the ground, resting her back against Fred’s legs. Inside the van, Daphne wept quietly, covering her face with blood-soaked hands. The great boarhound simply stared at the lot, continuing to rest its head on its paws, while Shaggy pet its head idly.
“The idiots,” Fred finally said after several moments of strained silence. “No attached safety lines. No rear-view cameras. No relic quarry. No magnesium flares. No sense at all! They all have to go make a name for themselves, don’t they! They think they can take on the Abomination with nothing but a couple guns! Idiots!”
Fred threw his head back and let out a strained yell of mixed anger and grief. Velma Dinkley craned her neck to look up at Fred, his face streaming with muddy tears, and took his hand.
“I think its time we break the rules,” she said softly. “Time we explained a few things to the few in our circle who really know what’s going on in the world. Explain to them that things have changed…changed horribly in the last twenty years.”
Fred wiped his nose with his free hand and gave a shuddering sigh.
“Yeah,” he whispered. A roguish grin somehow found its way to Fred’s mouth, despite his disparity.
“Time to misbehave,” Fred continued with a shake of his head.
He turned to Daphne, who was adamantly and quite unsuccessfully trying to wipe away any evidence that she had been crying, and took her hand.
“Come on,” Fred said soothingly as he held Daphne’s hand. “The sooner we get the paperwork done, the sooner we can get some rest and put this whole night behind us.”
Daphne nodded silently. Fred gently let go of her hand and helped Velma to her feet.
“You lot go on home,” Velma said. “I’ll stay here and court the government.”
Fred looked her up and down and raised an eyebrow. Velma looked down at herself, and smiled through her mud caked face.
“The hospital has showers, and I’m sure I can find an agent who wouldn’t mind giving me a lift home after word,” Velma said.
“You’re the best,” Fred said as he gave her a friendly kiss on the forehead. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said.
Velma nodded as she and Fred helped Daphne out of the van. Shortly before closing the side doors, Velma poked her head in and glared at the boarhound and the unshaven, gaunt-looking Shaggy, whose tongue was once again lolling about in its lap.
“Go easy on her, okay?” Velma asked imploringly.
The boarhound winked a crimson eye as Shaggy sucked in its incredibly long tongue and grinned toothily. Shaking her head, Velma closed the side doors and walked tiredly toward the hospital. Just before disappearing into the white-lit hallways, she waved back at Fred and Daphne.
Fred nodded to her and started the old A100’s never failing engine again. Slowly, quietly, Fred steered the veteran Dodge toward home.
“Hey Scoob,” Shaggy said in a gurgled whisper to the crimson-eyed boarhound. “What’s for dinner?”
This is my first post, I think. Honestly, I've been looking all over the net for a place to get some feedback on a few of my writings. I think I may have found a good spot here.
Anyway, I was looking at some artwork the other day for a discontinued card game called Hecatomb. Came across one (was going to show you peeps the actual picture, but I can't post URLs atm) which had a silhouette of the Scooby Doo gang -- titled "Meddling Kids" --, and it had me chuckling. Although the card was obviously intended to provide a bit of comic relief to an otherwise very morbid and spooky card game, I couldn't help but start imagining a very morbid and spooky version of Scooby Doo.
In books and historical text, demons always have silly names in the first place. Balthazar, Baphomet, and what have you. To me, Scooby Doo sounded perfectly demonic too. So, I decided to write a short story, giving a morbid twist to the characters. Well, I don't want to give away too much, so I'll just post the story. It's based in the Hellboy comic universe.
-------
Scooby Snacks
Black, bloated, clouds stuck to the nighttime sky like a thick layer of tar over a newly paved street. They threatened the ground with heavy rain, as if waiting for someone to taunt them into releasing more than a little drizzle. Occasionally, a streak of moonlight would pierce through thick blanket, offering glimpses into the otherwise black and drizzle-laden courtyard. In the distance some twenty yards away, an ancient and decrepit manor slumped mournfully atop a muddy knoll.
Daphne Blake removed a beret from her hair and smoothed back her long auburn hair, now soaked from almost two hours of standing in the hazy mist Californians liked to call rain. It was nothing like the torrential downpours in the many parts of Europe she and the team had traveled through in the last five years, but she was glad to be back in the States nonetheless.
Daphne glanced worriedly up at the thick clouds where the moon tried in vain to offer even the meekest show of light. Quickly, she returned her focus back to the ancient manor, not wanting to upset whatever sort of abomination controlled this unnatural overcast. The last thing they needed were sheets of acrid rain to make an already difficult assignment that was -- in Daphne’s eyes anyway -- on the verge of disaster.
A groan, distant and laced with a cold chill that trickled down Daphne’s neck, echoed from deep within the house. Daphne shifted her weight as putrid mud oozed out on either side of her waterlogged shoes. Turning slightly, she took a reassuring glance at an old Dodge A100. Tried and true, the old Mystery Machine had never failed them, and something inside Daphne told her they’ll be needing the old Dodge’s reliability.
Without warning, a flash of blinding white light followed by a sudden and deafening boom sent Daphne reeling. Lightning had struck a lifeless tree not thirty feet from her position.
Coupling her ears in pain, Daphne said to the ozone thick air, “Something’s wrong. Something’s terribly wrong.”
As if on queue, a dark figure appeared in the doorframe of the ancient manor, grunting and breathing with an immensity that suggested the figure had just finished a decathlon. Raising its hand, a streak of brilliant red light shot into the hazy night sky, basking the entire area in an unnerving red halo.
“Daphne!” the figure called out in a panicked and angry voice as it continued to drag something.
Without hesitation, Daphne put on a burst of speed born to someone who lived day to day in a state of mild paranoia. Despite the inordinate amounts of stinking sludge trying its best to make Daphne lose her footing, she ran full tilt with assured footing. Stopping a good ten feet from the figure’s position, Daphne slid the rest of the way.
Fred Jones, his once-blonde hair now soaked in sweat and wrapped in a red bandanna, stood in a dark doorway. He gave an almighty heave and pulled a body over the threshold. Daphne gasped in horror as the red gloom illuminated what used to be a human face. A bloody mass occupied the spot where eyes, a nose, and mouth would normally be. Immediately, Daphne came to her senses, grabbed one of the arms, and began helping Fred drag the body. Daphne let out a short yelp and dropped the arm she was carrying. The bloody mass had just opened its lipless mouth. It spewed forth a mass of red bubbles, and let out a gurgling pain-filled groan.
Daphne quickly regained her composure again and picked up the arm. She attempted to avert her blue-gray eyes, now gleaming with a sinister red in the temporary lighting, and looked fixedly back at the manor doorway. The silhouette of a bald, shapely woman began to emerge, and Daphne gave an audible sigh of relief. The woman’s hair was cut extremely short, nigh baldness. She too was breathing heavily and hauled another body by the arms through the door. Moments later, another dark figure followed suit, but this one was gangly, lanky, and emaciated. It wore a very long shirt, and although it appeared to be carrying the legs of the body with apparent ease, the figure panted loudly. Most disturbingly, was the two-foot long tongue that lolled around near its navel, protruding from its equally disturbingly large mouth.
Fred and Daphne dragged the still-groaning body through the muddy courtyard to the side of the van and set it down gently. Fred turned the latch to the two side-access doors and opened them, completely unphased by a pair of sinister, crimson-red eyes floating within the depths of the van.
“On three,” Fred said as he took both arms and Daphne moved around to grab the legs.
“One, two, three!”
Fred lifted the body and shuffled into the side of the van. Daphne quickly followed, and they eased the body into position.
“Don’t help or anything,” Fred snarled to the pair of crimson eyes.
“Don’t mind if I do,” a deep voice replied with barely concealed eagerness.
Fred tapped a light on the inner roof of the van, bathing the inside and immediate area in a soft white light. To Fred’s left, the head of a great boarhound leaned forward and began licking the pool of blood that had collected in the gaping holes of a head that once held eyes.
“You mangy piece of...” Daphne grabbed the dog by the neck, and shoved it bodily to the back of the van with a scream of anger.
“Not…” she yelled in frustration while taking a moment to catch her breath at the same time, “…Scooby snack!”
Still seething, Daphne gave the great red-eyed dog one last shove then yanked free a shiny white box adorned with a red cross from the side of the van. Ripping the lid off unceremoniously, she grabbed a pair thick gauss pads and gingerly covered the bloody sockets. The body gave off a gurgling groan of pain as she started to expertly roll bandages around the mutilated head and face, careful not to cover the nose cavity and lipless mouth.
With a soft pop, the red light from the flare faded completely and darkness once again resumed its claim to the mud soaked courtyard. The only light remaining was from the soft glow of the tap-light. A guttural laugh issued from the darkness just beyond the edge of light, as a shapely woman inched into the view. The red-haired woman breathed heavily as she carried the arms of the other body. The lanky figure from before followed with legs in tow, still giving off its sickly chuckle.
“Can it Shaggy!” Fred bellowed in anger, pointing a blood stained finger at the ghoulish figure.
The gaunt man immediately retracted its drooling, slithering appendage and sneered at Fred. Fred helped Daphne with the last of the bandaging then threw himself into the drivers seat.
“Here Velma,” Daphne said as she reached down and took one of the arms from the other woman. They heaved the second body into the van, Shaggy pushing from the rear.
Daphne glared at the boarhound with sheer animosity and said, “If you so much as drool on this one, its your hide dog!”
The boarhound simply rolled its eyes and rested its head on its forepaws.
“Cut the crap, and just get in!” Fred called to the back.
Shaggy gracefully leaped into the van, closed the side doors, and joined the demonic boarhound in the back. Velma rushed around the front of the van, and with a yelp of surprise vanished from view.
Fred shot straight up and looked out over the front of the van in immediate concern. Velma slowly rose, dripping from head to toe in the smelly courtyard muck. Cursing loudly, she wrenched open the passenger door and jumped in.
Fred turned the key, and the van dutifully rumbled to life. Putting the van in reverse, Fred backed the old A100 out briskly from the courtyard, careful not to spin the tires too much. Once on solid asphalt, he switched to drive and pressed the gas pedal solidly with his mud-caked foot. A loud screech ensued, and the old Dodge tore down the rain soaked road.
Had this been a dry nightfall the tires would have left a deep scar on the roadside. It would have been a reminder to those involved on this terrible night, but the rain now poured in torrents. Like the government, it would make sure any evidence that this night ever occurred would be covered up. They would make sure that everything was kept quiet and the public unaware. Everything, that is, except for an age-old cartoon that glorified the team’s early days as paranormal investigators. They hadn’t started out as Abomination hunters, and they certainly hadn’t intended to become rescuers of wannabe kids eager to be the next big hero.
Daphne cradled the head of one of the bodies as it squirmed in pain and gurgled protests. The other body lay silent. Fred pushed the old but reliable Dodge to its limits, determined to save at least one life this night. Moments later, the van screeched to a halt in front of the Valley Medical Center.
Fred threw open his door while shouting over the van to Velma, “Grab a doctor!”
Velma rushed through the sliding doors, shouting down the hallway for a doctor. With a loud and rusty squeak, Fred opened the side doors to the van. Four EMT specialists quickly rushed to his side and loaded the two bodies onto stretchers. Then, just as quickly, the two EMT teams rushed the mutilated bodies through the double sliding doors and into the safety of the hospital. Velma followed closely behind them, explaining to the EMTs that the two teenagers had been mauled by mountain lions.
Fred sat down on the edge of the van’s side access and heaved an enormous sigh. Velma arrived shortly thereafter still covered in smelly muck, and slid down to the ground, resting her back against Fred’s legs. Inside the van, Daphne wept quietly, covering her face with blood-soaked hands. The great boarhound simply stared at the lot, continuing to rest its head on its paws, while Shaggy pet its head idly.
“The idiots,” Fred finally said after several moments of strained silence. “No attached safety lines. No rear-view cameras. No relic quarry. No magnesium flares. No sense at all! They all have to go make a name for themselves, don’t they! They think they can take on the Abomination with nothing but a couple guns! Idiots!”
Fred threw his head back and let out a strained yell of mixed anger and grief. Velma Dinkley craned her neck to look up at Fred, his face streaming with muddy tears, and took his hand.
“I think its time we break the rules,” she said softly. “Time we explained a few things to the few in our circle who really know what’s going on in the world. Explain to them that things have changed…changed horribly in the last twenty years.”
Fred wiped his nose with his free hand and gave a shuddering sigh.
“Yeah,” he whispered. A roguish grin somehow found its way to Fred’s mouth, despite his disparity.
“Time to misbehave,” Fred continued with a shake of his head.
He turned to Daphne, who was adamantly and quite unsuccessfully trying to wipe away any evidence that she had been crying, and took her hand.
“Come on,” Fred said soothingly as he held Daphne’s hand. “The sooner we get the paperwork done, the sooner we can get some rest and put this whole night behind us.”
Daphne nodded silently. Fred gently let go of her hand and helped Velma to her feet.
“You lot go on home,” Velma said. “I’ll stay here and court the government.”
Fred looked her up and down and raised an eyebrow. Velma looked down at herself, and smiled through her mud caked face.
“The hospital has showers, and I’m sure I can find an agent who wouldn’t mind giving me a lift home after word,” Velma said.
“You’re the best,” Fred said as he gave her a friendly kiss on the forehead. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said.
Velma nodded as she and Fred helped Daphne out of the van. Shortly before closing the side doors, Velma poked her head in and glared at the boarhound and the unshaven, gaunt-looking Shaggy, whose tongue was once again lolling about in its lap.
“Go easy on her, okay?” Velma asked imploringly.
The boarhound winked a crimson eye as Shaggy sucked in its incredibly long tongue and grinned toothily. Shaking her head, Velma closed the side doors and walked tiredly toward the hospital. Just before disappearing into the white-lit hallways, she waved back at Fred and Daphne.
Fred nodded to her and started the old A100’s never failing engine again. Slowly, quietly, Fred steered the veteran Dodge toward home.
“Hey Scoob,” Shaggy said in a gurgled whisper to the crimson-eyed boarhound. “What’s for dinner?”
