I do not own any characters named herein, and am only borrowing them to tell a nonprofit tale meant for entertainment purposes only.

Mystery Inc.'s Last Case

By LJ58

The voluptuous, if slightly stocky brunette squinted through thick glasses as she sipped at the tepid tea that was already cooling as she sat down on the edge of her bed in the old house they were exploring even as she opened the cover of the newest book she had found in the old wardrobe.

Well, ancient, the way the hinges had shrieked at being forced to open.

Just another old, supposedly haunted house they had been called in to investigate.

Still, she had wondered if there might be any clues to the house's secrets inside, and she had found the old, leather-bound journal wrapped in old-fashioned oilcloth, and hidden under a false panel under a mound of rotting cloth.

Fortunately, experience had taught her how to look for things not easily discovered by casual observers.

Setting her cup on the night stand with an old-fashioned oil lamp, she turned the page that was just a bunch of arcane symbols, some of which she thought were just borderline familiar.

The title page was in old English, but legible enough for her to make them out.

"This is a translation from the true journal of the mad sheikh, al Ben jhand'r: a mage of some standing."

"Really," Velma Dinkle murmured, and turned the page.

She eyed the entry, and frowned.

More symbols. She glanced over them, but couldn't seem to make sense of them. Nothing of any translation, either.

Until she turned the page again.

"Despair ye who read these words. Lament the ill-fortune that opened this tome before your eyes. You have already been cursed," the writer claimed."

"Of course I have," she snorted, and reached for her tea, taking her eyes off the text just for a second.

By the time she looked back, the cup rising toward her lips, she realized the yellowing pages had turned a curious ivory, and were growing strangely translucent.

"Jinkies," she murmured, setting her cup aside, and almost dropping it as she stared at the book in her hand without looking away now.

She had actually seen quite a few bizarre things in her life. Yet for every real instance of genuinely preternatural events, she had to wade through thousands upon thousands of hoaxes, frauds, and scams. She did not say supernatural, because she felt everything had a scientific explanation, even if she did not immediately understand it.

Despite her more superstitious, or in certain cases outright craven teammates, she did not believe in genuine mystical happenings. Just misunderstood scientific events as yet unexplained.

She just wasn't sure what could make a book suddenly look brand new, and start to glow like a nightlight on steroids.

Then she realized there were ripples in the page before her as she held the book firmly in both hands now, unable to pull her eyes from it.

Not that page was moving.

No. It looked like the very surface of the page were being…..poked from underneath somehow, but making the surface ripple like splashes in a body of water. Even the letters seemed to be distorting, and acting as if the ink were trying to rise three-dimensionally from the page.

"What is this," she frowned, then gave a helpless yip of indignation and surprise as one of the inky tendrils abruptly shot out of the page, impaling her mouth, and sealing her cavity even as it probed the back of her throat as it thickened noticeably.

She tried to throw the book aside, but even as she did, she realized slender, but unnoticed fibrous tendrils of surprising strength had bound her hands in place upon the book she held, and could not release.

She stared down in growing horror now as the tendril in her mouth began to pulse with unnatural life, and she felt a musky, inky fluid fill her mouth before trickling down her mouth. Even as she gulped helplessly at the distasteful fluid, she saw more tendrils rising, and swaying over the open pages before they shot out to snatch at her trademark sweater and jeans, slicing, pulling, and ripping her clothes away in surprisingly little time before more of those weird tendrils rose, and one dropped to probe her now exposed sex, and rudely thrust deep without preamble.

It shoved into her with such force she bucked right off the bed, onto her feet, and then fell back to land on her side on the bed, legs splayed with her hands and eyes still seemingly glued to the book.

More tendrils shot out, and another found her now exposed rosebud, burying itself deep as the others explored her navel, and two more seemed to clamp down on her already turgid nipples with such force she would have sworn they had teeth.

She squealed, and writhed on the bed, her logical mind overloading as she tried to understand what was happening, and why.

Logic, however, failed her for the first time in her life as she wailed behind her strange, phallic gag, and her mind began to actually shut down as if something were overwhelming it with something else.

Not mere lust, though her conscious mind did not know it, silently chanting, "No, no, no, no, no," and little else. It was something that sucked at the very essence of her soul, feeding on it. On her. And it was very, very hungry.

Even as she was trying to understand what was happening to her, her hands moved of their own accord, moving the book closer to her face. She stared helplessly as the book was pressed right up to her face, and something seemed to emerge from it, crawling down into her throat, and filling her in ways that had nothing to do with the unnatural tendrils turned tentacles that still filled her mouth and throat.

Something pooled in her stomach, but it did not stay there. She felt it sear its way across her nerve endings, attacking virtually every cell in her body as she felt herself being driven out of her own mind as she tried to resist in vain.

She wailed in genuine fear as she felt book actually fold around her face before forcing its way into her mouth, and down her throat. Where it seemed to dissolve, and spread throughout her body with whatever was tainting her.

Then everything went black.


Velma padded naked down the hall, headed for the nearest bedroom as she smiled vacantly, and considered everything and nothing.

She was there. Buried deep inside her own body and mind, but far from in control.

Were someone to paint an image of her mind, it might now appear to be as a small, dark room, with her huddled in a tiny corner while something…..burgeoning filled the chamber to overflowing. Something that controlled every aspect of her being while ignoring her. Save to feed from the last vestiges of her consciousness and emotions.

So when she turned into Fred's room, opening the door without hesitation, she could do nothing but look out from her vantage point behind now alien eyes as her familiar gaze settled on the sleeping young man in the bed.

A part of her snorted cynically, surprised to find him alone.

A part of him smiled in truly feral fashion, seeing only a fresh prey.

"We do not need this vain child," a voice that wasn't a voice echoed through her mind, speaking without speaking. "Still, he will make a suitable meal."

Velma watched helplessly as her right hand rose, elongated like one of those weird tendrils, and shout out cover the still six feet separating them to allow her now powerful hand to wrap around the blonde's throat.

Freddy woke instantly, eyes bulging, mouth open as he sucked helplessly for air that would not come as the grip closed and tightened on his thick neck. She pulled him toward her, dragging him off the bed, and easily supporting the writhing, vainly struggling male as she opened her mouth, her tongue already elongating as Freddy's eyes rounded in horror at seeing the thing made of her.

Then the sucker at the end of her tongue entered the man's mouth, stabbing upward through the soft palate to pierce his very brain, and Velma, the true Velma, gasped at the surge of emotion and memory that filled her own mind even as the impossible entity fed.

"No," she wailed again, actually feeling and experiencing Fred as he literally died while being hollowed out before her.

By the time her fingers dropped him, Velma knew her longtime friend was truly dead. Truly gone. The thing inside her had not just drained his mind and emotions. She had feasted on his very soul. She knew, because she could feel it even now, roiling in whatever metabolism the creature was using within her flesh to nourish itself.

What made it worse was now knowing what Fred knew. Knowing that he had always secretly admired her. Even desired her to a degree. Something that he had never acted on because the cocky, vain detective actually feared being rejected. His insecurity had led him to Daphne, an ironically shallow girl with as many esteem issues as himself.

But he had long admired her from afar.

And now she had just helped kill him.

She wanted to cry all over again.

The entity in charge only chortled, and licked her full lips.

"Not a bad appetizer after so long a fast," her own voice remarked as she smiled down at the husk that had been a friend.

Fred looked like a withered caricature of a scarecrow as they looked down on him. Every aspect of life or personality was simply gone. Sucked out without remorse to feed whatever she had inadvertently loosed on the world.

Velma turned from the room, pausing to close the door behind her, and only smiled as she heard someone approaching up the stairs.

"Hey, Velma," a lanky young man with an overstocked tray of sandwiches said with an uneasy tremor in his voice. "Did you hear… Zoinks, Velma," he gaped, staring right at her. "Like, why are you naked, man?"

"Rah, raked," the big hound behind him seemed to actually speak.

"Shaggy," she said quietly, though the captive in her mind screamed for him to run. "How thoughtful. I was still feeling….hungry," she smiled at him as she eyed him with a dark gleam in her eyes.

"Really? Well, there's like plenty of chow down in the kitchens. But don't you need a robe, or something," he lanky comrade asked as he now pointedly looked away from her as he tried to turn toward his own room.

"Not for what I'm planning," she smiled, and both hands reached out, grapping him, and pulled him into a searing, but lethal kiss.

"No," the true Velma howled madly as she felt Shaggy die, too.

And could do nothing about it.

Scooby-Doo, a longtime faithful companion, just stared as his two friends seemed to be kissing. Only the longer they kissed, the thinner his already lanky friend became. Thinner, and paler, and then Velma was releasing him, and Shaggy collapsed in a heap of withered limbs, and graying flesh.

"Ruh," the strangely sentient animal stared, then looked at her again. At the fallen tray of food, and back at his dead friend.

"Ru rot Relra," he gaped, and turned and bolted, food and friend both forgotten in his fear.

She smirked, and let the cowardly animal run.

She had no interest in mere beasts. Even if they were seemingly near-human in manner.

Velma's memories guided her to the last occupied room, though, and Velma was wailing in misery as she realized her last friend was about to become a victim, too. She watched as 'she' pushed open the door, stared at the shapely redhead laying in the bed under a thin sheet, and then chortled.

"Now this one has promise," that entity said without speaking aloud as she walked over to the bed, and looked down at the girl.

She gestured, and Daphne came away even as the bedposts seemed to spawn their own tentacles to reach out, grab her limbs, and pull her into a spread-eagle position on the bed. Then she easily ripped the sheet aside, and shredded the green lingerie she had worn to bed.

Silk, of course.

Velma could only stare from within again as the entity's tongue spawned a new tendril that stabbed down between them, impaling the redhead's naked sex even as Daphne tried to clear her head from whatever dreams yet clouded them.

The true Velma tasted Daphne as if she were violating her herself.

She felt the artificial lust the creature incited, and had to watch as the redhead buck, and writhed, and screamed for more even as Velma withdrew her phallic appendage, her tongue returning to normal even as she lowered her body to cover the willowy redhead's own.

Velma felt every warm, soft curve.

Felt the thickness of her elongating clitoris just before it impaled the still intoxicated redhead, and then the tongue pierced Daphne's mouth this time.

Impaled in both orifices, the entity fed again.

Only the imprisoned Velma felt the difference at once.

Everything that made Daphne Daphne was being drawn out. That was just part of it. She felt them filling the redhead even as they emptied her, replacing her inhibitions with raw lust, and her own mind with a wanton hunger. Velma intuitively understood that the entity was making her friend into a sensual drone. A trap for the unwary. A lure to bring the unwary to her.

To them.

Daphne, in essence, had just become an obedient pet.

Velma would learn just how horrible a fate that was in the days to come when she absorbed enough life from the victims the redhead brought until they were able to start creating eggs that would help spread the taint that now corrupted her.

She would share them with the redhead, who would share them with other females, but every male that came to them would die.

For now, however, the creature that had replaced her only lounged in the supposedly haunted house, and let the redhead serve her in the supposedly haunted house. It knew, however, that its time was coming. Had come.

This time, no one even knew it had crossed the dimensions.

This time, there was none to stop the return of its kind.

This world, the new Velma cheered as she celebrated her corporeal manifestation, would finally fall to its ilk, as it should have centuries ago.

All thanks to a curious little child with no comprehension of true magic.

The End…