PART 3: A Very Scary Lesson

[A/N: For those of you who found the last part confusing as to the time line, I apologize. FF.net stripped all the section dividers when I uploaded so everything looked like it was happening at once rather than over the course of several years. The problem is fixed now, and thank you to all the reviewers who pointed that out to me, either in e-mail or in a review.]

A lone figure sat in the dimly lit barroom while on the radio, in the background, some guy with a twangy voice wailed about losing his wife and his pick-up truck in the same day. Geoff Jones picked up the glass of beer sitting in front of him, chugged it and replaced the glass on the bar top. "Gimme one more," he hiccuped.

The bartender knew it was against his better judgement to serve another round to this man, who was obviously teetering on the verge of intoxication, but dutifully pulled back the spout on the draft tap, filling the man's fourth glass of beer and placing it on the counter in front of him.

"Ever think about your own family?" he babbled, to no one in particular. "I have family, but they all hate me. It doesn't matter, though, because I hate them too, you know what I mean?" He stopped only long enough to sip his beer, then continued, "I hate my fruity younger brother and that bossy ass military guy who claims to be my older brother. He thinks he can boss everyone around at home just like they do in the service, but it ain't that way, you know? But you know who I hate the most? I hate my asshole older brother and his bratty kid. He stole my girlfriend, you hear me? He stole my girlfriend!!" Geoff slammed his beer glass on the bar top, spilling beer all over the counter; the bartender dutifully wiped it up, but kept a close eye on his sole patron who was on the verge of a violent outburst. "He stole my girlfriend!!" Geoff ranted, "and do you know what I do to people who steal from me? They pay, let me tell you, they PAY HELL!!"

With each season change and each sunrise and sunset, the children grew as well, each developing unique personalities and traits. Daphne was the most precocious of the four, at age six, already developing an interest in clothes and make-up. The Blake family was very well-off, and if little Daphne wanted something, a new toy or a new dress, she usually got it. And although she wasn't snobbish about her status, she was aware of it, and that awareness did not go unnoticed to the others.

Shaggy was nearly Daphne's polar opposite. He had little interest in looking good, and, as a typical seven-year-old boy, found it more fun to get dirty than to stay clean. He was a boy close to nature, coming home at the end of the day with his pockets filled with frogs, snails and other "pets." "Awww, Mom, can't I keep it?" he would ask whenever Marjorie would discover the unwanted guest lodged in her son's pocket. He never really outgrew his nervousness, though, still jumping or screaming whenever someone approached him from behind, and Marjorie and Sam always had to warn their guests never to startle little Shaggy, even as a joke.

Velma, as her parents had figured, was fast becoming a miniature scholar. Although very shy and quiet, she was highly intelligent, and as a first-grader, was already working two years beyond her grade level. Despite being the youngest of the four children, she was remarkably independent for her age, preferring to be accompanied to the park by Daphne, Shaggy and Fred, rather than by her parents. And although she rarely spoke, when she did, her command of words demonstrated exactly how intelligent and sophisticated she was. Like Daphne, she was aware of her status, but preferred not to flaunt it. The other children, however, were aware of her intelligence, but preferred not to say anything. To them, she was not a scholar or a scientist; she was just Velma Dinkley, playmate, classmate and friend.

Fred was emerging as the leader of the little group of children. Like most boys his age, he played little league baseball and peewee football, but his athletic build often made him appear much older than his seven years. Like Shaggy, he enjoyed "hunting" for animals, but was more inclined to set them free at the end of the day than to bring them home. One thing about Fred's personality bothered Kim, though, and that was his strange obsession with aliens, monsters and ghosts. Little Fred always carried the latest edition of the "National Exaggerator" with him wherever he went, not surprising, since his uncle was the editor, but the way in which Fred believed what he read was disquieting to Kim.

One afternoon, Shaggy rushed over to the Jones' house, banging on the door excitedly. "Come on over, Freddie. I want to show you my new dog!"

Excited, Fred followed Shaggy across the street and back to the Rogers' house where Velma and Daphne were already waiting, sitting on the floor and playing with a small, tan Great Dane puppy. Both girls were rolling on the floor, laughing, as the little puppy strove to lick them.

"Like, isn't he great?" Shaggy asked, "we already named him—Scooby-Doo. Isn't that a cool name?"

Daphne and Velma looked up from playing with the puppy for a few moments. "Uh, what made you choose that name, Shaggy?" Daphne asked, curious.

"Like Pops was listening to a song on the radio and I heard that word and thought it would be a cool name for my dog."

Daphne rolled her eyes. Leave it to Shaggy to name a dog after a jazz singer's refrain,she thought.

"But isn't he great?" continued Shaggy, "I'm so glad Pops let me have a dog. Now we can take him out for walks, play with him, spend the afternoon with him...."

"Don't forget feeding him and training him," Samuel Rogers interjected. "Remember what we said, Norville. This dog is going to be your responsibility. If you don't take care of him, we can always send him to your cousin Dusty."

"Like, I know, but I'll take care of him, I promise."

Shaggy turned to the other children. "Come on, gang. Let's take him outside in the yard to play."

Marjorie and Samuel smiled at each other. Already, they could sense the bond developing between the little puppy and the group of children, a bond that they both knew would last for a lifetime.

Frank Jones stood dressed in an apron and chef's hat, duly tending the barbecue as Kim readied the table with the plastic plates and cutlery for the family's annual Memorial Day picnic.

"Alright, now, let's get a picture of the super cook," announced Edward, as he snapped a random picture of Frank at the grill. "One more for the scrapbook." This time, Frank posed by the barbecue, holding up the spatula in front of his face, emphasizing that he was the man in charge of the meal.

"I hope this year's photo session doesn't turn into a fire hazard like last year's did," commented Max, "after all, wasn't it a photo opportunity like this one that led to the, ahem, accident?"

Frank and Edward shot their elder brother puzzled 'who, me?' looks, even though they knew fully well what he was talking about. The previous year, Edward had been taking candid family pictures, and Frank could not resist posing by the barbecue in a variety of positions. In fact, he had become so involved in the impromptu photo session that he didn't notice the hamburger patties flaring up on the grill. And by the time he did, the flames were climbing well above the cover of the grill and Max had to douse the fire with a garden hose before it could spread to the nearby trees. By the time the flames had been extinguished, the burgers were little more than shriveled masses of burnt meat. More than slightly embarrassed, Frank ended up taking the family to Mister Fong's Chinese Restaurant for their "picnic." "Nah, don't worry Max," said Frank, "I've got it under control. I'll keep the excitement to a minimum this year."

Fred groaned. He was the only child at the gathering and he wished that he could have had someone his own age to play with, but each of the other children was doing something with their respective families that day, so little Fred was alone. Bored, he leaned against a tree and slid to a recline position. He picked up a blade of grass and began to blow on it, but soon grew tired of the less than amusing past time. He sighed; things were always more fun when there was someone else to share them with, and right now, there was no one.

"Aww, what's the matter, Freddie? You bored?"

Fred looked up to see to whom the voice belonged and was surprised to see his uncle Geoff standing over him. Fred rarely saw his uncle and was somewhat taken aback that the older man suddenly decided to speak to him. "Yeah," Fred replied, "there's nothing to do here. I kind of wish that Shaggy, Vel or Daphne could be here, at least I would have someone to play with."

Geoff was intrigued by the boy's mention of his friends. "So, you and your friends do everything together, huh?"

"Yeah," Fred replied, pleased that he had found someone to talk to, "and guess what? I'm seven years old now, so Mom lets me go to the park by myself with them! Isn't that great?"

Geoff considered the boy's comment, and feigned enthusiasm. If his plan was to work, he had to make it appear that he was genuinely interested in the boy's life. The older man was warming to the chase. "Wow, that sounds like fun. Say, when you go to the park, do you ever walk past the old Ferguson house?"

The Ferguson estate was an abandoned mansion and had recently been condemned by the City Council. "Uh, yeah, but there's nothing really to look at there; it's just a pile of rotten wood."

Geoff feigned a smile, but it looked more like a smirk. "Oh no, but there is a lot more than that in that old house, Freddie. You see, when old man Ferguson died, they say he left a treasure somewhere in that old house."

Fred's blue eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. "A hidden treasure? Wow!"

Geoff nodded. "Uh huh. Almost a half a million dollars in gold, money, jewels..."

The more Geoff spoke, the wider his nephew's eyes became. "Wow, just like a real pirate treasure!"

"Uh huh. And you know what they say? They say that his ghost still haunts that old house, guarding his treasure against would-be thieves."

Fred could barely contain himself. "Woah, what a cool story!"

The conversation was interrupted by an angry male voice. "Geoff, what are you doing?" stormed Frank.

Fred was ready to defend his uncle, but before he could, Geoff answered, "Oh, Frankie, I'm just spending time with my favorite nephew. Since when is that a crime?"

Frank frowned. "Favorite? He's your only nephew. What do you want, anyway?"

Geoff faked an expression of hurt. "Want? Do you think that I came here just because I want something? Don't I have the right to spend time with my own family?"

"You never spend time with us, and your track record of attendance at family events suggests that you only show up when you want something from the rest of us."

"Oh, wounded to the heart by my own brother." Geoff's acting was nearly as bad as his comeback lines.

"I'm warning you, Geoff," Frank continued, "stay away from my son and my wife, or I will have a restraining order issued against you. I haven't been too thrilled with your recent antics—you're hardly a role model for Fred here. Now get your lunch and go, that's not a request." Frank punctuated his order with a stern finger point.

Fred looked wistfully up at the older man. "Uncle Geoff, are you really going to go already?"

"I'm afraid so, Freddie. But before I go, promise me one thing—now that you know about the treasure, you must never tell any one else, and you must never go in to that old house. Can you promise me that?"

Fred didn't know if he would be able to keep such a promise, after all, it was a treasure and it was valuable. Imagine what the other kids would think if he told them this story! If only he could think of a way to go into the house without his uncle finding out that he had...of course he could! Fred smiled at his uncle. "I promise," he said, assertively.

"Good. Now, run along and get some food, and remember, this is our little secret."

Geoff took his leave furtively. No one in the Jones family remarked his departure.

Geoff Jones swallowed the last of his Jack Daniels shot, placed the shotglass on the bar and faced the man seated at the neighboring barstool. "Come on, Conners, I'll pay you to do this. All you have to do is get into the Ferguson estate and pretend to be the ghost of old man Ferguson."

The older man took a sip of his beer and frowned. Although a seasoned petty criminal, he regarded Geoff Jones' scheme as more than slightly cruel. "Do you really think this is necessary, Jones? They're only children."

The corners of Geoff's lips turned up in a sinister grin, punctuated by a devious cackle. The action seemed to confirm what Conners already knew about his drinking partner—that the motive for this act went far beyond just frightening a child and into something much more sinister. He shook his head. "No, Jones. It's out of the question."

A slightly intoxicated Geoff grabbed the older man by his lapels and lifted him off the barstool. "Are you going to do this, or not?" he growled. "Because if you're not, I can find someone else very easily. Fifteen hundred dollars, and that's my final offer. Take it, or leave it."

"Okay, okay, I'll do it," he breathed, acquiesing more for his own sake than for Geoff's.

Geoff released his grip and returned the man to the barstool. "Good. Now, here's what I want you to do."

For the rest of the week, Fred Jones burned to tell the other children about the Ferguson treasure. It was just too big a thing to keep secret, but how could he tell the others without breaking his promise to his uncle? Could he tell the others what he knew without actually telling how he knew it? Sure he could. He had only promised his uncle Geoff to not tell about the treasure, he had never actually promised that he wouldn't go there. Perfect, thought Fred, now to find a way to get the others to go with me.

That afternoon, Kim and Marilyn were having brunch together when Fred approached the, both. "Mom, can Vel, Daph, Shag and I go to the park this afternoon?" He paused, then added, "pretty please?"

Marilyn and Kim looked at one another, amused. "Well, I don't see why not," Kim began, "but you will have to ask Mrs. Dinkley if Velma can go with you guys; remember, she may be only a year behind you in school, but she is still two years younger than you and she gets tired easily."

Velma looked up from the book she was reading. "I won't get tired," she offered, "I know how long I can last."

Marilyn considered her daughter's comment. "Well..."

Velma joined Fred in a plea to their respective mothers. "Please?"

Kim and Marilyn smiled. The children could be so amusing at times even without realizing it. "Well, I don't see why not. It's okay with us..."

"Yeah!"

"But you will have to ask Mrs. Rogers and Mrs. Blake if it is okay with them. We cannot make decisions for them."

"It's okay! We'll go ask!" said Fred, as he and Velma began walking towards the door, "Bye Mom, bye Mrs. Dinkley!"

The two mothers looked at their children. "Have a good time," they called, "and be careful!"

Neither George nor Elizabeth Blake was at home, but Daphne managed to get permission from one of the servants. She eagerly joined the other two children as they headed to the Rogers' house to invite the last of their group.

Fred rang the doorbell of the Rogers residence. "Hi, can Shaggy come to the park with us?"

Shaggy rushed down the stairs to the door. "Like, can I, Mom?"

Marjorie Rogers carefully pondered the request, as Fred and Velma's mothers had done. "Sure you can go, but take Scooby with you. He needs a walk."

The boy's face fell. "Aw, Mom, like do I have to take him with me? Like he pulls us!"

Marjorie shook her head. "He's your dog, Norville, you asked for him. And if you don't take care of him, we can easily send him to live at your cousin's ranch in Arizona."

Shaggy took the threat seriously. "Like, no way, Mom! Where's his leash?"

"That's better. Besides, you guys are still a little young to be walking by yourselves. I'd feel a lot better if you had Scooby along for protection."

"Right, Mom. So, like, bye, we'll see you later, alligator!"

Marjorie waved to her son.

"Like, I still think they are too young to be walking to the park by themselves," said Sam Rogers.

"Oh, come on, Sammy. They walk to school by themselves, and they're old enough. Besides, they're safe in a group. What could possibly go wrong?"

The four children walked briskly, each one taking turns walking the Great Dane puppy; they could see the high, wrought- iron gates marking the entrance to the park. They had only recently been allowed to start walking to the park by themselves, and only if they followed the path that had been laid out for them by their parents. The little group had adopted a very particular way of walking: Fred walked at the front, with Daphne flanking his side. Velma would walk just behind Daphne and Shaggy would bring up the rear. The dog would walk alongside whomever was holding his leash; at this particular time, it was Fred.

Suddenly, Fred turned his back to the wrought iron fence and began retracing his steps in the opposite direction.

"Freddie, what are you doing?" asked Daphne. "The park is this way!"

Fred paid no attention to the redhead's admonition. Today's adventure would be bigger than just going to the park.

"Freddie," Daphne persisted, this time with more insistence. She looked at Velma, puzzled. "What is he doing?"

The little bespectacled girl shrugged, but turned to follow Fred. She knew that they would have to stick together.

Equally puzzled, Shaggy followed the younger girl. He knew he had no choice but to follow Fred, as Fred was the one walking Scooby.

"Freddie," Daphne called, "come back here!" With a disgusted grunt, she turned around and followed the others. "Wait for me!"

By the time the others had caught up to him, Fred was already standing in front of the gate to the Ferguson house. A large portion of the gate had rusted away and yellow and black striped tape reading "Caution, do not enter" was woven all around the remaining side of the entrance. A huge sign reading "Condemned" stood in front of the property.

Fred gaped at the property. "Woah, the Ferguson Estate. The most haunted, haunted house in town!"

Daphne frowned. "Freddie, what are we doing here? We're not supposed to be here!"

"I know. But isn't this great?"

Shaggy swallowed a lump the size of his fist. "L...like, speak for yourself, man. This place gives me the mega creeps."

"Ree roo!" The Great Dane echoed.

"Like, I vote we just turn around and go back to the park where it safe. Who else is with me?"

Daphne raised her hand, but not before Velma alerted her to Fred's disappearance. The boy had ducked under the yellow tape and was walking towards the front door of the abandoned mansion.

"Freddie, come back here!"

Daphne, Velma and Shaggy looked at each other and shrugged. They knew they had no choice now but to follow Fred. Taking the lead, Velma ducked underneath the tape and walked ahead, Shaggy, Scooby and Daphne following close behind.

Inside the house, Jonathan Conners fiddled with the ungainly bedsheet he wore over his head. There are no eyeholes in this damn thing, he cursed, how the hell does Jones expect me to see what I'm doing? He squinted, the little bits of light that entered the house just barely allowed him to see through the sheet. He thought carefully about his lines. What was it that Geoff had told him to say? Oh yeah, something like 'Don't steal my treasure.' It was corny and stupid, but then again, so was the idea of dressing up as a ghost and "haunting" the house. Gimme a break, Conners thought to himself, no one, not even a kid, is stupid enough to buy this scam! Still, the price was right.

Jonathan could hear the sound of young children's voices coming from the outside the house. He adjusted the sheet once more, then sat, waiting for his prey. Fifteen hundred bucks to play a Halloween prank on some kid in the beginning of June, he reminded himself. Easy Money.

The door creaked on its rusty hinges as Fred effortlessly pushed it open. He looked briefly at the others, encouraging them to follow him inside. Daphne and Velma exchanged dubious glances; both girls felt that entering the house was against their better judgement, but they knew also that they couldn't leave Fred alone. Velma shrugged, and took a few steps forward. The little redhead, though, was not nearly as adventurous as her younger cohort and hesitated for a moment before entering. She cringed, uttering an audible "Eew!" as she saw all the dust and cobwebs that lined the interior of the abandoned mansion.

Now only Shaggy and the puppy remained outside the door; neither one would even set foot over the threshold.

"Come on you guys" Fred prodded, "let's go."

Shaggy shook his head. "Like no way, Jose," he uttered, emphatically. "Scooby and me aren't setting foot inside that creep zone—no way, no how! We are going to stay right here where it is safe."

"Right r'here," the dog echoed.

"Aww, come on you guys, there's nothing to be afraid of in there."

Daphne frowned at the comment. "Yeah there is—all the dust, cobwebs and icky worm-eaten wood. Eew!"

Shaggy firmly stood his ground.

"So you guys are just going to stand out there and wait for us? That's no fun!" objected Fred.

Shaggy closed his eyes and folded his arms across his chest. "Like there is nothing you can say or do that will get us to go in there."

The other three children shrugged, poised to enter the house on their own. At the last possible minute, Daphne dropped a small, bone-shaped object on the floor behind her, followed by another one a few feet later.

Intrigued, the Great Dane puppy put its nose to the ground and began to follow the trail, stopping every few feet to pick up the treat left by the redhead. Shaggy watched his dog, and knew that he had no choice but to follow him, even if it meant walking straight into the house. Daphne turned around and scratched the dog behind his ears. "I knew I could get you to change your mind if I just gave you some food."

Shaggy shot the dog a dirty look. "You traitor!" he muttered, under his breath.

"Rorry."

The children stood in the massive entry hall of the Ferguson mansion, a huge, cobweb covered chandelier loomed overhead. It had been years since anyone had lived in the house, and all the furniture in every corner was covered with dust covers. "Like, this place looks like a laundry room for ghosts!" commented Shaggy. "Like, anyone of those sheets could have a ghost hiding under it!"

"Oh Shaggy, don't be silly," the redhead chided. "There are no such things as ghosts, and all that is under there is a chair."

The reassurance did nothing for the skinny, terrified boy.

"Okay, gang," Fred announced, "let me tell you the real reason we are here."

The others listened, wide eyed, as Fred recounted what his uncle Geoff had told him about the Ferguson treasure.

"Wow, you mean, like, there really is a hidden treasure here?" asked Shaggy.

Fred nodded. "Uh huh. And wouldn't it be cool if we could find it? Just think of it! We'd be famous! They'd probably let us even skip school!" Fred drifted off into a reverie, imagining himself and the other children being honored with a citywide parade, all for finding the treasure. "Yeah. All the other kids in school would look up to us, and they'd all want to play with us. Wouldn't it be great?"

"Stay away from my treasure!" a voice boomed from behind.

The announcement shook the boy from his daydream. "Who said that?" he asked, completely oblivious to the white cloaked figure standing less than three feet away from him.

"Do you hear me? Stay away from my treasure."

By now, the other three children had backed away in fear, but Fred was still blissfully unaware that he was in danger.

"Stay away of you will pay!!!"

"Fred-die!!" the three others chorused in unison.

The clueless boy glanced at his friends, unsure of why their faces were white with fear. "Huh?" he asked.

Turning around slowly, he found himself face-to-face with the ghost of old man Ferguson.

The ghost stared the boy in the eye. "Boo."

Suddenly, it hit him, and Fred realized that he and the other children were in deep trouble. "Uh, guys," he stuttered, just barely able to get the words out of his mouth, "let's...get...out of here!" The last three words flew out of his mouth at the same time as his feet began to move. With a collective scream of terror, the four children ran away, their screams echoing throughout the cavernous halls of the house.

Fred ran. He ran as fast as his seven-year-old legs would carry him, but it was hardly a fair fight. Here was the ghost of a man, who, in life, had been close to six feet in height, and in death, was still nearly twice the size of little Fred and the other children. The ghost could cover twice the ground that the kids could in a single step, and that fact was not lost on any of the children.

"Stay away from my treasure!!"

"Quick," Fred ordered, "in here!" The four children ducked into one of the upstairs rooms and hid behind the doorframe, watching in silence as the ghost ran past them.

"We've got to think of something," Fred blurted, the panic detectable in his voice.

"Like what?" asked Daphne. She was regretting ever deciding to follow Fred into the house.

"I...I don't know." Fred's fearless facade was fading fast, and only the rush of adrenaline was keeping the boy from bursting into tears.

Before anyone could do anything, the little puppy lunged forward, jerking the leash out of his owner's hand. "Scooby!" Shaggy yelled, "come back here!"

The dog paid no heed to his master's command and headed straight for the front door of the house. Bursting through it, he took off down the street, running. Instinctively, he knew that he had to protect his owner, and this was the only way to do it.

The puppy's swift exit, though, had alerted the ghost to the children's hiding place. "Stay away from my treasure, you hear me!"

Guided only by their fear, the four children exited the bedroom and began running wildly down the upstairs hallway.

"Like, did we lose him?" Shaggy asked, the terror evident in his voice.

"I think so," Fred panted. He paused to catch his breath, and as he turned around, realized to his horror that they were one member short. A horrible shudder ran down the boy's spine. Daphne!

The little redhead had gotten her foot caught in one of the rotten floorboards and was struggling to free it. The more she struggled, though, the more the floorboards creaked and cracked, and she knew that it was only a matter of time before they would give out completely. Gingerly, Daphne shifted her body sideways, her movement exerting just enough force on the boards to free her leg. If she could just pull forward a few more inches, she would be completely free.

The rotten floorboards creaked under the girl's weight, their bending counteracting the advance she had made only seconds earlier. She felt herself slip a few inches deeper into the hole. "Freddie!!!" she screamed.

The sound of the redhead's terrified scream purged the last of the fear from Fred's seven-year-old body.

The "ghost" of Old Man Ferguson approached with increased rapidity. The closer he got to Daphne, the more the floorboards bent under the combined weight of his body and that of the little girl.

"Fred!!!!"

Quickly turning around, he ordered, "Run, gang! I'll go get Daphne!"

Without even a second though, the other two children nodded and ran straight for the door of the old house.

Yip, Yap! Yip, Yap! Woof Woof! Bark Bark!! The sound of the Great Dane pup's insistent barking was beginning to annoy the neighbors.

Marjorie flung open the front door, fully ready to scold the young pup for his non-stop barking, but for some reason, she didn't. There was something strange about the dog's insistent barking and his refusal to enter the house, even when offered a treat. "Sammy, come here," she called, gesturing to her husband, "I think Scooby is trying to tell us something. He is barking, but he won't come in the house!"

Woof! Woof! The Dane pup began jumping up and down and running around in circles on his hind legs.

"Like, what's up, Scooby?" Samuel Rogers asked, equally puzzled by the dog's behavior.

"Raggy. Raggy. Raggy."

Perhaps it was her maternal instincts, but Marjorie immediately recognized the dog's attempt to pronounce her son's name. "Sammy, I think the kids are in trouble."

"Reah. Reah." The Great Dane took several steps away from the front door. "Rollow re."

Marjorie didn't hesitate a second and immediately began following the dog. He was running as fast as he could, and Marjorie was trying her hardest to keep up with Scooby. Samuel Rogers blurted something into the CB radio before taking pursuit of his wife and the dog.

"Hang on Daphne! I'm coming!" Fred ran back towards where he had last seen the redhead, fully aware that his weight, plus Daphne's, plus that of the "ghost" might cause the floor to collapse from under all of them. The ghost stood about 2 yards away from Daphne, raising its arms in a less than frightening gesture. "Stay away from my treasure!" it growled, though its tone was anything but frightening.

Fred skidded to a stop about two feet away. He was afraid to go any closer, but he knew that if he was going to rescue Daphne, he would have to. Taking a deep breath, he leaned in closer to her. "Hang on, Daph," he ordered,

Grabbing her hands, he leaned back and pulled her with his full weight, hoping that it was enough to release her.

It was. The force of Fred's pulling jerked her from the floorboards just as they gave way. Fred tumbled backwards; Daphne landed right on top of the boy, pinning him to the floor. "Oof!" he breathed, as her knees dug into his chest.

Daphne turned her head around, surprised to see that where she had been trapped only seconds earlier was now a gaping hole in the middle of the floor. "Thanks, Freddie," she panted, "you saved my life."

"Don't mention it, Daph," Fred muttered, barely able to speak, since the force of the redhead's impact had knocked the wind right out of his lungs.

The pair scarcely had time to revel in their rescue. No sooner had they both regained their feet, when the ghost took a running jump in an attempt to cross the huge hole in the floor. The two children quickly regained their footing and ran, as fast as they could, to catch up with the others.

Outside the house, a circle of police cruisers waited, their red and blue lights flashing. Officer Samuel Rogers stood in front of one of the squad cars, giving instructions to his partner.

Just moments later, Fred, Velma, Daphne and Shaggy burst through the door, the "ghost" following right on their heels, still yelling to "Stay away from my treasure!"

Officer Rogers and his partner exchanged puzzled glances. "Nice sheet," Sam commented.

"Nice shoes," his partner added as he signaled the other officers to apprehend the "ghost."

The four children turned the corner and ran to the far side of the estate, the "ghost" still on their heels. Jonathan Conners, however, had not anticipated the glaring difference between the dimly lit house and the bright afternoon sunlight. Unable to see where he was going, he ran straight into police hands. The sound of his screaming and struggling brought the four children out of their hiding place to watch the spectacle in front of them.

As Jonathan Conners struggled to escape, Samuel Rogers and his partner approached. Rogers' partner ripped the sheet off, revealing the identity of the perpetrator. "Conners!" he announced. "So you're the one who violated the no trespassing order, eh?"

The man was silent.

"Couple that with dressing up as a ghost just to play tricks on the neighborhood children," added Sam. "You scared my son half to death!"

Jonathan Conners gave no reply.

"Book him," Officer Rogers ordered, "and have the report waiting when I get back to the station."

Sam's partner gave him a doubtful look. "Oh, the chief will love this report," he commented sarcastically. "A petty criminal who dresses up as a ghost to scare people away from a deserted house where there is rumored to be a fortune hidden, all that so that he can look for the treasure himself. That'll never stand up in a court of law."

The other officers laughed wholeheartedly.

"Wow, that was great!" Fred cried, beaming with pride over his heroic act of saving the young redhead.

"Sp...sp..speak for yourself, man," Shaggy stuttered, his knees still knocking from the frightening, near-death experience inside the condemned house. "Like, we could have gotten in big trouble back there, man. We could have been killed!"

Velma looked at the two boys. "I think we may be in more trouble now than we ever were back in that house," she said in a calm, level voice. She gently elbowed Daphne in the ribs, instructing the redhead to look straight ahead. What she saw silenced her immediately as well.

"Aw, come on, Velma," replied Fred, adapting a slightly arrogant tone, "Nothing went wrong. We got of there alive; we helped capture some crook; what could be better than that? He did a small victory dance in front of the other children, none of whom were paying any attention. Their attention was focused on something far more important, something that Fred, in his giddy state, was completely unaware of. They stood, silent, waiting for the revelation to hit Fred.

Seconds later, it did. "Frederick."

The sound of his full name and the deepness of the voice caught the young boy off guard. He stopped dead in his tracks, slowly lifting his head to see to whom the voice belonged, and immediately drew back at the discovery.

Frank Jones was looking straight at the little boy, a stern look of reproach on his normally kind face.

Fred's arrogant facade immediately disappeared under the stern gaze of his father. The use of his full name, combined with the look on his father's face, emphasized to the boy that he had done something wrong. The other three children took several large steps backwards, leaving Fred alone to face his father. They knew that they would be in just as much trouble from their own parents when they got home.

"Frederick," Frank said, again, this time with more insistence.

Fred's shoulders slumped and he sank down, realizing that he had done something wrong. "Dad," he began, in a small, boyish voice, "I can explain..."

Frank refused to let the boy explain himself. "You don't say a word, do I make myself clear? You are in deep trouble Frederick Jones, and I don't care how good an explanation you have, it is not going to be good enough."

Fred dropped his head in guilt; he didn't want the other children—especially Daphne—to see the tear that had just fallen from his eye.

Samuel Rogers faced his son. "And don't think you are off the hook either, Norville," he warned, "because you are going to get the same lecture when we get home."

The brown haired boy gave an audible gulp.

Officer Rogers faced the other children. "Come on. Like, let's go home."

Fred and Shaggy walked behind their fathers, while Velma and Daphne followed in silence. They were no longer the great treasure hunting, crime stopping team that they had been only hours earlier; now they were just four children in deep trouble with their parents.

"Great," Shaggy groaned, "like we'll probably be locked in our rooms without food or water forever and never allowed to see each other again."

"Don't be silly, Shaggy," the little redhead chided, "we'll probably just get grounded forever and not allowed to see each other ever again."

The little, bespectacled brunette said nothing.

No one, not even the adults, spoke on the walk back towards home. As the little group rounded the corner leading to the intersection, Frank Jones broke the silence. "Sam, take Daphne and Velma back home. Frederick and I need to have a little talk...alone."

The boy's shoulders slumped again and a knot developed in his stomach.

Officer Rogers was brief. "Daphne. Velma. Come. Let's take you both home."

The two girls turned to follow Officer Rogers. As the group parted ways at the intersection, Fred looked briefly at the redhead. "Thank you for saving me," she whispered in a barely audible voice. "I thought you were very brave."

Frank wasted no time in telling his wife what had happened, and Kim wasted no time in giving the boy a suitable punishment; he was sent to his room without dinner. And although the punishment was harsh, both Kim and Frank agreed that a harsher punishment would ensure that their son would never try such a stupid stunt again.

Fred sat on his bed, trying hard not to cry as he tried to make sense of his parents' punishment. Okay, he reasoned, perhaps going into a condemned house was a little stupid, but hadn't he saved Daphne from the floorboards and from getting captured by the ghost? Hadn't he gotten out of the house without anyone getting hurt? If no one was hurt, what was so bad about what he had done? Try as he could, he could not reconcile his conflicting thoughts and feelings; doing so was just beyond the capacity of his seven year old mind and he resolved it the only way that he could—he cried.

There was a knock on his bedroom door.

"Frederick."

He heard someone calling his name, but he didn't answer.

The doorknob turned and the door opened. Fred looked up to see who was entering the room and drew back at the sight of his father. That was the last person he had hoped to see.

"Frederick," Frank began. The anger in his voice from earlier in the day had faded, and his tone was now one of concern, but that was still no comfort to little Fred.

Fred looked up at his father and made a last attempt to justify his actions from earlier in the day. "Dad, I..."

"Frederick, I cannot tell you how disappointed I am in you."

The boy nodded, but said nothing.

"Your mother and I did not raise you like this. We raised you to listen to and obey the rules, which we thought you knew how to do."

Fred could feel the knot in his throat getting bigger. He was on the verge of crying again, but bravely suppressed his tears.

"We trusted you," Frank continued. "We trusted you to follow the rules, but apparently our trust was premature and badly misplaced. You chose to deliberately break those rules, and in doing so, you lost something that will be very difficult for you to recover—you lost our trust, and that of Mr. and Mrs. Dinkley, Mr. and Mrs. Blake and of course, Mr. and Mrs. Rogers."

Fred looked down, ashamed of his actions.

"You not only put yourself needlessly in danger, you endangered Shaggy, Daphne and Velma as well. We don't make rules to be mean, we do it for your safety. What were you trying to do? What were you thinking, Frederick?"

The little boy looked up, the tears flowing freely now. "I...I was only trying to be brave," he sniffled.

Frank Jones scarcely believed what he just heard. "Bravery?" he exclaimed, exasperated. "Bravery? Fred, is that what this has been all about? Trying to prove how brave you are?"

"I...I wanted to show that I..."

Frank sat down on the bed and put an arm around his son's shoulder. "Being brave does not mean that you needlessly put yourself—or others—in danger. Freddie, sometimes, being brave means standing up for yourself when someone bullies you, or not crying when you fall on the pavement and hit your head. It does not have to involve risking what is nearly impossible."

Fred listened in silence.

"You will have plenty of opportunities in your lifetime to show bravery and valor," continued Frank, "but don't go looking for them; they will come to you, and when they do, you will know." Frank gave his son an affectionate pat on the shoulder. "Now how about you come downstairs, huh? I convinced your Mom to save a portion of dinner for you. You better eat it before it gets cold."

That evening at the precinct, Samuel Rogers mulled over Jonathan Conners' past rap sheet; it was full of burglaries, petty thefts and violations of traffic laws. "It seems strange that Conners would take to hiding out in condemned houses and scaring the neighborhood kids," he mused, "it doesn't fit his past pattern of behavior. It's almost as if..."

"As if what?" his partner asked.

Officer Rogers shook his head and dispelled the thought. "Never mind. Nutty notion. Just glad to have this guy back in our custody where we can keep an eye on him."

In the back of his mind, officer Samuel Rogers completed his sentence. It's almost as if someone else had told him to do it.

A/N: While most people know that story that Scooby-Doo was named for a line in Frank Sinatra's 1963 hit "Strangers in the Night," the phrase "Scooby-Dooby-Doo" or "Scooby dooby dooby" was already a popular "scat" filler in the late 1940's, early 1950's. It was used by jazz singers for years before Sinatra popularized it in his song. Many jazz songs (and some doo-wop or rock songs) regularly used this line as a filler.