Sleeping was a struggle, and all she felt through the air mattress in her sleeping bag was every bump and imperfection in the road beneath the van. Her stomach sat heavy with blood, and the taste of iron still lingered on her lips. Her green eyes firmly focused on the ceiling, she racked her brain in search of something– anything– to at least take her mind off her current situation.
"Why do people put umbrellas in their drinks?" she finally said to nobody in particular.
"Do what now, Sibella?" Shaggy asked.
"You know, those little paper umbrellas," the young vampire replied. "Is there some kind of practical reason why people put them in their drinks, or is it just because they look pretty?"
Shaggy pondered. "I think it might be the second one, but don't quote me on that." He paused. "Why do you ask?"
"Just one of those passing thoughts is all."
"Like, been there, done that," came the reply. "I mean, why is it that they make pickle jars so hard to open? Were there civilizations before the first bricks of Sumer were laid?"
"What's rhat light in the rirror?"
"See, even Scoob gets in on the act…um, what light?"
"Rhat one!" the Great Dane riding shotgun replied, pointing at the rear view mirror.
Shaggy looked up and swallowed. There, in the sky above the van, he could see a bright green light descending from the heavens, its wake indicated by a luminous trail of the exact same hue.
"P-p-please tell me I d-d-didn't see that," he stammered, his teeth chattering and knees knocking in fright.
"See what?"
"Uh, it's…uh…nothing, Sibella. J-j-just a jet or someth–"
"No, silly!" a familiar voice proclaimed, its source unseen by the naked eye. "It's obviously one of those hollow cylinder thingamabobs…wait, do they still use those, or is that one book that was based on those records I got from the Calloway Cadets out of date?"
"Phanty, whatever are you talking about?"
Sibella groaned. "Remember when the Calloway Cadets saved our bacon from Revolta's castle?"
"Like, how could I forget?"
"Well, between then and you and your friends showing back up, we started a little…err, thing with them. You know, just some informal swap meets and such every so often."
"…I don't follow."
The daughter of Dracula took a deep breath. "Anyway, during one of our little get-togethers, Phanty managed to get a copy of a frankly fang-tastic album called…called…I swear, it's right on the tip of my tongue. Something about a war with Martians, I think."
"You mean the Jeff Wayne version of War of the Worlds?"
"That's the one."
Shaggy gave a slight grin. "Well, sounds like she's got good taste."
"Thank you, thank you!" the ghostly girl replied upon rematerializing. "You're too kind!"
"Like, you're welcome, I guess." He paused. "Wait, if that thing's from Mars–"
"What's that about Martians?" a familiar boyish voice proclaimed from beneath the pile of peanut jars.
Shaggy blinked as he saw the head of an equally familiar Great Dane puppy poke through. "Scrappy? I thought you were riding with the others in the Mystery Machine!"
"I was."
"Then what're you doing in here?"
"I switched vans at the last gas station! That way, not only would I be able to escape Velma snoring like a chainsaw, but I'd also be able t–"
"Better hang with your uncle Scooby?" Sibella interrupted.
"How'd you know?"
"Call it a lucky guess," she snarked. "And speaking of lucky guesses, I don't think we've seen the last of whatever that thing in the mirror was."
"A guy can dream, can't he?" Shaggy replied.
"Reah!" Scooby emphatically added.
"Oh, come on– where's your sense of adventure?" Scrappy piped up.
"Like, I left it back at Grimwood's!"
Before anyone else could get another word in, the van's CB radio squawked.
That'd better not mean what I think it means. Shaggy thought as he reached for the receiver. "Hello?"
"Hey, um, Shaggy?" Fred asked from his side of the radio.
"This is he."
"The Mystery Machine's engine is acting up again."
"Well, it picked a heck of a time and place to do so! We haven't seen so much as a government mule out here!"
"In that case, I think you'll be happy to hear that Daphne thinks we can make it to the nearest town."
"Where's that?"
"Little place called Bennett located about…oh, ten, maybe fifteen miles south from here, at least if the road map's accurate. But just to be safe…"
"10-4, old buddy. We'll, like, keep our eyes open for any road signs. Eerie Rider, out."
AUTHOR'S NOTES:
Having done some re-reading of my prior Scooby-Doo fics, I've just now realized that even though Scrappy's been in them since "In Blackest Day", I haven't really given him too much to do since then. As such, I'm definitely going to remedy that here. Not entirely sure as to what form it'll take as of this writing, but I'm currently leaning towards having him and the Grimwood crew split off from the rest of Mystery Inc– or for that matter, maybe give them a shot at solving the case.
