"I've noticed it mostly in my office," Beau said as he led them down a long hallway lined with dim lamps alternating with dusty portraits of the house's previous owners. Shaggy swore that one's eyes moved, but no one believed him. "I'll look up from my computer and there it is…a living shadow, just like the one from Shades of Death, my latest book. It doesn't do anything but stare at me with blank yellow eyes…" he shuddered before continuing. "Those eyes…they stare right at me – no, right throughme, before it just vanishes without a trace."
The gang shared a communal shudder; Shaggy had leaped into Scooby's paws and was shaking like a leaf.
Beau sighed as he reached the end of the hall and pushed open a door to reveal a small office. Red velvet curtains shut out any light from outside; the only light came from a tiffany lamp by Beau's desk. A top-of-the-line computer sat on the desk, its keyboard covered by stacks of paper and other clutter.
"Feel free to search and see what you can find," said Beau, waving the gang inside. "I have nothing to hide."
"Well, gang, then let's split up!" Fred announced. "Velma, why don't you stay here and search Beau's office. Shaggy, you and Scooby go search the downstairs while Daphne and I will head upstairs."
Beau checked his watch. "And I've got a meeting with my publishers in fifteen," he interjected.
Fred nodded. "We'll meet back here in an hour."
"Like, if nothing's eaten us first," Shaggy countered grimly.
As the rest of the gang vanished into the mansion, Velma was left alone in Beau's office. Steeling herself for the task ahead, she began sifting gingerly through the clutter on the desk. Heavily corrected rough drafts mingled among illegible sticky notes and a calendar covered with chicken scratch.
Soon, though, she found a small newspaper clipping that looked promising:
'Zachary T. Sanchez…The Grim Reader,' she read to herself. 'Beau Neville, a former Louisiana detective, has written his first novel…The Beast in the Bayou is marketed as a supernatural mystery-thriller, but it is none of these things...Detective Cam Clarke is as bland as he is unlikeable... anything meant to be 'scary' is almost laughable...indeed, Mr. Neville wouldn't know fear if it bit him on the behind...'
Meanwhile, Scooby and Shaggy crept through the halls, fearing every floorboard squeak that echoed throughout the empty halls. "Scooby, look!" Shaggy hissed, pointing at a painting of a stern man glaring at them. "His eyes moved. Did you see that?"
Sccoby folded his ears down over his eyes. "Ruh huh," he barked, shaking his head.
Shaggy glared intently at the painting, engaged in a one-sided staring contest with the painted figure. "Like, I know its eyes moved…" he murmured to himself.
"Rhome on, Rhaggy," Scooby wheedled, pulling at his owner's arm. "Rhy smell ritchen!"
That got Shaggy attention. "Kitchen, you say? Lead the way!"
As the dog-and-detective duo strode away from the painting, its eyes moved to watch them go!