PART 9: Last of the Thirteen
The sound of a step echoed across the large room. It was an omen of danger. It was followed by several more, and with each of them, Shaggy's heart was swelling more and more, making him think that very soon it would burst like a balloon. As always, fear had found its way to him.
The gang had split up while fleeing their newest nemesis. The young man ended up in a drawer, a temporary refuge, for the problem still needed to be resolved. As if fate itself required it, his two main companions in split-ups were with him once again. Scooby was shaking as if he had a fever, but luckily for them his tremble was not enough to rock their hideout. The other one definitely needed attention.
"I say we launch a sneak attack and splat him!" Scrappy proposed a strategy, not the most unique of his plans.
Shaggy put his hand on the muzzle of the pooch. There were so many things wrong with that approach; the fact that the Chest of Demons was with Flim Flam and not with them was one of those.
"Do you want to become a prune?" he whispered his reservations into the dog's ear.
The type of monstrosity they were dealing with was also important. They had come across vampires during the hunt for the ghosts, but this one had a slight difference. He was an energetic vampire, literally; unlike most of his nocturnal kin, he feasted on life energies, not blood. Luckily— and the word could only be used to a degree, — for the trio and the ghoul's victims the effects were not fatal, though the change in mood and appearance were beyond evident: the most active party girl would lose her liveliness and the most fresh features would wither like a leaf in fall.
"You cannot run away from me!" they heard a sharp loud voice, as though it was aimed at all of the intruders in the building, "I know the whole of this building, right to the missing pieces on the stairway!"
He heard several more steps before he got an impression that the villain was near their location. That was it. Pessimism came with the ghoul. He could already imagine the clawed hand reaching out to him and the gaze similar to that of a man who had finally found a glass of water after being driven nutty by long thirst.
But he still acknowledged a redeeming side: the closer the vampire was to them, the safer Daphne, and, hence the baby, were.
He heard a chuckle: more of a hiss than a laugh.
"I can sense life energies," the ghoul continued, "What a delicious irony. Those who wanted to lock me back into the Chest of Demons got caught in an ordinary chest."
Last statement gave away a lot. Then the lid was pulled open from the outer side. There was no time to prepare for the unexpected…for the ghoul…
With a panicking yelp, Scooby burst out of the drawer, an exit rivaled only by the thirteen ghosts'. Though it was not his intention, the canine managed to knock the vampire off his feet, and give them all an opportunity to escape. Shaggy followed.
"Didn't expect a sneak attack from my ingenious Uncle Scooby, did you?" Scrappy taunted their rival as he jumped out of the drawer and put up his fists, "Come on, put'em up! That was only a piece of what you're about to get!"
However, the young dog was not able to make it to the challenge; the duo picked up and took him with them as they fled from the room.
"I'll reduce you to mere husks!" they heard him shout of warning behind their backs.
They were running down the large hall lightened by burning candles; the curious question of where he got the supply from was not on their minds that moments.
Shaggy felt a small shape swoop over them, the flap of its wings leaving a tiny air vibration. A bat landed in front of them and immediately went through a transformation. It took a human-like form, but the look was still awkward. Nineteenth-century commoner clothes aside, the vampire could be distinguished by his face, so revealing the rat-like features were.
"Time to feast," his hiss spread across the hall.
That was a strong indicator of what was about to come.
"Sure it is!" sounded an infantile voice from behind the creature's back.
The vampire turned around to see Flim Flam emerge from the corner, dragging a small table behind him.
"So why not dine at a respectable joint?" he said as he picked the stool that stood out-of-context by the wall and placed it next to the table.
"What?" the ghoul did not hide his surprise and confusion.
"Yep, you heard it! Welcome to Flim Flam Bistro!" the kid grabbed the spook by the sleeve and led him to the table.
Shaggy wondered if they needed to play along or did their teammate have it covered.
"Here's the menu," Flim Flam passed the brochure to the now seated vampire. His customer looked aimlessly at it.
"Still can't find what you're looking for? Then how about our breakfast special?" he made a suggestion.
"Breakfast?"
"You heard it right, sucker!" the kid jumped to the big window opposite to the table hidden by a thick brown curtain.
"Enjoy your meal!" he added as he ripped down the drape with a rough pull.
The brighter tones that entered the place indicated that sunrise began, and the ghoul, due to the position of his seat, had an opportunity to see the view. But sunlight was a weakness to all vampires. He hesitated, struck by the change. Trying to escape his bane, he transformed into a bat, but the level of exposure he got was already higher than tolerable. The small winged form fell on the table, the continuing unpleasant experience of feeling the lively sunrays growing stronger. He found relief from it only in the Chest several minutes later.
To Shaggy, that vampire became the least memorable of the thirteen ghosts. They never found out his name: never was it mentioned by Vincent, and the ghoul did not reveal it. The other denizens of the cursed container each had their own character; this one did not—only an empty shell after more life energies to consume. He had no plans, and merely continued to vanquish his thirst, using an abandoned hotel as a hideout. His mode of operations, as primitive as it could get, allowed them to track him down.
Another three weeks had passed since the capture of the twelfth ghoul. The month of March was drawing to conclusion, and spring was already at its full. However, their work was not necessarily an outdoor one.
The pair entered the lecture hall partially filled with visitors; they were on-campus at one of the prestigious universities. A conference was about to begin, a convention that had drawn the main academics in the field of archaeology from across the country, presentations of the most recent discoveries being part of the program. Daphne's objective was to later write an article about it. Shaggy wondered why she still took up different types, rather than concentrating on some.
Their seats were at the end of the line in the central part of the audience rows. The exited discussions between the seated undergraduate and doctoral students, research fellows and academics ceased immediately as the head of the department announced the start of the conference. A lecture followed, given by a visiting professor, which made Shaggy wonder again why his partner had decided to take the assignment. 'Innovation in Applied Methodics of Landscape Archaeology': that was the topic of the first feature. The flow of expressions with unfamiliar terminology that went through his ears subdued his mind in a matter of several minutes.
His eyelids fell heavily, helping him travel to the realm of sleep.
—
There was a park, green and bright. Trees stood tall, their crowns matching in color with the grass, fountains sprouted water in a friendly manner; gardenbeds with flowers of several colors of the rainbow acted as additional decoration by the sides of footpaths.
Then he saw her.
It was Daphne, the same but different in a way. Strangely, it was her younger version; the Daphne Blake of her late teens and early twenties. Her head was crowned by a pink headband, the distinguishing tiara she stopped wearing several years before. The hair style too was from back then. The green scarf, the short purple dress, the pink nylons—all had made a return.
Was that a memory? But if it really was a memory, then why was she pulling a baby carriage? A time anomaly? He really needed an explanation of this awkward phenomenon.
She passed by near the point where he stood without giving him a word, not even taking notice of him, as if he was not there. He remained motionless, struck by the gripping feel of unease.
He shouted out her name, but she did not turn around. He watched her move further and further down the footpath amidst the park's idyllic scenery.
He had to admit that the situation was becoming scary. He made a run for it with the intention of reaching her, looking directly at her, hearing a single statement…
The run almost felt like an on-spot feet exercise; no matter how fast he tried, he was incapable of reaching Daphne and the carriage.
He tripped and fell…
—
His eyes shot open; he was back in the lecture hall. Moving his head to the side, he saw the redhead where she was supposed to be, sitting next to him. Shaggy felt relief.
At the same time, the academic was drawing his lecture to a conclusion. After a break of several minutes another professor ascended the stand. Members of staff brought a glass case, placing it on the table on the stage. The form of the item it hinted it was some sort of a parchment.
The speaker called it the 'Ladakh Scrolls' in his lecture as he described how it was found during an excavation in India less than six months before.
"Unbelievably, the scrolls were found in relatively good condition; very rare for such items," he ended the analysis and began describing their background, "Though mentioned in Sanskrit, Pali, and classical Chinese sources, the Ladakh Scrolls had been considered a mere myth by some of the authors and contemporary mainstream academia…"
For some reason, Shaggy felt a chill.
"The question of the parchment's purpose is still a subject of debate. According to one theory, it was used by…"
The lecturer stopped speaking when a radiance of the color of ice appeared on the stage. Moments later, another figure joined the academic, but what weird university the newcomer represented was a mystery. His long robe, grey and violet, reached knee level. His choice of footwear was unusual: leggings of yellow metal, like those of armor suits, protected the part of his feet left open by the robe. To compliment them, gauntlets of similar nature hid his arms straight to the elbow. The scarlet cloak on his back was so old it resembled a rag. The guest's features could not be seen— the robe's hood covered his head, and a ceremonial mask, depicting the muzzle of an oriental serpent in a mixture of red and green, hid his face.
The auditorium froze in disbelief from the scene before them. The newcomer made his move, elegant but predatory like the sting of a scorpion. Jumping to the case as if metal had no weight, he brought a gauntleted fist down on it, shattering the glass.
"Mine!" he proclaimed as he pulled out the scroll, miraculously intact from glass cuts.
"Remember what the sages said," turning around, he addressed the auditorium in a deep throaty voice, "Remember what comes after bloom!" he stretched his hands like a bird its wings.
He disappeared in the same cold aura.
Naturally, the conference was put on hold by the incident. The audience began to dissolve, and the police was summoned. It seemed like a beginning of a new mystery…
Daphne, followed by Shaggy, made her way to the academic under whose nose the parchment had been snatched. The lecturer was ready to speak.
"This is one of the biggest discoveries in recent archaeology. Whoever has it can sell this artifact to a collector for big money," he raised his main fear as he described the significance of the find.
"Do you have any idea who might have done this?" Daphne asked.
"Unfortunately, I don't."
"What if that ghost is real?" Shaggy hinted on his interpretation.
"You've probably been watching that choreographed farce hosted by Boris Kreepoff too much, my friend," the professor disagreed, "There is no such thing as ghosts."
"Want to bet a cheeseburger on it?" Shaggy preferred to keep it in his mind.
Talking to the academic produced no positive result.
"Don't tell me we'll have to split up and look for clues?" Shaggy asked the redhead as they exited the lecture hall. He was ready to carry her off-campus against her will if she gave the answer he did not wish.
"Not this time," she replied, "We're in another town with Scooby and the others miles away. Somebody else will have to solve this case."
To the best of his memory, that was the first case that they left unsolved.
On the morning of the second day after the incident, he sat in the kitchen having finished his breakfast, watching the volunteering Daphne wash dishes. When everything was done, they exited the kitchen only to stand witness to an emerging scandal in the foyer.
"Flim Flam! I have told you several times that the crystal ball should only be used for contacting me!" they did not see Vincent's image clearly, but that angered voice aimed at the kid standing before the contraction compensated in loudness.
"Oh c'mon, Vince," the kid, as always, tried to arrange a deal.
"Vincent!" as though suddenly possessed, Daphne bolted to the crystal ball.
"Yes, Daphne?"
"Riddle me this: what comes after bloom?" she asked.
"Why that's an easy question," he chuckled slightly, "Decay. At least that's what the sages said."
Shaggy raised an eyebrow at the familiarity of the statement.
"And who wears a grim-looking outfit and a ceremonial mask?" Daphne asked.
"In context of your previous question, I would say…an ancient Himalayan dark sorcerer."
"So that's what it was," Shaggy stressed out the sentence, dissatisfied with the answer.
"There haven't been any in several centuries…aside from one," Vincent's voice went deeper which meant bad news, "Where did you see him?"
Daphne described the encounter.
"This is horrible!" Vincent gave an assessment, "The full name of the object you saw is the Ladakh Scroll of Undeath. Its purpose was to serve as an aide in complex dark rituals performed by ancient Tibetan necromancers. You saw one of them, Tsaen Gyar, a sorcerer-king of Ancient Tibet who later returned to the mortal plane thanks to his powers. He is also one of the thirteen ghosts. He's been searching for the scrolls, considered lost in time. Many years ago, he came to my castle, mistakenly believing I had possession of them. But that's a different story."
"But what does he want with them?" Flim Flam asked.
"The way one handles the scroll depends on expertise, and his is great. According to my sources, his plan is to use them in a place called The Catacombs in local folklore, a shrine where the most powerful mystics of ancient Tibet were buried. He wants to reanimate those mystics in order to drain their powers while they are under his control. Then, with his powers increased, he will be strong enough to conduct his darkest necromantic experiments…"
Shaggy gulped.
"But luckily and unluckily for us, there are two factors. The ritual I mentioned can only be performed on a specific day of a thirteenth-month lunar year according to an ancient calendar. Such happens once in three years. Unfortunately…it's just several days from now," Vincent's last statement was truly not a thing to be glad of.
As the mage was explaining what they had to do, Shaggy already wondered if there was going to be a repeat…
And it happened; same thing, same surrounding…
"Don't tell me we're on it again?" Daphne said.
"No, because you just did," Shaggy replied, smiling.
"I told you last time that this is still an early stage."
"But it's been almost a month since then."
"And it doesn't change medical facts. Moreover, it's the final ghost we have to deal with."
"That's exactly my point!" he protested, "Pregnant women make appointments with good doctors, not evil necromancers!" the last part came out louder, "Were you listening to what Vince was telling about that ghost? Especially the part about dark experiments and rituals? That guy probably never had a sane thought throughout his existence!"
"What if we fail to stop him and he decides to experiment on you?" different scenarios and images filled his mind, none comforting.
"Would anything even matter if he wins?" she crossed her hands at chest level.
"You're not going," Shaggy concluded.
"What?" she said, raising an eyebrow.
"Yep, you heard me right," he nodded his head.
"Are you insinuating that I have no importance to the team?"
"Oh, my. She's in cranky mode again," he thought, assessing her reaction, "No, I'm not…"
"I'm going no matter whether you like it or not!" she cut him off, "You'll have to lock me in the house and take all the keys in order for it to be otherwise!"
Shaggy hummed as he rubbed his chin and rolled his eyes…
"Shaggy!" Daphne proclaimed, stunned by his reaction, "You can't be serious! You can't…"
He did not pay attention to the end of her statement. No matter how worthwhile that idea was in an ends-justify-the-means situation, he understood the redhead would have her way.
What was destined to happen did, — the day when they had a showdown with the last of the Thirteen…
The gang walked the mountainous footpaths. The scenery was unique. The majestic peaks of the Himalayas floated in the distance by all sides, the snowy heads surrounded by thick mist that made them even more baffling and mystical. The air might have been fresh but it was heavy for those who lived in the lowlands and were not familiar with its flavor. The wind was cold, and even the thick jacket on Shaggy's shoulders could barely keep him from shivering.
They followed the rarely used route, led by their guide, Flim Flam, who paradoxically knew the way to the landmark from his past experiences in the area. He had said he once planned to use the catacombs as a storage for his trademark juice before dumping the idea for reasons of hygiene.
"There it is!" the kid pointed down past the route's cliffy edge. There, in tolerable distance, Shaggy could see a cave in the rocky surface, no doubt the entrance into the catacombs.
"Finally," Daphne breathed out.
"Why look Weerd, it's Scooby Doo and his friends!" they heard a voice, the tone as farcical as in a game of ridicule.
They saw the two ghosts standing on a higher mountainous platform nearby as they looked above.
"Why yes, Bogel, we haven't seen them for a while?" the taller ghost said, playing along.
"You're here as well?" Scrappy protested.
"Of course we are! Why shouldn't we? After all, who do you think tipped Tsaen Gyar on that conference?" Weerd mocked, "And the boss ordered us to keep you occupied while he's performing that spell of his!"
"And how are you planning to do that?" Scrappy said.
"Using this!" Weerd proclaimed, revealing what he held in his hand behind his back. It resembled a crystal ball but smaller, easily fitting in a palm.
Wild energies started streaming around it, hinting activation. Then the gang found themselves torn from the surface, caught in a whirlwind and raised to the ghosts' level.
"It's called the Sphere of Enraged Winds," the specter explained, "The boss gave it to us saying it's foolproof."
"Even if we're involved," Bogel added.
"It's a great toy, isn't it?" the ghost laughed, "And I'm sure you'll be great playmates."
It was the least fun game Shaggy could remember. Weerd was drawing different invisible forms in the air with the clenched orb, and obeying his gesticulations, the controllable storm hurled the gang around in similar outlines.
"Hey, Bogel! Watch the ride they're about to get," the ghost chuckled in perverted amusement.
"Oh c'mon, Weerd," he grabbed hold of the sphere, "Let me have my turn."
"Not now, idiot! You'll ruin everything!" he gripped his toy with both hands.
"The boss gave it to the two of us," the other spook protested, pulling the artifact towards himself.
Like children, the two quarreled, trying to rip the orb out of each other's clutches. They did not bother with the basics of safety, so when one of them slipped on the ice on the stony surface and ended up beyond the platform's edge, the other did too. They both rolled down the opposite slope. Their stupidity doomed another of their plans.
With that the magical whirlwind ceased, almost ending in disaster since the hovering gang had to take an unexpected fall. Luckily, Scooby's rubber duck raft that had become their unofficial talisman was with the dog. A drop turned into a ride down the slope. The death-defying shortcut brought them to the entrance of the cave.
"Like, is everybody alright?" Shaggy asked, rubbing his head dizzily.
He got a positive reply from everybody.
"Hey, we're at the entrance," Flim Flam said, "Let's go."
They entered the catacombs; inside the dark lair, they walked forward, and like wings of a labyrinth, a number of tunnel entrances kept springing by the sides, each leading down into the mountainous deeps.
"Are you sure you know the correct route?" Daphne asked the boy, seeing those alternate tunnels as more than holes in the wall.
"Sure do. That's the thing with such planning,—keep going straight. The others are there as a distraction," the kid explained, unconcerned.
His navigation was correct. They first saw a golden sparkle in the end of the tunnel. It continued to grow until they beheld the source. A giant chamber spread out before them. In Shaggy's imagination, it could have fitted their whole house in both diameter and height. The walls shone incrusted by golden leaf. Statues of deities, tall and imposing, stood by the walls, their locations making an arch, their silent gaze bound at the newcomers. The unmistakable shapes of sarcophagi were spotted by the walls.
The ghost was there as well. Kneeled, he stood in the hearth of a chamber, his back turned to them. The sound of a voice was echoing across the place, a gloomy whisper in an unknown language. He did not expect they would go that far; he was vulnerable.
Flim Flam pulled the vacuum spook and the Chest out of his backpack.
"Like how are you gonna turn it on, this place doesn't have a socket?" Shaggy whispered to the kid.
"It has an autonomous power supply," Flim Flam responded.
On the tips of their toes, they moved slightly closer. The boy turned the contraption on. They saw the kneeling shape get pulled inside.
"It's over!" the boy proclaimed in rejoice.
But the triumph was swift. A sound cut the air, and in a second the awkward apparatus got split in two, the front part falling on the floor with a bang. To their surprise, nothing flew out of the cracked mechanism.
"I can cast projections," sounded a slow voice.
They looked around and saw the grim figure step from behind a statue. Surrounded by his mysticism and dread, the necromancer rose above floor level and unhurriedly hovered to the chamber's center.
"Weren't you supposed to be performing a ritual?" Shaggy addressed him, acknowledging in disturbance that their foe had overturned the tables.
"If I order a group of laborers to build a palace by a certain date, they are allowed to take breaks as long as construction is completed by the deadline," their antagonist said just as slowly and menacingly as before.
"I assume he means that you can take a break even during a ritual," the young man concluded.
"This ritual is of high importance to me, and I will allow nobody to spoil it, for by its end I will have the power to carve out my perfect kingdom," the necromancer continued.
"And who's gonna vote for you?" Scrappy barked.
"In the empire of the undead finding subjects is not a problem."
Shaggy felt ice in his chest.
"And what a day it would be if I get the Chest of Demons as well," the masked face turned to the Great Dane with the chest, "I knew you might try to interfere. The sages said: send fools in battle first…"
Then came the crown strike. Shaggy found himself grabbed and pulled backwards into the shadows simultaneously with Daphne and Flim Flam. Though neutralized, they had a chance to look their assailants in the faces…or what was left of them: the eyeless sockets, the decayed remnants of flesh on cheekbones, the exposed skulls. Some wore armor, others dark priestly robes, but they shared one thing in common—undeath.
"…and keep the elite lurking until there is need," the insidious statement was complete.
One of the ghouls hopped to Scooby, attempting to grab him by the collar, but he had underestimated his canine reflexes. The dog, the chest in his teeth, managed to slip past him, past the others. So did Scrappy.
"Run you two!" Flim Flam urged them as the Great Danes fled further into the tunnel with the Demon Chest.
"Hunt down those mutts!" the necromancer's angered voice echoed across the chamber.
Immediately, several of his minions turned around and followed the trace.