- 8:15 AM: 6 DAYS EARLIER -

After the Mystery Machine was out of sight, Fred realized he wasn't wearing shoes; he felt his toes burning in the snow. He hurried back to the cabin. Velma was at the doorstep, anxiously waiting.

"How's Scooby?" she asked the moment Fred closed the door behind him. "Was the Mystery Machine working?"

Fred nodded. "Scooby's in pretty bad shape, Velma. But the Mystery Machine's fine. They got out okay. It was right in the same spot we left it in."

"Where's Daphne?"

"She went with them," Fred said, grabbing a clean towel from the floor to dry his freezing feet. "She's in the back taking care of Scooby."

Velma gasped. "She could get bit! Mauled! That's still not Scooby right now!"

"I know, okay!" Fred snapped. "But I didn't have time to reason with her. Besides, Shaggy's with her. Scooby's in real pain right now anyway – he won't do anything."

Velma blinked, surprised by the sudden tears prickling her eyes. "I just hope Scooby will be okay."

Fred gave her a sympathetic look. "He will be. I promise."

"What do we do now?"

"We wait. They'll update us when they get to the clinic."

IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

- 10:15 AM: 6 DAYS EARLIER -

But the waiting for the call dragged on for hours.

"I can't take this anymore! We should be looking for leads!" Velma was now pacing the living room, fully dressed in her usual orange sweater and red leggings. "Let's go see my dad. Maybe we can get more information!"

"Yeah, I guess we can," Fred agreed as he glanced at his phone screen for the thousandth time. "I'll keep an eye out for their call, though."

Velma nodded as she grabbed the iron box from her backpack for safekeeping. "And I'm bringing this with us. I don't want it going missing."

IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

- 10:30 AM: 6 DAYS EARLIER –

Velma knocked on Mr. Dinkley's office door. "Dad?"

Silence.

As they were about to turn around and try again later, the door suddenly jerked open.

"Velma?"

"Hey, Dad. Sorry to bother you, but –

"No worries! Come in, come in!"

Fred thought that Mr. Dinkley's appearance looked more disheveled than the previous day, if it was even possible. His office was a mess – papers were strewn everywhere; cardboard boxes were stacked high to the ceiling. Mr. Dinkley caught Fred's gaze and chuckled.

"Ah! You noticed my boxes! Don't worry! They are here for safekeeping! They keep my prized artifacts safe before they go on display!" He winked at Fred, who smiled awkwardly. "Anyways, what brings you two here?"

Velma hesitated, brushing some papers off a metal fold-up chair. She sat down, placing the box on her lap. "It's about last night."

Mr. Dinkley's brow furrowed as he leaned forward in his chair. His cheeriness was gone. "Go on."

Fred took a seat beside her, knowing full well of her skepticism about the entire thing. But, to his surprise, she asked about Celia.

"I need to know more about Celia," Velma began. "What her real motive is. What she looks like. If she's actually 'come back from the dead.'"

Mr. Dinkley's eyes twinkled. "I'd thought you'd never ask! I thought you didn't believe in these things!"

"I don't," Velma said flatly. "But something happened last night. In our cabin – Daphne's and mine. We experienced something strange . . . like a hypnotic effect. We – We saw a . . ."

"A what?" Mr. Dinkley was on the edge of his seat, practically leaning across his desk.

"A shadow . . ."

Mr. Dinkley cried out in a strangled squawk – but not in fear. With excitement. Fred was stunned that Mr. Dinkley showed no concern for his own daughter's dangerous encounter.

"HAH! I knew it! I told you there was something going on!" he cried, banging his fists on the desk.

"But wait, Mr. Dinkley," Fred interjected. "There's something else . . . our dog, Scooby, he . . . well, he, uh –

"He got sick last night," Velma cut in, her voice sharp and matter-of-fact. "I think he has rabies, but the others –

"There's something going on about Celia's curse," Fred interrupted. "I mean, Scooby tried to attack Velma and Daphne last night. Then he ran off into the forest and came back earlier this morning all beat up. Shaggy and Daphne are taking him to the vet right now."

Mr. Dinkley froze. His eyes narrowed, shifting from Fred to Velma. "Is that why you called me about the condition of your van, Velma? You sounded quite frantic."

"Yes," Velma said. "And we need to figure out what's going on! Someone's behind this! I just know it! And I think it's Emerson!"

Fred's eyes narrowed in confusion. "Emerson? Who's Emerson?"

"A rival of mine," Mr. Dinkley said, his tone laced with spite. "But he's a fake. Just like they all are, those tourist trap owners. He sells 'supernatural' items and tricks guests into believing in them. He tried to get me out of business so many times –

"And that's exactly why he's behind all of this!" Velma shot up from her seat. "I swear! I know how much you two hate each other! He's done things like this before! He – He's a fraud!"

Fred placed a hand on Velma's arm in an attempt to calm her down. "But, Velma, that doesn't mean he's behind this. We need proof."

"Well, who else do we have! What evidence is there?"

"Listen, you two," Mr. Dinkley said. "I want to thank you for coming and agreeing to solve this mystery . . . but I'm afraid it's much too dangerous. I realize this now after everything you told me. And Emerson is not behind this, I can tell you that."

Velma dropped back into her chair. "No, Dad. We can't let Emerson get away with this! Or anyone! We'll solve this just like we solved so many other mysteries!"

Mr. Dinkley sighed, placing his head in his hands. He sat there for a long moment. Then he spoke.

"Fine. I'll give you a lead."

"Thank you. What is it?"

Before Mr. Dinkley could open his mouth to reply, a rapid knock rattled against the office door. Velma and Fred flinched at the sudden noise.

"Come in!" Mr. Dinkley called.

The door swung open, revealing a tall, broad-shouldered man in his thirties. He squeezed into the small, cramped office behind Fred and Velma. "Hey, boss."

"Ron!" Mr. Dinkley said. "Ron, this is my daughter, Velma, and her friend, Fred."

"Nice to meet you guys!"

The brunette man shook their hands, his grip rough with calluses. His hands were covered with dirt.

"This is Ron Clarke, my landscaper," Mr. Dinkley explained. "He's the one who fixed your van!"

"Yeah, it was no trouble!" Ron chuckled. His smile was warm, lighting up the room. "Just needed a little elbow grease!"

Fred grinned. "Thank you for all the help!"

"What's up, Ron?" Mr. Dinkley said as he leaned back into his swivel chair.

"Just headed out for the day. Wanted to let you know," he said. "Those new evergreen shrubs are all planted. The shipment came in earlier than expected."

"Sounds great! Thanks, Ron!" Mr. Dinkley said. "Now, off you go!"

Ron nodded, giving one final wave before leaving.

"Dad," Velma said after Ron shut the door behind him. "Why do you have a landscaper working in January?"

Mr. Dinkley shrugged. "I needed some new shrubs for the landscaping. He only comes out about once a week to check that everything's looking nice. He's been working for me for years."

Velma nodded slowly, already thinking about what her father was about to say before the interruption. "So, what was it you wanted to tell us? The lead?"

Mr. Dinkley's eyes were unfocused with confusion at what Velma had said before he remembered. "Ah, yes. That . . . You need to get your friends and leave."

Velma sat there for a moment, unable to process what her father just said. "What?"

"That's your lead," Mr. Dinkley said simply. "I don't want you kids hurt."

Velma shot up from her chair, frustration boiling over. "Unbelievable. I thought you wanted us to solve this! That's why you asked us here, right? What about your preserve? Your museum? Everything you've worked for?"

Mr. Dinkley shook his head. "Doesn't matter. It's not worth risking your lives. It seems this curse is permanent. But I'll handle it! No more mystery solving for you." He gestured to the door. "Now, if you don't mind, I have some work to finish."

"Dad, you can't be serious!" Velma protested.

"And we're not kids," Fred muttered.

But before they could argue any further, Mr. Dinkley ushered them out of his office and slammed the door shut with a resounding THUD.

Fred scoffed. "Now that. That was weird."

IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

"I don't believe this," Velma mumbled bitterly as she and Fred left the museum. "He asked us to come here! Sure, he called it a vacation, but he really wanted us to solve a mystery!"

"Velma, calm down," Fred said, wincing as Velma started to kick at the snow, her frustration palpable. "I'm sure he means well –

"Well, we won't listen to him!" Velma snapped. "He could lose this place! We are going to solve this thing no matter what anyone says!"

Velma spun on her heels and stormed off, leaving Fred behind. But after a few steps, she stopped, looking down at the ground. She was clutching the box close to her chest.

Fred started towards her. "Velma, what are you –

Then he saw it too.

A robin.

It was half-buried in the snow, lifeless and still.

"Velma –

"This isn't possible," Velma breathed.

Fred looked down at her. "What are you talking about?"

"Fred, this is a robin."

"I know."

"Robins aren't supposed to be in Ohio in January," Velma whispered in disbelief. "It should've migrated . . ."

As Fred caught on to what she was saying, his chest tightened. "You mean –

"I think – I think you were right, Fred," Velma said, her voice shaking. "There really might be a curse."