- ONE WEEK EARLIER -

"I need your help. And I need it now."

Fred, Daphne, and Velma stared at Mr. Dinkley. What he had said confused them.

"What - What kind of help?" Fred said, his stomach churning as Mr. Dinkley turned to face him.

He met each of their gazes with an intense stare. "Follow me."

Mr. Dinkley led them through a wide-framed wooden door with the words LIBRARY OF RARE BOOKS inscribed above it in faded gold letters.

"Wow, Dad, you never told me you had a library in here!" Velma exclaimed.

Mr. Dinkley didn't reply as he opened the door.

As they stepped into the library, they saw light shine through the extravagant windows. From the outside, the windows had appeared pristine, but from the inside, the panes were smeared with grime. The air was thick with dust, enhanced by the sunlight breaching the room. Endless bookshelves lined the walls, reaching the high ceiling.

"Wow . . ." Velma breathed, her voice barely above a whisper.

"It's . . . sure something," Daphne said, folding her arms.

"This place looks like it hasn't been touched in decades . . ." Fred said, looking around the room with curiosity. "I mean, no offense, Mr. Dinkley."

"None taken," Mr. Dinkley replied, brushing off a cobweb from a wooden chair and sat in it. "You're right. I haven't been here in ages until a few weeks ago."

"But why are you telling us this?" Velma said.

Mr. Dinkley stayed silent. Instead, he gestured to some wooden chairs stacked in the corner of the room. "Grab a seat and I'll explain."

They did as he said and grabbed the chairs, placing them in a curve facing Mr. Dinkley.

They sat and looked at him.

"Are you going to tell us now?" Velma said, her voice rising in anticipation. "This isn't like you, Dad. You're acting strange. What's going on?"

Mr. Dinkley sighed. "I'm having some problems with the preserve. Strange things are happening . . . but I can't exactly find an explanation for them . . ."

"What kinds of things?" Daphne said, leaning forward in her chair.

"For one," Mr. Dinkley began, "I haven't seen a single deer in weeks. Not one." Mr. Dinkley said, his glasses glinting from the setting sun's rays.

"Mr. Dinkley, with all due respect, it's winter. Shouldn't the deer be hibernating or something?"

"Fred, deer don't hibernate," Velma said shortly. "Go on, Dad."

"The electronics have been malfunctioning . . . something that hasn't been a problem for years."

"What kind of malfunctions?" Daphne asked, her brow furrowing.

"There is a small TV in every guest's cabin," Mr. Dinkley said. "They only show one channel and it turns on and off . . . it scares my guests. Then, there are the staff computers in the office – they shut down without warning. The lights around the preserve keep flickering at night . . ."

"Mr. Dinkley, that's awful!" Daphne cried. "Is that why you're not getting any visitors anymore?"

Mr. Dinkley nodded slowly. "Most of my staff have left, too. I have hopes of bringing them back once this problem is out of the way."

"Mr. Dinkley, we're flattered you're asking us to help with these things, but we're not tech and wildlife experts," Fred said, catching Daphne's gaze. "I mean, we solve mysteries, but that's it."

Mr. Dinkley leaned forward in his seat, his head in his hands. "I don't think you understand."

Fred felt Daphne and Velma shift uncomfortably beside him.

"Dad, you haven't seen something, have you? Something strange?" Velma asked, her voice soft.

Mr. Dinkley reappeared from behind his hands. "I thought it was my mind just playing tricks on me at first. But now, I'm certain."

"Certain about what?" Fred said.

He was answered through silence. It was heavy with unease.

"I didn't think it was possible . . . but there's an evil presence here . . . I know it. And I need your help to stop it."