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No Traveller Returns: ProloguePrologue: BrokenNo Traveller Returns: Prologue by ShakespeareFreak
October 23rd, 1999
"Earth, Water, Fire, and Air!
We may look bad,
But we don't care!
We ride the wind,
We feel the fire!
To love the earth is our one desire.
To love the earth... IS OUR ONE DESIRE!"
The cheers of the crowd filled the autumn night. Thorn called out, "Thank you Oakhaven! We love you all!" The cheering intensified. She yelled over the roar, "And a very special thanks to Mystery Inc.! Without them, none of this would have been possible! Let's give them a rockin' Oakhaven THANK YOUUU!"
Fred grinned and waved, his arm around Daphne. Daphne looked at him with the small, secret smile she reserved especially for him—the one that Velma knew meant You don't know it yet, but someday we're going to be married—before turning back out to flash a brilliant smile into the stage lights. Shaggy and Scooby mugged and blew kisses at the crowd, basking in the attention. Velma waved cheerfully, a wide grin plastered on her face.
A Christmas Scooby Part 8A Christmas Scooby Part 8A Christmas Scooby Part 8 by Jaguaro
Christmas Day began. I had struck out. The floor was littered with torn wrapping paper, discarded boxes, and all kinds of gifts. No bunny suit from my Aunt, thankfully, but an assortment of jackets, hats, scarves, a desk set, a football, and plenty of socks.
“Get everything you wanted for Christmas?” my old man asked, holding up his pair of pajamas that mom gave him. She was suspiciously eyeing a bowling ball, wondering if dad’s gift was really for her.
“Yeah,” I muttered, wondering if Velma or Shaggy could catch a football.
He nodded. “Guess that wraps up another…hey, what’s that in the corner?”
I looked at him blankly, hoping against hope that Christmas wasn’t quite over.
“Behind the desk.”
I dashed over faster than Bob Mathis in the decathlon. Paper, ribbon and the bow lasted about as long as Custer at the Little Bighorn, as all wer
A Christmas Scooby Part 7A Christmas Scooby Part 7A Christmas Scooby Part 7 by Jaguaro
But it didn’t solve the Christmas problem. I was no closer to getting the Sherlock Holmes Detective Kit, signed by Basil Rathbone himself. Miss Romano had seen to that.
My mother noticed I was upset, given that I barely touched the dinner, pot roast, a previous favorite of mine. “Is it about that Velma girl getting hurt today?” she asked.
My old man glanced up from the sports page. “I know what will cheer him up, if he finishes his dinner. Freddie, how about a trip to Santa?”
Santa! Why didn’t I think of it! The Boss Himself! The Chief of Christmas! Certainly he would get me a Sherlock Holmes Detective Kit, signed by Basil Rathbone himself, right?
The pot roast nearly disintegrated with the speed I attacked it. For once, my old man’s driving, which resembled that of the Indy 500 in the final lap, seemed to slow. And our town’s twenty min
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