Title: Beyond the Sea-Monster
Summary: With a little non-existent extra time on my hands, I've finally fleshed out a twisted idea that falls under the heading "Crossovers from Hell". I give you the rough draft of a short story that answers that age-old question: "What would happen if Agents Mulder and Scully met up with Scooby Doo and his friends?"
Fred rubbed his hands together briskly. "Well, gang, I think we have this mystery just about wrapped up."
"Are you kidding? There's still enough unexplained events in this caper to fill three X-files and six months of the National Enquirer."
The blond young man sighed for about the thousandth time that weekend. "Look, Officer Mulder--"
"It's just 'Mulder'. I even made my parents call me 'Mulder'."
"--Mulder--we've got all the circumstantial evidence we need against the museum curator, Mr. Jacobson, to show that he's the prime suspect for smuggling all those ancient artifacts out of the country and into Canada."
"But Freddy," Shaggy piped in, "what about all those sightings people reported of Komouiga raoming the halls of the museum?"
Velma explained with a tolerant smile, "Jacobson used the local legend of Komouiga, Atlantian demigod of death, destruction, and paper cuts, to scare away anyone that might catch him in mid-transport."
"All those sightings coincide with the times when the janitor was scheduled to wax the floors," recalled Scully. "With rumors spreading about seeing the ghost of Komouiga, it's natural to expect that people are going to see what they want to see."
"People *want* to see a seven-foot, four-armed, squid-faced man with paper cuts all over his body?" Daphne inquired, confused.
Shaggy gestured towards the dog. "Yeah, well, Scooby saw it, large as life, didn't you, Scoob?"
Scooby Doo's head bobbed up and down. "Ruh-huh, rye rid!" Shaggy calmed the dog's agitation by offering him a biscuit from a box labeled _Scooby Snacks_. Taking the proffered tidbit, Scooby wolfed it down noisily.
Scully frowned as she turned to Shaggy. "What did he say?"
"He said, 'Uh-huh, I did.' Didn't you hear him?"
"Uh, guess not. Excuse us," and she edged away from their circle, tugging Mulder by his coat sleeve along with her. Out of earshot, she whispered to her partner, "I can't believe the way these kids talk to their dog."
"Haven't you heard of pet psychologists, Scully? Dogs have feelings too, you know."
"Mulder, they think he can talk back!"
"I have a stack of X-files back at my office documenting IQ tests taken by canines, and many of the dogs rate up there with third graders and WWF wrestlers. You have to keep an open mind about these things." He guided Scully back to the group.
"Well, that janitor still gives me the creeps," Shaggy shuddered. "And how did he know the location of Komouiga's coffin's hidden compartment full of sacred skipping stones?"
"Looking back at the records," Mulder said, "we know that Komouiga is the janitor's great-great-great-great-grand uncle's third cousin's niece's brother. If we could just get the guy in for another session of regression hypnosis--"
"The last time you tried that, his wife came after you with the business end of a rag mop," Scully reminded him. "Try it again and she'll probably wring your neck." Mulder winced at the punful imagery.
Velma added in a voice that suggested the tall FBI agent should know better, "Besides, Deputy Mulder--"
"It's just plain 'Mulder'. My Cub Scout leader even called me 'Mulder'."
"Okay--Mulder," the bespectacled girl conceded cautiously, "but you have to admit that even in the most faddish of psychological circles, the therapy of regression hypnosis is regarded as a questionable technique, with subconscious influence from the therapist possible affecting the data obtained from such a session."
Mulder cast an eye at his partner and spoke in a hushed voice. "It's your long-lost sister, Scully."
The auburn-haired agent rolled her eyes. "At least the artifacts have been recovered and Mr. Jacobson apprehended."
Suddenly an officer escorted the handcuffed Mr. Jacobson past the gang to the police car waiting outside. An older gentleman in his fifties, the ex-currator struggled against his restraints in order to catch Dana's attention. "Agent Scully--er, I mean, Starbuck! You can't put me in jail! I have a message for you from your father!"
"Not again," muttered Scully, then aloud: "Okay, spill it. What's the message?"
Jacobson leaned closely to the agent and declared in an ominous stage whipser, "The owls...are not..what they seem..."
Scully's eyebrows scrunched together. "Excuse me?"
"Uh, I mean, er, without chemicals...he points..."
"Oh, shoot, now I forgot," Jacobson cursed, dropping the raspy voice. "Was it about the smiling bags or the Black Lodge?"
The agent shook her head and gestured towards the squad car. "Get him out of here," she said to the officer.
"No! No, you can't do this!" The elderly man resumed his protests as he was dragged to the vehicle. "Gosh darn it, I would've gotten away with it, too, if it hadn't been for you meddling kids, and your stupid dog, and your smarty-pants FBI agent, and your wacked-out other FBI agent..." The tirade diminished as the rear door of the car slammed shut.
"I wonder what those ancient metal fragments we found form when they're assembled properly," Fred mused aloud.
"Atlantian legend said that whoever put the Shards of Komouiga together would possess the ultimate weapon of power. That's how experts believe the city of Atlantis fell into the ocean." Mulder shook his head, "I just hate to think of those artifacts in the hands of the government."
Daphne protested, "But Agent Mulder--"
"It's just 'Mulder', for crying out loud! Even AT&T calls me 'Mulder'!"
The younger red-head of the group continued, oblivious, "The government said they were going to ship them off to a university for further study."
"Yeah, the government wouldn't lie to us," said Shaggy, popping a Scooby Snack into his own mouth and chewing thoughtfully.
The two agents simply stared at each other, then Scully turned to Shaggy incredulously. "Just what is IN those snacks?"
The End -- Gail Celio Gail Celio| Mistress of Plant Pestilence, Trekker, | and All-Around College Bowl Groupie