Everyone remembers Shaggy Rogers — the lanky, nervous, sandwich-loving sidekick from the Scooby-Doo gang. He was the comic relief, the scaredy-cat, the heart of the team.
But what if that goofy smile was hiding something far darker?
What if the real mystery… was Shaggy himself?
The town of Crestwood Pines had forgotten many things — the old iron mill by the creek, the shuttered drive-in theater, and the rundown mansion that stood at the edge of the forest. But what the town never forgot… was the Rogers house.
After all, it still stood — barely — a crooked shell of its former self. Faded yellow paint flaked off the sides, and its windows stared out like hollow eyes. Nobody had lived there for years. Not since Shaggy came back alone.
Years earlier, Mystery Inc. had visited Crestwood Pines. A standard case: lights in the woods, rumors of ghosts, and people vanishing near the old Rogers estate. Shaggy hadn’t been back there in decades. It was his childhood home.
The rest of the gang didn’t think much of it. “Like, it’s just a place,” Shaggy had said, laughing nervously. But when they got close, his demeanor changed. He got quiet. Cold.
Velma noticed it first. “Shaggy, are you okay?”
He smiled. Too wide. “Just memories, Velms… lots of ‘em.”
That night, they set up camp in the backyard of the house. The van battery had died — as if something had drained it. Scooby whimpered and clung to Shaggy’s leg the entire time. The moon hung low, casting crooked shadows over the lawn.
At midnight, Daphne saw it first: a figure standing in the second-story window of the Rogers house.
“Shaggy,” she whispered. “Is someone else here?”
But Shaggy didn’t answer. He was staring up at the same window. His face had gone pale.
“That’s my room,” he mumbled. “But… I never left anyone in there.”
Fred and Velma investigated, flashlights in hand. Dust and rot filled the house. The stairs groaned like something alive. The deeper they went, the more wrong everything felt.
Every picture on the wall had Shaggy in it — but not the Shaggy they knew. In the photos, his eyes were black voids. His smiles were crooked, unnerving. And he was alone in all of them.
Fred reached the bedroom and opened the door slowly.
Inside, they found a wall covered in scribbles and symbols. Names — hundreds of them — scrawled in red ink. All of them crossed out. Except one.
Norville “Shaggy” Rogers.
It was written in thick, wet paint.
Or was it blood?
Downstairs, Daphne heard a voice whispering behind her. She turned — nothing.
Scooby began to growl. Low. Guttural. Something was in the woods. Watching.
When Fred and Velma returned to the yard, Shaggy was gone. So was Scooby.
They searched the forest for hours. Trees bent the wrong way. Fog rolled in unnaturally thick. At one point, Fred was sure he saw Scooby running in the distance… but his movements were strange, jerky, like a puppet being yanked by invisible strings.
They called out, but no one responded.
Then, Velma screamed.
Near the creek, they found Shaggy.
Or something that looked like him.
His skin was pale and stretched tight over his bones. His eyes were completely white. His hair was damp and stringy. He was crouching over something… Scooby’s collar.
He turned and smiled.
“You’re too late,” he whispered. “He’s part of me now.”
Fred lunged forward, but Shaggy vanished into the mist — like smoke being sucked away. The only thing left was Scooby’s collar… and the echo of laughter. A deep, distorted version of Shaggy’s voice.
They fled the town that night.
Fred and Velma never talked about it again. Daphne moved across the country. And no one ever mentioned Mystery Inc.
Shaggy was declared missing. Scooby too. But neither were ever found.
Years Later…
A YouTuber named Mike Dredge specialized in haunted places. One night, his followers dared him to spend 24 hours in the old Rogers house. “Easy,” he laughed on camera. “I ain’t afraid of no cartoon!”
He went live at 10:00 PM. The camera showed him walking through the house, mocking the dust, joking about sandwiches. But around 11:45 PM, things changed.
The camera shook. Whispers filled the audio. The chat exploded.
Then, Shaggy appeared.
Not the goofy stoner with a green shirt and brown pants.
This Shaggy was gaunt. His limbs were longer than they should be. His jaw hung loose like it was unhinged. His voice was a growl layered with static.
“You wanted to see me,” he hissed. “Now you’re part of the mystery.”
The screen went black.
Mike Dredge was never seen again.
Back to Crestwood Pines…
Some nights, the Rogers house lights flicker on.
Neighbors hear giggles mixed with growls. Shadows move behind the curtains.
And sometimes — just sometimes — people say they see a tall, thin figure walking Scooby through the woods.
But Scooby’s head is always hanging limp.
And his eyes…
Are as hollow as the grave.
THE END.
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