Scooby Doo! Meet Ellie Machine

The Night the Clown Cried II: Tears of Doom (Part 1)

"I can do this, I can do this, I can do this," I muttered to myself rubbing my temples and trying not to keep pulling at my hair. I took deep breath after deep breath, and I calmed down a little bit. That's better than nothing, right?

At the moment, I was struggling to not go out and get the biggest bottle of bourbon I could find. Normally Fred can calm me down and take my focus somewhere else, but after he started seeing a new therapist, I've had a few nights on my own where I've come close to getting out the liquor. We've gotten rid of all the bottles in the house, btu that doesn't mean all access is cut off.

It seems like my prayers were answered because the doorbell rang and seemed to vibrate through my brain. I rushed to the door, determined to have anything distract me, and opened the door. Velma and Marcie stood there, both carrying stacks of newspapers, and Shaggy and Scooby were standing right behind them.

"Hey guys! Come on in," I said, probably a little too forcefully but hopefully they didn't notice. "Like, hey Ellie," Shaggy greeted with a smile as they entered the Jones residence. "What're you up to?"

"Oh, nothing really. Fred's seeing his therapist so I'm by myself tonight," I said. "Fred has a therapist?" Marcie asked as she sat down on the couch. "Yeah, Dr. Henklefust. His Mr. Trapples obsession was getting out of hand, so I made him start sessions last week. The guy's really good so Fred might have a breakthrough," I explained.

"Good for him. That bear was really creeping me out," Velma remarked. I nodded in agreement. "Anything I can get you guys?" I asked. "Nope, all good. We just kind of figured that this would be a good official meet-up point for us all since you guys live here and we wouldn't have parents' supervision," Velma explained. "Fair enough," I said with a shrug.

My phone buzzed and I looked down to see a text from Fred.

Fred: Don't wait up. Had a breakthrough and I need to do something. Doing OK?

Me: All good, gang's here. See you later!

I sighed. "Fred's going to be late. Anything you guys want to do?" I asked. "We're just going to look through these papers for any clues or possible mysteries," Velma said, and she and Marcie dove into the papers. "Like, any chance there's some wigs we can look through? I look more like a 'Norville' than a 'Shaggy' right now and I, like, hate it!" Shaggy exclaimed in frustration. I giggled. 

"Maybe. Let's check the basement," I suggested and the three of us went downstairs. I turned on the lights and a sea of random boxes and wooden furniture came into view. Silently, we dug through the boxes. Coincidentally, Shaggy and I were right next to each other as we searched. "So, like, um, what have you been up to?" Shaggy asked me awkwardly.

"Honestly, not a lot. I've put all my focus into being sober, but I don't know how to distract myself from, you know, drinking," I said with a sigh, and I ran my hand through my hair in frustration. Shaggy frowned. "Whatever happened to that chest of old diaries you were looking into?"

I froze. "Oh, um. I'm pretty sure the box is still at my house. About a month and a half ago, all of my stuff just showed up at my front door from Daphne's. I guess that was her way of kicking me out," I huffed. "Oh," was all he said. "Well, would you like some help?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, like, we could go to your house together and like, I can be your emotional support, I guess. And I can, like, keep you company while you work on the diaries," he said. "Just, like, I know you got in really deep with them. It could help as a distraction from drinking."

I thought about it for a few minutes, letting his words just hang in the air between us. "I'll think about it," I managed to say. "I found some!" we heard Scooby call out. We went over to where the Great Dane was and found him holding a box of wigs. We went over and grabbed the box and went back upstairs. I was surprised to see Fred was back, though he looked troubled and distant, and was standing facing the bookcase.