Scooby-Doo: The Mystery Before the Flame

by calethames

Summary:

When the Mystery Gang rolls into the quiet town of Ember Falls to visit Daphne’s aunt, Maribel Crane, they expect nothing more than a nostalgic pit stop and a chance to help save her struggling diner, Crane’s Family Diner & Arcade—a beloved local landmark now fading into memory.

But across town, a new restaurant has risen from the ashes.
Phoenix.

Modern. Immaculate. Always full.

Its owner, who only introduces himself as MJ, seems polite, calm, and oddly distant—yet rumors cling to the building like smoke. Whispers of strange sounds after closing, of figures moving in the dark, of something not quite right behind the walls.

What starts as a friendly rivalry soon becomes an obsession.

As the gang begins to dig, guided by half-truths, local gossip, and the eerie stories of a broken little machine that never seems to tell the whole truth, they uncover fragments of a past tied to the infamous Fazbear legacy—though Phoenix itself bears no name, no logo, no proof.

And the deeper they go, the stranger things become.

Can they figure out this mystery before everything goes up in flames?

Chapter 1: Prologue- Eggs?

 

The rain falls like it's trying to apologize.

Thin, silver sheets drizzle from the sky, hissing when they strike the warm pavement outside Phoenix—the most popular family restaurant in the district. Even after closing, the building still glows. Neon reds and oranges hum through the mist, reflected in puddles like warped halos.

From the outside, Phoenix looks alive.

Welcoming.
Safe.
Like it’s waiting for someone to come home.

The front doors are dark, locked, chairs stacked on tables. But the sign still flickers softly, stubborn as a heartbeat.
PHOENIX – Where Every Night Feels Like a Celebration!

Behind it, however—

That’s where the light dies.

Two figures slosh down the alley-side sidewalk, their sneakers soaking through with each careless step. Hoodies pulled tight, heads ducked low. Rain beads on the fabric and slides down like sweat.

They’re laughing.
Too loudly.

“Bro, if this works, I’m never letting you forget this,” the taller one says, backpack rattling with every step. His voice echoes between the brick walls.

The shorter one snorts. “If this works, I’m making you pay for my therapy.”

They stop near the back gate—a tall, rusted fence tucked away from the warm glow of the front windows. A crooked sign hangs from it:

STAFF ONLY. NO TRESPASSING.

The words are faded, like they’ve given up on being listened to.

“Oh nooo,” the shorter one mocks, voice dripping with fake fear. “Not the sign. Anything but the sign.”

He hops the gate first, landing awkwardly beside the trash cans. A lid clatters to the ground, echoing down the alley.

“Dude, you’re gonna wake the dead,” the taller one whispers harshly, scrambling over after him.

“Relax. Place is closed. It’s just us and the rats.”

The alley smells like wet cardboard, fryer oil, and old soda syrup. Somewhere inside the building, a faint hum pulses—electric, rhythmic, alive.

They creep closer to the back door.

It looks plain. Steel. Industrial.
But then the taller one freezes.

“…Wait.”

He points.

A tiny security camera, mounted above the door, blinks with a soft red light.

They stare at it.

It stares back.

“…That’s creepy,” the shorter one mutters.

The taller one grins nervously. “It’s fine. I got this.”

He glances around, spots a loose brick near the wall, and scoops it up.

“Witness protection program,” he jokes.

The brick flies.

CRASH.

Glass shatters. The red light dies.

They both burst into quiet, breathless laughter.

“Nice throw!”
“Bro, I play baseball!”
“Yeah, in your imagination!”

They turn back to the door.

The taller one grabs the handle and pulls.

Nothing.

He yanks harder.

Nothing.

The shorter one tries next. Bangs on it.

“Maybe it opens the other way?”
“Dude, it’s a door.”
“Well it’s a rude door.”

They take turns: pulling, pushing, kicking, shoulder-checking it like idiots. The door doesn’t even flinch.

“Okay,” the taller one pants, “Plan B.”

He pulls out a crowbar.

It snaps off.

"..."

They stare at the broken piece in silence.

“…You bought that from the dollar store, didn’t you?”
“It said industrial grade!”

Now they’re annoyed. Wet. Cold.

They argue, swap tools, attempt the most ridiculous solutions possible—credit cards, screwdrivers, even trying to “kick the lock loose.”

Nothing.

What they don’t notice is the movement.

Behind the trash cans.

Something long.
Metallic.
Coiling like a snake.

A soft scrape echoes.

“Did you hear that?” the shorter one asks.

“Probably a raccoon,” the taller one shrugs, already spray-painting a sloppy grin on the brick wall.

Another sound.

Thump.

Then—

A laugh.

Not human.
Not animal.

Mechanical. Broken. Joyful in all the wrong ways.

They freeze.

“Okay,” the shorter one whispers, “that was NOT a raccoon.”

The shadows stretch unnaturally along the walls.

Rain falls harder.

They turn—

And the alley suddenly feels too small.

Too tight.

“Probably just… nothing,” the taller one mutters, voice too loud, cracking under tension.

“Nothing doesn’t laugh like that,” the shorter one says, clutching his hoodie like it’s arm

That's when something behind them shifts the light. A shadow stretches unnaturally, bending against the wall like it doesn’t belong in this world.

Slow. Deliberate. Towering.
It creeps closer.

They freeze, teeth chattering, hearts hammering.

Every instinct screamed

Run

The shadow moves with a weird, mechanical fluidity, not quite human.A vaguely bear-shaped head pokes into the frame of the dim light, ears rounded, silhouette massive. The rain hits it, glistening, the sound of rain hitting metal.

Neither breathes. Neither moves. Even the sound of the rain seems to hush, swallowed by the dread.

Something towering shadow loomed behind them.

They don’t even have time to scream.

Something screeches, a metallic wail that shakes their bones. Claws tear. Steel grinds. Blood sprays across the brick.

One of them falls.

His vision blurs.

The sound of muffled but hurried footsteps from inside the building before-

Slam

The door slammed open.

From the corner of his eye, he sees a man rushing from the door panicked, wearing a white bear mask.

Then the voices comes.

Cheerful.

Twisted.

Multiple voices speaking at the same time.

“Ɇ₲₲₴??”

Before everything faded to black.

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“911, what is your emergency?”