Scooby-doo Ghost Truck Novels & Stories

The subterranean garage of the Sterling tower smelled heavily of high octane fuel, cold iron, and absolute violence. Three matte black, heavily armored SUVs sat idling in the deep shadows, their massive engines humming with a low, guttural vibration that violently shook the concrete floor. Silas and the elite ghost squad were already loaded into the vehicles, their suppressed tactical weapons checked, chambered, and ready for a slaughter.

He knows something about mommy and didn’t tell me too. When the truck goes all the way up, l change my mind about being in the truck. It’s too dark. I’m not scared. I just don’t like the stinky smell and the dark together. When I start to make the metal part go back down, something moves in the dark. “Oh, Marvel,” I hear something whisper, but it’s really quiet. Too quiet. I almost didn’t hear it. Maybe I’m just hearing things. “Marvel,” I heard my name whispered again in the dark. It’s much easier to hear it when the metal isn’t moving to go down.

Once we were zooming down the road, she announced, "As part of the Scooby Gang, we need to get everyone on the same page." Luke snorted, "Scooby Gang? What are you, five years old?" Ruthie looked ready to throttle him, and she probably would have if he hadn't been driving. "I like it," said Phoebe, twisting to us and leaning back against the console. "Does Isaac get to be Scooby?" Her brother scowled at her but she just grinned. "No, we've already got Knox, Tru's dog," Ruthie said. Then, with an accusatory lift to her eyebrows directed solely at Phoebe, she added, "But if I'd known ..."

🧛🏼‍♂️🧛🏼‍♂️🧛🏼‍♂️🧛🏼‍♂️🧛🏼‍♂️🧛🏼‍♂️🧛🏼‍♂️🧛🏼‍♂️🧛🏼‍♂️🧛🏼‍♂️🧛🏼‍♂️🧛🏼‍♂️🧛🏼‍♂️🧛🏼‍♂️ A truck driver whistled happily to Billie Holliday's 'when you're smiling' when a bat flew in latching right unto his neck. He'd screamed when he'd felt it's fangs sink into his neck. In his wild attempts to pull away the mad bat which wouldn't release it's hold on him, whilst maneuvering the vehicle, he'd lost control of the brakes and had accidentally stepped on the accelerator when he'd swiveled right into another moving vehicle. 💀💀💀☠️☠️☠️☠️💀💀💀☠️☠️💀💀

"Grace, look at the snow. They aren't throwing plumes. They aren't using tracks." The Ghosts on the Ridge” I leaned toward the glass, my breath fogging the pane. Through the swirling vortex of ice and wind, three massive shapes materialized out of the white. They weren't armored trucks, and they weren't Vesper exoframes. They were the First Drafts.

It wasn’t particularly cold. “Oh come on,” I said. “It’ll be fine. If it’s one of those girl ghosts with the long black hair we’ll easily beat the shit out of her.” I followed Jespert through the gravestones, sword in hand just in case. Sadly, Sadako never appeared. In the middle of the cemetery there was a stone building. A crypt. The doorway was a gaping black hole. Jespert disappeared into it. I paused in the doorway and looked back at the Scooby gang jostling to let someone else go first.

"But I will have the Heart. And when we meet again, brother... I will take the rest of you." Meanwhile, in the tunnels beneath the city, Jack Sterling was looking at a different kind of horror. The team had reached a ventilation shaft overlooking a secret underground loading dock. It was a massive cavern, lit by harsh sodium lights. In the center sat the Ghost Train. It was a beast of a machine. Armored black steel, windowless, with a cow-catcher that looked like a jagged set of teeth. It hummed with magnetic levitation power. But it wasn't the train that made Olivia gasp. It was the cargo.

You just need a new place to stay is all, he said. You'll be alright with Uncle Josh, okay sweetie? he said. Scarlett murmured inaudible cusses in frustration. Her ears pricked at the sound of a truck laggardly bringing itself to a halt by the bus stop. It was a second-hand dark blue Toyota two-seater van. A tall male, with the equally ghost pale skin tone as hers, got out of the car, with a sincere smile and worn-out body language.

I worked on the screws with a nail file yesterday. I push the grate aside. Darkness. And sound. The vent connects to the hallway outside the suite. The acoustics carry voices down the metal shaft like a telephone line. "They found the truck," a voice growls. It’s deep. Rough. One of the Reaper guards. "Burned?" another voice asks. "Shredded. Tire tracks leading into the woods. But no body." My heart skips a beat. Thump. "It's him," the first voice whispers. "The Ghost."

He has never backed out on a mission and he ain't to start now. Bored from the wait, Ghost let out a crazy yawn. With no second thought, he grabbed his phone again, almost texting Scar. Almost. Crazy but he was feeling impulsive now. It was like all he wanted to do now. Constantly ask about Ciara. A revving sound wafted into his ears, kicking in his adrenaline rush. It was the shipment. Had to be. Through the rearview mirror, he saw the double-decker car, slowly approaching them.