Like, you don't hear many monsters from other dimensions scream for help.
(Fred ties the Char Gar Gothakon's mouth with ascot)
This is no monster. (unmasks Char Gar Gothakon) It's Howard E. Roberts, Hatecraft's student assistant and biggest fan. Just as I suspected.
Suspected how?
Think about it. We found a book written by Hatecraft, with sentences underlined that smelled like Char Gar Gothakon.
Of course it was me. Someone had to defend the Professor against his critics. And what better way than to dress as his greatest creation? Fortunately, I'd taken a class in the military application of sonic shriek technology at the learning annex. Although, in retrospect, it might not have been a good idea to glue real octopus legs to my face.
Ah, so that was the smell!
But when Hatecraft admitted he made it up?
That's when he had to fall. And he would have, too, if it weren't for the dark elder forces conspiring in the inky black of time most foul! Oh. And you meddling kids.
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