All language subtitles for Velma s02e02 Creaky Friday.eng

It's Sheriff Cogburn!

What do you mean you need
to exhume my mother's body?

Seriously? I don't know
what that means.

It means I wanna dig her up
and make sure she's truly dead.

Wait, is that my mom's cold case file?
Why is that evidence?

And where are
Dr. Perdue's journals?

They were in the file when I gave it
back to Cogburn.

Could that be why he was killed?

- So, are we good?
- Good? No, we're not good.

You killed me, Norville,
and I'll never let you forget it.

Hello?

Not gonna lie.
Being popular doesn't suck.

People finally laugh
at my hilarious jokes.

I get Moses privileges
during sporting events.

People even copy my style.

But you do occasionally have to get
behind some pretty dumb shit.

Velma! Why did I just find
a whole stack of Creaky Friday flyers

you were supposed to hand out,
in the trash?

Yeah. I don't know.
I handed out all of mine.

Okay, look. I just think
this town has so many problems.

Homelessness,
a missing murdered sheriff,

and not one decent Thai place.

Why focus on oiling Crystal Cove's
famously spooky creaking doors?

Well, because it's a tradition.

And when else do popular girls
get to make losers do their bidding

in the name of charity?

This is our Christmas. So, promise us
you handed out your other flyers.

I promise.

Hey, Daph, guess what?
After biology class,

Mr. S is gonna tell me
what he knows

about Dr. Perdue's missing journals,

and if they're tied
to Sheriff Cogburn's murder.

Cool. Maybe Cogburn and Dr. Perdue
were soul mates.

And I'm not just saying soul mates
because you hate the word soul mates.

Soul mates.

Hey, Lola,
I was wondering if...

You'll never escape me,
Norville. Never!

Well, that was weird.
Usually men don't stop hitting on me

until I bring up astrology.

Where's Mr. S?

Sure, he's handsome,
but only cool people are late.

And he has four graphic tees
about mitosis.

He's not here yet.

And I'm sensing strong, negative
forces are at play. Or wait.

Maybe traffic.

Attention, students. I have
some sensitive information.

Mr. S is missing.
And we know he didn't quit,

because teachers really
make a meal out of it when they do.

Oh, God! Who will write my college
recommendation letter?

And only a week
after Cogburn was killed.

Another middle-aged white guy.

Is someone targeting
smartwatch users?

- Now, for those of you...
- Fred!

You think Mr. S's disappearance is
connected to Cogburn's murder, too.

Leave me alone, Velma.

What's that picture of?
Your mom?

And that's not just a classic burn.
I'm serious.

I still think she's somehow
alive and out for revenge.

Yeah, well, sorry to disappoint,
but this picture proves

my mom didn't kill Cogburn,
because she's dead.

And finally, we know
Mr. S is your teacher,

but this is official police business.
We don't need your help.

So, if we catch
any of you investigating,

you'll be in cuffs faster than a startup
founder with a weird voice.

"But in the end, was I kid-napped,
or adult-found?"

Wow. I am finally hitting my stride.

Which means, I've earned a break
and can text Mr. S.

He can't even heart one text?

Jerk!

Oh, damn it!

Fred. Mr. S is now missing.
If you really want me to think

your mom hasn't returned to kill
more people, show me the picture.

No! The police don't
want us investigating.

And if the church has taught me
anything, it's to question nothing.

I have to see that picture.
But how?

LOCKSMITH
Locked out of a locker?

No. Stupid.

Need answers?
Sometimes they're in front of you!

Useless.

Creaky Friday. That's it.

I need to be partnered with Fred
for Creaky Friday tomorrow.

He has evidence, and I can
only make him show it to me

if we're stuck together all day.

Velma, I get it.
But we can't just violate

Creaky Friday's sacred
random pairing traditions.

Sacred traditions?

This is oiling hinges, not some old
legend worthy of a montage.

What are you
talking about, Velma?

Creaky Friday began
in the 1890s,

when our whole town was on edge
from breathing crystal mining dust.

Thirty-seven people died that year.

To avoid further tragedy,

Crystal Cove's first popular girl,
Helen Creaky,

paid the schoolchildren to oil
all the door hinges in town.

And to ensure
they didn't goof off,

Helen used balls of lead
to pair them randomly.

The pairings were so awkward,
the students oiled hinges

to avoid conversation.

And yes, that year,
20 people still died,

but only from lead poisoning.

And so, the sacred tradition of populars
randomly pairing students

for Creaky Friday, was born.

And we will not tempt fate
by pairing you with Fred.

Brenda merely thought about rigging
Creaky Friday

so she could win it last year.
And look at her now.

Cursed with late lunch.

Norville, why do you keep
looking at me?

You could at least
help me open my textbook.

No. I wanted to know
if you'd wanna hang out sometime.

I thought, maybe, I could
make your life a little easier

by building you a transport device.

Awesome.
We'd love a transport device.

"We"? Who is "we"?

We are, four limbs.
And you'd travel in a pack, too,

if people kept trying
to recycle you.

Hey, I'm glass,
not plastic, idiot.

Why are we breaking into
the yearbook office again?

You know I can't edit the sneeze
out of your yearbook photo.

- And it's cute.
- I know.

I'm putting metal shavings
in my and Fred's Ping-Pong balls,

so I can use a magnet
to pair us up.

You're rigging Creaky Friday?

- That is a bad idea.
- Wait.

Please tell me that in addition
to believing in soulmates,

you're not also superstitious.

It's bad enough our town just started
allowing women onto ships.

A little. But I'm upset
because if you're rigging it,

there's no way for fate to pair us up
and prove to you that we're...

You know.

Daphne, I don't need Creaky Friday
to tell me what we have is special.

Really?

Yes. It's a godless universe,
so just help me cheat.

And now, the traditional picking
of the partners will begin.

The first selection will be made

by a young woman who believes
in the sanctity of Creaky Friday.

- Right?
- You know it.

Oh, wow. I picked myself and Fred.
Am I saying this right?

Jonez? Joannas?

Fred Jones.

- What?
- Oh, come on.

I'm not ready to be bossed around
by another short-haired, angry woman.

Mother just died.

Velma, did you really pick the exact
person you wanted to be paired with?

See? We told you
to trust the tradition.

The next pair is...

Daphne and Amber!

- Wait, what?
- And so it was written.

Yeah, give me one sec.

See, I told you not to mess
with Creaky Friday.

Now I'm spending all day
with your nemesis.

Amber's not my nemesis, Daphne.

I just think occult stuff is weird.

Your pairing is merely a coincidence.

Because I promise you the universe
does not punish people

for messing with tradition.

I know you rigged this, Velma.

If there's one thing
rich people know, it's cheating.

So what if I did? There are more
important things than tradition.

No, there aren't.
Look at the Catholics.

We used to control the world.

But then, Martin Luther was all, like...
"Let's ignore traditions."

And now, we only control Boston
and the Supreme Court.

Exactly. Tradition,
religion, superstition.

When you remove the fun hats
and free wine,

they're just about
controlling people with fear.

So, you don't believe in anything?

I believe in proving
your mom is still alive

and looking through
people's medicine cabinets.

Which is why we're going
to ignore Daphne's moms

and break into Mr. S's apartment
to look for clues on his disappearance.

What? Police tape? Coroners?

A detective needlessly
squatting and shaking her head?

Mr. S isn't missing.
I think he's dead!

Velma, we can't be here.
We'll be arrested for investigating.

And I'm already
gonna have trouble

explaining why I went
to prison for murder to colleges.

Well, too bad.

Because the only way I'm not telling
the cops we're investigating right now,

is if you show me that picture
in your file.

- Advertisement!
- Ad-ver-tisement!

I told Velma it was dangerous
to mess up the pairing ritual.

Now, it's too random
and everyone's fighting

instead of oiling hinges.

I agree that
larger forces are at play,

but I actually manifested us
being paired together.

Amber, please.
Superstition is one thing,

but believing in things
like manifesting

is what makes
Velma think you're weird.

Also your "I'm weird" tattoo.

I see.

Well then, you leave me no choice
but to enlighten you

by manifesting
us winning Creaky Friday.

Oh, God! I mean,
that is a really nice,

not at all totally messed up
shrine to your mom on a dog crate.

Yeah, or employee crate,
depending on Mother's mood.

Regardless, a real upside
to being Catholic now,

is knowing she's in a better place.

- Fred! What are you doing?
- What? It's my hiding place.

And I don't want this picture
falling into the wrong hands. Here.

What? Either they stopped cleaning
the public pools again or that's...

A ghost. But the Church
thinks it's a demon,

which is why they sold me
this relic for only 10,000 dollars.

It's the toe of a saint.
This little piggy is holy!

Fred, where did you
get this picture?

The person who hired me
to solve Cogburn's death sent it.

And don't ask who hired me.

They insist on doing everything
anonymously over email.

Wait,
I've seen this ghost before!

They're okay,
which is pretty lucky

since they listed their health care
provider as the wind.

Amber, what were you thinking?

You never throw your body
at a car worth less than $75,000!

Listen.

- The squeaking hinges.
- I told you manifesting isn't weird.

Now, let's go win this thing.

All right, here's your old typewriter
as requested,

and a bottle of idea juice
from your old stash in the toy bin.

What? That's not mine.
I always get my liquor inside my body.

Diya, I know you.
Laptops don't just break.

I bet your life you're self-sabotaging
again to keep from writing.

And this was the only thing
that ever helped you.

Self-sabotage? How dare you?

No. You're right.
This is what I need to finish my book.

Okay. So, to ensure these are properly
reading brain activity,

I need to make
some light, small talk.

Brenda, you sleep okay?
You look a little tired.

I knew it.
My lobe has crow's feet.

And Krista? I hear your parents'
marriage is in trouble?

How could it be in trouble?

They barely talk to each other.
What are these questions?

Yeah, what's the deal?

I'm getting major "frat guys invite us
to a sex party,"

"but then fill our jars
with goldfish" vibes.

What? I'm just asking questions,
cause I'm interested in your lives.

But are they
causing you anxiety?

See? I told you
it wasn't a ghost.

So, put your relic away
before someone develops

yet another TV show about a believer
and a smoking hot skeptic.

Are you kidding? This only
makes my faith stronger.

Real faith is knowing something's true
even when it's verifiably false.

Excuse me?

I need to know the last person
who rented this costume.

Was their name Victoria Jones?

So sorry.
Customer lists are private.

People's role playing fantasies
are meant to be kept between them

and me.

Stop that.
Halloween is coming,

and I need the place
as creaky as possible.

Fred! The computer!

Norville?

Oh, my God, that's where
I remember the costume from.

Norville?

Fred, we have to go now!

That's over 50 doors,
but it's not enough to win.

I guess I was only powerful enough
to manifest an "I told you so".

If you really wanna win, you'll have
to help me manifest it, Daphne.

Me? Manifest? Mm, okay.

But only to win.

Not because I'm desperate
to prove to Velma

there's more to the universe
than she thinks.

Okay, now, deep breaths.

And...

How would you two like to
come to the basement with me?

I have some things
that need lubricating.

We did it!

Wait. Are we in a morgue?

Yes.
Welcome to your final resting place.

Eventually!
He meant to say,

"Your final
resting place, eventually."

I'm so sorry. Everything he says
is so unintentionally creepy.

Anyway, are you here
to oil the hinges?

It did work!

Norville, this is amazing!

We'll never question
a guy's motives again.

We know you wore the ghost costume
on the night of Cogburn's death.

You killed him.

An innocent old man with a whole week
or two ahead of him.

What? No, I didn't!

Oh, God!

You didn't kill Cogburn.
But you did kill me.

And I'll never let your brain
forget it, Norville.

Help! I'm hallucinating!

I need a snack!

- Are you okay?
- Yes.

Okay. Well, in that case,

why were you at the police station
in a ghost costume?

- Did you kill Cogburn?
- Of course I didn't kill him.

I was just there to get
my grandmother's journals.

So, that's why her journals were missing
from my mom's cold case file.

Yes! I used the costume
to hide my identity

from the security cameras,
and stole the journals

when Cogburn went
to the bathroom.

I knew her research could help me
isolate the anxiety in my brain

and hopefully get rid of it.

But I needed to experiment
on the brains first.

What? I knew it.

Men are only nice
when they're also being creepy.

A likely story.
Call the cops, Velma.

And he'll need a lawyer.
Not your dad. A good one.

What? No. There's no way
Norville did this.

If he was gonna snap and kill anyone,
it would obviously be me.

Interesting.

Despite all the physical evidence
saying one thing,

you still believe
in something else.

So, you let Norville walk,

but I'm the fanatic
for using a saint's toe

to protect us from demons.

Fred, believing Norville is innocent,
is not the same as believing in ghosts

or a God that dictates
who wins our top music awards.

How? Your baseless belief
is shaping your judgment.

My belief is not baseless.
We know Norville.

Would a murderer
be a children's party clown?

Or know every sign
of the zodiac?

Or give hitchhikers rides?
Okay, not great examples.

Norville was at the scene
of Cogburn's murder.

Fact, he lied about it.

Fact, his grandmother's ghost
possessed my mother.

- Fact.
- No, not a fact.

Your mother wasn't possessed,
Norville's innocent,

and your saint's toe
is clearly just an old caramel.

Well, I hope you didn't plan on winning
any country music awards this year

because you just blew it.

No, no, no. Not those two.
Those two are off limits.

Promise you won't open them.

- Okay.
- We promise.

Thank you. Because Vincent
and I are late for our couples' therapy.

Yes. Today we are going to kill

our fears of being vulnerable.

It's Sheriff Cogburn!

- And this is Mr. S!
- What?

But how'd they die?

Velma, thank God you came.
We found Cogburn and Mr. S,

and they're not only dead...

Their dongs were removed?

This is almost as bad as girls having
their brains removed. Almost.

TMI! Cannot unsee that.

Are you done masking your fear
with performative overreaction?

Yeah, yeah, wait.

- I'm good.
- But who would do that?

And why would someone with a photo
of Norville in a ghost costume

hire Fred to figure it out?

- Where'd you get this?
- It's a still.

From a police station
surveillance camera.

It is? Then we have to go there.
Come on, Daph.

And Amber, too, I guess.

Actually, Velma,

Amber and I are really close
to winning Creaky Friday.

I know you think it's dumb,
but I think you're dumb

for not believing in different
moisturizers for different body parts.

- Or soul mates.
- Oh, my God.

Do you really wanna have a deep
conversation about our feelings now?

- Yes.
- Fine.

Punch it, Fred.

Thanks so much
for meeting with me, William.

It's nice to be
out of the house.

Even if it is, I assume, to be shamed
for something my wife did.

Wouldn't be the first time today.

I actually have something for you.

I assume from your clothes, breath,
and bursts of anger, you drink Scotch?

Yes!

I wanna interview you for my book.
It's a memoir about my kidnapping.

And recipes. Going for
an early Nora Ephron vibe.

Well, then, I accept your Scotch.

But if this isn't adversarial,

we really should be drinking Burgundy,
don't you think?

I don't drink anymore.

Well, what do you do
for fun, then, Diya Dinkley?

My favorite part of police work
is the crafting.

Gonna crochet handcuffs next.

This photo was taken
the night of Cogburn's murder.

One of your officers
sent it to Fred.

Fred, a child, with the mind
and body of a younger child.

What? Where did you get that?

No one has access
to that footage except us.

And the North Korean teen who sent me
a fake link to some puppy pics.

Unless...

I'm sorry.
I sent the photo to Fred,

but only because we have no leads
and he's a supernatural expert.

Look at his saint's toe.

No, Velma's right.
It's a caramel.

Wait.
No, that was bone.

Linda, we've got
an election coming up.

If people find out we're still letting
kids solve our cases,

we're ruined. How could you?

It's because Linda's more worried
about how voters will react

if they learned that a dong-removing
serial killer

is running wild on their watch.

Yes. But wait.

How do you know
about their missing dongs?

Daphne and Amber found their bodies,
while oiling hinges.

Meaning, my decision to violate
the rules of Creaky Friday

are even more validated.
Yeah, boy.

- Two men are dead, Velma.
- Yes, of course. I'm sorry.

Now, please,
promise you'll tell no one.

Busy, Dad. You and Mom
just do date night without me.

Lola?
What are you doing here?

Has skateboarding caused you
to smoke and be shitty to women?

I can't reverse that, I'm afraid.

No, I deserve an apology.

Just because you're hot doesn't mean
you can treat me like you did.

Got it?

Got what? After you said
you think I'm hot everything got fuzzy.

Well, the point is,
I deserve better.

Not much better. I did just
ram some loser's shin,

and I'm totes fine with it.

- But, still...
- I'm sorry.

What I did was wrong.

I'm just so desperate
to stop my hallucinations.

Okay, well, then you leave me
no choice but to help you cure them.

And you should hope I still wanna
jump your bones

once you're damage free.

So, someone is now killing men
associated with Dr. Perdue's journals,

and removing their dongs.

Sorry, reflex. But I still think
Norville is the killer.

You do? But you didn't
even mention him

as a potential suspect
to Linda and Donna,

even when they gave you
that honorary sheriff sticker.

Yeah, well, what can I say?

I realized your faith in Norville
is good enough for me.

Damn it! This is why religious people
are so maddening.

You act nuts, but then do good stuff
no one else will do.

Like feed the poor
and entertain old people.

Whoa, wait. What? We do?
Well, this is not that.

I don't expect you to believe
my mom was possessed.

But I'll continue
to believe you about Norville,

if you at least believe me
that my mom is dead.

Fine. And I'm sorry
I mocked your religion.

If it brings you peace to think
that bitch is in a better place,

who am I to judge?

I mean, it's no crazier
than Daphne believing in soul mates,

and I've been very accepting of that.

- Wait.
- Thanks, Velma.

That means a lot.

As we learned in my favorite passage
from Genesis,

"There's too many men, too many
people making too many problems

"and not much love to go around."

Fred! Please do more research
on the Catholic Church!

Fine. This'll be good.

Oh, my God!

I have to give them
10% of my gross income?

What a scam! I am out!

And the Creaky Friday team
who oiled the most doors today

were Daphne Blake
and this new kid

who people are still
forming an opinion about.

Amber, it worked!
Thank you!

Those college admissions committee
shills are gonna eat this shit up.

And now, to the steps
of the Police Department

where Merle Cogburn is making
a special announcement.

As you know,

my beloved brother and voice twin,
Earl, passed away.

What you don't know is that
the two women hoping to replace him

have outsourced the investigation
of his death to kids!

Which leaves me no choice
but to enter the race myself.

What?

Velma?

I'm sorry for being so closed-minded
about the soul mates thing.

I care for you more than anyone.

And if you wanna call that
being soul mates, I'm all for it.

Thank you. I appreciate that.

I learned a lot today, too.

Have you heard of manifesting?

It doesn't just help
beautiful women at auditions,

it could probably help
with your investigation.

Yeah, maybe. Thanks.

But as tolerant as I've become,
I still find that stuff a little silly.

I mean, I messed with
Creaky Friday's sacred tradition

and absolutely nothing bad
happened to me.

Oh, God!

We would have covered up if we'd
heard the door, but it was just oiled!

I hate Creaky Friday!

I forgot you had a kid.

Vincent. I saw the door was open
to the body room.

Are you using them to practice
your ballroom dancing again?

Vincent?

Vincent?

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