Stan groaned and rubbed his temples, sitting up to the sound of a loud telephone's shriek.

Who the hell was calling him at this hour?

He stumbled through the dark and clicked on the light at the other side of his room. He reached for the phone and held it to his ear. He cleared his throat grotesquely and spoke. "Eh...hello?"

"G-grun-g-gruncle Stan, it's, it's..."

"Dipper?" Stan, concerned, responded to the distressed voice on the other line.

"I-I-I need to g-get the j-j-j..." The rambling was cut off by a loss of breath, a sniffle, and... a sob?

Was Dipper crying?

"Dipper, what's the matter?"

"I need fire, I need to burn it, I n-need to g-get rid of it, I-"

"Rid of what?"

"The j-j-journal..."

Stan cringed at the thought of Dipper's current predicament, and at the thought of all those secrets and mysteries being gone...

Then it struck a chord.

Dipper didn't just want to burn the journals. The journals were just spooky little theories scribbled onto pages...there had to be something along with it to make Dipper be saying the things he was. Back in Oregon, it helped the kid sleep at night knowing the book was in arms' reach. And now, his main concern was to keep them away...

"Kid, calm down, where are you?"

"I'm-I'm in the corner of my room."

"Dipper, I need you to get everyone out of the house, you got that?"

"I-I can't..."

"Why not?"

"Because h-h-he's after me."

"Who?"

"...Bill."

~~~4 hours earlier~~~

Mabel yawned and pulled her headband loose of her thick brown hair. Dipper sat on the edge of the bed, giving a distraught sign and tucking the journal under his pillow.

The journal didn't give him a feel of familiarity as he had hoped. He had hoped that holding the book would give him a sense of comfort and Gravity-Falls-edness, but holding it was indifferent, almost like holding a fictional adventure book from your local library.

Almost.

He could still feel a sense of mystery and excited stress, like when you impatiently await the continuation of an adventurous TV show, full of threatening secrets and demons that could only come from legendary folklore, dangerous perils in which lives are at stake, and characters that leave you suspicious and on edge-trust no one.

He could feel this just by touching the brass hand on the cover.

"Dipper?" A voice broke through the darkness of the twins' bedroom.

"Yeah, Mabel?"

"I feel weird."

Dipper turned to his side and faced her, Mabel was on her back and staring at the ceiling.

"How?" Dipper asked.

"Like...like when I wake up, I won't be back in the room in the mystery shack, and I won't see Stan and Soos and Wendy and... I don't know. I have to get used to being back home."

"Yeah, I feel it, too."

Mabel rolled over to face him. "You miss them?"

"Yeah."

"A lot?"

"...yeah."

"I bet you miss Wendy most."

Dipper glared, blood rushing to his face as he pulled a pillow from the opposite end of his bed and threw it forcefully at Mabel, who only giggled and stuck her silly little tongue out in retaliation.

"Night, Dipper."

"Night, Mabel."

And they were out like a light.

Dipper wasn't sure what time it was when he heard deep, yet somewhat high pitched laughter echoing around him. His initial reaction was widened eyes, his breath caught in his throat, and his muscles all became tense.

He sat up and glanced down at his pillow. A pulsing light greeted him, and he pulled the book out from under it.

The hand was glowing.

He cautiously picked up the book and stood up. In the same fashion you would hold a bag of dog defecation, he held the book far out in front of him by only his thumb and forefinger.

But instead of throwing it out, he set it out on the counter of the garage, hoping that it wouldn't disturb them overnight.

He walked back down the hall to his room, but took a sudden hault when he looked into the bedroom. Mabel wasn't in her bed. Her eyes were open wide and lifeless, there was a rope around her neck, and her feet hovered just above the carpeted floor.

Dipper's voice caught in his throat, and he stepped out of view. He suddenly released a blood curdling cry of grief.

Footsteps pounded on the floor, and seized abruptly as the people the steps belonged to saw the shaking, traumatized-looking boy pressed tensely against the wall, his palms sweaty and gaze far off.

"Dipper, honey, what's wrong?"

Dipper looked up at his worried looking parents. Before he could say anything, he burst into tears and held his head.

"Dipper?"

Now, that voice confused the hell out of him. He turned his head, and there stood his sister, looking tired, worried, confused, but relatively unharmed.

"B-but you..." He raised a trembling finger at her.

"What?" Dipper's mom asked, looking at the young girl.

Mabel cocked her head in confusion.

Dipper sighed. "Never mind." He shoved past Mabel and curled back up into his bed, holding himself tightly.

A few good night's and kisses were exchanged between Mabel and their parents, Before she came back into the room and lay down.

"Dipper, what happened?"

"Nothing."

Mabel rolled her eyes. "You're a terrible liar."

"I'm not trying to lie, I'm trying to get you to stop asking."

Mabel sighed. "Fine. Good night." She rolled over with her back to her brother.

Dipper frowned.

He shut his eyes and tried to fall back asleep, before a voice interrupted his desperate efforts.

"Don't end up like her," it whispered, and visual flashes of a slaughtered little girl with blood staining her comical sweaters and skirt and face met Dipper's view.

"Don't throw me away..."

"Don't get rid of me..."

The voice became louder and louder, until it was screaming at and terrorizing him.

He felt a burn in his wrist, and, with a hiss, held it up to his gaze.

Torn through his pale flesh was the shape of a triangle with an eyeball in the center.

Dipper, feeling numb and terrified, stood up to go the bathroom and tend to the wound, but, feeling too emotionally drained, picked up the phone on their dresser and stumbled into the corner of the room. He began to dial the number of the only person he could turn to in a time like this.

Stan.