Stan whistled softly and tapped his oversized key ring, causing the keys to jingle pleasantly. As the dark sky fled from the rising sun over the opposite horizon, the man inserted the key into the front lock, officially opening the doors to his business for the day. He strode up to the desk and turned on the overhead lights. What was once the Mystery Shack gift shop seemed so much less welcoming compared to when summer first began. Now it was fall, and the walls once lined with artificial artifacts were now clothed in posters and ticket prices, and a whole different kind of memorabilia. The front room then joined with the back, which was obstructed by a booth, where tickets would be purchased. Stan continued past the booth into the back room, with the lights previously activated. This was where the museum once was, but not anymore. Now it was a stage- one big grand-looking stage -with a dark red curtain standing boldly before rows of leathery seats. Stan threw the curtains aside and disappeared backstage, the red velvet floating shut again behind him. Behind the stage there opened one more room, in which he flipped a switch to activate a single, bare bulb on the ceiling. This room was not at all decorated, and was rather ugly. A grey concrete floor, grey concrete walls, a grey concrete ceiling, with one dusty red carpet in the center. To the right of the businessman the wall was made up of bars, as if it were a prison. The pathetic light source could not illuminate the corners beyond the bars, but a steady, raspy breathing betrayed his seclusion. Stan stared into the darkness, waiting for his eyes to adjust, accompanied only by the scraping inhales and exhales.
"Are you going to come out?" Stan quietly asked the dark. The shadows did not reply. "Are you still angry?" He asked. The breathing pattern changed to allow a loud growling exhale and smacking of a tongue. Stan watched the lonely darkness in silence, until a soft buzz came from the front room. Stan didn't respond to the sound, but drew closer to the bars.
"I am sorry," he said in a low voice, "You have to understand." The breathing was accompanied by a pathetic whine, which sounded more like a creaking door than a voice.
"I know," Stan stood back again, "I know, but you need to understand, this is what we've got, and I'm just working with it. I would never do a thing to hurt you."
The moaning voice squawked loudly and the heavy breather barked throaty in unison.
Stan stumbled back a step. "I'm sorry," he whispered, and with that, he left.
Beyond the stage, and into the front room, someone was waiting for him when he arrived.
"Wendy," Stan nodded at the ticket booth where she was seated.
"I hate you," Was the response she returned through gritted teeth.
Stan carried on outside, not at all fazed by her remark. The cold autumn air greeted his warmed skin and the wind sang mournfully from above the trees. A few citizens were wandering about the street, their faces indifferent and grim, with few potential costumers for his business. Fall was not a good time for his shows. School was starting up again, summer vacations were over, and all but few of his target audience were shipped back home, never to return if they knew what's good for them. Lucky saps, scarred for life perhaps, but free to leave. Born and raised in Gravity Falls, Stan knew well enough the lore and horror that kept residents home and visitors away. After all, he made his living off of it.
Shady business, his, but it had to be done. At least, that's what he told himself. Sure, some people disagreed. Wendy, Soos, they both made it known they hated his practice, and his niece and nephew, well, they would have disagreed also, but that wasn't important. Bad things happen, and Stan was intent on making the most of it.
As Stan contemplated to himself, a young man approached him, with a similarly aged woman on his arm.
"We hear you have the best show in town," the fellow said. "When's the next showing?"
Stan motioned to the door, "The first show starts at 10, but you're welcome to come inside. Tickets are available for purchase at any time, and the gift shop is always open.
"Thank you sir," the couple went inside, and after taking one last breath of the chilly outdoors air, Stan followed after them.
"Tickets for two please," As Stan stepped inside, the couple was already purchasing their admittance. Wendy grudgingly accepted their money in exchange for two paper tickets. "You can sit wherever you want, but don't even think about going anywhere near the stage."
"Thank you miss," the man remained cheerful despite the worker's displeased disposition. The woman laughed and whispered something into the man's ear as they passed into the theatre.
"Go on, smile," Stan urged after the two were gone. Wendy shot him a cold, hard glare.
"Two tickets and a key chain," Wendy said as she roughly deposited the money she was given into the register, "That's forty-eight dollars more in your stash. When will that be flipping enough for you?"
Stan ignored her and peered into the next room. The couple had seated themselves in the center of the second row and they leaned lovingly against each other.
"I just may be saving their lives this way," Stan argued softly, "Think of it as a good thing."
"The same way you saved Dipper and Mabel's?" Wendy shot. Stan gave her chair a hard kick, forcing her to grab the booth to keep from falling over. Wendy froze for a moment, using the desk to hold herself up, then she righted herself and stared hard a the floor. "I hate you," she spat again.
"I know," Stan breathed.
"Ladies and gentlemen!" Stan formed the words carefully as he projected to his audience. "Boys and girls, prepare to meet with the utmost horror, the unimaginable terror, the unsurpassed nightmare fuel ever to meet your eyes!" Stan glanced around the crowd as he spoke. The audience had grown a little, there were some people in the back seats, some towards the middle, and not all of them looked as intrigued as he would have hoped. He would have to reel them in. "But listen! Can you hear them?" A hush came over the crowd as they listened for whatever he could be talking about. Then they heard it; an awful low growl and bark from behind the curtain. Some terrible creature was back there, angry and ready to strike. Stan smiled at the clear interest peaking in the eyes of his audience. "For safety, I'll have to ask you to keep a respectable distance from the stage, and please watch your step if it all becomes too terrifying!" He had them now. His fingers groped for the curtain, they were ready. "Behold! The horrifying hell spawn that are the Pines Monster Twins!"
He threw up the curtain, which continued its steady ascent to the ceiling, pulling farther and farther back to reveal two almost human figures that sent waves of shock through the crowds. Some gasped, some screamed, Stan smiled as his beasts growled and moaned as they moved closer to him at the end of the stage.
"Ah yes!" Stan turned back to the horrified crowd and opened his arms, "My little monsters!" He motioned to the one on his left, which resembled a boy with wild brown hair, hunched over pitifully and crawling fearfully towards its master. Spotted all over his pale skin were tens of blinking eyes, darting furiously back and forth along the audience. "This folks, is the Demonic Dipper! Would you look at those eyes! Well, they are most certainly looking at you!" The creature whined and pressed harder against the stage, every one of its eyes trying to avoid the shocked gaze of the audience.
Many of the audience members towards the middle went scrambling out the back doors.
"And to my right! The Monstrous Mabel!" There was a girl, her hair a tangled mess and her eyes reduced to cat-like slits in hallow, glaring eyeballs. Her mouth curled into a permanent overstretched grin, showcasing a hundred pointy teeth. She lashed out towards the showman with fingernails like claws and several rows of pointed teeth. Her voice was scratchy and she barked fiercely. "She may be small, but she has quite the appetite! Good thing she's on a leash, or else you or I could end up as dinner!" More and more of the crowd were scrambling away. Stan smiled to himself. Perfect. "Aren't they terrifying folks? You can imagine what I went through to capture them! " He took a breath, tasting the stuffy air in the theater and leaned closer towards the audience. His face fell into an expression of dead seriousness. "But this story comes with a warning," he said so softly that if there were anyone left in the back, they would have had to strain to hear him. "You're never safe in Gravity Falls." Stan ignored the door slamming behind the bailing audience members. All that was left was the first couple who had come in earlier. They clung to each other, horror undeniable on their faces. Stan came as close as he could without stepping off the stage. He looked directly into their fear-ridden eyes. "This town is cursed, and every one of you," he paused again to give them each a hard stare, "Is at risk of becoming a meal- or worse-" One last pause, "A monster."
The woman burst out crying and the man did his best to get her out of the theater as fast as possible. Stan watched them go, never once breaking character until the door swung open and slammed shut. He righted himself from his intimidating posture and placed his hands on his hips. Truly, he had outdone himself. The Monstrous Mabel tore at her chains and lashed at the showman's back. Stan calmly looked over at her as the lights came on again. She whimpered and tried to protect her sensitive eyes with her clawed fingers. The Demonic Dipper was already shrinking behind the curtain, next to all of his eyes squeezed shut as he fumbled blindly around himself.
Stan sighed and pressed a button inside his jacket. There was a metallic clang and the chains rattled as they were slowly drawn back behind the curtain. The Demonic Dipper willingly followed the pull, but the Monstrous Mabel fought it with all her impossibly skinny body could muster, but she was still dragged slowly back behind the curtain. After they had disappeared behind the wall of fabric, another clang echoed, signifying that the unnatural duo was safe in their green room prison.
Stan turned his back to the curtain, not heeding the inhuman cries that ruptured behind him. He stepped down from the stage and through the seats, back to the front room. The screams of his monsters stifled when he closed the door. He was greeted with a heavy metal box hurled at his head, which he quickly ducked away from.
"I've had it with you and your stupid show!" Wendy screamed, tears falling down her freckled cheeks. "You're a stupid, inhuman dog, and you deserve to be the one rotting backstage! You're a bigger monster than those two ever were!" She tore a drawer from the desk and threw that too at her boss's head. "I hope you die!"
"Wendy, we talked about this," Stan calmly explained, "We're keeping everyone safe, if we weren't doing this-"
"You shut your stupid face!" Wendy slammed her fists on the booth, "You're only doing it for the money! You care nothing about them, or me, or anyone! All you want is your stupid money and I have had enough!" Wendy pushed the desk over, spilling the drawers and toppling everything on top of it.
"Get out then," Stan said with such control that Wendy's face reddened with anger.
"One day, one day this will be the death of you," she growled, pointing a finger in his face, "And I won't be the one crying when it does." She stormed out of the building, slamming the door so hard the Shack shook.
Stan raised his eyebrows once, then set about cleaning up the mess his former employee had made. When everything was back in order, Stan stepped back into the theater once again. The howling had stopped, and the whole room was almost ominously quiet. Stan stepped through the curtains into the back room where his stars were kept. It was deathly quiet in there as well. He pulled the cord to switch on the light. His heart skipped a beat when the room remained in darkness, but in his second attempt, the light flickered on. He looked into the cage in the wall, but he once again could not see his prized creatures from the lack of light the single bulb provided.
"Good show today guys," he said softly. "Way to make it fierce. I'm talking especially to you, Mabel. Dipper, your act could have used a little work. A little less terrified, more terrifying, you know?"
Of course, there wasn't a reply. Stan shook his head and stood back. "Good work guys, I'll see you later," he turned to reach for the door, but he gasped aloud and leaped back when he saw he was not alone outside of the prisoned side of the cell. Dipper sat in the corner, making himself as small as possible, his many eyes blinking up at Stan.
"How did you get out?" Stan breathed, fear stopping his veins and tightening his muscles. There was a low growl behind him, and he was too paralyzed to turn. A pair of cat-like glowing eyes blinked open in the darkest corner, and a set of razor-sharp claws glistened in the bad light.
"I'm sorry," Stan whispered, words that would soon become his last.