Beware the Banshee

Chapter 1

"I didn't expect this!" Dipper panted as they sped down the hill.

Wendy, dressed out for running—she had stashed an overnight bag in Grunkle Stan's car before the two of them flew down to California—laughed, her long legs flashing. "You gotta stay in trainin', man!"

"Yeah, but I'm a sprinter! It's like, four miles to the Shack!"

"We'll slow down when we get off the driveway!"

The McGucket house—formerly the Northwest Mansion—perched atop a sort of butte, just big enough for the enormous house and a sloping but expansive backyard. The approach lay in a steep, long drive, and running down it was almost as hard as running up it. "Have to—come back—for my stuff!" Dipper gasped.

"No sweat, Dip! Stan an' Mabel will haul it over."

Dipper saved his breath for running. Fine thing! Five-thirty on a Sunday morning, his first day away from school and back in Gravity Falls, and Wendy had practically yanked him out of bed after only about three and a half hours of sleep, and then she told him he had three minutes to dress out, and with him dressed but barely conscious, she had led him outside to stretch out and set off for the long run to the Mystery Shack!

He would have hated it. Except here she was in a tank top, running shorts, and her track shoes, her long red hair flying as they sped downhill.

"Man," he gasped, "I missed this so much!"

"Me too, dude! Here we go. Leveling out. OK, let's pace it so we don't collapse."

They settled into the long-stride lope that would carry them for miles. With a little warm surprise, Dipper realized he could make it. A year of track had at least conditioned his body so an effort that would have collapsed him a year earlier was now easy to take—so to speak—in stride. He even got his breath back.

And though his head still felt the fog of sleep deprivation, the fresh air in his lungs, the blue sky overhead, and the girl beside him made all the difference. The sun had risen only minutes earlier and had not yet heated everything up, so they ran through a cool morning, past rows of pines that scented the air. They made the turn and headed toward town, running alongside the highway, no cars on it this early. Ahead of them a couple of deer, a doe and a young fawn, bolted and sped off into the forest.

"Can you talk?" Wendy asked.

"Yeah, think so. Little bit hard."

"OK, that's s'posed to be a sign that this is a good cardio pace. You sweatin', man?"

"Yeah."

"Then we nailed it. So tell me about that first race you won."

"Against four other schools. Small meet. Pretty easy win for me. Surprise was I had to run in the 800. Hadn't trained for that."

"Why'd you have to run?"

"Flu season. Our regular guy got sick. I didn't win."

"Too bad, but I'm not surprised."

"Came in second. Cooledge, the guy who won, also took the state championship last Saturday."

Wendy laughed so hard she staggered a little before regaining her rhythm. "Not too shabby! Hey, you did pack the trapper hat again?"

"Yeah, in my duffel."

"Then Stan will bring it to the Shack later."

They reached downtown, still sleeping in the long-shadowed light of first day. Dipper felt a glow—they passed Greasy's Diner, just opening for early breakfast, and he waved at Lazy Susan, unlocking the door. She yelled, "Hi, Dipper! Good to see ya!"

Ah, there ahead he saw the patrol car. Gravity Falls's finest, and that wasn't saying much, ever alert, ready to serve and protect (the deputy served the sheriff coffee, and the sheriff protected their doughnuts against thieves) sat inside the cruiser. They had parked at the curb and both were snoozing, Sheriff Blubs snoring loud enough to scare away a woodpecker, Deputy Durland slumped with his head hanging out the passenger side, a long string of drool hanging from his open mouth.

Wendy and Dipper ran past, and then out of town they sidetracked to the water tower. "What happened to Robbie's muffin?" Dipper asked, surprised that the tower looked fresh.

"They painted over it," Wendy said. "Robbie's, like, too mature now to climb back up an' re-do the explosion. Tried to talk Thompson into doin' it, but for a change he turned down a dare."

"I may climb up and do it," Dipper said. "Doesn't look like home without the muffin!"

"Hey, Dip?"

"Yeah?"

"Speakin' of that, I really kinda like the water tower like it was before Robbie decorated it. Uh—just wonderin', dude. You didn't start the guitar just to copy Robbie, did you?"

"No! No, I—just—well, I get lonely and it was, you know, something I wanted to do." They rounded the base of the water tower and then started off on the stretch to the Shack, a long uphill grade, but not a tough one. "Anyway, no, my guitar's not electric, just an acoustic. And I don't play head-banging stuff. 'Oh Susannah' is more my speed."

"Cool. You gotta play for me some time," Wendy said.

"Sure," Dipper told her, his heart beating faster, and not from the run. "Uh, only I—well, I never played for, you know, anybody but my folks and Mabel. Have to practice a little."

"When you're ready, Dip. When you're ready."

The Stanleymobile passed them, Stan honking the horn and Mabel leaning out the passenger window stretching her mouth wide with two fingers and sticking her tongue out.

"She's not growin' up much," Wendy said, laughing.

More seriously, Dipper said, "Yeah, she is. Kinda. She's been depressed."

"Warned ya, it comes with bein' a teen. Acne and angst, man!"

"Yeah. I really think she needs you to talk to. She's started thinking she's too fat."

"Fat? Get out of town! I'd say she's just right for Mabel!"

Dipper was breathing harder now on the slope. "Tell her that. Mom's not much for confiding in. And Mabel's got boy worries, too."

"Yeah, dude, she told me a little bit about this Trey guy. Sounded like a jerk."

"Big-time jerk," Dipper said.

After a few moments of silence, Wendy said in a frosty kind of tone, "Mabel told me about Charmaine, too, and some girl named Eloise. What is up with that, dude?"

Dipper stumbled and nearly fell. "What! Did Mabel tell you who Charmaine is?"

"Said you danced with her all night at one of the school dances."

"Three times!" he yelped. "And that—was 'cause—Mabel said—I had to!"

"There's the driveway," Wendy said. "Let's walk it out the rest of the way, cool down."

Gratefully, Dipper slowed to a walk. Then he said, "Charmaine's a French exchange student. Hardly speaks English. She was all alone at the dance, looking miserable. Mabel said I should offer to dance with her, so I did. OK, so she kissed me after the third dance. On the cheek! I've hardly said two words to her since that night. We're not even in any classes together, and that was back in March!"

"I've heard about those French girls," Wendy said ominously. "What about Eloise, huh? You cheatin' on me left an' right, man?"

"Wendy!" Dipper started to explain how he'd toured the haunted Westminster Mystery House, how Eloise was a girl his age with a strange gift of second sight, and how the tour guide had told everybody to hold hands—and then he realized Wendy was chuckling. "You're putting me on," he said, relieved.

"Yeah, big time, dude," Wendy said. They had reached the curve in the drive, just out of view of both road and house. "C'mere."

They hugged and exchanged a kiss. "Man," she said as they walked toward the Mystery Shack holding hands. "You are gettin' so tall! I bet I don't have six inches on you now." Then, very unexpectedly, she reached down and briefly grabbed his hip. "An' Mabel was right about that butt!"

"Don't!" he pleaded, squirming. "You're gonna get me all—I won't be in shape to go inside."

She laughed again. "Sorry, man."

The Stanleymobile had been parked next to Soos's Jeep, the trunk lid still open. As they passed, Dipper saw that all the luggage was gone, so he slammed the lid down. They went in through the gift shop, and Dipper noticed that the new snack bar adjoining it, sort of a mini-fast food restaurant, looked ready for business. "How's that workin' out?" he asked Wendy.

"Soos hired a short-order cook, an' Abuelita helps, too. Even with the extra paycheck goin' to the cook, Soos says they're sellin' enough burgers and hot dogs to make a little profit on it. Better, the tourists hang around through the lunch hour now an' buy more junk. Been a good spring. Hi, everybody!"

The Ramirez family sat at the breakfast table, and Mabel and Stan shared it with them. "Hey!" Dipper said. "Look at Little Soos! He's growin', man!"

"Dah," the six-month-old said. Melody cuddled him, and he grinned like Soos (but toothlessly), though he had his mother's eyes, and a little tuft of hair had sprouted on top of his head that was nearly the same color as Melody's.

"See!" Soos exclaimed with excitement. "Hey, Dip, I was tellin' everybody, he's talkin! He called you 'dawg,' dawg!"

"Oh, Soos, he said 'dah,'" Mabel told him. "The same way he said 'goo' earlier and you said he was calling me 'girl!'"

"Well, he's tryin' an' junk!" Soos said. "He can, like, crawl! Well, sorta drag himself along, but he moves. An' he's eatin' some baby food now!" He turned to the baby, cooing and chuckling in Melody's lap. "Dawg, you like sweet potatoes, don't you!"

The baby gurgled and laughed.

"He's a real genius," Stan said, not sounding sarcastic. Well, not very.

"Hello," Abuelita said to Dipper. "My, you have grown. I am so glad you do not grease your hair any longer. You have breakfast now?"

Dipper smiled. "Thanks. I want to take a quick shower and change first, though."

"I call the shower after you, man!" Wendy told him. "Hey, Stan, you remember to bring my overnight bag?"

"It's in my room," Mabel told her. "What do you want to eat? I'll fix it!" She pushed back her empty plate, which had traces of pancakes, turkey bacon, and syrup.

"Thanks, Mabes. Just cereal's fine," Wendy said, settling in a chair next to Mabel. "Those wheat flakes if there are any, nothin' sweet. Coffee, please."

Dipper went up the stairs to the attic and for a moment just stood in the bedroom doorway, smiling. Everything looked, everything felt so right. Just the way he remembered it. The way it should be.

His suitcase, duffel, and guitar case had been set on the bed. He opened the duffel, took out the trapper's hat and some clothes for himself—cargo pants, not shorts, and a T-shirt in royal blue with "Piedmont Wildcats" on the front—the track team's name—and also underpants and socks. He took a quick shower, sprayed on some deodorant—huh, his armpits were really hairy now—and then wondered if he'd used too much.

With a wet washcloth, he removed some, then did one cautious spritz per pit. He didn't want to smell sweaty, the way he used to when he hated bathing—and yet he didn't want to smell the way Robbie used to at his age, as Mabel said "as if somebody had stirred together anger, hormones, and a gallon of body spray."

"Man," he told his reflection as he set down the deodorant, "I really am a teen!"

But at least, like Mabel he'd never had a terrible case of acne—just two or three occasional spots and zits now and then. He rubbed his chin. Might be time to shave again, though it had only been three days. Eh, it was just a little scattered stubble.

He dressed and went downstairs. Wendy was laughing about something and had just pushed her cereal bowl back. "Upstairs shower's yours," Dipper said.

"Thanks, man. Hey, school shirt?"

"Um—yeah. Track team wears them," Dipper said.

Soos looked excited. "Yeah, dude, Wendy was just tellin' us you're like the champion of the world or something? And you an' Ford, like, are authors and junk? Man, I know somebody famous!"

Wendy got up and said, "Take my chair, Dip. What do you want? I'll get it."

"Uh, thanks! Same cereal you had's fine," Dipper said. "And about half a cup of coffee? With milk?"

"Whoa!" Wendy said. "Coffee! You won't be trippin' on it, will you?"

"Don't think so. Not after just a couple hours of sleep!" Dipper said.

Mabel made a puff of dismissal. In her most mature tone, she said, "Wendy, please, we started drinking coffee months ago."

"Yeah, but Mom limits her to half a cup a day," Dipper said. "So I take just half a cup, too."

"Just 'cause when I had a whole cup I tried to start a flash dance in home room when we got to school!" Mabel exclaimed.

"Yeah, but that didn't work out so good. So I'll only risk half a cup, too. For the time being," Dipper said.

"Coffee's gotta be an improvement over Mabel Juice," Stan rumbled.

"Hey, I gotta go play with Waddles and Widdles!" Mabel said, jumping up. "Later, guys!" She raced out, and the back door banged behind her.

"Thanks, Wendy. I'm surprised she could wait this long," Dipper said as the redhead set a bowl full of Wheaty Crunch down for him.

Wendy said, "She didn't. She told me that she'd already said hello to them and that they were rejoicing in a—what was it? A porcine way."

"Yeah, she's all about vocabulary lately," Dipper said. He poured milk into the bowl of cereal as Wendy set down his coffee cup.

"Gonna shower an' dress," Wendy said. "Then I guess I better get home. No tellin' what my dad and brothers have done to the place!"

"Dude," Soos said, "remember to bring your new badge in to work tomorrow."

"And I have something to give you before you leave," Dipper said. He had stuck the trapper's hat in his belt.

"Oh, I won't forget," Wendy said. "Back in a few."

Dipper heard her go back to Mabel's room, the guest room that Soos had added a year previously. "New badge?" he asked Soos.

Soos smiled like a beaver spotting a tasty tree. "Yeah, dawg. Wendy got, like, a promotion? She's the Assistant Manager now."

"Wow! She didn't tell me!" Dipper said.

Stan shrugged. "Meh, she still does the same job she never useta do for me. The title's just Soos's excuse to pay her more for goofin' off."

He didn't look upset, though. Though he and Stanford still technically owned the Mystery Shack, they took no money from it, other than a token dollar-a-year rental from Soos. That let Soos plow about half the profits—and they were mounting up—into improving and building onto the Shack. As for Stan and Ford, they had enough to get by on, Ford on a constant and substantial income from his patents, Stan—well, he made some money gambling, and he had another source that he wouldn't talk about until the statute of limitations expired. The two of them lived very comfortably, at any rate.

Dipper felt impressed that Soos could make the improvements he did while maintaining the impression that the Mystery Shack was a shambles. The red "S" on the roof sign, for example, remained permanently fallen. Soos had even nailed it into place up there, though he had re-shingled the roof.

However, he had also carefully re-sodded the moss that grew up there.

Inside, the floors now lay smooth and solid, with no more warped boards. The stairs to the attic stood sound, not half-broken, though Soos had worked hard to preserve the creaks. He'd made the Shack better, sturdier, and yet—it still looked and felt like the Shack.

"Soos," Dipper said, "you're a good boss and a great manager. And a fine Mr. Mystery!"

"Aw, dawg!" Soos said. "I learned from the best."

Stan lifted his coffee cup. "Now, I will drink to that!"

Dipper lifted his own cup, half milk, half coffee. "To Soos!" he said. "The Handyman of the Apocalypse!"

"Aw, dawg, you like remembered or some junk!" Soos said. He grinned and added in a wistful tone, "I only wish somebody had written some folk songs about all that."

Dipper thought of his guitar up in the attic.

"There's still time, man," he said. "Maybe somebody will."