(A/N: Mind you, this story comes about a week or less after Sock Opera.)

(A/N 2: This story will be on hiatus until I have sorted through my life and gotten a few more chapters written. I'm sick of not being able to continue something that people want to read, and then letting them down because I'm unable to provide. This story is still being continued, just not right now.)

After that evening, everything seemed weightier. Almost like it meant something.

Every pebble. Every shadow. Every shape. All of it, encased in a suffocating darkness that made breathing difficult to do. With all the new meaning came even more fears that hid within every crevice and every dream.

The journal. It wanted the journal. It needed the journal. The demon needs the journal. The same velvet red journal tucked tightly in unrelenting strength. He couldn't let it get to the journal. The thought of how close it had gotten to destroying it that evening made his chest ache with fear.

Oh, how close it had gotten. Mere inches away. It had been down to his sister, who had been a better sibling to him than he could ever be to her. He had been a ghost, his body unfeeling and numb, slipping through walls and floors unnaturally to attempt to stop the demon. The way he had taken control of a puppet that was in his image and his newfound ability to feel through the cotton of the sock made the boy shudder in discomfort.

Both boy's arms were covered in thick layers of bandages, his scarlet blood still spilling from the numerous punctures through his skin, coloring the coverings a deep red. Along his forearms were purple bruises that made his muscles scream with each flex. His head was wrapped in gauze pads, held in place using medical tape. His eyes were still heavy with sleep, though he forced his eyes open each time he tried to drift off.

He needed to be strong. His sister was worried about him. But he'd show her. He'd show them all that he wasn't crazy, that nothing was just in his injured mind. He'd show them that he was still as sane as anyone else. And to do that, he needed proof; just as the handyman had told him.

Dipper closed the book silently, his eyes drifting over to her sleeping form in the bed across the room. Feeling the cold air soak into him as he slipped out of bed, he shivered before hugging the journal ever closer to his chest. Tip-toeing across the room, the boy risked opening the door to their room. Holding his breath for a moment, his hesitance led to his hand hovering over the doorknob in a taunting manner. His mind kept wandering back to that evening, returning to a question that never seemed to leave his mind. Will it happen again?

Biting his lip, Dipper glanced back at his sister, still sound asleep in her bed. Again, Dipper felt relieved that she had disposed of the puppets that had once coated the floor and lined her bed frame. Mabel seemed just as relieved when Dipper had requested the riddance of the things.

Dipper turned back to the doorknob, his hand still hovering over it. Taking a shallow breath, he opened it.

Creeeeeaakkkk...

Dipper froze, hardly daring to breathe. Behind him, he heard multiple rustles of blankets moving, the result of the sleeping figure shifting restlessly in her sleep. Waiting only a moment, Dipper inhaled slowly before pushing it open just a little more.

Creeeak...

Freezing once more, Dipper had opened it just barely enough to get through. He slipped carefully through, his socked feet scuffing the floor silently as he made his way down the old, wooden stairs. His eyes scanned the area, taking in as many details as he could while in the dark. What made his heart almost stop, however, were the moving shadows that were shifting just beyond the curtains that hid the rest of the Mystery Shack from customers' views.

Dipper inhaled sharply before continuing down the steps. Reaching the bottom, he crouched low to the ground, the journal still glued to his chest. With a leery gaze, Dipper reached for the curtain; the one concealing the shifting shadows beyond. He pulled it back, his eyes widened as he glanced around.

Nothing.

Dipper let out a small, airy laugh and a shaky, apprehensive smile. The shadows were just figures of his overactive, tired mind. His relief quickly soured at the recognition. He had almost agreed with them, blaming his statements on the head injury.

Dipper's hand instinctively went to the gauze pads, his mind becoming distrait as his eyes scanned thoughtlessly over the numerous shadows blanketing the Shack's innards. His gaze flitted around cautiously at the T-shirts and snow globes before stepping forward, out into the open area. He quietly stalked up to the front door, grasping the knob with his hand before turning it, pushing the door open.

He stepped outside, the cold air nipping at his fingers and toes while he inhaled the crisp scent of night. Walking down the last few wooden stairs, Dipper let his feet carry him off the dirt road and into the darker forest, the grass was soft and cool to the touch. As he walked, he looked at the book in his hands, mentally debating on whether to open it and continue leafing through the pages, trying to take in enough information about anything that would help him later. But after just ten seconds, he opened the journal up to a random page and started to skim quickly through the writing.

As he kept walking, his eyes scanned the picture of a gnome, a creature he had both met and despised. Though his head started to ache from usage, and he had already memorized the page, he reread the words as if it were the first time he laid his eyes on them. He flipped the page, this one about the mysterious Golden Truth Teeth. Scowling in thought, Dipper peered closer at the words despite the growing pain behind his eyes.

Then something ran into him; or more accurate, he ran into it. He rubbed his nose, glaring openly at the tree that had caused him the pain. He glanced down and quickly picked up the journal, brushing off the debris from the ground. Then a realization hit him like a smack to the head.

Dipper looked around. Nothing looked familiar. Not the path, nor the trees, or even the branches that covered the sky. Before panic could set in, Dipper took a deep breath, inhaling for a few seconds before exhaling again. All he needed to do was retrace his steps. That was all.

The boy turned around, proceeding to walk forward. After a few minutes, still, nothing seemed familiar. It seemed like everything was new like he was in a different forest altogether. Though he was afraid and wanted to go home, Dipper couldn't help but feel curious as to why he'd never seen this part of the forest before.

It was then that the dirt path widened considerably, revealing a large area of dry dirt, much like the land around the Shack. In the middle of said area stood a run-down, dust-grey cabin that was falling apart at the seams.

The logs were cracked and flaking while the window glass seemed to have been shattered long ago, leaving nothing but empty holes that would be easy to jump through. Dipper's eyes widened at the revelation. His mind immediately went to the ghosts he had discovered in the old convenience store a few weeks prior. Looking down at his book, Dipper flipped through the pages, glancing at each one for less than a second before he found the correct page: Ghosts.

The picture was grey and obscured, and looked like a stereotypical bedsheet ghost with black chasms for eyes and a black frown for a mouth. Just looking at the page, the big red letters were the biggest on the sheet, with a thick line underlining the words in the same ink. Dipper tried remembering the page location before glancing up at the cabin, snapping the book shut and clutching it close to his chest.

He walked towards the cabin, his steps leery while his gaze switched restlessly from rotting log to rotting log to avoid tripping over them. Said logs were scattered everywhere, seemingly cut from trees around the cabin but not from the building itself; it was still standing. Dipper, his heart racing with curiosity and fear, stepped over the last log, glancing up at the large cabin.

His mouth hung open at the closer sight, but he couldn't say it looked any better. Getting closer aided him in seeing the sheer number of parasites and decomposers that littered the wall, termite burrowing through the rotting wood, mushrooms peeking out from between cracks, and insects, scurrying through holes and along railings. Cringing, Dipper put aside this fact for just a moment, taking a step up the old wooden stairs.

It creaked horribly but didn't give. He tested out the next one. This one had made a snapping sound, a piece of the wood below the stairs assumingly being broken in half by his weight. Gritting his teeth, Dipper looked at the last step, one that could barely be considered a step with all the ants and beetles running over it. He almost wanted to bail out.

He tested out the last step. Finding it could hold him, he hurried onto the porch.

Each step on the wood made a foul creaking that made Dipper's heart lurch with fear. Couple that with the ever-lowering temperature, he was sure there was a ghost haunting the building. Dipper looked at the rusted door handle in apprehension.

The rust, though having nothing to do with it, vaguely reminded him of the blood that was still seeping into the bandages. The sickening smell of dried blood, and the disturbing feeling of constant bleeding.

He shuddered openly, grasping the doorknob and turning it. It didn't even turn, the rust practically flaking off with each movement. Dipper furrowed his brows. He tried again, forcing the door open with difficulty, but it opened this time. Not wanted to be trapped inside, Dipper left the door wide open as he ventured inside.

The same outside, the building was dark. Cobwebs hung from every visible rafter, though even those seemed to be abandoned. It was freezing, making goosebumps appear along Dipper's arms as he took a shuddering breath. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end and he glanced around, wide-eyed at the cabin's innards.

He stepped forward, walking into the foyer of the house. The couch and television were covered in many layers of dust, making them appear grey and colorless. Even as he walked, Dipper took note of the powder that was now coating his socks. He rubbed his arms, walking around leerily, looking up and seeing a staircase. They led up to the second floor.

Gritting his teeth, Dipper decided to ignore the second floor for the time being. He stalked through the living room and into the kitchen, the tiles cracked and powdery. The cabinets were open, but nothing was taken from inside; leaving cracked china, dusty pots, and multiple old pans out in the open on the shelves. It was unnatural.

Dipper shivered as his gaze landed on another set of stairs, these ones leading down into the basement below. He swallowed thickly, not sure if he wanted to venture alone any further that night. Reluctantly, he decided it would be best to return home before the sun rose. He didn't need anyone worrying about him because he left overnight.

He turned around, returning to the front door. Furrowing his brows, he turned the knob and it opened with even more difficulty. Shoving the door out of his way, Dipper hurried down the steps, choosing to not heed the insects that covered the staircase.

So, he hurried home. A few minutes along he found a Mystery Shack sign that he had nailed up prior and followed the now-familiar forest of trees back home to the Shack. It was lucky for him that he had been able to leave that cabin.

For everyone who had gone in, never came out.

A/N: Thank you to anyone who decided to check this book out. It really means a lot that you would choose to read it, especially since I don't really have any beta readers to check it for me. Any reviews would be awesome! So, good day to you, my friends, and have a wonderful evening.

-Dragon