Author's Note: This is the first chapter where I didn't have a clear idea in my head of what I wanted, and as a result, I'm not terribly happy with it. It feels very slapdash and rushed, but it's probably just me. I hope y'all like it.

Chapter 4: Property Taxes

Stanford awoke on the floor, lying next to the mirror, with burnt-out candles surrounding him. That was probably a fire hazard. He should probably do this in a less flammable place than his bedroom next time.

The first thing he noticed as he stood up was that he could feel the memories slipping away already. The trip into Stan's mind was a dream, and like many dreams, the details became more fuzzy the more he woke up. He quickly pulled out the first volume of the Journal and jotted down everything he could remember. He looked at how crowded the pages were. He really needed to start a new journal.

After cleaning up, (and by cleaning up, he meant sweeping everything aside into a pile) Ford grabbed his metal detector and mobile LIDAR emitter. He had another long day of Journal hunting ahead of him.

He was about to leave out the back door when the perimeter alarm went off. The hair on the back of his neck prickled with fear, but he couldn't help being annoyed. This would happen today.

He traded the equipment for his trusty crossbow. Who or what ever it was, it couldn't be good. Could it be some dangerous creature, attracted by the power of the portal? Spies coming to steal his research for nefarious purposes? Something that had followed him back from the mindscape, trying to trick him into becoming its physical vessel? That secret society Bill had mentioned? A million possibilities rushed through Stanford's mind, each worse than the last. His heart started racing. He suddenly became hyper-aware of every sound in the house.

Whatever it was, he wouldn't go down without a fight. He peeked through a small hole in the boarded-up windows. There, coming down the dirt driveway, was a sleek, shiny, new, black car. They were making no attempts to hide their approach, which meant one of two things. This was a distraction, or whoever it was thought they could easily overpower him.

Well, they thought wrong.

Ford stayed at the window, looking around, just in case it was a distraction. The car stopped and a well-dressed man stepped out. The man looked around at the barbed wire, 'keep out' signs, and general disarray of the property with disdain. He reached into his perfectly tailored suit and pulled out a flyer and a stapler. He proceeded to staple the flier to the door.

Ford kicked the door open, knocking the high-class man back. "What do you think you're doing!? Who sent you? The Soviets? Cipher?" He yelled, pointing his crossbow directly at the man's face.

The man looked up with a mixture of fear and indignation. "I-I-I never in my life… do you have any idea who I am?"

"No, so you'd better start talking!"

"I'm Sterling Northwest! I own Northwest Realty, along with the rest of this town!" Mr. Northwest said imperiously, as if that actually meant something.

"Ha!" Ford barked a bitter, crazed laugh. "You think you phonies intimidate me? I've done some digging on your family, I know all about you frauds!"

Sterling grabbed the crossbow and shoved it out of his face with a strength that belied his posh exterior. "I don't care what you think you know. I am under full right of the law to foreclose on this property! You haven't paid your mortgage in six months! We've sent you warning letter after warning letter! Honestly, I was under the impression you'd abandoned the place, or died. No one's seen anyone come in or out of this house since winter!"

Oh no… paying the bills had been the last thing on Ford's mind the past few months. He didn't remember getting any warning notices… but… come to think of it, he hadn't checked the mail in a while. Had it really been six months?

He couldn't lose the house. That simply wasn't an option. He still had to figure out that portal so he could save Stan! He still had so many dangerous specimens lying around, things that couldn't fall into the wrong hands!

"However much is due, I'll pay it all now." Ford felt around in his pockets for a checkbook, not taking his eyes off the man. "But you can't foreclose. I need this house."

Northwest smirked, dusting himself off. "The payment was due yesterday. This eviction notice" He pointed to the flyer he'd stapled to the door, "gives you until the end of the week to move out. But I'm a generous man. Make the payment in full by Friday and you'll keep the house. You'll have to come into town and do some paperwork, of course."

Stanford didn't take his eyes off Sterling Northwest until he had driven out of sight. Something smelled fishy about this. He doubted the high and mighty Northwests did this sort of dirtywork for every foreclosure. Knowing their sordid past, it was likely that they wanted to use his knowledge of the paranormal to tighten their grip on the town. They might even be working for Bill.

But that didn't change the fact that they could take his house away from him, and no amount of blackmail or exposed secrets could stop property taxes. Under different circumstances, maybe he could have moved all his research and equipment into the bunker, and just stayed there. But the bunker was compromised, and the portal… he couldn't leave that.

So Ford checked the balance in his checkbook. There were a few hundred dollars of grant money left. Not nearly enough. So he gathered up anything he could sell. Most of his belongings were things he couldn't safely let go of. Basically anything relating to the paranormal was out. It was simply too dangerous for the layman, and heaven forbid it fall into the hands of someone who could use it for evil. But electronics were a hot commodity, and he had plenty of circuit boards, tape-readers, and even monitors that he could part with. Hopefully that would be enough.


Stanford hadn't been in town in a long time. He'd tried to make himself look a little less like a homeless person before leaving. Taken a shower, shaved, changed into clothes that he was 65% sure were clean. His hair was still longer than he would have liked though, and his eyes were bloodshot like a drunk. No wonder people gave him odd looks as he passed them in the street. But he was used to people staring. Being born with six fingers will do that.

When he reached the electronics store, he plopped down a sampling of circuits and vacuum tubes in front of a distracted looking cashier. "How much can you give me for a whole trunk-full of these?" Stanford asked.

The cashier looked up at him with a start. He looked like he'd been through the ringer. His arm was bandaged in a sling, and a bandaid barely concealed a large scrape on his face, which might explain why he hadn't shaved in a while. On top of all that, it appeared his hair was falling out.

"Oh, uh, yes, probably a lot. That looks like some hightly 'vanced thingama- I-I mean, they look like highly advanced parts." The cashier stammered nervously.

Stanford stared at the man. There was something familiar about his voice and his large nose.

"... Fiddleford? Fiddleford McGucket?"

McGucket looked back at him, confused. "Sorry, d-do I know you?"

"It's me, Stanford! Stanford Pines!" Geez, the long hair must have been worse than he thought.

Fiddleford's face changed to an expression of… well, Ford couldn't even tell what that expression was supposed to be. Anger? Fear? Sadness? Shame? Some unholy amalgam of all of those?

"I-I'm sorry, I didn't recogmagize-re-recognize you." Fiddleford stammered.

"I didn't recognize you either! What happened? You look terrible."

"...I was in a car accident." McGucket said slowly.

"Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry!" Ford said, and he meant it. Look what had happened to his friend while he'd been shut up in his house. "Is there anything I can do?"

"No!" McGucket cried earnestly, then simmered back down to quiet and nervous. "Naw, I'll manage. I… uh… I'll go get the manager, he'll want to see what you have…"

Fiddleford zipped into the back of the shop before Stanford could say another word, and soon the young researcher was showing his car-full of electronics to a young man wearing a clean polo shirt and a 'manager' tag. While the manager looked through his goods, Ford's mind was back at the shop. What was up with McGucket? He thought of what Bill had said. Was his old college buddy really responsible for his lost memories? Was that why Fiddleford had acted so strangely when he recognized Ford?

He was so caught up in his thoughts that he forgot to haggle the price. Before he even realized the deal was done, Ford was standing there with a wad of cash in his hand. Coming back down to reality, he counted his earnings and mentally added it to the remaining grant money. He was still over a hundred dollars short. He gave a heavy sigh. He was going to have to do something he never thought he'd do.

He was going to have to look at the wanted-ads.

He had five days to find a job and earn over a hundred dollars. Unfortunately, Gravity Falls was a small town, and it was almost summer. All the jobs were being snatched up by teenagers looking for a way to make cash over the break. Of the few available positions, most wouldn't earn him enough money in a week. And really, Stanford just needed a temporary position. There was really only one job that fit his needs. Luckily he felt he was perfectly qualified for it. It just wasn't a job he wanted to do.

Stanford had hated high school. Imagine how much worse being a high school substitute teacher would be.

Author's Notes: More Stanford being in denial, this time about McGucket. And in case you're wondering, no, Sterling Northwest isn't going to be an important character in this. I just needed something to hit home to Stanford how he really needs to stop being a shut-in and get a job. Plus the Northwests are shady as all get out, and they do have that tapestry of Bill Cipher in their house, so I wouldn't be surprised if they worked for him in some way, shape, or form.