Ta-da! the rest of "Descent into Madness" and some foreshadowing for more . . . sinisterly triangular, warringly white, and devious dirty-blond outcomes. for those of you who tried to decipher the codes that showed up yesterday . . .try again, right now, or do it if you haven't before reading this. It's going to be revealed today, so now's your last chance to figure it out for youselves. The website for the easier way to decode everything is in the last chapter or two.
As always, enjoy!
Chapter 10: Wrap-Up and De-CIPHER-ing
Day 713 -
I've officially passed on the title of leader to Blind Ivan, as he is now known by. I can tell that I'm slowly losing it, in some part of my mind. I . . . I thought it'd be for the best. I guess I was wrong. I could see it in the way they looked at me.
I was an embarrassment of a founder, but they still respected me for being the founder in general. Several days later, as I was headed down the stairs after opening up the secret passage, I was grabbed. I wasn't wearing my robe; stupid!
All they saw was a crazy-looking old man, not the well-groomed and sensible-looking man that the oldest members remembered, before we all started hiding our identities -mostly- from one another. In a moment of blind panic, I snatched up the gun-thing they had pointed at me and shot them all with it.
However, in the process, I accidentally erased all of their memories of me being the founder. They drag me, thrashing and shouting into the chair, and then . . . then I can't remember anything as they . . . shoot me with some strange device.
I squint, trying to recall, but I can't. They . . . escort me out, and, dazedly, I head home. Half way there, I distantly remember that I don't have a home. So, I turn towards the motel . . . only to get kicked out by the manager.
I curse at them in my own twisted, mixed up words, to little effect.
Day 962 -
Well, I've been living on the streets for months now. People hardly give me a passing glance, or shake their heads at me in pity. I've tried to go to my son, but he won't talk to me, either. Any tourists or vizza-tours shoot me weird looks and keep away.
Every now and then, I wander down the old road to some weirdly familiar house with a high, pointed roof. The man who lives there shakes his head at me, "poor pitiful thing" but his eyes are haunted by memories of the past.
I always feel faintly jealous; most of my memories are just a blur. I come closer, where he's showing something off to some tourists. He sends me a little glare before acting jovial again. When I come closer and people start to stare, he chases me off.
My curiosity draws me back again, however. The place feels so familiar, but I can't recall why. Again and again, the man chases me away. And again and again, I return.
It became like a game. I continued on with it, but started coming at different times of day, rather than constantly. It became . . . almost normal, in a way.
Day ? ? ? -
"Yair-roo! Yerks-ihvee! Gerze-matov!" I shout, celebrating having completed making my new home in the dump, making a triangle with my fingers and placing it over one eye, laughing manically. I continue my hootenanny for a while, then duck back inside as it starts to rain.
Later that year;
about Midwinter -
The snow is cold on my bare feet as I trudge through the deep drifts. I'm going to the one place where I think I might find a smidge of help. I don't know where my son lived, and could only find him when the boat-fishing place was open, and it'd been closed for months.
The wide brim on my hat kept the snow out of my face, unless the wind blew just wrong. I rubbed my arms repeatedly, trying to get some warmth back in them, wriggling my toes now and then to see if they were still numb or not.
I could just see the house when it started to get dark through the heavy snowfall; and the wind really began to howl aloud. I gripped the brim of my hat and pulled it over my face, pressing onwards. I really hoped I was right about this, or this could be the end of Fiddleford McGucket.
As I got closer and it got darker and colder, I saw lights in the windows. Hopefully, whoever-he-was would be kind enough to help an old-timer. I clambered onto the front porch, hesitated, then gave the door a few good solid raps with my knuckles.
I heard a shouted, "Be right there!" I backed up a pace or two - but stepped backwards onto nothing. I yelped as I fell off the porch and into the freezing snow, but one ankle, I think my left, caught on something, half-twisting it as I fell. My head hit the something hard, and I saw stars.
I look up dazedly as the door opened and the man peered out. Just as he was about to go back inside, I managed a feeble shout. He froze and looked around, frowned, then ducked inside, shutting the door behind him.
I sigh quietly, struggling to sit up or pull my foot free or something. A minute or so later, the door opened again, the man walking back out wearing a coat and holding a lantern. He walked to the edge of the porch, peering into the windblown snowy darkness beyond.
I gave my foot another hard yank, yelping when it came free, as it scraped and twisted my heel. The man jumped back in surprise, looking down. His eyes narrowed. I froze, looking up at him. For several long moments, we stared at one another.
I half-flinched when he grabbed a cane, walking over my way with it. I tried to push myself up, but feeling was escaping my hands and feet; I wasn't even sure if they were moving. He held the cane down towards me, not smacking at me with it, just holding it within arm's reach.
After several long moments, he grunted. "Well, are you gonna grab it or what?" he half-demanded.
I nodded numbly, reaching up and grasping it with trembling hands. I couldn't feel the wood beneath my numb fingers. After making sure I was hanging on, he pulled me upright, took my right arm, and hauled me onto the porch.
He breathed in sharply, eyeing my left ankle as I stumbled. I followed his gaze and saw the large scrape simply gushing blood. I hadn't even felt it. He sighed and rubbed at his eyes, taking me by the shoulder and leading me inside.
The first thing I noticed was how warm it was inside. He sat me down in a chair at a table and pulled some bandages and other stuff from below the sink. He dabbed on some disinfectant and wrapped a bandage around my ankle and part of my foot.
I was shivering, but I tried to hide it. Not sure how successful I was. The man rolled his eyes and left the room. I peered around the space I was in. It was still too blurry to really make anything out properly, but this place felt oddly . . . familiar.
I flexed my fingers as they became less numb, rubbing my hands together a little. A sharp, burning pain in my ankle made me yelp, and I looked down ruefully at the bandaged scrape . . . that was probably more than just a scrape.
I stretched out my limbs with a yawn and curled them in close, half-tugging my hat brim down over my eyes, feeling drowsy. This was actually quite a bit more than I'd hoped for. At most, I was hoping he might toss me some scraps. I hadn't particularly expected him to take me inside and fix up my ankle.
I blinked my eyes open when I felt something heavy and warm press onto me. I looked down at the blanket hat had probably been tossed onto me. Slowly looking up, I watched the Mystery mans' retreating form go through the door.
I shrugged sleepily and tried to relax, chin hitting my chest as I drifted off. It was the scent of food that woke me up. The other man -Mister E., as I was now calling him in my head- was sitting across from me at the table, shoveling food into his mouth.
There was a plate of food in front of me, too; scrambled eggs and bacon and a few pancakes. With a small grin, I dug in, as well, feeling better and better as I got some real food into my stomach. I caught Mister E. watching me from the corner of my eyes, but whenever I looked up, he looked down at his food or at a newspaper he had spread on the table.
When I'd polished off the last pancake, I leaned back, satisfied. I tried, for a moment, to catch the man's attention, but he seemed dead-set on avoiding eye contact.
"Thank you." I said sincerely. He jerked his head up .
"What?" he demanded.
"Thank you. For helpin' out an old-timer like me." I smile a little, and he grins a little, shaking his head and muttering something that sounds suspiciously like, "No older than me," then lets it drop into a sad frown.
"You're welcome." He replied distantly, abruptly getting up and leaving the room. I ponder a little over his reaction. Then, seeing a small, spare roll of bandages on the edge of the windowsill, I get an idea. I grab it up and wrap it around the bottoms of both feet, as a sort of makeshift shoe. My toes and heels will still be exposed, but it'll definitely help.
". . .and since then," Ford finished for his friend. "I'd leave a pile of blankets and a little portal heater thing on the back-porch during winter, maybe toss him some scraps." he shrugged. "I was looking out for you, Professor, the only way I really could."
Lee was rubbing at his chin, chewing on the end of his pen in thought. Dipper was a little shell-shocked, trying to process and sort out this information, trying to glean something useful from it. Mabel was more sympathetic than anything else. Seeing the saddened, depressed atmosphere that was the gathering of people at the kitchen table, she formulated a quick plan that she knew couldn't backfire.
She stood, walked around to Fiddleford, and, as he eyed her quizzically, she flung her arms around him in a hug, she cried, "NEW FAMILY MEMBER!? You're Grunkle Fiddles, now!" she exclaimed brightly.
Lee initially flinched and hissed at the unexpected, loud outburst, but afterwards he quickly settled and tapped his chin with his pen. Ford raised an eyebrow, unfolding his newspaper. Dipper eyed her, both surprised and quizzical of her reasoning, but was quick to support her.
"Great uncle Fiddleford, huh? I like it." he grinned at her.
"Whatever floats your boat, kid." he said gruffly, but they could all catch the approval in it as he leaned over to muss up her hair, to which she squirmed and giggled.
Lee, however, made a sound of disgust. Glares sent his way quickly turned to wide eyes and fits of laughter. Lee had bitten his pen hard enough to break it, getting ink in his mouth that he quickly wiped at, trying to resist swallowing.
"Pffft, Dipping-sauce does the same thing with his 'thinking pens', hahahaha!?" Mabel giggled, wiping tears from her eyes. Dipper sent her a half-glare, muttering under his breath, but a smile still graced his lips.
Stanley finally stood, grabbed his empty cup, and went to the sink to rinse and spit. He pulled a pencil from his pocket when he sat back down, half-glared at it, then started scribbling once more on his notepad, muttering to himself. He had a worried frown on his face, and didn't even acknowledge the new "Grunkle Fiddles" declaration that Mabel had made.
She pouted and wandered over to his side of the table, leaning over to see what he was writing with a small frown. "What's wrong, Grandpa Lee?" she asked, worry and concern easily heard in her voice.
He startled a little and glanced at her, a conflicted expression on his face. He looked up and met Ford's eyes; silent, private twin-brother conversation. They made a variety of faces at one another, then finally turned to Fiddleford.
"Should we tell them about the computer, Doc Fidds?" Lee asked at last, compulsively clicking the top of his pen.
Fiddleford shrugged after a long moment. "Keeping secrets can lead to more trouble than they're worth. Tell them." he replied with a shrug, gnawing on a leftover strip of bacon.
Lee quickly explained what happened with the computer, and how it had acted funny and was on without being plugged in. Beckoning Dipper, he showed them the two sets of numbers he'd been working on deciphering. He was mostly out of practice, which was his reason for being slow so far. He actually felt rather disgruntled over it. Three years back, he could've gotten them done in under five minutes, ten minutes tops, depending on how complex it was and how many times he'd have to flip the numbers and letters around.
Dipper glanced over what he'd gotten so far, and looked up excitedly. "I could help!" he burst out, then coughed and cleared his throat. "I mean, I could help, if you want. I've been decoding some stuff in the journal, so . . . yeah." he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, but Lee surprised him with a tentative grin; not because he didn't want Dipper to help, but because he was still getting used to showing his emotions outwardly.
While Mabel and Stan cleared the table, Dipper and Lee worked on the ciphers, and Fiddles pulled out his laptop and started to work on it, muttering and fretting as he tried to calculate where, when, and why the the focal points of energy kept shifting, trying to sense a pattern.
He hadn't reached any new conclusions when Dipper and Lee stopped talking. They went completely, utterly silent. They shared nervous, questioning glances, then looked back at the paper.
"You guys," Dippers voice cracked, and he cleared his throat. "You guys might want to see this." Lee lightly pushed the paper out, and Ford, Mabel, and Fiddles crowded around.
First, it was just a bunch of numbers;
8.12.8. 8-26-5-22 14-22 21-9-12-14 23-26-9-16-13-22-8-8
19-22-15-11! 8-26-5-22 6-8 26-15-15 21-9-12-14 23-26-9-16-13-22-8-8
8.12.8. 25-22-19-18-13-23 7-19-22 9-6-8-19-18-13-20 4-26-7-22-9
19-22-15-11! 20-12 7-12 8-7-12-11 26-13-23 14-26-16-22 19-18-14 21-26-15-7-22-9
)(()()()(
23-26-9-16-13-22-8-8 9-18-8-22-8 7-12 22-13-20-6-15-21 6-8 26-15-15
8-19-12-9-7 26-13-23 7-19-18-13 26-13-23 9-12-6-13-23 26-13-23 7-26-15-15
21-18-13-23 7-22-13 16-22-2-8 7-12 7-22-13 15-12-24-16-8 26-13-23 12-13-22 23-12-12-9
12-13-15-2 21-12-6-9 12-9 21-18-5-22 13-22-22-23-22-23, 7-19-26-7 18'14 8-6-9-22
Then into gibberish;
H.L.H. HZEV NV UILN WZIPMVHH
SVOK! HZEV FH ZOO UILN WZIPMVHH
H.L.H. YVSRMW GSV IFHSRMT DZGVI
SVOK! TL GL HGLK ZMW NZPV SRN UZOGVI
)(()()()(
WZIPMVHH IRHVH GL VMTFOU FH ZOO
HSLIG ZMW GSRM ZMW ILFMW ZMW GZOO
URMW GVM PVBH GL GVM OLXPH ZMW LMV WLLI
LMOB ULFI LI UREV MVVWVW, GSZG R'N HFIV
But when next decoded. . . .
S.O.S. SAVE ME FROM DARKNESS
HELP! SAVE US ALL FROM DARKNESS
S.O.S. BEHIND THE RUSHING WATER
HELP! GO TO STOP AND MAKE HIM FALTER
)(()()()(
DARKNESS RISES TO ENGULF US ALL
SHORT AND THIN AND ROUND AND TALL
FIND TEN KEYS TO TEN LOCKS AND ONE DOOR
ONLY FOUR OR FIVE NEEDED, THAT I'M SURE
All three looked up at Dipper and Lee in shock. Lee only shook his head, but Dipper was tapping his chin with his finger. "Remember when Bill appeared? After the portal stuff and Grandpa Lee collapsed? Remember what he said? I wrote it down somewhere. . . " he muttered out the last part, patting at his vest, reaching inside to pull out a small, white notebook that had a roughly-sketched pine tree on it, reminisce of the one on his hat.
He paged through, cleared his throat and read aloud, "'Something big is still coming, and everything you know will change. More family members found and more cut off forever. A Darkness approaches that will try to block out the last of the Light any of you knew'." he glanced at the others and flipped to a different page. "Mabel, Soos, and I had to go into Grunkle Stans' mind awhile back to stop Bill from stealing the code to the safe,"
Lee's mouth dropped open in shock, and he looked to Ford to say something before Dipper continued. "He wanted it because Gideon summoned him. He wanted to steal the deed to the shack. Anyway, he said something just before he left that time, and it's similar to what he said this time; but different." he looked up, then looked back down at the page, a finger scanning over the text.
Fiddle eyes were closed and he rattled it out, as if he'd memorized it. "'Reality is an illusion, the universe is a hologram, buy gold, byyee!'" he recited slowly and clearly, eyes opening, swimming with old memories; good and bad, healing and painful, familiar allies and unknown terrors.
Dipper nodded after a moment, pointing out where he'd written two lines of text, one on top of the other, and where he'd circled some in blue ink, an arrow pointing with some question marks.
'Reality is an illusion, the universe is a hologram, buy gold, bye!'
'Reality is an illusion, the universe is a hologram, Find Marci, bye!'
Dipper placed the notebook on the table and pointed it out. "I talked it over with Soos and Mabel, and they verified what I originally thought; he says 'Find Marci', whoever that is, then leaves."
Fiddles leaned over, looking over the notepad with the decoded ciphers, biting his lip. "The readin's my computer keep showin' display where three points of concentrated energy keep appearin'. It's always changin' at random times, but the three places are always the same. I ain't sensed no pattern in it yet, but . . ." he swiveled his computer around.
The map was a bit rough, but he quickly pointed out where the Mystery Shack was, then the waterfall. His lips were pressed into a thin line, expression grim. Ford seemed to be connecting the dots fast. He glanced from Dippers notes to the ciphers to the computers readings.
"Someone is out there. . . someone needs help . . ." Mabel finally spoke. "And they've been trying their hardest to get through. Whether it's this Marci person, or someone else. . . we gotta help." she didn't explain why. She didn't admit that she wasn't sure what all the information and codes and computations meant.
It was a gut feeling, that was quickly turning into something she knew was dead-right in her heart.
Just like when Grunkle Stan asked her to trust him, just over a week ago.
Ta-da! Please review!