That Day in May
(April-May 2018)
10-Brief but Boding
"Drop the equipment! Go! Run!" Ford's urgent warning rang in their ears, and Dipper and Wendy ran for it. They felt something, nothing they could identify, but a strong sense that some awful force burgeoned in the Museum and threatened to burst through the locked Museum door.
Holding hands made them blunder against the counter—Dipper cracked his knee and staggered, but Wendy dragged him on.
Contrary to Ford's orders, they didn't drop the detectors, but sped across the gift-shop floor. Dipper had left the outside door ajar, and they scrambled out onto the porch, Wendy back-kicking the door, slamming it shut. They leaped off the porch, not bothering with the steps. Dipper's right knee gave way and he limped as they hurried away from the Shack.
Tripper had bounded out of Stan's car and barked in doggy fury at the house—but he waited for them just beyond the barrier.
Stan stepped from behind the steering wheel and said, "Whoa! Ain't seen that in a long time!"
Gasping, Dipper looked back. The invisible barrier had flared and now was visible, flashing purple as some evil force struck it from inside, rainbow stripes streaming across it in squirming patterns, arcane symbols flashing and then disappearing as something tried to destroy the barrier.
It held. Somehow it held.
"Yeah!" Wendy yelled. "No, it's good, it's good, whatever it is can't come out!"
"What?" Dipper asked.
"It's Ford, can't you hear him?" Stan asked.
"OK, over!" Wendy said.
Dipper put a hand up to his right ear. "I—my earpiece fell out," Dipper said. He knelt. Tripper, standing with rigid legs braced, snarled at the Shack, his whole body quivering, the fur on his nape bristling. "It's OK, buddy," Dipper said, patting him. "We shouldn't have forgotten you. It's all right now."
"Something's happening," Wendy said. "OK, Dr. P, over!" The purple sheen of the protective force done grew transparent, then faded entirely.
Whatever had activated the protective shield, Dipper sensed, had pulled back inside the Shack, like a tide ebbing away. It was invisible, intangible, and yet somehow he knew it had withdrawn, fleeing back into the Shack, into the Museum, into—presumably—the Tarot Witch automaton.
"Nothing," Wendy said. "Yeah, because we held onto our detectors. No threat. Dip, get a reading! Sorry, Dr. P. Over."
Dipper triggered the anomaly detector and blinked down at the readout. "Um . . . background weirdness, maybe five points above the usual."
"Did you get that? Close to background, maybe five points higher. Over." To Dipper, she said, "Dr. P says he's still monitoring the readings, and that's within typical range. What?"
"I didn't say—" Dipper started, but Wendy held up a finger, silencing him.
Wendy said, "Got you, Dr. P. Right. Over."
She tugged the earpiece out and said, "He wants us to come back to his place right now."
Not two minutes later, an agitated Ford met them on his front porch as they got out of the Stanleymobile. "Thank God. The readings I was monitoring were—well, only Bill Cipher matched them." Awkwardly, Ford hugged Dipper and Wendy, and then, more awkwardly yet, Stanley.
"Lay off," Stan said after a moment. "OK, the kids did what you asked for. So how do we get the Shack back from that robot or whatever it is?"
Ford sighed. "That could be complicated."
Tripper, still agitated, growled in a muttering way, gazed up the hill in the direction of the Shack, and barked.
Dipper reached down to pat him and asked, "Is it all right if Tripper stays here, Grunkle Ford? We forgot and left him behind in the Shack, and Mabel would never forgive us if something—"
"Of course he can stay," Ford said. "Um—dogs eat dog food, don't they? I'll send for some. Um-where do you find dog food?"
"The supermarket," Sheila said from behind him. She came out onto the porch. "That's something I can do. What brand, Dipper?"
"Um," he said. Weird. He had fed Tripper every other day or so for months, but what was the name of the stuff? "It's in a red can?"
"It's K-9 K-Nummies," Wendy said, and she spelled it. "If they don't have that brand, any kind except lamb or bacon or ham flavor. Mabel refuses to feed him lamb or pork."
"Got it," Sheila said. "Dear, I'll take your car."
"I'll drive," Stan said. "I ain't needed here, right, Ford?"
"Not immediately," Ford said. "But I do wish you'd return as soon as possible."
"No problem. Be back in half an hour."
After Sheila and Stan set off for town, Ford led Dipper and Wendy into the dining room, where they sat around the table. "I'm so sorry," he muttered as Wendy removed her earpiece and handed it to him. "Had I anticipated the force of that—that manifestation—I would have gone myself, alone."
"Are you both all right?" asked Lorena.
Dipper nodded. "I kind of smacked my leg into the counter, but nothing serious."
"We're OK. We got out," Wendy said. "Look, Dr. P, I'm tired of running. Tell us what we have to do to kill this thing. Come on, together, we all faced down Cipher, and Stan trapped him and you wiped him out. If we could do that, then whatever this is, we can fight it."
"But what is it?" Dipper asked.
Ford drummed his fingers—tap-tap-tap-tap-tap, he didn't use his thumb—and said, "I think the document Agent Trigger sent me might explain that. At least partially. I'll wait for my brother to return before explaining what I believe it reveals."
"At least," Dipper said, "tell us what you think's going on with that machine."
"It's not really the machine, but the cards," Ford said. "They have a dreadful history. However, what I hypothesize is that the fortune-telling machine has a link to an ancient, non-human, evil entity. That's what's broken through inside the Shack. It's trying to manifest itself, to reconstitute the body it inhabited when it was, well . . . no other word for it. The world's worst witch."