Early December 1980
Stanford Pines came to the conclusion that testing a new specimen with his molecular analysis device during a snowstorm was not the best idea he'd ever had.
Warning lights flashed across the machine's console, signaling that it was overheating. Ford scrambled to check the power source's monitors, and frowned when it's energy output readings came out normal. Where was the additional surge coming from?
Belatedly, he realized that his backup generator must have been activated by the blizzard outside. And that same generator—which he'd built with the capacity to fuel a small city—was now feeding into the machine's power supply.
A power surge had been created! Ford cursed and rushed to the side of the device, flipping open the control panel to initiate the emergency shutdown procedure. A bright red switch in the middle of the dashboard blinked to life. Stanford didn't waste anymore time and slammed his hand down on the bright red switch.
Everything fell silent for a moment in his basement lab.
Ford barely had time to breathe before the molecular machine suddenly roared back to life, filling the room with a bright white light. A massive shock wave emanated from the machine and sent Ford flying all the way across the room. It knocked him against the wall and the wind out of his lungs.
He was passed out before his head hit the floor.
When Ford came back to his senses, the room was almost pitch black and the air was thick with the smell of burnt metal. He looked up and was dismayed to see his molecular device was completely melted down and destroyed. It spat hissing noises through clouds of smoke. He could see some parts still burning, illuminating the room in a soft red glow.
Despite the dimness of the room, Stanford realized that he could still see pretty well. Each of the dust particles floating before his eyes was crystal clear and distinct, and he could've counted them if he wanted to.
Lucky my glasses stayed on. I wouldn't have been able to find them in the dark.
He blinked a couple of times and took a moment to assess all the damage the power surge had created.
The whole room was a mess. Everything had been pushed against the walls. His desk was flipped over, all of the specimens he had in jars were broken and scattered on the floor. The journal he had been writing in was torn to pieces, its pages littering the floor all around him.
It would take him a couple of days, maybe even a week, to clean everything before he could get started on rebuilding a whole new molecular analysis device. He would also have to re-wire his entire console panel to prevent another power surge like this one. This was not the type of set back he needed right now—especially considering his grant renewal was due in just two weeks. His research in Gravity Falls was dependent on the board committee's funds, and he doubted they would be impressed with this disastrous turn of events.
He looked around and tried to find the feather he'd been analysing, but couldn't spot it anywhere. He'd have to head out again and try to find a similar one. It had been hard enough the first time—he'd be lucky to find another one.
This is just perfect!
Ford had found it near the cliffs on the outskirts of town, almost breaking his neck getting it. It was a huge feather, and Ford had wanted to know if it was this big because it belonged to a huge cryptid bird or because the animal it belonged to came across the height-changing crystals. Either way, it was an opportunity he couldn't pass up. On the trek back, the wind had picked up speed and snow started to fall down on him heavily. He'd tripped a couple of times, getting his feet caught in some roots. He had barely managed to get back before the worst of the storm hit. Sadly, it was only once he was back home that he realised that the journal he'd been carrying with him, his third journal, must've fallen from his coat pocket during his clumsy stumblings. With the storm raging outside, he'd settled for waiting until it blew over before searching for his journal.
At least, that had been the plan, before everything blew up in his face. Now he had to clean up his lab, rebuild his molecular device, and search for another feather specimen and his lost journal.
Ford made a low rumbling noise and found himself surprised by the sound of it.
Damn dust! Must've gotten into my lungs. I should take the opportunity to clean up everything while I'm at it.
Suddenly the lights flickered back to life, illuminating his basement. The power was back. He felt a wave of relief wash over him, but it was quickly replaced by a sense of defeat at the extent of the damage he could now clearly see. Or at least he SHOULD be... his eyes seemed to be having trouble adjusting to the lights, and he was starting to miss the dimness. The lights were much brighter than he remembered, and he blinked a couple of times to adjust. Realizing he was still lying on the floor He was still lying on the floor, he stood up. The earlier he starts to clean, the earlier it'll be dealt with.
Stanford suddenly froze when he caught sight of the shadowy outline of an enormous creature that, judging from the shadow's position, was most likely standing right behind him. How did this thing get into his basement?! He'd locked the doors and was deep underground. No one knew where he was. No one could get to where he was without knowing the combination of his secret door. The basement might've been in pretty bad shape, but he hadn't seen any holes in the walls or signs that a creature dug his way to it.
He stayed as calm as he could, not wanting to frighten whatever was behind him, and tried to get a glimpse at it with his peripheral vision. But his eyes refused to move. Instead, his whole head turned around, almost making a one hundred-and-eighty degree rotation.
Ford closed his eyes at the speed he turned, it had felt dizzying. His breath caught in his throat and he began to hyperventilate. What was going on?! He'd wanted to slightly turn his head and have a peek at what was behind him, not turn completely around! But…he hadn't turned around, had he? He could feel his torso rising and lowering rapidly behind his head…but how could that be?
Don't panic, don't panic! One problem at a time. Deal with the creature in your basement, and then you can worry about what's wrong with you.
He took a few deep breaths to calm himself and opened his eyes to see…
Nothing. Nothing was standing behind him, and nothing was in the basement. Just some more mess he'd have to clean up piled up against the wall.
Ford grumbled again and heard a growl coming from somewhere in the room. He whirled around, but still didn't see or hear any other living thing in the room. He was starting to wonder if he was imagining things. When was the last time he'd slept, anyway? He couldn't recall.
Feeling anxious, he shuffled back cautiously towards the wall when he felt something shift beneath him. He looked down to see his button up shirt, brown vest and blue pants torn to shreds on the ground. His glasses laid all shattered next to the pile of clothes. But if his glasses were on the ground, how could he see clearly around him? He frowned.
How did this happen? How is this possible?!
He reached a hand to pick them up… He reached a hand to… He reached a CLAWED PAW!?!
His breath picked up a notch. This can't be right! This can't be HIS hand! He lowered it down slowly, not taking his eyes off of it, and followed the movement all the way.
Resting next to it was another brown, six-clawed paw covered with a mixture of feathers and fur. A panicked glance downwards revealed his chest to also be covered with a similar stuff.
This CAN'T be happening!
He looked at the ground again and saw the shadow of the supposed huge beast in the room with him. A horrible thought crossed his mind. Slowly, he tilted his head one way, then the other.
The shadow followed him.
Heart pounding, he reared violently backward toward the wall. In his panicked state, Ford slipped on something, sending a jolt of pain through the lower section of his back, as well as in a foreign limb on his left side near where his shoulder blades should be, making him land on his back.
After the world stopped spinning, Ford managed to get back to his feet, all four of them, and tried to stand up again. He automatically lost balance and landed flat on his belly. Despite his panicked state, he was beginning to find this annoying.
He huffed and caught the sight of a reflective surface on his right. Apprehensively, he turned his head, dreading what he might see.
He looked at the reflective surface, a broken plate of metal chrome, and finally got a good impression of his appearance.
In the trees on the edge of the clearing where a large cabin stood, a pair of cardinals huddled closer in their nest. A doe and her fawn slept in the bushes, curled around each other to keep the cold at bay. A trio of gnomes rummaged through the garbage cans nearest to the house, braving the storm in search of food.
All of a sudden, a blood-curdling shriek erupted from deep within the house. It was muffled by all the structure's layers, but it managed to echo through the woods all the same, reaching the outskirts of the town. It sounded like a very upset, very distressed, very large animal.
The birds took off immediately and flew as far away as they could through the blizzard, screaming in fear. The doe and her fawn leapt from the bushes and galloped deep into the forest, putting as much distance between them and the cabin as possible. The gnomes left the trash cans half explored and bolted out of there, tripping over themselves in their panic. If there was something dangerous in the Strange Human's house, they didn't want to be part of it.
No living thing wanted to come near the mysterious cabin in the woods after that.