"I'll give you anything! Money, fame, riches, infinite power, your own galaxy – please!"

It'd been a year since he heard the voice. So desperate, so alien – like he'd crossed paths with the last of a species and threatened to take their home from them. No matter how hard he tried to pinpoint a source, the voice was nothing more than an insoluble cipher in his mind. He sat up from his cot and glanced to Ford, taking a deep breath with the rhythm of the ship. Each time he worked up the courage to ask Ford it fell through. What would he say? What did he even want?

"Figures I'd be the one going crazy," he muttered to himself, rolling away from the comfort of the fabric and heading out to the cool sea air. The sky twinkled down at him. The wood was lined with silver. The most peaceful thing about the sea was the fact there weren't crickets to chirp at every hour and the crash of the waves was loud enough to drown out unsavoury thoughts. Well, usually.

A week wasn't a long time in retrospect, but living in the moment it felt like forever. That was how long it took for the voice to fade last time.

"Nruter yam I taht rewop tneicna eht ekovni I! Nrub ot emoc sah emit ym! L-T-O-L-O-X-A!"

His whole life people had called him crazy. Where was he now? Listening to incoherent chatter in the dark, voices that weren't there but felt all too real to be a trick of the mind. He didn't imagine his decline to start out at sea with his brother (if anything, it'd been the first time he'd felt so happy in yea – ) The lines played over and over, distorted at times, clear at others; like someone kept yanking on the spool of a cassette tape in his brain.

He pressed his back against the side of the ship and sank down to meet the planks. He could feel each gentle roll of the waves below. Most nights weren't so calm.

"Stanley – !"

He sighed and worked out a bubble in his joints before heading back into their room. Ford continued to snore away. Stan had always been envious of the way he slept; it was as if he had years of sleep debt under his belt and not a sound on the planet would stop him from catching up. He didn't stir even as the draw right next to his ear was pulled open, nor when its contents were rifled through with all the grace of an elephant nosing with its trunk. Briefly, just as Stan turned to leave, the snores stopped, but nothing came of it. He snuck back out.

He stepped back out to the deck and huddled back into his position with an extra item in tow. He kicked out his legs and rested the spine of the scrapbook on his knees, flipping through the pages. Rosy cheeks and big smiles greeted him. Mabel hanging off of the side of a boat, Dipper's arms wrapped around her waist to pull her back. Blurred photos of tiny men with pointy red hats and large, furry brutes with too-big ears. Then, the most precious of them all, a simple image of Stan stood out the front of the Mystery Shack with each arm tucked around the kids. The more pages that went by, the more faces he knew. Wendy, a questionable worker but a hardy spirit; and Soos… Well. He was Soos. There wasn't much else to say.

But not a single photo could match to the voice in his head. Nothing screamed out a person that was on their last leg, someone that had pleaded out to him for mercy. Each time a syllable sounded he would see a glimmer of gold, a parade of yellow specks dancing about in his mind before fizzling out. He'd climbed the staircase to its highest point but somehow forgotten the key to the door. The apocalypse had lorded a relentless gloom over Gravity Falls and he'd survived it, yet the sick kicker was the fact he didn't know how. Anytime he opened his mouth to ask he'd been met with the same pitying eyes his mother had gave him when she got news of another brawl.

He closed the book and traced his fingers along the grooves of the cover.

"Doing some late night ruminating?"

An instinctual groan released into the sky. Ford had that crease in his brow and quirk in his lip that spelled the possibility of a long, boring conversation about the importance of looking after your own mental health. Stan smiled grimly as he took the space beside him.

"It's been a long two years," Ford said, huffing out a whorl of chilly air. "We should've made a scrapbook of our own."

Stan barked out a laugh. "I ain't the type to take photos. I prefer having the real thing in my – Soos's shack."

Ford looked over him. Under his glasses was a calculator thumbing in the equation to pry him open. "You can take ownership again, you know," he said. "Your name is still on the deed. You could call it a vacation."

Oh. Oh, right. He'd forgotten to do all the paperwork. Lousy stuff, anyways. Soos could handle it. He knocked his head back against the ship. "Nah. That chapter's already over."

A gust of wind gently rocked the boat. If he had a half a sense, which he usually didn't, he would've thought it was trying to separate them.

(Maybe now was the time to ask?)

"...When you went through that portal, did you ever hear voices?" Stan asked.

"Voices?" Ford frowned; one of the titular looks he got when he thought he was about to explain something science-y. "What do you mean?"

Stan knocked the side of his head. "In here."

A complicated expression passed over Ford's face. He cleared his throat. "No. It was difficult, but… I kept it together. Why do you ask?"

Stan glanced up at the sky, then back to his brother. "Just wondering, I guess. You were real crazy when you first came out."

Ford snorted. "You're one to talk." Silence passed between them before he spoke again, voice quieter, "When we get back, there's something I should tell you."

"More secrets, huh?"

The smile Stan received was uncomfortably doleful.

(It was never a good time to ask.)

"Only one."

She had a feeling something was wrong when she saw Wendy's face. Her eyes were bagged under, sunken in and dull with fatigue. She carried herself like she'd been doing heavy labour. Mabel spared a look at Dipper. He wasted no time in approaching her and asking what had happened. He was the most caring person she knew.

Wendy waved to Soos, who had promised her an early break from her shift, and leaned against the counter. "Trees around our house are all messed up. We're not sure what's hurting them yet, but we spent all of yesterday spraying as many sick ones as we could. Not to mention raking up all the leaves. There must be something spreading around."

"The trees around the shack seem fine," Dipper said. "Are you sure it's not… Parasites or something?"

Wendy raised her eyebrows at him. "I think we'd be able to to tell. Lumberjacks and all, you know?"

Mabel stifled a laugh. He was trying to sound smart. Whether he had a romantic interest in Wendy or not, he subconsciously pulled out anything from his brain bank to impress her. The way his eyes lit up, though, gave her a feeling there was more to this than a chance to seem likeable.

He leaned over to Mabel, whispering, "This could be it!"

Yep. She knew it.
"Could be what?"

"Our first hunt!"

Wendy leaned towards them, having poked her nose into their conversation. Dipper wasn't the most quiet of whisperers. She laughed and bopped the rim of his cap, sending it sideways on his head. "Not everything's 'cause of demons or whatever. It's probably just a new disease that's popped up. My dad's meant to be carving into one of them today. He's got a good eye for these things."

Dipper's face fell. He was good at looking like a kicked puppy, Mabel thought.

"It wouldn't hurt to have a look," she said. "Don't you think it'd be fun to ghost hunt again? Remember that convenience store?"

Wendy shook her head, bemused. "The one you were too sugar-high to be conscious for? Yeah, I remember it."

Mabel pulled her cutest face. The one with the dimples and everything. "Please?"

Wendy was already on the edge knowing there was fun to be had. Mabel's tactics served as the extra push she needed. "Alright, fine. I'll talk to my dad about letting you two look around." She glanced over her shoulder to Soos, who was chatting with some customers and showing off the replica of an 'ancient bone' they'd seen images of in a magazine. "I'll meet you there after my shift ends."

Dipper clapped his hands together and bounced on his heels. "Great! I'll bring my new journal so we can write down what we find."

"You like it, huh? I knew it'd be a good pick."

Mabel's journal was still in their room, untouched since the first time she'd opened it. She had planned to doodle in it but between the previous day's outing and the strange feeling she'd had ever since, she didn't have the motivation to pick up a pencil.

Soos had begun to make his way over with the customers, a replica of the bone in their hands. Wendy straightened her posture and waved the two off, saying, "See you guys soon."

As they were leaving the customer's area, Dipper stopped Mabel with a hand on her shoulder. "Thanks for doing that."

Mabel gave him a thumbs up, saying, "'Course, Dip-Dop." Though he rolled his eyes at the nickname she could see the corners of his lips prick up. Just because they were fifteen didn't mean they couldn't keep having fun!

By the time they were heading off for their tree nursery escapade, there were three hours to kill before their uncles would be arriving. Dipper had kept to himself since they arrived, but as they walked through the trees he chatted Mabel's ear off about all the different possibilites. His backpack was extra full, stuffed with various 'repellents' like salt and mirrors. 'Repellents for what?" she had asked. Ghosts, interdimensional parasites, some kind of toxic frog… She ended up losing track of the list but his excitement was contagious.

Wendy met them just outside the cabin, tucked up against a tree and scrolling through her phone. The tree above was dark, patches of its bark adorned with a charcoal texture that rippled and warped. Mabel tapped Dipper's shoulder and said, "Looks like you might've been right after all!"

Wendy clicked her phone off and stood up, staring up at the tree behind her with wide eyes. "Woah. I swear it wasn't that bad like, five seconds ago."

Dipper smirked and drummed his fingers against the journals pressed to his chest. "Told you. Demons."

"You aren't serious about it being demons, right? I don't think Gravity Falls can take a second..." Wendy drifted off. Dipper cut in quickly.

"Nah – well, um, I don't actually know that. But I don't think it is." He pried open his paper journal, thin compared to the newer one laid underneath. He flicked through the pages, mouth forming an 'o' shape when he placed his thumb on one in particular. "I was thinking that it could be a haunting. We'd just need to figure out which kind of ghost it is!"

Wendy pushed a fingertip against the blackened bark. She pulled it back as a thick, tar-like substance rebounded back from the contact, making a loud squelch. She grimaced. "Ugh. I don't think sooty canker does that." She turned back to Dipper, "This is your job, Ghosthunter."

Dipper rubbed his chin and squinted, placing his book on the soft grass and approaching the tree himself. "Hmm… It could be a category two. They usually don't have a body and..." He leaned close to the bark, sniffing once then reeling back with his nose wrinkled. "They smell really bad."

Mabel plucked his paper journal from the grass and flipped through the pages. 'GHOSTS' was written in red somewhere in the middle, along with details of each category. "What about the… Soul Sucker? Can they suck the souls out of trees?"

Dipper stepped back and covered his mouth with his hand. "If it is, Wendy might be in trouble."

"What?!" Wendy checked over her hand frantically. "Oh man, if my dad finds out about this..."

Dipper dropped his hand to reveal a playful smile. "I'm kidding. It would've shown on your hand by now."

Wendy glared at him. It didn't last long.

"You wrote down that you can usually trace them back to a source," Mabel said, flicking to the next page. She cringed at the image. "Ew! Is that what they look like? It's like a huge slimeball or something."

"Not all of them do, but this one?" He tapped the black ooze. It spluttered back in response. "It's probably super gross."

"Well if you two are gonna go parading around in the woods, take these." Wendy tossed them two small boxes.

Mabel held it in her hand. "Walkie talkies?"

"Yep. I can't go with you. I'm tired enough as it is and someone's gotta keep my brother's in check while dad does his…" She cleared her throat. "His things. Anyway, I can't afford to pay for either of your funerals so let me know where you die so I can just bury you, alright?"

Mabel clicked it on. "Agent Mabel coming in. How are things looking?"

Dipper cupped his mouth and whispered into the speaker of his. "Pretty bleak, I have to admit. I think Agent Wood might be a goner..."

"Agent Wood, huh?" Wendy raised her eyebrow and pocketed her own walkie talkie. She pointed a finger to them. "I'm serious. If you two get killed, I'll… I'll do something. I need time to ruminate on it."

"I'm on the edge of my seat," Dipper said, placing a finger atop the rim of his hat and politely tipping it. "Now, if you don't mind, we've got a ghost to hunt."

The ghost had led a trail, it seemed, as the deeper they went into the tree clusters the more black slime that appeared. It seeped beneath the plates and into the tree's innards, some appearing to wilt at the branches. Sickly leaves were scattered across the floor. Dipper insisted on picking up a few to place in his new journal. Mabel wasn't sure he wouldn't catch some kind of disease from touching them, but he was the expert on ghosts. Second to Grunkle Ford, of course.

Oddities awaited every corner. At the roots of the trees black tar infected the grass, giving each blade a thick texture. Mabel plucked a lone flower from one patch, not yet tampered with. The flora was so beautiful; it didn't deserve to die. Stupid ghosts. She curled her hands around her charge, shielding it from the outside world.

Something pitter pattered nearby. She turned her head to see a grey cat stepping carefully over the blights, eyeing her up with vibrant green.

"Dipper!" she said, bending down to reach its eye level. "Come look!"

Her brother's shadow loomed over her. The cat's whiskered twitched and the fur along its back pricked up. Owl-like eyes grazed up her face to meet Dipper's.

"Huh. I don't think I've seen a cat around here before." He crouched down beside her and reached out his hand. "Here, kitty kitty."

The cat took a step forwards, nose working away at the unfamiliar scents. Its ears faced its backside, towards the ambience of the forest behind it. The way its eyes worked was entrancing to Mabel; there was something beneath the emerald of the iris and the reflective black of the pupil. Something deeper than she saw on most woodland creatures.

It turned its head to look behind it, chin tilted upwards. Listening. Then, with one glance back to the twins (something Mabel swore resembled regret), it scampered away, elegant enough to avoid more black puddles.

"There it goes," Dipper said flatly.

"I'm sure it'll come back!" Mabel assured, firmly patting him on the back. His vest was sprinkled with dirt.

They pressed on for another half hour, until Mabel stopped by a particularly thin looking tree. The slime was focused into needle-thin strands, thousands of them wrapped around the bark, like a constrictor boa made of silly string. Dipper followed her gaze.

"Woah." He slipped a finger beneath one of the lines, pulling it up. It snapped back into place when he released it. "This stuff is sturdy." A pen was already in his hands, doodling down the odd appearance of the slime. As his pen went, one strand parted from the rest, tenderly snaking its way towards his hand.

Mabel bit her lip. "Uh, Dipper..."

"What?" Dipper looked up from his writing, only for his cheek to be caressed by the entity. "AH! What the hell?!"

He jerked away from it. It twisted in the air to form a coil, the prickly end of it bobbing up and down with Dipper's movements. He reached into his backpack, metal clanking with metal as he perused its contents. The black tendril followed his hands into the backpack. As Dipper yelped and attempted to pull it out, his hands phased through it. "Mabel! Help me get it out!"

What was she supposed to do? She reached out to poke it gently. With a screech, it reeled back, the end of it shaking and contorting in the air. Glistening specks dotted its face.

Dipper examined it. "It's… Oh. My salt must have leaked." And it seemed to be so, as with the last grain of salt being shaken off, the substance's curiosity was replaced with an irritated vengeance. It lunged forwards. Mabel swiftly reached into the backpack, fingers coiling around the canister of saltt. She flung it straight at the creature. Another scream, another shake, and it had retracted back alongside its brothers on the tree.

"Well, that's not creepy at all!" she chirped.

"I… I don't think this is a ghost," he said. His eyes grazed past the other trees. They seeped with the noxious material. He shivered and closed his journal. When Dipper was spooked, Mabel knew it was serious business. She stepped closer to him and said, "Maybe we should wait until Grunkle Ford gets back, huh?"

"Yeah," he replied with a sheepish smile. "Give me a bit to write all this down."

Mabel pulled her walkie talkie from her pocket and contorted her face into a serious expression. "Agent Mabel to Agent Wood. We've located the bogie. Coming back to you in a bit with our findings." The way Dipper snickered broke her character in favour of a big smile.