Abuelita was all too happy to share her story after her vacuuming, and did so with the narrative skills only an Abuelita could have.

"Cookies?"

"No, no, that's fine thank you, Miss Ramirez." Ford replied, politely. "Please, just tell us what you saw-"

"No, no, you all have cookies. Cookies and milk for Soos and his friends. Cookies and milk for everyone."

Melody chuckled. "You can't argue with an Abuelita. Trust me, guys."

"I mean, we've just had breakfast, and I'd prefer the kids not to load up on suga-"

Ford blinked as Stan, Pacifica, Dipper, Mabel, Melody and Soos were already equipped with plates of cookies and glasses of milk.

"Here, you take it, I get offended. Do not offend Abuelita." she said with more than a hint of authority as she handed Ford his plate. "Offended Abuelita will not tell stories."

It was an offer even the most serious man could not refuse. Plus, Ford had to admit it - they looked like pretty damned good cookies.

With her guests suitably catered to, Abuelita sat down in her armchair and tented her fingers together, closing her eyes and smiling as she reminisced in her memories of the past - clear and vibrant, though they were, she still remembered things with a soft, sepia tone not unlike a vintage Polaroid photograph.

"It was a day very much like yesterday, fifty years ago. Warm, dry and peaceful. I was a little lady, you know. Me and my mama had just visited the Diner, and were returning home. There was a soft mist in the air, and my mama decided to send some threatening telegrams to my padre under a false name. It was her hobby. She did it every Wednesday."

Stan raised an eyebrow. "She uh… she sent threatening telegrams to her husband?"

"He knows what he did."

The family blinked. Soos took an extra cookie from Ford's plate, clearly finding it less substantial a topic than his loved ones.

"By the time madre had finished, it was evening, she had sent maybe thirty telegrams. We left the post office, and things felt strange. I was concerned there may be a little misfortune on the cards, and I was correct. There was fog. A lot of fog. It was thick and impossible to see through, and we ended up walking to the wrong side of town. We ended up at the lake, rather than our home. It was then that they arrived."

"The beavers?"

"No, no, they were not ordinary beavers." the old lady replied, shaking her head - her expression remained exactly as it always did; maternal and kindly. Her tone seemed to darken and lower by barely an octave. "They were demons . Clad in velvet coats and hats, carrying swords, their eyes glowing like fire. Castor Diablo - and fierce, organised. Like a-"

"Like a groupa pirates!" Soos piped in.

Abuelita nodded, her natural, smiling sincerity never flinching. "They sailed in on a raft, from the centre of the lake, and began trying to scavenge. Madre and I, we hid behind a boulder and watched as they stripped back pieces of wood from other boats in the harbour, chewing away at them…

Then my madre, she stepped on a leaf. And every one of them stopped - fell silent and looked up. Their eyes, they were fiery - but ice cold. No emotion, just ruby red, glowing beads on bodies of shadow. And they came for us."

The old lady's hands shook as she sipped her coffee - her eyes turned to the floor, as if she was speaking to grandpa. Her smile, for only for a moment, fell away into one of serious distress. The silence inside the Airstream trailer was deafening, only buffered by the overabundance of scatter cushions and lace doilies that seemed to defy tension or discomfort.

Soos and Mabel crunched their cookies loudly as the other members of the family leaned forward to hear more, eagerly awaiting the story.

Pacifica glanced at the plate and wrinkled her nose. Was milk and cookies really that much of a thing for Abuelita? She covertly sniffed one just in case Soos had added chilli to them, like he did his frosted flakes.

Then shrugged and started eating as quietly as she could. They were clean. Clean enough anyway.

Clean enough? How non-Northwest can you get?

"They were fierce creatures. Thieves with tiny, adorable cutlasses. They stole from us, lept upon my Madre and fought with her furiously. Her favourite jacket, her handbag, our shoes and my hair clips. Anything valuable, it was gone. Anything made of wood, it was gone.

Some of them returned to the raft. The others continued their terrible ways, raiding through shops, houses and more - trying to take lumber from shops and fences, smashing windows, fighting hobos. It was carnage. Wood chip, wood chip and sawdust everywhere…"

Ford and Stan glanced at eachother. "So these beavers were-"

"Piratas. Yes." Abuelita shook her head in dismay. For a moment, the family wondered if she was crying. "My shoes. My poor, poor shoes."

Melody patted her back understandingly. "You really liked those shoes, huh?"

"No, no. They were terrible. It was just the principle. I now never go near the lake. It is a place of fear for me."

Dipper twisted his lip and looked up from his excited notes. "Did you tell anyone?"

Abuelita shook her head and stared blankly at nothing in particular. "My traumas stick with me to the grave. The angels will be my therapists."

"So, we have at least one reliable testimony." Ford smiled, his positivity conflicting with the rather dark end to the tale. "At least enough to know where this stuff is coming from, eh?"

"Great." Pacifica said, uncertainly. "Totally looking forward to taking on a group of rabid beavers-"

"Pirate beavers. Pirate beavernants!" Mabel squealed. "This is just like a movie!"

"Yeah. A dumb movie." The socialite retorted.

Dipper peeked over his Grunkle Ford's shoulder to copy some of his notes as the silence inside the airstream became broken by the mad scratching of pencils. For a moment, everyone almost forgot the presence of Abuelita, still frozen in her stare.

Stan blinked. "She uh… she doin' alright?"

"Oh, yeah, she does this sometimes, Mr. Pines." Soos beamed. "Ya just gotta give her a moment. I do the same, sometimes. All Ramirezeses do."

"...Right." Stan sniffed as he stood back up, cracking his back and scratching his head. "Well I guess we'd better uh… get investigatin,' right? Charts and crud, then island hopping. Just like the open sea. Be good for ya, Blondie."

"Do you just want an excuse to get us in that godawful motor boat?"

"Ford, that boat is like a perfectly formed Embryo of what we have. It's like a… like a primitive, beautiful fetus of the Stan O' War, still swimming in its maternal fluids-"

Pacifica, Dipper and Mabel all looked repulsed. If there was no tension before, there was plenty now. The silence spoke volumes. Terrible, unpleasant volumes, with horrible, unpleasant mental images.

Ford held the bridge of his nose. "I regret ever teaching you biology, Stanley."

"Worked when I amputated your foot, genius."

Ford coughed into his hand. "Let's uh… let's leave the Ramirez family and-"

"Am I going to lose limbs if I sail with you two?" Pacifica asked abruptly, her face creased up in ways only a mixture of confusion, fear and disgust could provide. A certified Northwest look.

"No, no, of course not-"

"Maybe." Stan interrupted his brother. "But hey, what's a limb when you're family, right?"

"Easy for you to say. You haven't lost a limb."

"Eh, I've either lost my hands before. Or imagined losing my hands before. Dunno which."

The kids and Grunkles bid Farewell to Soos and Melody, who worked to rouse Abuelita out of her somewhat catatonic state - and exchanged a worried glance as the family left.

"You really think it's a good idea letting the kids run off on this stuff?"

"Melody, those kids are like rock solid MMA fighters, but like… nerdy and with cellphones. Like, what, are the beavers gonna bite 'em to death?"

"I mean, yeah. The beavers could probably bite 'em to death."

Soos's face dropped with Melody's words. Without saying another thing, he took off and ran after them. "Dudes! Dudes, wait!"

"What? What is it?"

"...Be careful, dawgs!"

"We will. Take care of yourself, Soos." Ford replied.

Soos turned back to Melody and held his thumbs up. Job well done!