under the pretense of present tense
Ford comes to a stop, his eyes intent on the device in his hands. He's just completed walking a full circle around the building. Dipper is the only one who followed with him; everyone else stayed with the truck, either talking (Grunkle Stan and Mabel) or looking bored (Pacifica).
"The readings are definitive," Ford says, lowering his scanner and turning towards the building. "Whatever it is, it's in there."
Dipper looks at the structure again. It's a ramshackle old warehouse with rusted siding and a chain link fence around the perimeter, complete with a few 'NO TRESPASSING' signs for good measure. Neither of Dipper's great-uncles had been dissuaded by the signage: Stan had deftly picked the padlock chaining the gate shut and Ford strolled inside as if he had every right to be there. Dipper's got the feeling that Ford has trespassed in any number of places, so long as science took him there (and as for Grunkle Stan, the less said about his experiences, the better). Judging by the state of the place, it's unlikely they'll be caught. It doesn't look like anyone's been around for quite a while, except for some graffiti artists.
Dipper sketches a quick outline of the building in his journal; he'll shade it in and add detail later. "What's our first move?" he asks Great-Uncle Ford.
Ford is examining yet another device. "It would be ideal to pinpoint its exact location before entering the building. Some crucial advice, Dipper: Don't become so intent on your readings that you forget to look up occasionally. I've had some close calls thanks to my eyes being glued to a screen."
Dipper flips the page in his journal and quickly jots that down. "Got it."
"That goes for journals too," Ford says, and Dipper reluctantly pockets it. "In any case, we've reached the limits of my precision. I have plans for future improvements, but for now all I know is that the anomaly is somewhere within the southeast portion of the building, which is to say the half to our immediate right."
"So, we should probably start on that end," Dipper suggests, pointing left.
"That would be prudent," Ford agrees. He walks briskly toward that end of the warehouse.
Dipper jogs over to the rental truck. Grunkle Stan, Mabel, and Pacifica are all sitting on the edge of its opened back. Stan seems to be in the middle of telling Mabel one of his stories; it must be one of his better ones because Pacifica looks interested. Dipper gets their attention when he approaches.
"My nerdy brother finally ready to go in instead of just lookin' at it?" Grunkle Stan says when Dipper comes up to him.
"We weren't 'looking,' Grunkle Stan, we were researching," Dipper says defensively. Grunkle Stan just grunts dismissively. "Anyway, we're starting over on that side."
"Monster hunt! Monster hunt!" Mabel chants, hopping off the truck bed. She runs enthusiastically after Ford's distant form. Grunkle Stan follows at a more leisurely pace.
Pacifica gracefully dismounts the truck and stays close to Dipper. "Is there a monster?" she asks.
Dipper glances at her, trying to judge if she's worried. "We don't actually know what's inside," he admits.
"You guys are really into this," she observes.
"Well, yeah! Isn't this cool? Who knows what we'll find? It could be anything from anywhere," he says eagerly, fumbling to explain his excitement. "A dimensional anomaly, right here in Piedmont!"
She considers that. "You're lucky I'm soft on dorks now," she concludes.
Dipper laughs. "Yeah, okay, Miss Private School. Don't act like I haven't seen all the books in your room."
"Whatever. I'm still not a big nerd like you, Journal Boy."
"You like nerds," Dipper accuses.
Her gaze flits over to his, warm with humor. "Maybe one of them," she concedes.
He reaches over and takes her hand, tugging gently at it. "Come on, let's catch up to the others. You don't want to be late for your first monster hunt."
"Um, do ghosts and Boss-Lobsters and crazy triangles not count or something?"
"First deliberate monster hunt," he corrects himself.
And maybe it's his imagination, but as they approach Mabel and his grunkles he thinks Pacifica's getting into the spirit of things.
Ford has his face against some very dirty glass, trying to peer through the small square window at the top of a steel door. "Can't see a thing," he assesses, stepping back. "I believe this door requires your skill set, Stanley."
Stan rolls his head back and forth a few times, stretching, then goes up to the door and rears back to kick it. Ford catches him by the shoulder before he unleashes the blow.
"Your more subtle skills," Ford adds.
"Well why didn't you say so?" Grunkle Stan reaches into a pocket and withdraws the small black pouch that contains his set of lockpicks.
Dipper watches closely as Grunkle Stan bypasses the lock, deftly maneuvering the pick and applying pressure with the torsion wrench. It's the kind of skill that comes in handy for monster hunts or other forms of adventuring. Really, Dipper's kind of surprised that Great-Uncle Ford can't do it himself.
"You could have Grunkle Stan teach you how to do that," Dipper says to Ford.
"I taught myself how to pick locks years ago; largely by necessity after I locked myself out of the lab a few too many times. But I lack Stanley's finesse," Ford explains.
"Go, Grunkle Stan! Pick that lock!" Mabel cheers loudly right next to Stan's ear, which probably isn't helping him out any, but he seems amused anyway.
"Why am I not surprised?" Pacifica mutters as she watches Grunkle Stan break into the building with a practiced hand. Dipper is reminded that she probably has a history with Stan. She was going to Gravity Falls for the summer long before Dipper did, after all.
Grunkle Stan rises and fully torques the lock, turning the knob with a flourish. The heavy door swings open to reveal an interior too dark to make out any details.
"I'll see if I can get the lights on, but we can't count on the power. Did everyone get a flashlight from the truck?" Ford asks, pulling his own out from somewhere in his various pockets.
Dipper takes his flashlight out of his pocket. He turns around to see if Mabel and Pacifica have theirs, only to freeze when Mabel is right there in his face. Her cheeks are puffed out and her eyes are crossed; she has her lips puckered around her flashlight, illuminating the interior of her mouth and giving her cheeks a translucent red glow.
"Okay, Mabel has hers," Dipper says dryly, stepping around her. "Pacifica?"
"It's not working," she responds. She smacks the heel of her hand against the bottom of it to no effect.
"Here, let me see it," he says, holding out a hand.
She favors him with a very indignant look. "I know how to work a stupid flashlight," she tells him haughtily.
"I know, I just thought I'd look at it," he says a little defensively.
She hands it over with a slightly sheepish twist to her lips. She's clearly on edge; he remembers what she was like when they were preparing to fight Bill, but what's going on now isn't even close to being that tense. Unless… maybe it is for her? He reminds himself that she doesn't have the same monster hunting experience that he does. All her encounters with the paranormal have been traumatizing in one way or the other. She's nervous and probably expecting the worst.
He messes with the flashlight for a minute while everyone else is exploring the small office. He even swaps out the batteries for his own; no dice. "Great-Uncle Ford, Pacifica's flashlight is dead," he says.
Ford comes over and quickly reaches the same conclusion. "I'll make a note to get another one. For now, the two of you will have to share. Stay close to Dipper, Ms. Northwest. I wouldn't recommend getting lost with an anomaly so close by."
Call him crazy, but Dipper doesn't think he'll have any problem with that arrangement. Mabel must be thinking the same thing, because she strafes by the two of them just long enough to make a kissy face with her flashlight held under her chin.
"Like this is where I'd want to make out," Pacifica mutters, brushing dust off her pant leg.
"Okay, so it's not exactly romantic," Dipper agrees. "But that's not why we're here." He approaches an old desk and picks up a biking magazine—it's dated September 1992. "Looks like this place has been empty for a while."
"I'd say at least fifteen years, probably more," Ford says, his voice echoing out of an adjoining room. "We'll check the upstairs offices, but I don't see anything out of the ordinary. Judging by the layout, the anomaly must be in the warehouse proper."
The offices are pitch black and covered in dust and dirt. The acoustic tiles in the ceiling are yellowed and many are missing, revealing old ducts and a ceiling splotchy with water stains. The whole area smells strongly in the way only abandoned places do, of musty metal and concrete and moldy fixtures. Dipper moves slowly around the desks and piles of disassembled cubicle sections. He's not sure what he's looking for, but he's pretty sure he'll know it when he sees it.
"Nothing up here," Grunkle Stan calls down the stairwell.
"Hey, Dipper!" Mabel yells, also from up the stairs. "I found your other twin!"
There's a loud smack as something drops from the second-floor landing and hits the concrete at the bottom of the stairwell. Dipper shines his flashlight in that direction and does a double take as he spots what appears to be a severed head wearing a hat. When he looks closer, he realizes it's not an actual head, but a blank rubber one from some kind of model or test dummy. It's wearing a trucker cap emblazoned with a symbol that looks like it's for a tech or engineering company.
"If he's my twin, then he's yours too!" Dipper shouts back up at her.
Mabel comes careening down the stairs, shoes slapping loudly on the bare concrete. She scoops up the head and holds it in the crook of her arm like it's a morbid rubber baby. "It's our triplet, Headsy! Come on, Headsy. You're family now."
"That thing is creepy and gross," Pacifica states.
Mabel thrusts it out towards her. "How'd you like to kiss my other brother?"
"Get it away from me!"
"Headsy just wants some sugar!"
"Cut it out, Mabel!" Pacifica beats a quick retreat around a nearby desk, but without a flashlight of her own she can't go far.
Mabel chases after her, Headsy held forward. "He looooooves youuuuuu—"
"Don't you dare touch me with that!"
Dipper is too busy laughing to intervene, but Great-Uncle Ford steps in as he returns from the side room. "Ladies, keep in mind that we need to remain cautious. Let's not make any more noise than necessary."
Mabel immediately halts her charge, tucking Headsy back underneath one arm. "Sorry, Grunkle Ford."
Ford ruffles her hair fondly. "That's alright. I know this is exciting! We're on the cusp of a discovery, I can feel it."
Dipper points to a set of double doors in the far wall. They are industrial doors, painted metal with rectangular push bars. "I bet these go into the warehouse."
Grunkle Stan walks out of the stairwell. "There's another way in upstairs," he says, jerking a thumb over his shoulder.
"Should we split up?" Dipper asks.
"No, I'd prefer we not separate unless it proves advantageous. Let's check the upstairs entryway first; always take the high ground if you're able, Dipper," Ford tells him.
Dipper wants to write that down, but it'll have to wait. They regroup and go up the smudged concrete steps to another level of offices which are in even worse shape than the ones downstairs. Water damage is evident everywhere, from the slumping ceiling to the warped floor; the unpleasant smell of mildew abounds. Dipper glances at Pacifica, making sure she's staying with him. Her face is shrouded in shadow, but he thinks she actually looks kind of excited. He grins at her in the dark, feeling like he is returned to his element at last; she smiles back.
"We should exercise stealth once we're in the warehouse," Ford says quietly, reaching for the door handle.
Everyone nods their understanding. Dipper mimes zipping his mouth shut and throwing away the key; it makes him momentarily wish that Wendy were here. She would have gotten a kick out of it.
Ford turns the handle, and the dark beyond the door beckons them forward.