A/N: And we're back!

This is where things get weird, ladies and gentlemen: some of you may recognize the setting, others many not. I can only beg your indulgence - and your guesses as to what world our heroes have plunged into. Feel free to supply all your theories and guesses and predictions in your reviews. Also, feel free to point out any of the typos that inevitably creep in at 4 in the morning :)

Anyway, without further ado, the latest chapter: read, review, and above all, enjoy.

Disclaimer: Gravity Falls is not mine... and neither are any of the crossover elements.

This chapter's soundtrack is "Terra" by Nobuo Uematsu


For perhaps thirty seconds, all Mabel knew was blinding light and deafening sound.

She had the impression of being launched down a long, echoing tunnel at high speed, the wind billowing through her hair and roaring in her ears, but she couldn't actually see anything other than the light. With most of her senses officially whited out, it took a while for her to realize that Dipper was still hanging onto her left leg, and straining her overtaxed hearing to its absolute limit, she could just about recognize the sound of several voices yelling at the top of their lungs: Dipper, Grunkle Stan, Grunkle Ford, and herself. If nothing else, she wasn't alone for this nightmare.

Half a minute later, the light faded ever-so-slightly and the four of them slowed to a crawl, just long enough for Mabel to get a look at the world around her: at that very moment in time, she and the rest of her family were soaring through an impossibly vast field of iridescent bubbles floating in an endless void of shifting monochromes – eye-searing white, obsidian-black and dull, ethereal grey.

Looking closer at the bubbles through watering eyes, Mabel saw that each one contained a wild collage of places, planets and stars, environments that ranged from the almost recognizable to the completely alien: a field of towering metal mushrooms under a haunting blue sky, an office building where bright yellow lines on the floor led in impossible directions, a lush city of fountains and gardens in a barren desert beneath a moon that refused to set in the day, a gleaming white casino built high on a cliff above a sickening red fog, a flat world built on the back of four elephants sitting atop a giant turtle, an endless sea of lighthouses where a girl in a blue dress roamed without direction, a gleaming space station where the only inhabitants were copies of an old man in a lab coat and a teenager in a yellow shirt-

Then the light returned, and suddenly the four of them were accelerating onwards.

For a minute longer, they hurtled blindly through the light and the sound, screaming incomprehensibly at each other in futile attempts to communicate – or, in Mabel's case, struggling desperately not to puke. Buffeted by invisible currents and spun around by turbulence, on they sped: Mabel was dimly aware that they were heading to another dimension, that they were going the same way as Grunkle Ford had all those years ago, but she'd no idea where. Her mind briefly filled with visions of alien worlds like the bubbles she'd seen a few minutes ago, finding herself at once terrified and enthralled by the idea…

And then, the light ahead of them opened, unfolded around their ears, disgorging them back into something akin to the real world – about six feet in the air.

Ploughing through a series of skeletal branches, they crashed to the ground, narrowly avoiding a dead tree-trunk in their path as they skidded to halt across several feet of blackened, ash-clogged soil. Dazed, bewildered and exhausted, the four of them could only lie there for what felt like years, gasping for breath as they struggled to recover.

It wasn't easy: wherever they'd landed, it was almost intolerably warm, and the air was thick with a putrid stench of rotten eggs and overcooked meat, along with other smells too unpleasant to put a name too. Trying to suck in a lungful of air was like trying to breathe through one of Grunkle Stan's old socks after his early-morning shoplifting sprint, and the fact that most of them had ended up accidentally swallowing a lot of dust and dirt in the landing only made things worse.

But still, looking up into the night sky, Mabel couldn't help but gape, not because the sight was especially impressive – in fact, it looked pretty cloudy and boring from here – but simply because the fact was just beginning to hit her: they were in another world. They'd actually travelled to another dimension: they really were walking a mile in Grunkle Ford's shoes… and if she felt astonished, then a quick glance to her left revealed that Dipper looked just about ready to explode with excitement, and probably would have already gotten to his feet for a look around – if he hadn't been so preoccupied with retrieving his cap, which had fallen off in the landing and was now covered in dirt.

Eventually, there was a groan from a sooty ditch somewhere to Mabel's right, and Grunkle Ford asked, "Is everyone okay?"

There was a pause as everyone assessed their injuries, such as they were: Grunkle Stan was bumped and bruised across his legs and shoulders, Dipper's knees were in serious need of a band-aid or six, Grunkle Ford had landed hard on his left leg, and Mabel had picked up half a dozen scratches across her hands, legs and face from their brush with the tree branches, but fortunately none of them were seriously hurt. Antiseptic and band-aids were duly passed around, and once the four of them were on their feet and moving again (with a pronounced limp in Ford's case), they made the unanimous decision to take a look around and take stock of their location. And as they stood up, they finally caught their first unimpeded look at the world in which they'd found themselves.

They'd found themselves in a patch of trees roughly the size of a pocket park, if not smaller; what few trees could be found were either dead or scorched to charcoal, and the soil was coated in a thick layer of ash and soot.

Behind them stood a stretch of rocky cliffs overlooking little more than swirling banks of fog spanning the sky; in the distance, Mabel thought she could just about recognize a road making its way down the side of a hill, and a little bit beyond that, the lights of what looked like a Ferris Wheel gleaming in the night sky – but other than that, it was impossible to tell what was out there. Still, if there was an amusement park nearby, it couldn't be all that bad.

Up ahead of them, at the centre of the ash field beyond the trees …

Mabel blinked.

Of all the things she'd expected to see in another dimension, a tacky motel hadn't been one of them. True, it looked a little different from most of the roadside stopovers she'd stayed at in her short but colourful life, but other than those minor distinctions, it was pretty much an average L-shaped motel complete with a parking lot.

As for what made it so unusual: for one thing, the asphalt of the aforementioned parking lot was fissured with dozens of tiny cracks that glowed an ominous shade of cherry red, and occasionally spewed miniscule jets of flame into the already boiling air; the only car parked here looked to have been wrecked quite a while ago.

The motel itself obviously wasn't in much better condition, as most of the doors and windows had long since been boarded up and the rest of the building left to gather dust, perhaps for years on end. For good measure, a trio of enormous diagonal spires of rock had punched clean through the motel's roof in three different places, each of them shrouded with a hellish red glow.

In front of the first and largest of the three spires, a tumbledown sign announced that this was the Overlook Motel, and it took a while for the four of them to work out why: behind the motel was a series of cliffs and crags that, judging from the distant smell of salt-water underlying the prominent stink of sulphur, overlooked a beach. Though given that most of the trees that bordered this motel were either charred to a crisp or still on fire, Mabel didn't want to imagine what the water might look like under the circumstances.

And was it her imagination, or were there figures lurking in the shadows at either end of the building? Could she see batlike wings and glowing eyes, or was the air doing unpleasant things to her brain already?

And why did this place feel so…

…hungry?

Not for the first time, Mabel found herself immensely grateful that Waddles hadn't followed them into the portal.

"What is this place?" Dipper wondered aloud; even the wounds to his knees hadn't dampened his spirit in the slightest. "What world have we landed in?"

Ford hummed to himself, absently testing things with his usual array of pocket gadgetry. "It's not one I've ever been to," he said at last. "Judging by the architectural style and the use of English, we're obviously on some variant of Earth – fairly modern, judging by the car. But other than that, I'm as confused as you are: maybe this is some kind of post-apocalyptic wasteland, the result of worldwide volcanic activity perhaps?"

"The heck with what this place is," Grunkle Stan grumbled. "What I wanna know is, can we get out of here?"

"Unfortunately, no: the portal's closed, and though I'm picking up a lot of interdimensional activity from nearby-"

"Hang on, you mean that there's more portals nearby?"

"Lots more," said Ford grimly. "More appear every second: I'm picking up a lot of energy signatures due north of here, probably right behind the motel… but there's also one or two established inside the building itself. Unfortunately, none of them are headed back to our world."

"How can you tell?"

"The intensity of the energy signatures: if any of the portals around here were heading back to our dimension, they'd be using a lot more energy; judging by the power requirements of these ones, they're heading to a neighbouring world. Right next-door in fact." Ford's brow furrowed with interest. "Who knows? Maybe all this portal radiation was what broke through the weak point in our dimension and brought us here!"

"Look, Ford, I'm glad you've found an answer, but for now we need to concentrate on finding another way home. Is there any chance you could build a new portal in record time?"

"Before the birthday party tomorrow?" Mabel added.

Ford sighed. "Not with the materials I have on hand right now, no. It may be possible to hijack one of the portals around here and redirect it to our universe, but we'd need a power source for that… and we'd also need a way of finding our way back home as well. And I don't have anything in these pockets that can detect either, so it seems we've got another scavenger hunt to complete."

Dipper's mouth opened in a wild, excited-looking grin. By now, he'd finally managed to scrub the worst of the dust off his cap except for a stubborn streak of ash over the pine tree emblem, and he was quite clearly more than ready for action: "Can we-"

"No," said Stan automatically.

"Oh come on, you need all the help you can-"

"The answer's still no, Dipper."

"He's right, though," Mabel chimed in. "We can help; I mean, it's not as if we haven't seen worse odds this summer."

"Kids, we're in uncharted territory. We don't know where this is or what's going on, or what could be waiting for us around the next corner. There could be worse things than Bill around here; for all we know, there could be worse things than the IRS out here!"

"Plus, there's always the danger of interdimensional paradox," Ford added. "If we meet parallel versions of ourselves here, we run the risk of obliterating this entire dimension – along with both iterations of the same person and anyone unlucky enough to be caught in the backlash."

There was a nervous pause.

"…do I really wanna know how you figured that one out?"

"Let's just say that there's an alternate Fiddleford out there who taught me that dimensional travel is most assuredly not without its pitfalls."

"You see?" said Stan. "The best thing you two can do to help us is just stay put and wait where it's safe while me and Ford find what we need to get back home again."

Dipper looked around, dubiously eyeing the charred tree-trunks and burning fissures in the asphalt; in the distance, something alien howled, and a shriek of unearthly laughter rippled across the parking lot.

"We're a little short on safe places right now, Grunkle Stan," he said at last.

Stan sighed, grumbling as he wearily pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Maybe they can help after all," Ford suggested. "Let's take a look around the area first, just to see what the place is like: if we can't find anything secure or we can't find anything that suggests our other selves are in the area, we'll just have to take them with us."

For a moment, Stan looked as if he was about to argue, but then threw up his hands in exasperation. "You know what? Fine. If nothing else works, they can tag along… but I get to scout out this place first, okay? If the motel's even worse than it looks, we move on right away. Until then, you stay here and guard the kids. Got it?"

By way of a reply, Ford drew one of his many weapons from his coat and issued a bemused-looking salute. "Just make sure not to make eye-contact with anyone that looks like you," he advised.

"No problem. And you keep your curiosity under control, Ford: no wandering off."

"What makes you think I'd try anything like that?"

"Pattern recognition! Now, wish me luck: I'm going to check out the Overlook…"


This is such a bad idea, this is such a bad idea, this is such a bad idea… why the hell did I volunteer for this job? Why didn't I let Ford go exploring while I stayed back and kept watch? God, this is going to be worse than my last visit to Chicago, except with even more tunnelling through raw sewage and even less fun…

Stan muttered a few choice expletives and took stock of the situation as he tiptoed anxiously across the Overlook's parking lot: he was about to enter an abandoned motel in the middle of a volcanic wasteland with god only knew who might be waiting for him inside and a whole host of unknown dangers lurking around the building; after all, Ford had mentioned that there was a lot of portal activity going on behind the motel, but neither of them knew what might be coming out of those portals – except that it howled and laughed creepily. Faced with a dangerous new world full of untold threats, Stan was equipped with the following: his Mr Mystery Costume, his wallet, a pair of knuckle-dusters, and his mitts.

Still, he thought, I punched out Bill Cipher with these fists o' mine. Killing out Earth's new lord-and-master with your bare hands has to count for something, right?

He hastily sidestepped a gout of flame from one of the larger cracks in the asphalt, hoping against hope that his shoelaces hadn't caught fire.

Yep, he reflected feverishly, it'll count for a hell of a lot if I can make it to the front door without going up in smoke. Or choking to death on that rotten-egg smell. Christ, what the hell happened here? And more importantly, why am I even bothering with this search when just about every door's been boarded up?

As he drew closer, however, Stan realized this wasn't entirely true. There were still two doors left unbarred in the building: the front office and nearby room 13, both of which had been left open. From his current position, he couldn't see much of what was going on inside, but it was clear that there were lights on in both rooms… and unless his tired old eyes were playing tricks on him, someone was moving around in there, casting shadows on the walls and drifting ominously around the front desk.

Stan briefly considered calling out, but then thought better of it. Even if the occupants were completely human, they probably didn't want to be disturbed. So, he kept his lips very firmly buttoned down as he crept towards the open doors.

He picked room 13 first, partly due out of habitual defiance of superstition, but mostly because whoever was inside would probably notice him creeping by if he made for the front desk first. So, sidling up to the door, he took a deep breath, steeled himself for the worst, and peered around the edge of the doorframe as quietly as he could manage.

Unfortunately, he hadn't been quiet enough, for he immediately found himself looking down the barrel of a handgun.

On instinct, Stan froze; back when he'd been a travelling conman, he'd been held at gunpoint more times than he'd had hot dinners (quite literally), and by now he knew that there was no point in trying to run, not at this range. If he moved even slightly, the shooter would kill him on instinct. Instead, he remained as still as a statue even as his heart began hammering out a frenzied Buddy Rich drum solo.

Then, a hand grabbed him by the shoulder and hauled him out from behind the doorframe, allowing Stan his first look at the occupant of room 13.

His attacker was a woman dressed all in white. White uniform jacket, white button-up shirt, white gloves, white pants, white tie, white utility belt… all spotlessly clean, well-starched and wrinkle-free. In fact, there were only three minor elements to her outfit that weren't white: the tightly laced blue combat boots; the blue winged lion emblem over her belt buckle; and last but certainly not least, the blue beret perched on top of her unkept brown hair.

As for the woman herself, she was somewhere in the ballpark of twenty-five to thirty years old, though something about those tired blue eyes made her seem curiously older. A couple of inches shorter than him, she was quite slender, maybe even a bit on the scrawny side, and that narrow, waifish face only made her look even skinnier.

This was not a face built for smiling; this was the kind of face that Stan had last seen levelling a crossbow at him on his first day in Gravity Falls… and as her eyes focussed on him, her already tense expression contorted into something that looked a little too much like hatred for Stan's liking. Already pale and wan, the woman turned white with rage, almost matching the colour of her uniform in the process.

"For the last time," she roared, pointing the gun squarely between Stan's eyes, "I'M NOT GOING BACK! LEAVE ME ALONE!"

"Okay," squeaked Stan. "You're the boss."

He raised his hands in surrender – just in case she hadn't gotten the message.

The woman clearly hadn't been expecting this, for the enraged expression immediately vanished from her face, replaced with a look of utter bewilderment. She peered closely at Stan for a moment, as if checking for something that only she could see, paying close attention to his fez, eyepatch and bow tie as she did so.

"You're not one of them," she said, sounding genuinely surprised. "But you dress just like…"

She took a deep breath and lowered the gun. "Sorry. I… I've had bad experiences with… strangers in… weird clothes."

Now it was Stan's turn to sigh in relief. Well, that was a case of mistaken identity I could've done without: Jesus, and Ford says he's supposed to be the one who has a heart attack. I think I just had twelve right this second. Okay, Stan, focus: the crazy lady is nice and calm now, so try not to give her any good reason to point the gun at you again. Big smile, lots of charm, clean underwear and plenty of space between the two of you.

"Oh, it's okay," he replied, laughing mirthlessly. "I get that a lot. Sometimes it's the eyepatch that sets people off, but you never know in this business. Uh, what's your name?"

The woman didn't answer at first: her expression turned wary, her eyes suddenly darting from left to right as if she suspected someone was going to ambush her the moment she replied.

"Lorraine Maillard," she replied at last.

Was it Stan's imagination, or was she bracing herself for a response? Was this strange woman a wanted criminal in this world? All the cues suggested it… but given how little Stan knew about this crazy dimension, her behaviour so far could have meant just about anything – including Lorraine being nuttier than a squirrel sandwich. And what did the uniform mean? Was she a deserter from a special forces unit, a black ops agent gone rogue, or just a crazy woman in fancy dress? And what about that emblem on her belt – what did the winged lion surmounted by a sword mean?

And what was that smell around her? It seemed to layer the air around her, growing steadily stronger as the seconds ticked by. It took a moment or so for Stan to recognize it over the rotten-egg stench of sulphur wafting up from the surrounding wastelands, and by the time he'd figured out what this new scent was, it was so strong as to be inescapably obvious: honey.

"Lorraine, huh?" he said loudly. "That's a very pretty name."

The woman blinked, taken aback, and a faint blush brightened her pallid cheeks.

Yep, Stan thought gleefully, I still got it. Let's see if we can draw out some answers from her. He extended a hand for a shake, giving her his best winning smile as she hesitantly shook it.

"Pleased to meet ya," he announced, every inch the amiable travelling salesman. "The name's Stan Pines, entrepreneur extraordinaire. Now, I'm on my way to Oregon and got a little lost a couple of miles down the road, so I stopped by the motel for directions." He grinned ruefully. "Might not have been my best idea, but you know how it is: you gotta roll with the punches. Truth be told, I'd just be happy knowing where the hell I've ended up and if there's a gas station somewhere down the road."

Lorraine's eyes narrowed. "You came here by car?"

"That's right, ma'am."

"…just by car? Nothing supernatural?"

"Right again. I mean, I don't look supernatural, do I? I'm as ordinary as they get."

"And you were heading to Oregon?"

"Yup – roadtripping to Roadkill county."

"But… but this is Solomon Island."

Now it was Stan's turn to look bewildered. "The Solomon Islands? Jeez, I always thought the Solomons were supposed to be tropical – palm trees, beaches, cocktails, that kinda thing. Did a volcano go off or something?"

For a moment, Lorraine didn't seem to know how to respond to this. Then, without warning, she let out a snort of laughter and collapsed against the doorframe, giggling helplessly as she struggled to stop herself from sliding all the way to the floor. Stan could only watch in bemusement as she went on guffawing, wondering if this strange woman really was out of her mind: quite apart from the fact that the gaffe hadn't even been that funny, this kind of laughter was only used by people who hadn't had anything to laugh about for a very, very long time.

"Not the Solomon Islands," she said at last, stifling a few stray giggles, "Solomon Island."

Stan looked blank.

"Solomon Island, Maine. You know: Atlantic Ocean fishing, pumpkin farming, exclusive boarding school, weird history, lots of mysterious events, the Fog? That Solomon Island?"

At this, Stan breathed a silent sigh of relief. At least he knew he wasn't going to run into his parallel self anytime soon: New Jersey was over four hundred miles south from here, and Gravity Falls was on the opposite coast of the country.

Of course, that left them trapped in a universe where there was an island off the coast of Maine where there hadn't been one previously, plus a lot of history he needed to familiarize himself with, but so far things were looking up.

"Oh yeah," he exclaimed loudly, "that Solomon Island! I remember now! Yeah, the lobsters are supposed to be really great around here. Wow, did I get lost! Well, I guess I should probably get moving before it gets any darker around here. Er, you wouldn't happen to know if there's a gas station down the road? Maybe a B&B where I can stay for the night?"

Lorraine looked as though she was about to ask more questions for a moment, but then thought better of it. "There's a Sycoil station about a couple of hundred yards from here," she said at last. "Just head west from here until you reach Solomon Road and follow it downhill around Innsmouth way, to the south; it'll be just ahead of the river. But…"

She sighed. "Look, I don't know what you're doing here or how you don't know what's been going on, but it's not safe here right now."

Stan looked theatrically around the dilapidated wreckage of the motel, at the blazing trees and volcanic landscape surrounding them.

"Yeah, I'd kinda noticed that," he deadpanned.

"Not just here, Stan: Solomon Island hasn't been safe since the Fog arrived. There's…" Lorraine sighed and shook her head. "What am I talking about? It's never been safe at all. There's always been something wrong with this island, something deep beneath the soil, corrupting everything it touches. And for some reason, there's always someone who wants to get their hands on it. That's why there've been horror stories around every corner on Solomon from the moment the Wabanaki first set foot on it, and it's why there've been so many murders and "accidents" and disappearances and Christ only knows what else over the years. It's just gotten even worse now: there's no hiding anything from anyone anymore – all the monsters are out in the open, stalking prey, and there's nothing any of us can do about it."

She took a deep breath. "Long story short, if you're looking for shelter, don't even bother going for gas. Follow Solomon Road north through the tunnel and stay in your car until you reach Kingsmouth sheriff's office. Don't leave the road, don't stop, and do not get out of your car for any reason whatsoever. Once you get to Kingsmouth, Sheriff Bannerman will take care of you; whatever you need to know, she'll give your gory details."

Jeez, if it's this bad, maybe we should try this scavenger hunt elsewhere.

"But how do I get off this island?" he asked aloud.

"You can't."

"What do you mean? There's gotta be some way out of here, though – I mean, maybe there's a ferry or an airport or a bridge-"

"As of October, there's been no way of accessing or exiting Solomon Island except through Agartha and the secret roads… and not everyone has access. If I were you, I'd turn around and head right back the way you came while the route's still open. I'd also stay well away from Solomon Island in the future – especially this motel. We've already got one asshole with a death wish wasting time in the front office: we don't need two."

"You don't seem too worried about staying here."

For a moment, Lorraine seemed older and wearier than ever. "I'm not planning on staying for much longer," she said quietly.

With that, she drifted back inside the room, and for a moment, Stan caught a brief glimpse of what lay behind the broken-down door: apart from the hellish orange light emanated from no discernible source and the glowing cracks in the floor, it looked almost normal… though most of it had been covered with a lot of suspicious-looking throw rugs and tarpaulins.

"You'd best get going," she murmured. "Either go back the way you came or move on to Kingsmouth. Don't stay around this motel, Stan: it's not worth your soul."

What don't you want me to see, Lorraine? What are you up to back there?

But Stan only offered an accommodating smile and began retreating back across the parking lot. "Okay," he said over his shoulder, "you have a good night. See ya later!"


Lorraine watched him go with something almost akin to sadness.

It had been so long since she'd had company that wasn't work-related, and even longer since she'd been in the presence of someone who hadn't been in the loop concerning the supernatural goings-on around the island. Then again, it wasn't as if Stan would remain ignorant forever; hopefully, he'd find his way back… or else he'd be relying on the Bees for help like everyone else.

Still, there was something about that strange old man, something that made tiny patterns of triangles flash behind her eyelids if she closed them tightly enough…

And had he really been the only one around? She'd had the most peculiar feeling that someone had been watching her from beyond the parking lot; once or twice, she could have sworn that someone had been peering out from behind one of the trees, only to dart out of sight before Lorraine could focus on them.

For a moment, she almost thought of calling after Stan and asking him to stay a little while longer, maybe even offering to guide him to safety, both for the company and for the chance to delve a little deeper into what was going on.

But then she thought better of it: she'd come this far in pursuit of her goals, and she couldn't afford to delay a moment longer, not now that she was so close. Time and time again Lorraine had come within inches of getting what she wanted, only to be thwarted because she'd made the mistake of letting some nosy bastards get involved, and she'd always found herself left with nothing but pain and a few ashen hopes trickling through her fingers.

How many times had she tried and failed to seize the promise of the final nightmare? Ten? Fifty? A hundred?

Already the angry Buzzing had once again returned with a vengeance, and the agony was searing through her skull like rivulets of molten lead poured across her brain. If she was going to get this done, she'd have to do so while her head was still clear enough to think coherently; true, the pain had its own tidal ebb and flow, enough for her to try again when the pressure behind her eyes had faded, but could she afford to wait when another one of Gaia's Chosen could arrive on the scene any minute from now?

She'd timed her visit to the Overlook as best as she could, waiting until everyone was too distracted with the latest crisis over in Tokyo before making her way to the motel again and hoping that it would be able to keep the annoying little shits away from Hell territory until she was finished… but it wouldn't last forever.

No, better to get this done while there was still time left in the hourglass.

One by one, Lorraine removed the tarps and coverings from around the room, revealing the "alterations" that had been made – old and new. Theodore Wicker had been generous in leaving behind this bounty of materials behind for her, even if she was putting them to a slightly different use than he'd intended all those years ago. Hopefully, it would be enough to bring her thirty-year quest to an end.

If not…

Lorraine shook her head. She couldn't afford to think like that now: she couldn't let despair overcome her again, not when the end was finally within sight.

Sighing, she sat down in the centre of the room and began the ritual in earnest.


Perhaps half a mile to the south, past a rusting perimeter fence overgrown with ivy, across a field of attractions that should have ceased to function decades ago, something stirred and rose from its ethereal nest.

In days gone by, he recalled, the children who'd survived seeing him in person had called him the Old Man. There were usually surnames attached to that alias, but as none of the gullible little brats had ever gotten it right, he'd never acknowledged them. He was the Old Man, and just as it had been enough for him in his glorious seasons of feasting, it was enough for him in this year of famine and slumber.

It had been some time since anything had drawn his interest out there in the world beyond his invisible dominion: ever since the ocean had vomited up its torrent of Fog and nightmares onto the shores of Solomon Island, his usual prey had dried up and taken his opportunity for advancement with it; for months on end, there'd been no children climbing the fence on a dare, no thrillseekers intruding on his property for the sake of a selfie, no blundering tourists on the trail of an urban legend, no meals worthy of the name.

More annoying was the fact that the only visitors he'd received had been hardy, unpalatable things with too many weapons and not enough nourishment to offer him, and he hadn't deigned to show his true face to any of them; thankfully, a few illusions were enough to fool them into abandoning their petty quests, fools that they were.

With little else to do, he'd made sure his larder was fully stocked and descended into the bowels of his nest to hibernate, hoping that the Fog might lift and his prey return if given enough time. Instead, he'd awoken to find that, though Solomon Island remained locked in the grip of the Dreamers, there was something new to the island… but perhaps "new" wasn't the right word. No, what he could sense and smell and taste upon the air was all too familiar… and all too tasty.

He knew that scent. He knew that glorious taste of despair and self-loathing, so rich upon his palate.

"Lorraine? Is that you, sweet Lorraine?"

Somewhere in the darkness beyond his home, the scent of a thousand deluded sorrows roiled and bubbled upon the breeze. Yes, yes, Lorraine Maillard had returned home after so many years of fear and denial.

But there was something else there as well, someone young and pliable lurking in the shadows beyond the hellish light, a morsel he hadn't sensed on the island before today. Perhaps this new arrival was an opportunity for fresh meat, a welcome change from preserved morsels of past meals gathered over the decades. Or, if he dared to imagine, maybe there was a chance to achieve something greater.

Perhaps Lorraine could be useful once more…

Scooping his cane into one spindly hand and donning his top hat, the Old Man rose from the shadows, chortling gutturally to himself as he loped towards higher ground.

"Come to daddy…"


A/N: Any guesses as to what's going to happen next? Feel free to theorize!

And now for the code:

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