A/N: Aaaaagh! Finally I have access to my files again and I can resume updating, if at a slightly slower pace. It's been a very troubling three months, but at long last, I'm back and I'm ballroom dancing inside my own well-worn brain. As always, feel free to let me know your theories and predictions - feedback on this neglected story is extremely welcome.

Anyway, without further ado, onto the next chapter: read, review, and above all, enjoy!

Disclaimer: Gravity Falls and The Park/TSW are still not mine, and neither is the song "Carrickfergus."

This chapter's soundtrack is "Hallucination" from the Labyrinth soundtrack.


Never in her entire life had Lorraine been more thankful for the otherwise-useless telescope that had been included in her utility belt; without it, she'd never have seen the trap awaiting them.

They were surrounded.

From her position atop the upper peaks of the mountain, she could clearly see that the Council was already deploying its operatives to stop her: across the western end of the island, agents were being reassigned to sweep the area, easily recognized by the stark white blobs patrolling the roads; there were already a few blue berets sniffing around the Franklin Mansion and the trailer park, and though they hadn't gotten anywhere near the CDC encampment, she knew it was only a matter of time before they exhausted all the sensible hiding places and began exploring the more remote options. They knew that the encampment was safe, but they presumably didn't believe that Lorraine would be willing to hide a child so close to a wellspring of Filth; no, they'd be expecting her to take Callum with her wherever she went. So long as they still believed that much, her little boy would be safe.

Unfortunately, her survey from the mountain had also revealed something deeply troubling going on in Kingsmouth: an entire battalion of white-uniformed troops had emerged from the secret roads and begun amassing just south of the airport.

Up until now, the Council of Venice had treated Solomon Island as a situation that needed to be maintained: they sent in the bare minimum number of troops necessary to keep the island from degenerating any further, and they rarely ever strayed from those specific duties. For the last few months, they'd been kept occupied with the duty of maintain safe zones for stranded travellers, occasionally providing reinforcements for the locals, and operating weapons stores for the Big Three. Anything more than that, like evacuating the residents or directly combating the threat that had caused this mess, was outside their purview.

After all, they had the Big Three to tackle the important issues: the Big Three's hired Bees had taken out the Ur-Draug, brought down the evil sorcerer behind this mess, even found out what lay beyond the Fog, though they hadn't stopped that particular menace just yet. From what Lorraine had heard, the Big Three's hired Bees had also helped end the crises in Egypt and Transylvania and were even making headway into cleaning up the carnage in Tokyo. Through all the apocalyptic nightmares, the Council of Venice had done nothing. After all, why would they? It wasn't their job to help: it was their job to adjudicate, mediate, administrate, and wait until the crisis was over with so they could take notes for a report that nobody would ever read and a committee that would never get anything done. They hadn't done anything about Atlantic Island Park in the last thirty years, even though they'd known what resided there; why would they budge from their cobwebbed halls for just for the zombie infestation, the Hellish invasion, or any of the myriad disasters that had threatened Solomon Island in the past few months?

Now, though, the Council's forces had arrived on the island in their hundreds and were ready to take the place by storm. Only two things could have possibly shaken them from their lethargy: either they'd discovered that the world was literally just about to end… or they were here to retrieve a vital asset that had gone rogue.

They were here for her.

They knew what their prize Bee had done, and they wanted her back before she did any more damage to herself. It didn't matter that Lorraine finally had Callum back in her arms, that she'd finally found respite from the guilt and the grief, or that the buzzing fever in her brain might stop just for a little while; they'd take him away from just the same, probably kill him too – just so they could have their vital asset back, quiet and compliant under their collective thumbs.

They were going to be sweeping the island from top to bottom as soon as their scouts reported in, no matter how many troops they'd have to sacrifice in the process of hunting her down. This was a dangerous place, after all: zombies, draug, ghosts, the ak'ab, the demons, the Filth, all would take a toll on the Council forces sent across the island… but if Lorraine knew the mind behind this deployment, she knew that the commander of the battalion would consider this a necessary sacrifice.

After all, Lorraine was too useful to be allowed freedom. Lorraine was unknown to the Council's subjects. Lorraine had plausible deniability. Lorraine was easy to manipulate. Lorraine was keeping the Council's covert operations afloat. Lorraine had no competing desires (or so they thought).

And that was why seeking shelter on the summit of the Blue Mountain was no longer possible.

Even if the blue berets couldn't get hold of a helicopter, she'd seen more than a few agents of the Big Three returning from the front lines with jetpacks, Agarthan wings, and even the occasional Third Age ornithopter. A few bribes thrown in their direction, and Lorraine's hiding place would be exposed for all to see.

Now it was time to head back to the camp, to retrieve Callum and hope that nobody would see them while they were running for cover. Right now, as far as she knew, there was only one place in the entire island where Callum could be safe. As soon as they'd made it there, Lorraine could relax for a little while and think of where to take Callum next. She couldn't afford to get bogged down in plans now, nor could she afford to wonder how Callum had returned to her after all this time, or why he looked so much older, or-

A buzzing pain rippled through her mind, and Lorraine barely smothered a whimper of pain as the familiar sting throbbed and boiled inside her skull.

No, no, no, don't think about it, she told herself. That way lies madness. Just focus on keeping Callum safe, and everything will be okay. You failed him once. Don't fail him again by overthinking this. He's back and you have a second chance; that's all that matters.

Muttering a few desperate expletives under her breath, Lorraine began making her way back down the mountain, edging carefully down towards the woods that clustered the southern foothills. From personal experience, she knew it would be quicker and easier just to drop like a stone and regenerate at the nearest Anima Well, but frankly, she didn't want to put up with the pain of dying all over again.

Besides, it probably wouldn't be long before the Council put the Anima Wells under surveillance. The last thing she wanted was to accidentally tip off the blue berets out of laziness.

So, she set off, scuttling awkwardly down the barren mountain peak towards the outcropping that would be the closest way back to the ground. Fortunately, it didn't take long: Blue Mountain wasn't exactly the biggest peak in the state, especially considering the things that slumbered beneath it, and as soon as you found a low enough outcropping and high enough patch of trees, it would be a simple matter to scale one all the way back to the ground – with a little help from the spiked gauntlets she'd brought with her.

Before long, the treetops just south of Joanna's Trail were creeping into view, an easy route back down to ground level and Callum. One carefully-measured leap, and Lorraine had latched onto the trunk of the tree and was ready to commence her descent.

Finally, she thought, as she began climbing downwards. Something's going my way for a change.

She was still thinking those words when something vaguely human-shaped rocketed out of the darkness and crashed into her at high speed, sending the improvised climbing spikes flying out of her hands. Fortunately, the spikes were firmly embedded in the trunk.

Unfortunately, Lorraine wasn't.

Suddenly, she was airborne, plummeting helplessly towards the unforgiving ground below.


Mabel's trek across the woods had been an awkward one at best: since she didn't have a map of the island and only the most peripheral idea of the direction she should be going in, she'd had to backtrack several times when her path had led her dangerously close to the ground – especially when said ground was infested with monsters. By now, she was deeply tired, her arms aching with the strain of grappling back and forth across the trees.

As such, when the impact arrived, she didn't even know what she'd bumped into at first.

One minute she was rocketing upwards through the branches of a tree, grappling hook in hand, hoping to find another branch that could allow her safe passage across the woods. The next thing she knew, she'd crashed into someone clinging to the tree-trunk. As she was still clinging to the grappling hook for dear life and firmly hooked to the branch directly above her, Mabel continued rising skywards, swinging back and forth like a pendulum but otherwise unharmed.

Whoever she'd ran into wasn't so lucky, though: budged from their handholds, they went hurtling groundwards with a scream of surprise that ended in a loud crunch from somewhere around ground level, followed by the rustling and growling of forest creatures moving to investigate the disturbance.

Looking down, Mabel saw that the unlucky climber had landed in a patch of moonlight about twenty to thirty feet below. To her surprise, she recognized the white uniform and the dark brown hair at once: this was Lorraine, Dipper's kidnapper.

Also, she appeared to be quite distinctly dead. She'd struck a boulder at the base of the tree on her way down and judging by the expanding pool of blood around the back of her skull, she'd landed headfirst. Now she lay still, eyes staring blankly up at the sky, her already gore-splattered uniform befouled with fresh blood, her limbs contorted in what looked like a final effort to grab for a handhold.

For a moment, Mabel's hear frozen in terror and guilt, her thoughts lurching wildly from Oh gosh, I just killed someone, to Oh no, Dipper's not with her! How am I supposed to find him now?

But then she thought again: hadn't she looked dead when they'd seen her back at the motel? Hadn't Lorraine been so convincingly dead that even Grunkle Ford and Grunkle Stan had been fooled? Maybe she was playing possum, or maybe she was about to come back to life again.

Tentatively, Mabel plucked a twig from the edge of one of the nearby branches and threw at Lorraine as hard as she could. The twig struck the body hard in the face, bouncing off the cheekbone and flying off into the night; Lorraine, however, remained completely still.

"Hello?" Mabel called out. "Are you dead?"

Lorraine didn't reply.

"If not, can you tell me where Dipper is?"

For her part, Lorraine gave every impression of being extremely dead.

And then a strange glow filled the air, casting a golden light upon the corpse. For a moment, Lorraine's body twitched… and then without warning, the entire thing simply dissolved into nothingness, the cadaver simply disintegrating from head to toe in the space of a second.

Of course, Mabel didn't know what to make of it: maybe this meant that Lorraine was gone and wasn't coming back, or maybe it meant that she was coming back in another way. Whatever the case, she couldn't stick around theorizing about it – after all, that was Dipper's job. For now, she had to find him, preferably before Lorraine got her hands on him again.

So, readying her grappling hook, she catapulted herself into the night, once again looking for a safe path through the trees, headily steadily northwards toward the road…


Some distance away, Lorraine erupted back into physical existence in the golden light of the Anima Well, bemused and a little shocked, but none the worse for wear.

What the hell hit me? She wondered to herself.

She shook her head and looked around: before her lay a dismal looking beach, a zombie-infested bridge crossing the waters of the cove, a road bordered on one side by the Draug-infested sea and the deep, dark forests. She'd ended up at the Anima Well just north of the Black Goat Pass – over a mile south of her destination!

Cursing, Lorraine took to her heels and started running. She couldn't afford to use the Well to teleport, not if the Council had already started watched the one closest to the Moon Cove. She'd have to tackle this on foot… and hope that she wasn't too late to protect Callum.


Dipper sat bolt upright, suddenly wide awake.

To his dismay, he found himself still in the barracks tent of the CDC encampment; the last few hours hadn't been a dream after all. He was still stuck in hostile territory in an unfamiliar part of the world, surrounded by unknown threats, with only a madwoman and an unlucky CDC operative for company. All in all, not a promising situation.

But what had woken him up?

Struggling to collect his thoughts, he recalled having a nightmare – or something like a nightmare at any rate: he remembered lying on a concrete slab in the darkness, unable to move or speak; he remembered something horrible smiling down at him with a mouthful of jagged teeth so large that it could barely get its jaws shut; he remembered seeing Lorraine's eyes, wide and terrified… and he remembered his body going cold, ice-cold waves of pain radiating outwards from his heart until all he could feel was numbness.

And then he'd awoken.

Not knowing what to make of it, Dipper scrambled out of the sleeping bag, unzipped the entrance and stepped outside. To his further dismay, it was still clearly the middle of the night, so he obviously hadn't been asleep for very long.

Ms Chen was still on watch at the edge of the outcropping, visored gaze very firmly fixed on the broiling mud below. She looked up as he crept closer, but said nothing: obviously, Lorraine's warning was still fresh in her mind.

"What time is it?" Dipper asked.

"About half past midnight. You've been asleep for about an hour, maybe a little less. Uh… it shouldn't be too much longer before your mom gets back. I hope," she added nervously.

Sighing, Dipper briefly contemplated spilling the beans and just explaining that Lorraine wasn't really his mother. After all, Ms Chen worked for the government: maybe she could contact someone who could help him, maybe send a rescue party to pick him up and have Lorraine arrested… but judging by the fact that the camp was empty and hadn't seen reinforcements, Dipper wasn't holding out much hope. In the end, he decided against awkward confessions, in part because he didn't want Ms Chen ending up on the receiving end of Lorraine's temper because of him.

Instead, he asked, "What's the CDC doing out here on the island? I mean, what are you investigating?"

The hazmat-suited figure pointed downwards at the sickly mud of the Moon Bog. "That stuff," she said simply.

Dipper peered over the edge of the outcropping; thanks to the harsh lights of the camp pointed at the crater-like marshland below, he noticed for the first time that the quagmire wasn't mud at all, but an oily, gleaming, viscous ooze polluting every corner of the bog. At first, he thought it might be ordinary crude oil, or maybe even tar – after all, it wasn't as if tar pits were unknown in nature. But no: whatever this stuff was, it seemed to move of its own accord, bubbling and eddying and shifting back and forth across the despoiled marshlands with an unearthly vitality. And unless his eyes were playing tricks on him, he swore he could see tentacles writhing on the edges of the bog, the glistening black ooze exuding tendrils and creepers to colonize the edges of the swamp.

"We call it the Filth," Ms Chen explained, presumably having noticed Dipper's incredulous stare. "My advice: don't go anywhere near it. You might think the walking dead are bad, but I've seen what happens to the people who've been infected by that stuff; frankly, you'd be better off dead."

Dipper peered across the bog; in the distance, he could just about discern the faint shapes of people lurking on tiny islands protruding from the lake of Filth. Even from this distance, it was plainly obvious that all of them were digging, tearing at the soil in a frenzy of obsessive madness; their skin was soaked in black oil and studded with foot-long tentacles, their lamplike eyes glowing a hellish orange.

"Don't ask me what causes it, because I don't have a clue. All I know is that this stuff has been seeping out of the ground for the last few months, infecting everything it touches. I don't know if there's some kind of underground reservoir of Filth that's cracked open, or if there's actually something creating this stuff… but I'm betting the Bees know. They're the only ones that've seen what's under the mountain."

Ms Chen shook herself. "Sorry," she sighed. "I get paranoid when I don't get enough sleep. I've been here ever since the Fog close in around this island, and it hasn't got any easier since then. At least the things down there don't seem interested in me just yet…"

Dipper eyed the circle of ashen-grey Fog just visible on the horizon. "What caused that though?"

"Beats me. Even the Bees don't have much to say about that. Once they're done talking to me, they don't often come back: they just head straight over the bog. They're immune to the Filth from the looks of things – lucky bastards." She let out a muffled gasp and hastily covered her mouth. "Please don't tell your mom I said that, okay?"

By way of a reply, Dipper simply repeated Wendy's classic "lips are sealed" gesture.

"Anyway, the Bees don't stick around for long: they head straight over the Moon Bog to the old Franklin Mansion." She pointed to the top of the hill directly behind the opposite end of the bog, where Dipper could just about discern the shape of a wrought-iron fence, and beyond it, the distant shape of a building.

"Is it safe up there?" Dipper asked, genuinely curious. Perhaps he could make a run for it after all.

"One of the few safe zones in this part of the island; the Bees tell me it's because of all the ghosts haunting it. I'm still not sure if they're kidding or not, but whatever the case, the monsters don't go anywhere near it. The Filth, the zombies, the lobster-people, those moths… drone surveillance all show that they don't try to get past the gate. But the trouble is, you can't get through it from here without going through the bog, climbing the hills around it, or taking the scenic route along Wendigo Way – either way, too dangerous, otherwise I would have made a run for it months ago. So don't even think about it," Ms Chen added.

"Is there anywhere else that's safe from the monsters?"

Ms Chen shrugged. "I've heard of a few places. When they arrived, the army set up a small camp way to the southwest, not far from Kraken Cove, but it's too far away to reach without getting picked off by one of the monsters on the road. The only other place I can think of is the trailer park: the Bees say that there's some kinda magic protecting it, keeping out threats. The way they talk about it, it's strong enough to keep out the people driven crazy by the Filth."

An idea was forming in Dipper's brain, a mad, desperate, stupid idea that might not work as intended… but right now, it was all he had. Plus, Chen was clearly anxious, and that looked to making her talkative – even about things she probably wouldn't want to talk about under normal circumstances.

"Where is this trailer park?" he asked.

"To the west of here. It's a bit of a hike, but it's safer than hoofing it to the army camp. If the map's still accurate, all you have to do is follow Solomon Road and keep the ocean to the right of you until you pass the construction site, then once you see the dock with the whale-watching advertised, you'll know it's clo…"

She trailed off; even with the hazmat suit's visor in the way, Dipper could tell that Ms Chen's eyes were widening in horror. "I shouldn't have told you that," she muttered. "Look, kid-"

"Dipper."

"Look, Dipper, I don't know what you and your mom have planned, but she told me to keep an eye on you and I don't want to end up in trouble with her, okay? I just want to get through another day without getting murdered, and that's a tough proposition when the CDC think I'm too doomed to commit more resources to. It's bad enough that I've got to worry about something from that bog sneaking into the camp and… and… infecting me when I'm trying to catch a few precious hours of sleep. Okay? That bog down there might look pretty peaceful right now, but every now and again the Bees stop by and the things in the Filth start getting excited. I don't need your mom trying to kill me too, okay? So, let's just sit down, stay calm and- HEY! DIPPER, WAIT!"

But Dipper was beyond listening. He needed to get the heck out of here. He didn't know what Lorraine had planned for him, or if she even had anything planned for him at all and he was just going to spend the rest of his life being dragged around by an unkillable witch with a bad case of delusions.

He didn't even know if Lorraine was serious about the threats she'd made to Ms Chen or if she'd just been bluffing out of sheer desperation. In point of fact, he didn't even know if the trailer park was the safest place he could possibly go, or if he could safely find the others from there, or anything else about the island for that matter. All he knew was that he had to get out of here right now before Lorraine got back.

He just had to hope that Lorraine hadn't been serious.

He had to hope.

Flinging himself towards the road, he scrambled up the embankment and onto the asphalt. Behind him, Ms Chen tried to give chase, but with the hazmat suit slowing her down she could only amble awkwardly through the camp, and by the time Dipper had reached the bridge, a quick glance over his shoulder confirmed that she'd already given up.

Solomon Road soon crept into view, a long, gently winding path leading westward across the rolling green hills of the island. Out here, it was almost placid: there weren't any monsters out here, at least on this end of the road, and though there were still some pretty dense patches of forest clustering the terrain to his left (along with a rather ominous-looking camp bordered by a razor-fire fence) they were outnumbered by open territory. In fact, this area looked refreshingly like farmland: a few small houses forked off from the main road, each of them equipped with a healthy crop of pumpkins; a few even had scarecrows on duty.

After about ten minutes of running without noticing a single zombie on the path, Dipper felt comfortable enough to slow down and catch his breath. He kept moving, maintaining a slow but steady pace forward, keeping the ocean on his right and the land on his left as Ms Chen had instructed, but now that the mountains were firmly behind him, he didn't need to worry about bumping into Lorraine; after all, she'd been looking for a safe route to the summit, and she'd have to return to the CDC camp before she realized that he was gone. By then, he might have even made it as far as the trailer park. Already, he could see the tip of the construction site in the distance, just through the barrier of trees. It wouldn't be long now.

But as he went on jogging leisurely down the road, something to his left caught Dipper's eye. It was only a split-second glimpse, but for a moment he swore that he'd just seen a flash of light, almost like the beginnings of the portal that had dumped them in this dimension.

Skidding to a halt, he peered across the grassy hills and saw that the light had issued from behind a small house on the edge of the woods, somewhere in the pumpkin patch. And was it Dipper's imagination, or could he hear music issue from there? Yes, there was music – familiar and yet horribly alien music, pouring itself into his ears and insinuating itself in every corner of his brain. It sounded like a violin, and yet not… and was that someone singing?

And I'll spend my days in endless roving…

Soft is the grass, my bed is free…

He saw the light in the distance again, this time more sustained; now there was a vivid green glow cast upon the patch.

Dipper blinked rapidly. Suddenly, it seemed very hard to concentrate on the world around him; he couldn't tell where the music was coming from, if it was a human voice that he'd heard or even where is own feet were carrying him. All he knew was that he had to investigate the light before it vanished: if this really was another portal, he had to know – for it might be their only way of escaping this crazy reality.

Heedless of any dangers beyond the road, he left the path and began descending the hillside. The lights were brighter here, and to his dazed brain, they looked uncannily like luminescent motes of emerald-green light hovering in the air, moving in an entrancing, mesmerising dance across the lush green farmland. Enchanted, Dipper couldn't help but follow them down the embankment towards the pumpkin patch…


Jack could scarcely believe his luck.

It had been months since he'd last seen decent prey anywhere near his pumpkin patches, and even longer since he'd been spared the attentions of the honey-breathed outsiders. In all that time, Jack had never expected to leave his hiding place, much less catch a precious whiff of sweetmeat within reach of his wisps.

When the Fog had first descended on the island, most of the children had either been killed or evacuated to the sheriff's office along with all the other survivors, leaving him high and dry: no children would be allowed to wander the lonely country roads while the zombies were on the prowl until the crisis passed – if ever – and Jack had been left to soldier on without his usual tribute of blood and flesh.

That alone had been bad enough, but the humiliation had been worse: for over a century, he'd had the honour of being Solomon Island's best-known terror, the subject of a thousand campfire tales, a mascot feared and beloved by the pumpkin farmers in equal measure, and the very reason why the islander children were taught to fear the dark. Apart from the greedy bastard at the amusement park, he'd been the only monster worthy of the name, and now he was overshadowed by foreigners! The Scandinavian scum from the ocean had not only chased off his prey but had overshadowed him the minds of everyone in town. Nobody thought of Jack the Lad anymore: they only thought of Viking tentacle creatures sending hordes of zombies up the beaches towards them, or worse still, that foul black muck oozing from beneath the mountain. Only the Wabanaki had a word to spare for him, but even to them, he was a second-rate nuisance compared to the Wendigo that the Fog had brought scurrying out of the woodwork.

The final humiliation had been the arrival of the Bees. Like all outsiders, they snooped and meddled and ruined everything; first, they'd figured out that Jack had been to blame for the murder of those three girls way back in 2002, then chased him out of Kingsmouth altogether; then they'd chased him out of the patches on the coast, forcing him to flee here to the last safe pumpkin patches on the island. For the last two or three months, he'd been convinced that his next visitor would be another Bee ready to finish him off.

Instead, a child had finally arrived in his territory.

Twelve, maybe thirteen years of age, just fresh enough to be butchered for sweetmeats and sweetblood, even if this one was a boy and not the usual squealing girl-brat. From the smell of him, Jack could tell that this one was different to his usual prey; something gold and sharp had touched him, left its dirty fingerprints all over the boy… but right now, Jack didn't much care. He was bored, hungry, and sick to death of dancing through empty fields for entertainment. It was time for some fun…

Once again, he played the fiddle as he had all those years ago – before Old Man Henderson, before his fiery daughter, before that last dalliance, before the curse. He played merrily and mournfully, allowing his wisps to numb the boy's brain as his music lured him in.

For I'm drunk today

And I'm seldom sober

A handsome rover

From town to town…

Jack could see him now even through the soil, see his dull little face, his muddy brown hair and the poorly hidden birthmark beneath it.

He was so close, now, so close he could almost taste him…

Finally, the boy came to stop at the very edge of the pumpkin patch… and in that moment, Jack erupted from the earth, bursting free of the patch in a shower of mud and old bones. For a moment, the boy could only stare in uncomprehending bewilderment at the sight of Gourdface himself rising from the depths, right before Jack reached out with a long, crooked arm and snatched him off his feet.

Jack knew how his prey normally reacted to being ambushed: they screamed, they cried, and a few even had a chance to beg for mercy before he split them open and bathed the pumpkins in their hot, sweet blood. None of them ever thought of fighting back, and why would they? The kids who strayed in his direction didn't belong to the ridiculous League of Monster Slayers; no, they'd been taught that the monsters of the island were to be feared, not fought.

So, it came as something of a surprise when the boy with the birthmark reared back and punched him hard in the face.


Dipper reacted instinctively.

He'd no idea why the monster had been lurking in the pumpkin patch, or even what it was. To his eyes, it looked like a giant misshapen jack-o-lantern mounted on two spindly legs and framed by two branch-like arms; eight feet tall at the very least, it looked more than imposing enough to tear through flesh with its twig-like fingers, and its lumpen face – barely-protruding from its lumpen torso – was alive with glee and hunger.

To put it charitably, it looked like the Shapeshifter had gone botanical.

But at some point during that summer, Dipper had gotten used to being menaced by giant monsters: the Gnome Colossus, the Gobblewonker, the Summerween Trickster, Gideon's giant mecha, the Shapeshifter, security drones, the Henchmaniacs and even Bill Cipher himself… Dipper was a salty dog when it came to dealing with giant monsters.

So when the thing grabbed him, Dipper reacted in much the same way as he'd reacted to Gideon, namely by sucker-punching the thing right between its glowing red eyes.

The monster lurched backwards in surprise, nearly dropping him in the process. For his part, Dipper just pressed the attack, punching, kicking, headbutting, gouging and tearing with his bare hands, doing anything possible to hurt the thing before it could hurt him. And while he didn't seem to be inflicting any real harm, he definitely seemed to be causing pain, for the creature let out a little yelp of pain and surprise with every impact.

"Stop it!" the creature snarled, its voice a ripe Irish brogue. "For Chrissakes, stop it! Cut it out, you little shit, or I'll-"

Dipper just kicked it in the jaws again.

By way of a response, the monster roared in frustration and hoist Dipper high in the air, away from its lumpen body and out of kicking distance. "If I've gotta squeeze dry you like a grape before I spill the sweetmeats," it hissed, "that's just fine by me. Not the way I usually do things, but I've gone too long without fun."

And then a bolt of lightning hit it square in the chest.

Howling, the monster instinctively loosened its grip, sending Dipper crashing back to earth. Immediately, Dipper scurried as far from the creature as he could possibly get, crawling backwards until he was at least a few feet out of its reach – and only then did he finally see who had come to the rescue:

Lorraine was standing there, her uniform somehow clean again, her hands ablaze with electricity. "Get away from him, Jack," she growled.

"Bees!" the monster spat. "Always spoiling everything! You've no right to come between me and what's mine, woman! I'm lord of these here pumpkin patches, and whatever grows and stands here belongs to me! You ask the farmers of this here island who really owns the land and the people, and it'll be the same answer every time: it's me – Lord of the Patch!"

"Most of the farmers are dead, in case you hadn't noticed. In any case, I never gave a damn what they said about you, Jack, and now that you're yesterdays' news, I care even less. Now get away from my son or I'll make a pie out of you."

Jack leered down at her, his horrible grin widening. "Oh, so it's you. I remember you, Lorraine Maillard. I remember all the times I saw you walking home from school, wondered just how much it'd take to get you off the road and into the patch. Never could, though. Thought you might pump out the odd brat here and there, enough to keep me entertained if I could lure them off the road… but I guess you didn't have the patience for that!"

Lorraine's face turned white with fury. Suddenly the lightning in her hands was gone, replaced by handfuls of searing flame; suddenly, the creepers and weeds at the edge of the pumpkin patch were beginning to smoulder. "Get away from him, NOW!" she roared.

A blast of flame rocketed past Jack's sunken head, missing him by inches. With a shriek of fear, the pumpkin-fleshed monster hastily scuttled away from Dipper and dived back beneath the earth, vanishing into the pumpkin patch without leaving so much as a ripple.

There was a pause, as the flames in Lorraine's hands finally died away. Then, before Dipper could react, she had swept him up in her arms once more.

"Never do that again, Callum," said Lorraine, sternly. "This island isn't safe anymore, and I can't keep you from harm if you run. Do you understand?"

Dipper nodded silently, too scared to speak.

"I know things haven't been right for a long time, Little Duck, but I promise things will be better soon. I've just got find a way of getting the Council off our back. It's okay, though: I know where we can hide." A faint smile brightened her pallid features. "You'll like it, too: it's a treehouse – you never had a treehouse when you were little, but now you'll have one all to yourself! Doesn't that sound wonderful?"

Dipper nodded again.

As if worried that someone might be sneaking up on them, she glanced anxiously over her shoulder. And when she looked back, all the sternness and forced jollity was gone: now, she looked at ease, more natural, more human. If anything, she actually seemed like a mother, rather than someone playing at being one.

"Mommy was very proud of how you handled Jack O'Lantern," she said at last, patting his head. "You're a very brave boy, Callum – always were, always will be." She kissed him gently on the forehead.

Then they were off, hurtling down the road towards the second tunnel entrance just across from the Moon Bog.

And as they ran, Dipper couldn't help but feel a swell of joy in his heart at Lorraine's praise; he'd no idea why – after all, it wasn't as if she was really his mother… and yet, for the briefest of instants, Dipper had almost believed that she was.


Some distance away, the Old Man chuckled and rubbed his hands, eager to see what he could change next…


A/N: Anyone care to guess what happens next? Let me know!

Oh, and let's not forget the next code:

Uork gsv Nztrxrzmh.
Droo gsvb ivxltmrav gsv gifgs dsvm gsvb hvv rg?
Xzm gsvb hgvzo erxglib uiln gsv qzdh lu wvuvzg?
Xzm gsvb hvv gsv Svinrg'h drmgvib szmw rm kozb?