The Haunting of the Holy Mackerel
(August 13, 2016)
7: Now You See It . . .
Wendy gripped the fire axe and elbowed Dipper back. "Get to the door, man! I'll hold it off!"
Dipper grabbed her arm. —You CAN'T hold it off with an axe! It's not solid!
Good point—hurry, it's gaining on us!
They backed through the bar, bumping into chairs and tables. Behind them, Dipper could hear Stan fumbling at the lock, growling, "Come on, come on, come on, this hasta be the right key!"
Someone—probably Teek—threw a chair past Wendy and Dipper. The entity drifting toward them, though, was more a fog than a solid thing—a glowing blue-green amorphous vapor. It sent out tendrils as if trying to find them. The chair sailed right through it with no visible effect, knocking over one of the round tables with a crash. The glowing shape was fifteen feet away—ten—five—
The door clicked. "Got it!" Stan said. "Everybody out!"
Wendy grabbed Dipper and dragged him. As soon as they reached the sidewalk, Stan slammed and locked the glass door a moment before the—ghost, whatever it was—oozed up against it. It percolated there, but didn't seem to be able to pass through the cracks around the barrier.
"Maybe it can't leave the Skull Fracture," Dipper said. He pointed the detector at it. "Yeah, it's either a ghost or an intelligent paranormal entity, and it's really mean. Look at this!"
He showed them the "Malevolence" chart. The rainbow thermometer topped out and was pulsating red—in fact, red now covered more than half the column. And zone 8 showed the upper left quadrant full of rapidly flickering scarlet X's. Like crammed full, with no room for anything else.
"I think it's fading," Mabel said.
"Yeah, I'm losing the contact, too," Dipper added, staring at the display. "There it goes."
"Boosh!" Wendy said, relief in the word.
"Is it really gone?" Teek asked.
"Um, if you mean 'for good,' then I'm pretty sure the answer is no," Dipper told him. "But it's turned, I guess, dormant?"
"What made it come after us?" Mabel asked. "And why was it in that stinky old bathroom?"
"First, I don't know," Dipper said. "Second, I also don't know."
"Maybe it's got no sense of smell," Wendy suggested.
"Maybe," Dipper agreed. "Paranormal entities are tricky. Some of them perceive reality completely differently from humans, using senses we can't even imagine. Some seem to be able to see and hear and all, though, like normal living people. You know, one example is Marley's Ghost. Dickens said it had wide staring eyes that never looked directly at anything or seemed to focus, but it could see every—"
"Sheesh, give it a rest, Poindexter Junior!" Stan said. "Bottom line: Is it safe to go in there?"
"No!" Wendy exclaimed.
"I agree with Wendy," Dipper said. "Not safe right now, anyway. It might have focused on us—I mean, it could recognize us again, possibly. And for some reason, it hates us. I don't know if that's personal, or if it just hates all living people. But no, until we can deal with this thing, until we exorcize it—Mabel!"
Mabel dropped the whistle from her lips. "Sorry, sorry, got carried away."
Stan grimaced. "For the love of—I'm glad I don't need my hearing aid no more. You woulda blown the battery! Why don't you run back inside and blow that whistle at the ghost? That'd probably make him dissolve or run back to hell or whatever. Don't tell Sheila I said 'hell,' OK?"
"Damn straight," Mabel said.
"No more sugar for you tonight, Sis," Dipper told her. "OK, OK. This is something I'm not sure we can deal with on our own. We need Ford. Uh—are you calling him?"
"Me?" Stan, who had his phone to his ear. "Naw, I'm callin'—Tats! Stan here. Yeah, kind of. So listen, the good news is that we definitely proved you got a ghost. Bad news is that it might kill anybody who steps into the Skull Fracture. No, hear me out, I want you to come and stay with me and Sheila tonight, we got a guest room—for cryin' out loud, no! Don't pack a bag, don't go into the place! OK, then run by the Sprawl-Mart and buy yourself a change of clothes and a toothbrush and so on. Listen, you call Cookie and Johnny and tell them not to come in to work tomorrow, get it? Yeah, we're gonna dope out some way of banishing this thing, but we need time. Hey, put Tyler on."
"Grunkle Stan," Dipper said, "I'm telling you, this thing is too weird for me."
Stan waved him off. "Hello, Mr. Mayor! Listen, there's somethin' bad loose in the Skull Fracture. Yeah, like that. Don't tell me to never mind it! Listen, I can't do this myself, but you can. Call Digges and tell him that as Mayor you're temporarily shutting the place down. Temporary, I said! Yeah, he'll listen, 'cause you're the Mayor, remember? I dunno, gas leak or some deal, you think of somethin'. OK, here's what we'll tell everybody else: The place is closed for renovation. Yeah, of course when it reopens, somethin'll have to be different! I'll tell ya what—we're gonna get somebody to clean and fix up both bathrooms! Yeah, and then Digges won't have to pay off the Board of Health no more. Don't kid me, I know he does. OK, Tyler, but call him right now. And tell him not to come in for some inspection or something! Nobody goes in until you get the word from me, understand? Yeah, yeah, refer 'em to me, I'll take the heat."
He hung up and shook his head. "Everybody goes nuts. Listen, Mabel, could you like make another sign to put up here? Somethin' about renovating?"
"I'm on it!" Mabel said, reaching into her sweater and whipping out a red permanent marker, extra-large. "Let me do my thing!"
"Dude," Wendy asked Stan, "are you really gonna get somebody to swamp out those toilets? They're disgusting!"
Stan nodded. "Yeah, my genius brother can probably get a couple of his Agency guys to put on hazmat suits and do it. Come to think of it, I still got one of them suits in the attic closet of the Shack, if you'd like to make a little extra—"
"Stan," Wendy said, "I like and respect you, but remember, I'm holding a fire axe."
"Soos would do it," Stan said. He scratched his nose. "But, nah, he's got a couple kids now—"
"This is premature," Dipper said. "First we have to get rid of the entity!"
"Right. Call my brother," Stan said, his shoulders slumping.
"But he's at his conference—" Dipper began.
"Kid, he's runnin' the damn Agency! Don't tell Sheila I said 'damn'."
"Hell, no," said Mabel, who had turned her first sign around and was kneeling on the sidewalk, busy with some really impressive calligraphy.
"Anyways," Stan said, rolling his eyes, "Ford answers to nobody, as I understand it. And this kinda thing is what he lives for. So get him on the horn and see how soon he can be back."
As Mabel hummed and printed, Dipper called Ford's number and waited, expecting it to go to voicemail. However—
"Mason!" Ford said. "What's wrong?"
"Grunkle Ford, we—wait, what?" Dipper blinked. "How did you know something was wrong?"
"Simple deduction," Ford said. "As a general rule, you would not disturb me when you knew I was somewhere on official business. Ergo, since you're now calling me, the need must be urgent. Knowing Gravity Falls, I suspect it's some intrusion of the paranormal. So—what's wrong?"
Dipper took a deep breath. "You're right. I think we got a ghost," he said, and he explained everything. Ford murmured occasional encouragements, but held his questions. Dipper finished with, "It looked like a cloud of glowing greeny-blue gas? I guess. It moved fairly fast, but deliberately, and it kept sending out these wisps like it was feeling for us."
"Interesting," Ford said. "Very cogent observations, Mason, good work. Your account suggests a high-level malevolent ghost, perhaps one that has evolved from being a garden-variety human spirit into something much more dangerous. All right. First, let no one go inside that establishment. No one!"
"We've got that covered," Dipper said.
"Good. On this end, fortunately, we've finished with the main portion of the Agency's meeting. I'll be able to duck out and return to Gravity Falls by tomorrow morning. Deputy Powers can take over for me and finish the business reports and give the January-to-June action summaries, that's all just routine. Hold on a second, I'm using my laptop . . . mm . . . seats available? Yes, there we go. Very well, Lorena and I will land in Portland tomorrow morning at eleven West Coast time, TransContinental Flight 618. Could someone meet us? Agent Trigger drove us over, but he should remain here for the reports."
"Just a second." Dipper asked Stanley.
"Yeah, yeah, tell Brainiac I'll pick 'em up tomorrow at eleven," Stan said.
Dipper relayed the word and then asked, "What are we going to do?"
"You should do nothing except to secure the building," Ford said. "I'd have some Agents lend a hand, but this is one of the two big conferences and most of the field personnel are tied up here. Take care of sealing the premises and then stay away. After I've done some analyses, I'll determine what approach to use to banish the entity. Dipper—be exceptionally careful and keep an eye on Stanley. My brother can sometimes act incautiously."
"Right," Dipper said.
As soon as he'd put his phone away, Mabel held up her handiwork. "Ta-da! What do you think?"
"Mabes," Wendy said, "it's a work of art!"
The poster that she had created was very . . . decorative. Chubby, big-eyed kittens pranced all around the lettering:
TO SERVE MEW BETTER!
THE SKULL FRACTURE IS TEMPORARILY
CLOSED
FOR A GRAND REFURBISHING!
WATCH FOR OUR SPECIAL RE-OPENING
WITH A PURR-FECT FIRST-DAY SALE!
"Old man Digges ain't gonna love that last bit," Stan said. "Ah, but he gouges on the price of beer anyways, and we're gonna fix the johns for free, so screw him. Uh, maybe you better not mention to Sheila that I said 'screw'—"
"Fu—" began Mabel, but Teek clapped a hand over her mouth. "We get the idea," he assured her. Then he squirmed. "Are you licking my palm?"
"You like it?" Mabel asked flirtatiously as soon as he took his hand away.
Teek looked uncomfortably puzzled. "Uh—well, in a weird way, yeah. Kinda."
"More where that came from!" Mabel said brightly.
Wendy shook her head. "TMI, Mabes! Get the sign up and let's scram outa here. This place is giving off creepy vibes."
Mabel taped the sign to the stand. Then she and Teek took off for their date—it was getting on toward eight P.M. and as she said, "Time's a-wasting!"
Stanley muttered, "OK, one more thing to do, and I hate to do it, but—" he called a number. "Sheriff? Yeah, you were right about the thirteenth an' all. Yeah, yeah, I owe you four dozen donuts! Listen—yeah, you know I'm good for it! Listen, I—One glazed, one lemon-filled, one chocolate frosted with sprinkles, one cake, got it, got it. Listen, Daryl, I want you and Durland to come to the Fracture right now, and—I don't care if the game's on TV! OK, whatever you do when you close a business, bring the stuff. We gotta secure the building. Yeah, chains and padlocks, fine, whatever. Just come right now!" He looked up toward the sky and counted to ten. Then he said, "Just as soon as the place is secured, I will go to the bakery and get your donuts. It closes at nine, so get your butts here pronto!" He thumbed the END button and muttered, "Oy, vey!" But he added, "You kids go on. I'll stay here and hold the fort until Blubs and Durland show up."
Dipper glanced at Wendy. "Uh, no, we'll stay," he said. "I don't think any of us should be alone here. Right, Wendy?"
"Right," she said. "Stan, we've seen enough horror movies to know the rule. Don't split up the party."
"Call this a party?" grumped Stan.
However, Blubs and Durland showed up in fifteen minutes, and in another ten they had chained and padlocked both front and back doors of the Skull Fracture. Blubs read Mabel's sign for Durland—though in the past few years the deputy had learned to read for himself, at least to the level of the newspaper comics—and Durland said, "That'll be nice! Reckon the beers will have them little umbrellas in them?"
"I wouldn't be surprised," Stan said. "You guys goin' back to Bud's?"
"There's still beers left!" Blubs said.
"All right, I'll get my car, pick up your four dozen donuts, and drive over there. See you there."
In the parking lot, Stan climbed into his El Diablo, rolled down the window, and said, "I wanna see you two kids drive off before I leave. Don't split the party, right?"
"Right," Dipper said.
He and Wendy headed toward her Dodge Dart. She turned before opening the driver's door and held up the fire axe. "Hey, Stan! Tell Tats that I'll hang onto this and return it when the place is safe to enter again."
"Yeah, yeah," Stan called back. Both he and Wendy started their engines, and both cars nosed out of the lot.
Dipper checked the time on his phone. "Eleven minutes past eight," he said. "Yumberjack's?"
"I guess. Then my house?"
"Sure," Dipper said.
They pulled through the drive-up lane and picked up a couple of Yumburger Deluxes and a single order of fries, no drinks. Then Wendy headed for her house.
On the winding road past the turn-off to the Shack, she muttered, "Man, the guy behind us is in a hurry!"
Dipper, sitting in the passenger seat with the bag of warm burgers on his lap, turned around and looked back. It wasn't fully dark, but the trees lining this part of the highway cast a deep, gloomy shadow. Through the rear window he saw a single headlight, closing fast.
Then it blatted past them, passing on a curve with an unnerving roar, and the red tail light glared and faded in the distance. Dipper said, "Was that—"
"A motorcycle," Wendy said. "With some idiot in the saddle."
"Did you see the driver?" Dipper asked.
"No, couldn't take my eyes off this curve. Why?"
Dipper swallowed. "I'm not sure, but I think the motorcycle was pink. And nobody was riding it."