Dog Days

(Tuesday, August 3, 2016)

11: Dispatches from the Nightmare Realm

The phone began to ring. Two times. Three.

"Come on, come on," Billy Sheaffer whispered. His breath was coming rapidly, his heart pounding. He couldn't raise his voice—his sisters were asleep in the adjoining bedroom, and they woke up at night if he even flushed the toilet. As it was, he'd already had to sneak into the downstairs hall, stepping carefully so the stairs under his bare feet didn't creak, to bring the phone up to his room. Maybe he could talk his parents into getting him a real cell phone—

"Hello?" A sleepy voice, very groggy-sounding, on the other end.

With the covers and the pillow over him, Billy said in a hoarse whisper, "Dipper? It's me."

He could hear Dipper taking a deep breath and suppressing a yawn. "Humh? Billy? Um. Wha—what time is it?"

It felt as if Billy couldn't get enough air in his lungs. He tried to force himself to breathe easier. "Little after three in the morning. I'm sorry. I had to call you."

"What's happened?" Dipper asked, sounding alert.

He's not mad at me. The thought flashed through Billy, and at least there was that. "It's probably nothing," he mumbled, suddenly ashamed of his own fear. Now the words seemed to catch in his throat, but he tried to keep his volume low as he forced them out: "I—it—I have bad dreams sometimes. You know that. W-well, I—I just had a real bad one."

"Catch your breath and slow down. It's all right. Tell me about it," Dipper said.

"Well—something about lightning and a key, I think? Or a combination, you kn-know, to o-open a l-lock? And you know, that triangle thing, it gl-glowed and guh-got surrounded in like a ball of white-hot fire, and—and monsters came out."

"Monsters?"

"Yeah, out, out of the ball of fuh-fire. They fuh-flew or ho-hovered, like in a muh-movie. There was a—a one-eyed, burning woman, I think, and something that looked like an evil baby and a, a, k-kind of a s-snake only it was b-built out of s-squares and h-had too many eyes, oh, and other cr-crazy stuff. And they a-all attacked the Mystery Shack, but for s-some r-reason they couldn't get t-to you, but wuh-Wendy was running through the ruh-rain and she duh-didn't see them, and—and—Dipper, they got her!" His throat closed and for the moment he couldn't talk. It felt as if his heart would break through his rib cage. Awake, he re-lived his sleeping terror.

"Take a deep breath," Dipper said quietly. "Calm down, Billy. It's OK, understand? Just a dream. It wasn't real. That hasn't happened."

Billy gulped hard, because a painful lump seemed to block his voice. The next was terrible to say, and he hated to do it, but he knew he had to tell his friend—that for some reason was vital. He swallowed again and stammered, "Buh-but the wuh-worst was—I c-caused it! I d-don't know how, but I c-caused it to huh-happen! And, and they guh-got We-Wendy and duh-dragged her away suh-screaming!"

"But it didn't happen," Dipper said firmly. "It was a bad nightmare, but not real."

"I'll ne-never le-learn h-how to be g-good," Billy sobbed For some reason that bothered him most of all—the crushing sense of guilt that he, somehow, was responsible for what happened in the dream.

"Sh, sh. That's not right, Billy. I mean you're mistaken. Look, it's good that you called me. Even this early. It's really good, Billy. Maybe you had a prophetic dream—one that shows what might happen, a warning dream. I can help now, and I couldn't if you hadn't called. So you did good, man. Calm down now. Go back to sleep, OK?"

Billy couldn't stop sobbing. "I, I'll t-try. B-but please. Can you p-please c-call me later on? To t-tell me that We-Wendy's OK?"

"Sure," Dipper said. "But you hang up now and let me get to work on this. Just calm down."

"OK, Th-thanks for l-listening." Billy paused, biting his lip, and then in a rush said, "Please don't let anything happen to Red!" He punched the off button, wondering where that had come from. Red?

He emerged from under the covers and froze with shock. His dad was standing in the doorway, the pale yellow light from the landing night-light outlining him there in the ridiculous baggy candy-striped pajamas that Billy's sisters had given him for Christmas the past winter. "Billy," Dad said, "why are you calling somebody at this hour?"

Miserably, Billy sat up in bed and said, "I h-had a ruh-real b-bad d-dream about some f-friends and w-wanted to m-make s-sure they w-weren't d-d-dead."

Dad came into his room and sat on the edge of the bed, in the illumination seeping in from the bedroom doorway. He reached for the phone and Billy handed it to him. "Hello?" he said into the receiver. After a moment, he clicked the off button. "They must've already hung up. Was your friend OK?" Dr. Sheaffer asked.

Billy could only nod. The hot tears poured down his face—from his only good eye.

"Well, then," Dad said with a smile, "you did the right thing. I'll take the phone back down and hang it up for you. You going to be all right now?"

Billy nodded, and Dad got up. But before he could reach the door, Billy sprang out of bed and all but yelled, "Dad, w-wait!"

Dr. Sheaffer turned around as Billy crashed into him, hugging him. "D-don't g-go yet. Dad, I'm s-still scared. I l-love you, Dad."

"Well, don't trip me then," Dad said lightly. He set the phone down on the desk and picked Billy up, as if he were a little kid again, and carried him to the bed. "I'll sit here with you for a while. And by the way, kiddo, your mom and your sisters and I—we all love you, too."

The strangest thought crossed Billy's mind—not relief, not happiness, even, but just the rational thought, This is it. This is what I always looked for, over eons uncounted. But the thought evaporated like a wisp of steam, he forgot it instantly, and he lay back in the bed with just a sheet over him—it was a warm night in Piedmont.

And his dad pulled up a chair beside the bed and held Billy's small hand in his big one until the boy finally sank back into sleep.

"Dip?" Wendy whispered, "What's up, man? It's, uh, a quarter past three!"

"I know," Dipper told her. "And it's crazy, but this is Gravity Falls, and I just got a warning from Billy Sheaffer that something bad's gonna happen today just before you get here. He thinks you might be in danger. He, uh, OK, he even called you 'Red.' Something's up. So could you come right now instead of waiting?"

"At this hour?" Dipper could hear the rustle of her getting out of bed. "Sounds like it's pouring, too."

"Yeah, raining hard," Dipper said. Up in the attic, the downpour pounded on the roof, but at least Soos had reshingled and it no longer dripped through as it once had. "Can you come, though?"

"Well, yeah, man! I'll leave a note for Dad, say that Soos needed me early or something. The guys can cook their own breakfast for a change. Be there in twenty minutes."

"Park close," Dipper said. "Close as you can. And run to the Shack as hard as you ever ran in your life. I have to call Ford."

"Man," Wendy said. "Here we are so close to your birthday and crap like this comes up, right? Do what you have to do, Dip. Be there in twenty, and, oh, yeah almost forgot, I love you."

"Love you, too, Magic Girl. Hurry!"

Stanford Pines had long since adjusted to getting his sleep in snatches instead of in one uninterrupted night, and his years of dimension-hopping had taught him to come awake in a heartbeat. He answered on the first ring, his voice clear and crisp: "Mason?"

"Listen," Dipper said, and his great-uncle listened without interrupting while he told of what Billy had said.

"Lightning," Ford said. "I had not thought of that! Immense power in a sudden burst—though the cage Fiddleford put up around the effigy should intercept the bolt and ground it. Unless the energy could be seized and channeled by the—I'll be there in ten minutes!"

Dipper got out of bed and threw on some clothes. He met Mabel and Tripper on the stairs coming up. "What's up, Brobro?" Mabel asked quietly but urgently. "Must be bad."

"I—how did you even know?" Dipper asked.

"I dreamed that Tripper wanted me to go to you, and when I woke up, he'd come downstairs and was on my bed licking my face. And the tugged at me and sort of pushed me toward the stairs."

Dipper looked at the dog. "You knew?"

Tripper lifted his right paw.

Dipper ruffled his ears. "OK, you go get dressed, Mabel. I need to wake up Soos."

Soos and Melody heard him out. "We know the weirdness barrier will protect the Shack," Dipper finished. "So you and the kids and Abuelita stay safe inside—"

"Dude," Soos said, "I'll go along on the mission. You guys may need, like, muscle."

Mabel put her hand on his arm. "Not as much as your kids need a dad. This one time, Soos? Please? For me?"

Soos impulsively hugged her. "For you, Hambone. For you I'll stay."

Ford got there and came into the gift-shop entrance dripping wet. He carried a black leather satchel. Without even saying hello, he turned to Dipper. "You said Billy had a vision of the lightning striking when Wendy first arrived. When is that normally?"

"Around six forty-five," Dipper said. He glanced at the clock. "So we've got about three hours."

Ford nodded thoughtfully. "Unless Billy's vision took into account her arriving here early." He set the satchel down and handed Dipper and Mabel a quantum destabilizer pistol each. "Don't hit Wendy, whatever you do! I've got my rifle version slung under my coat." He peeled off the dripping trench coat and hung it on an antler of the mounted Jackalope head.

"Wendy's on the way. She should get here in the next five minutes," Dipper said.

Ford turned on all the outside lights, including the sign and the parking lot ones. It didn't help all that much—the night hid behind a silvery curtain of diagonal rain streaks. Dipper kept checking to make sure his pistol held a full charge. It did. And it did. And it did again. "Come on, come on," he muttered.

"Hey! Here comes something!" Mabel yelled. "A headless monster!"

And for a second it did look like that, a humanoid form with a humped set of shoulders but no head shambling toward them in a fast run. Ford pushed down Mabel's pistol, though, before she could fire. "No!"

And Stanley, wearing a raincoat that he'd pulled up to cover his head, scrambled up the steps. "Nice weather for a picnic, Poindexter," he growled. "Who're you knuckleheads gonna shoot?"

"I forgot to tell you I called my brother," Ford apologized.

Stan impatiently waved him off. "Yeah, yeah, I'm gonna grab a cup of coffee. Be two minutes." He pushed past them into the Shack.

"Can Grunkle Stan help?" Dipper asked.

Ford said, "I don't know. But he's saved our lives before. Would you not tell him?"

"Pines! Pines! Pines!" Mabel chanted.

"No," Dipper said, feeling a sense of relief that they were all in this together. "I guess I wouldn't not tell him."

"I hear a car," Ford said.

They saw rain-blurred headlights as the Green Machine jolted into the lot. Wendy pulled right up to the low wood rail, front bumper nearly touching it. She killed the engine and headlights and jumped out, splashing a spray of ankle-deep water, already running. Dipper saw she was holding her axe.

She darted up onto the porch and Dipper hugged her. "You made it and you're safe!" he said.

"And wet!" she shot back, breaking out of the damp embrace. She hadn't worn a raincoat, and in the short run the heavy rain had plastered down her red hair and her green-plaid shirt. "Let me go change into something dry. I'm gonna borrow one of those slickers in the employee room, too. Didn't have the sense to grab a raincoat."

She and Stan were back within minutes. Stan had found a hat—a fedora that some tourist had forgotten—and had jammed it on his head, and Wendy looked strange in an oversized hooded rain slicker, PVC-coated polyester. Stan wordlessly handed Dipper and Mabel a couple of the cheap rain ponchos the Shack sometimes sold tourists on rainy days. He shook his head at Wendy's appearance and actually chuckled at her as he took big gulps of steaming black coffee.

She ignored him and asked, "OK, dudes, what's the plan?"

"I have a sort of one," Ford said. "It's risky and will be difficult in this weather, but—well, it may be the best we can do." He hefted his satchel. "This," he said, "contains seven moonstones and—I hope—just enough unicorn hair to surround the enclosure around the Cipher effigy."

"Wait, what?" Mabel said. "Sorry for stealing your catch phrase, Brobro. Grunkle Ford, that's cray-cray! Won't that just keep monsters away from the statue?"

"Think about Weirdmageddon," Ford urged. "Remember? Gravity Falls has its own huge weirdness field, and when the Rift ruptured, the field still contained the demonic forces from the Nightmare Realm who got into the valley—got here, but they couldn't get out! A magical barrier works both ways!"

"Yeah," Stan said. "That was why the boogie-boogies couldn't take over the world, right? The monsters got trapped right here in Gravity Falls with all our friends and relations, lucky us! I don't remember it so good, but you told me about it."

"So," Dipper said, "we can clamp a lid over the effigy. Anything that might come through from another dimension would still be confined inside it!"

"And," Ford said with grim satisfaction, "though nothing from another dimension could penetrate the barrier, that impenetrability doesn't hold true of beams from quantum destabilizers."

"Like shooting monsters in a fish barrel made of unicorn magic!" Mabel said. "Pew! Pew!"

"Let's roll," Wendy said.

"Soos!" Dipper called, running back into the gift shop with Tripper at his heels. "Need your help, man!"

"Anything, dawg!" Soos said. "You got it, you name it. Wait a minute. Uh, strike that, dawg, and reverse it, OK? All of a sudden I'm, like, craving chocolate."

Dipper hooked Tripper's lead onto his collar. "You hang onto Tripper and keep him safe, too," Dipper said. "I don't know how he'd react if things got bad."

Soos took the leash. "Sure thing, dawg."

For some reason, Dipper hesitated. Then with a shy grin, he held out a fist. "Thanks, pterodactyl bro."

Grinning all over his face, Soos fist-bumped and said, "Boosh!"

"Hurry, Mason, please!" Ford yelled from the porch. "We may not have much time. We just saw a bolt of—"

Thunder rolled.