Gravity Falls and its characters were created by Alex Hirsch and owned by Disney. Belle Sterling is an original character owned by MaryPSue. All credit goes to their respective creators.

Orrie headed downstairs for breakfast, stifling a yawn. He entered the kitchen only mildly tired and caught a glimpse from the corner of his eye Dug sitting at the table in the nook. "G'morning," mumbled Orrie out of courtesy. He walked right past the table and made for the cabinets. Though still fighting to wake up, he quickly located a bowl in the cabinet, rummaged briefly until he found the cereal, and snatched a spoon from the drawer before grabbing milk from the fridge and making his way back to the table. Orrie took a seat beside the cyclops and poured himself some breakfast. He began absentmindedly munching on the sugary flakes, musing silently on when he should start looking for hints. After a minute or so he glanced again at the guest, finally taking in the sight of Dug bent forward and his face deep in the bowl of fruit in front of him. Was he asleep?

"Are you okay?" Dug didn't respond. Growing a bit concerned, Orrie leaned over and shook him.

He immediately let out an involuntary shriek and leapt to his feet, skittering back. Dug was ice cold! And his body was rigid, even after the push. Orrie's heart was pounding and his ears ringing faintly as he tried to understand what he was staring at. Dug was…dead? This was a joke, right? He wasn't an actor in disguise or maybe a prop placed here? Orrie begrudgingly had to give the staff of this attraction credit—they sure went all out to make this convincing. Still…something felt extremely off.

Orrie looked away when he heard footsteps approaching. "Belle? Dipper?"

"We just got downstairs when we heard a scream," Belle said, appearing at the doorway with her brother. "We came to see if everyone was alright." Aside from his checks flushing Orrie chose not to respond to that. Instead, he nodded towards Dug.

"He's not moving. He hasn't moved at all since I came in here." The unspoken "I think he's dead" was so obvious that, as perplexed as they were, the twins understood what he refused to utter. They came over to inspect the body, Orrie shifting to the side to give them more room. Dipper grabbed the cyclops' wrist; Belle patted the shoulder. Her hand jerked away fast as a viper.

"He's cold! Bro, you don't think he's actually dead, do you?"

"Well, he's certainly not alive," Dipper answered grimly, letting the arm dangle in his grasp before dropping it. The sight of it unnerved Orrie.

"And there goes my appetite," he muttered, glancing with slight nausea at his still mostly full bowl of cereal. Belle crossed her arms. She was clearly growing unsettled.

"What, so this is real? Who and how would someone get away with killing Dug? You'd think we'd have heard something if there was a fight last night."

"Maybe magic?" said Orrie. Belle shrugged.

"Or perhaps it's the most obvious method," Dipper said, gesturing toward the bowl of fruit. His sister snatched a piece of fruit before he could protest. She inspected the small berry held between her fingers.

"These don't look like the blueberries they served yesterday during lunch. Way too dark." She rolled it around in her hand. "Not blackberries either. Black cherries? Or—wait!" Her eyes widened and she hastily threw the berry back into the bowl. "Nightshade!?"

"Nightshade?" Orrie blinked, confused. He remembered hearing about the plant once, but could recall nothing beyond its name.

"They're super poisonous. Eating just a couple can kill a human."

Dipper nodded, frowning. "And evidently cyclopes too." His lips quirked upward as he looked at Belle. "Also, nice to know you were listening to me during our camping trip last year."

"Well, you wouldn't stop babbling about all the things in the woods that could kill or maim us," grumbled his sister. While they spoke, Orrie had spotted something white poking out from beneath Dug's bowl. Grabbing hold of it, he pulled out a slip of paper and read the message on it.

"Guys, I think we just figured out 'who' did this." He held up the slip with the hastily written message:

"Little Jack Horner sat in the corner, eating a Christmas pie. But what thought as a treat turned out much too sweet; its plum filling's what caused him to die."

Belle paled slightly. "A nursery rhyme? But why would an employee do this?"

"Do what?" The three turned around to see Siegfried walking into the kitchen. He stared at Dug's slouched form. "Is he alright?" Then he spotted the note in Orrie's hand. "And what's that?" he asked more sternly, eyes narrowing. Orrie, Belle, and Dipper exchanged glances between each other.

"We think someone poisoned Dug with nightshade," answered Dipper after Orrie showed Siegfried the note. "Orrie said he found him like this when he first got here. And as cold as he is he must have died sometime last night." Siegfried scanned over the words before crossing his arms.

"I'm admittedly impressed you three know what nightshade looks like. That's not common knowledge for children your age. However, I'm even more impressed the staff could make such a terrible blunder. There is no way this slip can go overlooked. We need to call the paramedics immediately." And he left the kitchen before any of them could make a comment.

Belle stepped away from Dug's body. "I don't trust that man."

"Me neither," agreed Dipper, "He seems way too casual about someone's death. And the note didn't seem to convince him this was intentional."

Unless this really is an act and he's in on it, Orrie thought to himself. An idea flashed in his mind. "Maybe Flynn can help us."

"How? Give suggestions more useless than calling paramedics for a dead guy?" Orrie shook his head as Belle jabbed Dipper in the gut with her elbow, hissing, "Not. Helping."

"He used to be a detective. Well, organized criminal investigator or something like that. Maybe he's seen something like this before. And he'd certainly have a better idea of what we should do." Both of the twins appeared to favor the idea.

"At least it's a start," Dipper admitted. "You go find him. We'll be here and try to contact someone." Orrie raced off the find the elf. More than likely he was still in his room. But no– climbing the stairs and rounding the corner, Orrie saw the door labeled 'Jans' creaked open with nobody inside. Orrie hovered by the doorway and thought. If Flynn wasn't in his room or the dining room, where could he be this early in the morning?

Oh. Orrie, chuckling ever so softly, hurried back downstairs.

His hunch was right. Flynn was indeed in the library, standing near the far corner, his back to the entrance as he was clearly reading something. Despite the door being wide open Orrie knocked, garnering Flynn's attention. The boy could see the other was holding a small scroll in his hands.

"Good morning Orrie," Flynn greeted, the tiniest of proud grins on his face as Orrie approached. "It seems my hunch yesterday was correct." He twisted the paper in his hands just enough so that Orrie could make out the words on it:

"The Itsy Bitsy Spider loves winter."

His heart fluttered when he realized, excitedly, that Flynn just showed him a hint. So maybe he wouldn't mind helping him and the twins solve the mystery. Then harsh reality reminded him why he was here.

"Flynn, something really bad happened. We think Dug is dead. He hasn't moved at all since we found him, and he's really stiff and cold." The involuntary stiffening was the first sign something was wrong. The second was when the not-quite-smile rapidly dissolved off the elf's face.

"Where is he?" In half a second Flynn had spun on his heel and was taking large, quick strides out of the room and down the hall. It took twice as long for Orrie's brain to reconnect with his legs and force him to catch up to him. "Where is he?"

"Uh," Orrie fumbled for the words, caught off guard by Flynn's sharp change in demeanor. "In the kitchen, at the table in the dining area."

"When did you find him?"

"About fifteen minutes ago, but I didn't know anything was wrong with him at first. We told Siegfried—"

"'We'?"

"Me, Dipper, and Belle; they came down shortly after I did. Siegfried went off to find a staff member, or at least we think he did. Dipper and Belle are still in the room, calling for help." Flynn nodded curtly as they entered the kitchen. The twins were still there. Belle, sitting at the opposite end of the table from Dug, was staring intently at her phone, brow furrowed, fingers moving swiftly over the screen as she tried to either text or dial. Dipper stood over her, peering over her shoulder, eating the rest of Orrie's abandoned cereal, looking likewise upset about something. They both looked up when Flynn and Orrie walked in.

"I can't make any calls," Belle informed them. "Something is blocking the wireless signal, and all my emergency magi-calls are being jammed completely. There's no way to get in contact with anyone outside." Flynn scowled, moving forward.

"Help me sit him up," he ordered. The four easily moved the body into an upright position. Then Flynn deftly checked for any signs of life: fingers pressed lightly against neck and wrist, hand held in front of mouth and nose, ear pressed close to chest. The somber look when he pulled back effectively confirmed what the three more than already suspected. "It's too late for him." His gaze shifted toward the bowl of fruit. His eyes narrowed. "How long has that nightshade been there?"

"You know what nightshade looks like?" Belle asked, a bit surprised.

"Cursory knowledge of common or accessible poisons is required in my field of expertise," he answered simply.

"Since I got down here this morning." Flynn inspected one of the berries.

"They're fresh, likely picked no earlier than yesterday."

Dipper frowned. "You're implying someone got them somewhere on the property."

"You can't exactly buy these at a store," was the retort. He glared at the three. "Siegfried and I were inside all of yesterday; I sporadically saw the man roaming the halls. But the rest of you…"

Belle actually looked affronted by the accusation. "We were all enjoying the barbecue. Ask any of the other guests; none of us even walked near the bushes."

"So if not any of the guests, it had to have been a staff member," Orrie concluded. Yet Flynn didn't seem entirely convinced. Regardless, he asked for their assistance.

"Help me move him. He doesn't deserve this." Working together, the four were able to lift the body and shuffle into an adjacent room. It wasn't too small, perhaps built to be a walk-in pantry but was left unfinished. They laid the body down in the far back corner. Flynn hurriedly exited and returned with the dining table's large table cloth before draping it over the body as nicely as he could. They then quietly stepped out of the room, the elf closing the door gently behind them.

"Shouldn't we tell someone though?" asked Belle in a low voice.

"Yes." The three looked at Flynn. "The other guests need to know about this so they can be on guard. But we don't know if this was done by one staff member or many. Whoever they are, they're toying with us." His expression hardened. "And yet our safest course of action is to play along until we can find some way of reaching the outside world. They want something from us, else they would have tried killing everyone while we slept." He cast the three an odd expression, a mix of concern and guilt. "Can you three promise me you'll stay together? We don't know whom to trust in this manor, and I fear not all the guests may be dependable allies."

"Promise," the twins said practically in unison.

"Promise," Orrie said a beat after. Flynn's expression cleared somewhat.

"Alright. I'm going to inform the others, then I'm going to try and find a way to call the authorities and also, hopefully, discover whoever's behind this." He cast them another sorrowful look before leaving them.

Belle groaned, rocking back and forth on her feet ever so slightly. "Why can't we have a normal vacation?" she muttered. "We're stuck in a murder mystery attraction with a real killer on the loose, and we have no way of reaching the town or calling for help. Great. Perfect. Exactly how I wanted to spend my Spring Break."

"Hey, wait a minute!" The Sterlings stared at Orrie. "Why don't we just walk back to town? We got here by bus, so there is a road we can take."

"I highly doubt the killer would let it be that easy for us to escape," reasoned Dipper. "Besides, even if we could reach the road, it's not like all of us can make the trek. The Tosettis are really getting on in years." Belle shot him a troubled if not puzzled look; Dipper merely shrugged as if there was nothing he could do about it.

Orrie sighed, now starting to see no way out of their situation. "Then I guess we do what Flynn said and keep trying to solve the mystery."

But why does the killer want us to? he couldn't help wondering. Even if by some chance this were real, what did they have to gain from the manor's secrets?

Dipper folded his arms. "If we've got no other choice," he agreed. "So where do you guys want to start searching for hints first?" Orrie then remembered the hint Flynn showed him in the library.

"Hold on, let me get my sketchbook. I'm using it to draw a map of the manor, but we can also use it to keep track of our hints and clues."

Belle nodded. "Alright, but make it quick. We promised Flynn we'd stick together. We'll meet you near the foyer." Orrie left them once more to head back upstairs. For the briefest of seconds he grew terrified the killer could jump out of any hiding spot and attack the lone boy as he climbed the stairs, but the dark image faded from his mind when he remembered Flynn having no concern walking around by himself. If the elf was confident in traversing the manor alone then it should be safe for him too, right? Another indication this wasn't as deadly as he was being led to believe.

Yeah…

Orrie reached the top landing, but before he took a step towards his room he noticed the 'Gogh' door creaked open. And voices were coming from inside. Creeping forward, Orrie was able to catch the last few words of someone's speech.

"…need you to be vigilant. I've already told the children to stick together. If things get more dangerous we may have to confine ourselves in a safe room until help arrives."

"Dang," he heard Cliff breathe out, "You're for real? I can't imagine what they must be feeling right now. Maybe you should have told them to lock themselves in their rooms just to be safe."

"It might have to come to that, but if the murderer suspects we aren't up to playing their game then they might just kill them instead," replied Flynn darkly. "We have no idea how safe any of these rooms are until we thoroughly examine them. For all we know there could be hidden rooms and pathways to spy on us. Staying in one location might make us easy targets." Zahia didn't say anything, only gripped Cliff's hand tighter, silently holding back her tears. Flynn bowed his head.

"I'm refraining from informing the Tosettis about Dug's death. The fewer people there are panicking the better our situation."

Cliff nodded in agreement. "Besides, they're only here to enjoy themselves. Since they're too old to help us solve the mystery I agree it's best we don't worry them." The adults didn't say anything afterwards, so Orrie stepped back before he could be discovered. He glanced briefly at the Tosettis' door—the one marked Lemaire—with a small frown before turning away and heading for his room. He grabbed his sketchbook and quickly scribbled down the hint Flynn had shown him.

Snatching his backpack as an afterthought, Orrie hurried back downstairs, only to stumble upon Siegfried passing by the bottom of the steps. The boy halted, but Siegfried had already spotted him.

"You seem to be in such a hurry to get somewhere."

"I'm looking for Belle and Dipper," Orrie replied carefully. "Did you find a staff member yet?"

"Not yet," was the more or less flippant response, "I can't find anyone, to be frank. You and the other two have been the only ones I've seen all morning. I suppose everyone else is still asleep." Orrie only made a noncommittal noise to the statement. "You know, we really should find a way to get out of here. You're much too young to have to be dealing with this, and I'm worried about your well-being. Truthfully, nobody here should be involved in a murder of any kind; it can leave damaging scars on the psyche. Maybe you can help me convince the other guests to run away from here. I'm sure together the nine of us could make it to the authorities."

Orrie bit his lower lip, refraining as best he could from taking a step away from the man. "I already considered that– running away, I mean. But Dipper raised a good point: the person or people behind this won't let us go that easily. Plus the Tosettis won't be able to make it without help."

"Sometimes sacrifices must be made."

This time Orrie did take a step back, looking at Siegfried with fearful confusion. Why would he ever suggest…? "You're joking, right?"

Siegfried tried to smile kindly. "I wish I were, and don't believe that I'm speaking lightly. But there's a reason we have the saying 'the good of the many outweigh the good of the few'. You and those twins are still children– you have your whole lives ahead of you. The Tosettis are nearly at the end of theirs; they'd understand. Shouldn't you be more worried whether you'll get out alive?"

"I am…but…" He didn't want to talk to Siegfried anymore; he just wanted to find Dipper and Belle and start solving the mystery if only to distract himself from the situation they all were in. "But I can't just leave them. I want to think of a way of escaping with everyone. That's why I'm going to try and convince my friends to help me come up with a plan to do that. But if I can't then I'll think about what you said."

"Attaboy," grinned Siegfried, stepping aside to let him reach the bottom of the stairs. Orrie nodded with what he hoped passed as a weak smile before dashing off to find the Sterlings. He left the foyer without further incident but didn't see the two anywhere.

"Dipper? Belle?"

"Over here." Belle was waving to him from a hallway behind him. He followed her down it and into a connecting room, staring around as she closed the door behind them. "Pretty cool, huh? This seems to be a dance studio. There's nothing really in here, but I figured we could still use it to come up with a plan in private."

Dipper, who seemed to be looking for something behind the giant mirror that took up the whole wall, turned when he heard them. He joined them in the center of the room. As he grabbed his sketchbook from his bag, Orrie told them about his encounter with Siegfried. "He said he wanted us to get out of the mansion, but it sounded more like he wanted us out of the way. Do you think he'd put his and our lives on the line just for the prize money?"

Belle frowned, thinking for a moment. "I wouldn't put it past him…" she admitted. She then grinned. "So that just means we gotta keep outta his hair. As huge as this place is I'm sure we can avoid him if we try."

Dipper looked at the page Orrie had flipped to. "Where'd you find the hint?"

"Flynn actually found it. He showed me it when I found him in the library…erm, before I told him about Dug."

"The Itsy Bitsy Spider loves winter," Belle read. She crossed her arms and started mumbling something to herself. Eventually she said, "No, nowhere in the song does it mention winter."

"Then maybe it's a metaphor for something," suggested Orrie. The three thought silently on what it could mean. Maybe they needed to find another insect that liked the cold. But such an answer wouldn't lead toward a specific location in the house. Perhaps something a bug did when it was cold outside? Did they hibernate? Orrie supposed they did.

"I think I got it!" Dipper snapped his fingers, breaking the other two from their thoughts. "The fireplace." Belle and Orrie stared at him blankly. "Think of the lyrics– the itsy bitsy spider climbed up the water spout. Using Orrie's idea of a metaphor, smoke from a lit fireplace goes up a chimney."

"And rain coming down it would 'wash out' the smoke and fire," Belle smiled, catching on. "Plus, you light a fire when it's cold outside."

"The parlor had a fireplace," Orrie remembered, grabbing his sketchbook and bag. "We can check there." The three raced for the room, taking care not to create much racket as they ran. In the parlor they scoured the fireplace, its mantle, and the logs inside. Nothing. As an extra precaution they searched the entire room, but still no clue or key. "There has to be another room with a fireplace."

So they searched the manor once more. They peeked into many rooms—a secluded bar, a trophy room, and even a tiny observatory—and again Orrie couldn't help but ponder how big the mansion really was. Maybe this place held other events throughout the year besides the mystery attraction.

It wasn't until they reached what might be either an art room or gallery did they find what they were looking for. "There!" Dipper had been the first to look inside. The two followed quickly after, gazing around at the huge variety of paintings, photographs, and sculptures everywhere– even the ceiling tiles were painted with children's artworks. Nestled in the back corner wasn't a fireplace but rather an old stone furnace and chimney covered in cobwebs. And within the open furnace, blending in pitifully amongst the coal, was a giant black lump of clay. Dipper picked it up and shook it. "Yep. Definitely feel something inside." After a quick signal for them to stand back, Dipper threw the clay lump at the ground. It shattered loudly into numerous pieces.

"You know we could have just smashed it with a hammer," Belle reasoned, gesturing to said tool on a nearby counter. "Might have made a whole lot less noise."

"This way was faster," her twin reasoned as he bent to pick up the dirty scroll with the tiny silver key tied to it.

"Yeah right. It'd take just as much time." Orrie only rolled his eyes at the two. He and Belle easily read the hint Dipper unfurled before him:

"He'd remember if he could play to seven."

"Okay, so we likely need to use a counting nursery rhyme," said Dipper. "Which do we know of?"

"How about 'Ten Little Monkeys Jumping on the Bed'?" suggested his sister.

"Or maybe 'One, Two, Buckle My Shoe'?" said Orrie.

"There's also 'Ten Little Indians'," Dipper added. The three were left in mutual silence. There were quite a few rhymes that involved counting, so which one did they need?

"Right, so…let's take this piece by piece," said Belle, taking the slip of paper. "'He'd remember' implies we need a rhyme involving a guy of some sort. Supposedly a guy that needs to remember something."

"So a guy who's forgetful…" Orrie pondered. Dipper seemed deep in thought trying to recall any rhymes that fit that criteria. Belle was tapping her foot, thinking as well. Then Orrie gasped. "A guy who's forgetful! Like an old man!"

"'This Old Man'!" the twins chorused. "Awesome!" Belle cheered, "How do the lyrics go?" At this Orrie shrugged.

"I only remember the title and parts that repeat. It's been ages since I heard the rhyme."

"Ditto."

"I know it," Dipper said, earning relieved grins from the other two. He briefly closed his eyes as he went through the lyrics in his head. "This old man, he played seven; he played knick-knack up in heaven—"

"With a knick-knack paddywhack, give a dog a bone—" Orrie couldn't help but chime in.

"This old man came rolling home," Belle finished with a laugh. The three gave each other high-fives. "We are on fire! So the clue has to be in heaven." She glanced to the ceiling. "Well, what a coinkydink." Balanced precariously between the ornate frame and ceiling tile—a tile that was painted like the blue sky outside—was a tiny black booklet with a lock.

Grabbing a piece of the shattered clay, Belle threw it at the booklet, dislodging it just enough so that it tumbled out of its half-hidden place.

"Ow!" The clay piece fell on her brother's head. "We could've found a ladder to get it."

"Whoops! Sorry, broseph," she apologized. She grabbed the booklet from the floor. "But this way was faster." He glared at her.

With the key in hand, Dipper opened the locked booklet. Inside were only two sheets of paper placed behind plastic flaps. "They look like diary entries," Orrie spoke, peering at the yellowed pages. The cursive writing was small but still legible, contrasting to Ms. Wheatly's larger penmanship. He looked over the first of the two pages:

"Mr. M has made his objections to my actions perfectly clear, but so be it. My rule holds that he is not allowed to have more than one bullet loaded in his pistol at a time. The rest shall be locked away in my room where the others can't find them.

My dear friends…we are trekking into dangerous territory. Power is something few mortals ever get to taste, and too often we become drunk off of the prospect of having it. Will do anything to obtain it. We like to believe love conquers all. Friendship forever binds. Trust will prevail. I want to believe that with all my heart. But I want to live even more so."

Orrie's brow furrowed. This could easily pass as something one of the cultists could have written. If so, then it was clear they didn't have the highest amount of confidence in one another. But if they didn't trust each other, then what chance did they ever have in capturing Alcor? He turned his attention to the second page:

"Mr. M, I never hated you. I never despised you. And I am truly heartbroken by your death. Your 'wife', as Mr. H would have joked, was right: We should have dealt with the Blue-Striped Arachnids long ago. Is their bite as painful as they say it is? Did you go quickly?

How did a spider even get outside the attic? You, Mr. M, have assured me your spell made it so none could wander out by accident. Someone had to have intentionally caught one and brought it downstairs to you…"

Orrie let the clue's secrets wash over him. That was…quite a lot to take in. Too much to simply remember. Without another word he took out his sketchbook and hastily jotted down the gist of the clue as well as its indirect revelations. Firstly, two of the cultists were named Mr. M and Mr. H, a third cultist was a woman, and a fourth wrote this entry. Secondly, whoever wrote the clue was giving off the impression that they held a pretty high rank in the group. Lastly—and most importantly—Mr. M could not have been the killer as he was killed by something called the Blue-Striped Arachnid. Orrie had absolutely no idea what that was and hoped that they had already been dealt with.

A loud gurgle caused everyone to jump. "Sorry," moaned Belle, wrapping her arms around her stomach in some vain attempt to shush it. It gurgled again in protest. "After all this excitement, I completely forgot I haven't eaten. I really don't want to go back to the dining room but…" She made a half-groan, half-sigh before turning to Orrie. "You don't mind if I get something real quick to eat?"

"Of course not," he said; he himself was still a bit nauseous from earlier. Besides, he'd already eaten a few bites of breakfast, so he wasn't technically running on empty. Though some food a little later wouldn't hurt. "I'm going to stay here and add the rooms we visited to the map."

She gave an apologetic smile. "Alright. Stay safe. You coming bro?"

"Sure thing." Dipper followed after his sister before pausing at the doorway. "Orrie, you don't mind if I hang onto this, do you?" Orrie blinked, his gaze drifting to the tiny book in the older boy's hand. While he didn't have any particular objections to Dipper holding onto it, it made more sense for him to carry it– he was wearing the backpack after all. Dipper seemed to have read his mind. "It might be problematic if Siegfried found you in possession of a clue. I promise you I can keep it well hidden from him even while we explore."

"Uh…sure." Why was he so hesitant? By now he trusted these two…right? Orrie hastily shook the thought out of his head. Of course he did; he pretty much had to right now. He nodded with more confidence at Dipper, who smiled and chased after his twin. Orrie watched him leave, but there remained a nagging feeling growing in the back of his mind as he did.