Dipper opened his eyes, finding himself awake. He yawned and stretched, letting his arms drop and crossing them over his eyes as he woke up. He noticed something on his right hand and examined it.
"The dream is real." He bolted up and looked over to see Mabel still asleep. He looked back down to his hand, reading the golden message on his arm. "Look what I did to your other hand!" Confused, he did as the new message told him, gaining a look of confusion and annoyance. Drawn on his hand was a turkey, with "Hey look, a turkey! -Bill" inscribed in the middle.
Sighing, he got up and grabbed his clothes, going into the bathroom. After he showered and dressed, Dipper went to brush his teeth. He instead reeled back, shouting in surprise. The sclera of his left eye was a pale yellow, his iris a darker gold, and his pupils wide, catlike slits. He stepped up to the mirror, wide-eyed. He blinked, and his eye reverted back to normal. He closed his eyes, rubbing his forefinger and thumb against them.
Finished in the bathroom, he dropped his clothes from yesterday in a laundry hamper. He returned to the attic and noticed that Mabel was up. He walked down stairs, yawning as he woke up. Eyes closed as he flopped down in his chair at the table, he took in the scent of eggs and sausage. He hoped the dream was not real and that the arm graffiti was just a figment of his imagination.
Regret and deep fear loomed in Dipper's head as he hoped that the dream wasn't real. That he made a deal with Bill, again. 'Why had he made that deal? What kind of torture would he, or Mabel, have to go through? What was the demon's end of the bargain, and was it worth it?' These questions raced through his mind, and he focused on one. 'Was it worth it? Was he worth it?'
Mabel was down already, bounding over to the table as if nothing has happened to her within the past few days. "You okay, bro-bro?"
Eyes closed, he sat deep in concentration. 'Was he? Was his sister? Was his life? Was anything? Was anything worth it anymore? Was life?' This thought had him opening his eyes, pushing away from the table and going back upstairs.
He flopped down on his bed, looking at the ceiling. He glanced over to his desk, and grabbed his journal. Maybe a mystery would divert his mind from this. He figured that the dream was real, just like the graffiti that was his arm had claimed. He figured that he had made yet another foolish deal with the mind demon that had been haunting the twins. His eyes fell on the "Relics" page, which had something called Rauðskinna.
He set the Journal down on his bed, pulled his socks, shoes, hat and vest on, and tucked the Journal in his vest. He slipped on his shoes and went downstairs, just as Stan and Mabel were finishing breakfast. "Hey Grunkle Stan, I- uh, I'm gonna head out."
"That's nice kid," Grunkle Stan replied, not looking away from the T.V.
Mabel bounded up to him. "So ya goin' on a Mystery Hunt?"
"Yeah..." Dipper took a step back, towards the door.
"Wooo!" She cheered, running a circle around Dipper. "Mystery Twins on the hunt again!" She put her fist up to Dipper, eager and awaiting his return bump.
Dipper frowned in response, putting his hand on Mabel's fist and pushing it down. "Mabel, I don't think you should go on this hunt. I... I don't want you getting in danger's way, or even worse, getting hurt."
She laughed, waving the response away. "Pfft, haha. You worry too much, Dipday." Dipper gave her puppy eyes, her favorite tactic against him. She froze, her laughter dying in her throat. She patted his shoulder, giving him a small smile. "Okay, bro bro."
Dipper returned her smile, putting his arms out. "Awkward sibling hug?"
Mabel broke into a wide grin. "Awkward sibling hug."
Dipper pulled away, smiled at Mabel, and exited the shack. He headed off, back to the rocky regions he was searching the other day. He reached the area in about an hour and a half, walking at a quick pace. He pulled out the Journal and flipped to the page he needed, but remembered his dream from a couple nights ago. 'I should have asked Mabel for her grappling hook,' Dipper realized. Dropping his head into the Journal, he groaned in frustration at his forgetfulness.
Sighing, he lifted his head off the Journal and took a look at the information on Rauðskinna. 'Rauðskinna, the Book of Power, is a book said to be of legend. This tome, believed to be from Scandinavian folklore, claims to hold black magic. The red tome, if learned, gives the reader control and power over demons, even over the Devil himself. The book was with author Bishop Gottskálk grimmi Nikulásson of Holar. There have been many attempts by scholars and sorcerers to claim the tome from the late Bishop. None were successful, until a sorcerer named Loftur Porsteinsson claimed the tome. The student went missing the Sunday after, presumably killed for the tome. None know where the book lies now.' Dipper read the passage twice more and turned around, heading for the forest.
He combed through the forest, managing to wander rather than search. He felt pulled somewhere, not knowing why or how, as if tied puppet strings. His steps faltered as he reached the shortcut. He looked down, spotting the tire tracks immediately. With no discernible reason, he followed the tracks towards the pool, observing the woods. Reaching the tree line, he stayed in the shadows. He felt anxious about entering the light for some reason. He scanned the area, turned around, and continued following the tracks. Some time later, he saw a wolf lying on the ground and slowed his pace. If he were ever asked about how he knew it was a wolf, he wouldn't be able to tell you. He couldn't tell from his position if the wolf was asleep or not. It lay sprawled on the forest floor with its back to him, as if it had passed out. Even so, he approached it with caution. It had midnight black fur. A single strip of golden brown trailing from its snout to its tail, the tip of its tail being the same color. Upon closer inspection, Dipper discovered the wolf dead, tongue lolling out of its mouth. It struck him that he hadn't run over any unearthed roots, there were none on this path. His mind and focus cleared as he realized that he killed the wolf that was a few feet from him. He backpedaled, crying out in horror from his own actions. He turned and bolted, darting through the forest and somehow managing to get back to the shack.
It was around three when he tore open the door, slamming it behind him and dashing to the attic. Mabel had left, to hang out with Grenda and Candi no doubt, so she wouldn't she would be safe from him. He had forgotten completely about both the book and the ring, his mind focused on how dangerous he has been. He locked the attic door behind him and slumped against the door, sliding down it to the floor. He balanced his elbows on his knees, his hands clinging the side of his head as he regained his breath. 'I killed a creature... People will never see me the same way ever again... They'll call me a monster if anyone ever did manage to find out... No... Nobody will find out... Not if I can help it...'
Dipper dropped his arms and stood, turning around and unlocking the door. As soon as he opened it, he wheeled back, a look of alarm as Mabel stepped in.
"Whoa, FunDip! Didn't mean to scare you that time." Mabel grinned, holding her hands up. She went over to her closet and grabbed a hat and a pair of sunglasses, Dipper's eyes trailing her the entire time. "So turns out that Candi and Grenda wanted to hang out. So it looks like I'm not going out on a Mystery Hunt with you anyway." She glanced over after grabbing the accessories, "You, uh, you okay their Dip?"
"Umm, ye-uhh, ehhyeah! Yeah... I-I-I'm fine." He turned, "Hey Ma-Mabel...can I...uh... can I borrow your grappling hook? I'm thinking about trying that area we...um... couldn't reach the other day."
"Mabel smiled before grabbing her grappling hook and tossing it over to him. "Here ya go, bro-bro!"
He fumbled to, but caught it, tucking it into his vest. He forced himself to walk to the desk and grabbed a flashlight. He proceeded to walk out of the door and down the steps before he tore out of the shack. He ran back to the shortcut, stopping at the head of the wolf. He saw now that it had a pale golden underbelly. He tied the grappling hook rope around the canine's forepaws, using a nearby stick to lift the paws. He saw now that the spine twisted halfway down its back and he almost vomited. He dragged the carcass, a slow process, to the nearest stream. Untying the wolf, he let it out in the water and pushed it out from the bank with a fallen branch.
He retracted the rope and set off for the rocky regions once more. Upon arriving, Dipper searched for a sturdy target. Finally he found a crevasse in the rock wall to his right. He had to try a few times before getting the shot right. Tugging hard a few times, he took a running jump. He slammed into the rock wall of the gap with a loud 'whumph,' knocking the air out of his lungs. Gasping for breath, he pulled himself up. His arms felt like limp noodles when he finally made it over the edge. Picking himself up, he realized that he could have retracted the rope and the gun could have pulled him up. He dislodged the hook and stuffed the grappling hook in his vest.
He continued on, coming upon a cave after a short while. He fished out his flashlight, clicking it on and aiming it inside the cave. 'Dead end, so it must be in here.' He entered the cave, the light sweeping over the rocky surface. He investigated every crevice and cranny he saw, but came up with nothing. Dejected and angry, he walked out of the cave and made his way back. He found a crevasse to shoot the hook in and crossed the gap, using the gun to pull him back up. He felt a small sense of something he couldn't name. It wasn't sadness, happiness, anger, or even guilt. He just couldn't place it. Right now, breathing in the open air scented with pine needles, his heart felt free. He wanted to run, to feel the wind rushing through his hair, to come to a stop, panting. He wanted to climb, to dig his fingers into any holding point and pull his body up. He wanted to jump, to feel his weight drag him down on his way up, and to feel lighter than a feather on his way down. He wanted to many of these things, but most of all he wanted to feast. Maybe that's what that feeling was. Hunger. He hadn't eaten all day, so that seemed reasonable.
He walked, which ended up turning into an all out sprint as he made his way back to the shack. He arrived at the shack a little after six, panting like a dog. He stepped inside, tongue out and smiling a little as he started regaining his breath. He made his way to the kitchen and got a glass of water, more like, six glasses. It seemed that Mabel and Stan had an early dinner, so he made a cold cut turkey sandwich, with extra turkey. Sated, he went upstairs and got ready for bed, changing in the bathroom since Mabel was in their room. He decided to go to bed early that night. Despite tossing and turning, he finally drifted off with a subtle smile on his lips.
A.N.- I've edited all of the chapters up to here a bit. They should be easier to read, for those who can't seem to understand complex literature. I have Anxrezi to thank for the insight.