14. Frantic Friday

(August 28-29, 2015)

Part 2: The Great Roundup

"Ants?" Ford asked over the telephone. "Just in size, or—"

"Literally!" Dipper said, trying to keep the panic out of his voice. "They're bugs!"

"Ants are insects, Mason. Bugs are insects in the Hemiptera suborder and are distinct from other insects—"

"They're literal ants!" Dipper all but yelled. "Six legs! They're wearing tee shirts! With four sleeves each! They walk on the hind pair of legs! They're smaller than carpenter ants, but larger than harvester ants! And they run around in groups, color-coded by their tee shirts!"

"Calm down," his great-uncle cautioned. "Is each ant half an inch long? A quarter of an inch? Estimate."

"Umm . . . maybe a quarter of an inch to three-eighths."

"And how much did the students weigh? In all, I mean, as a group?"

"Grunkle Ford, how should I know that?"

"Estimate, Mason."

"Um . . . OK, we had about a hundred seventy-five campers. Uh . . . if the median age of the campers was ten, um . . . let's see, I'm looking this up on my laptop . . . OK, I'd say seventy pounds would be a ballpark average, so seventy times a hundred and seventy-five, that would be, ah, carry the three, um, twelve thousand . . . two hundred and fifty pounds. Say 5,600 kilograms."

"Listen to me: The mass must have gone somewhere. Most likely there's a parasite dimension somewhere in the Shack—these form when the laws of nature are bent so far they're ready to break. First, locate that. Set your anomaly detector to DI-5, that's dimensional intrusion grade five, and scan everywhere. Meanwhile, round up the ants."

"Round up the—how?"

Ford sounded faintly exasperated. "You say they travel in groups. Lure them! Lure them with something sweet! Find a group and, I don't know, sprinkle some sugar near them and make a trail leading to a container—not airtight! A glass jar would do if it had a punctured lid. But make sure the—"

"Wendy has a roll of mosquito netting in her car trunk!" Dipper said. "The mesh would be too small for the ants. How about jars with netting tops rubber-banded around?"

"Excellent! You do the scanning, have Mabel and Teek and Wendy take charge of rounding up the students—how many different groups?"

Dipper ran to the window. Outside, Grunkle Stan was entertaining the counselors by showing them something that seemed to have them hypnotized. Beyond them, in the parking lot, were the camp buses. Dipper counted. "Six full-sized buses and five vans, so eleven groups!"

"Then make eleven containment jars. I'll be over in ten minutes!"

Dipper borrowed Wendy's car keys as Mabel and Teek started to lay trails of sugar. He fished out the roll of netting—Wendy used it when camping—and hurried back inside. "OK if we cut this up?" he asked Wendy. "I'll buy you some more!"

"Sure, whatever," Wendy said, taking a pair of scissors from the drawer under sales counter. "Here, I'll do it. You go get that detector and—and start detecting!"

"Got two bunches!" Mabel said, popping two jars on the counter. In one, red-shirted ants milled around and began to climb the sides, but they slipped back without reaching the mouth of the container. In the other jar, blue-shirted ants were doing the same thing.

Holding the scissors, Wendy yanked open the junk drawer where everyone tossed the big rubber bands that came from the USPS—normally, they held stacks of envelopes together. As Dipper headed for the stairs, being careful where he stepped, Teek said, "Almost all the green ones are in this jar!"

"Keep going!" Dipper shouted. He rushed upstairs, tossed all his underwear in the floor—he kept the compact anomaly detector in that same drawer—and then switched it on as he came back downstairs. Soos huddled in the corner of the Museum, his knees drawn up and his arms wrapped around them. "What's wrong?" Dipper asked. "Are you scared of ants?"

"Scared of stepping on them!" Soos said. "I'm a big dude, dude! I'd hate to, like, squish the campers from Camp Lill-ol-Lyoms or some deal. That would be bad for the Shack's reputation!"

"Just stay put," Dipper said, studying the detector screen as he swept the Museum. "I'm looking for—"

He found it. The device buzzed and indicated a pulsing red-mesh space-time anomaly in the center of the room, just past the Sascrotch. Dipper approached carefully and stepped on something hard. He bent and picked it up: a conical something-or-other that looked like earthenware, but with a petrified layer of pitch or sap encrusting it. "What's this?"

"Don't know, dude. Oh, man, they were horsing around with the Magic Wishing Jug! I see it behind the Sascrotch's platform. Did they break it? Hey, did they, like, wish they could turn into ants? That's crazy-bonkers nutso! Kinda cool, though."

"I don't think they made a wish," Dipper said, retrieving the curio from the floor. "The jug's not broken, anyway. OK, I found what Grunkle Ford asked for. You stay where you are, and I'll help Teek, Mabel, and Wendy!"

They had rounded up six more groups: purple ants, yellow ants, orange ants, teal ants, brown ants, and silver-gray ants. "Just got three more to go!" Wendy said. "The gold ones are behind the counter, the turquoise ones are in the snack bar, and I don't know where the maroon ones went!"

"Mostly under the snack machine!" Mabel yelled. "I'm sprinkling the lure now!"

Meanwhile, out in the yard, Grunkle Stan was yapping to twenty-seven or so camp counselors while he held up a spinning disk with a hypnotic spiral painted on it: "Yeah, this is real distracting. I can't even look at it, or I'll lose track of what I'm doing! You guys all distracted?" A couple of the counselors numbly nodded. "That's great, that's great. OK, let me try something here: You are all gonna remember this as a wonderful trip! You'll recommend the Shack to everybody! Now just sit still and watch the nice spiral. Just keep watchin' the spiral."

Grunkle Ford pulled up in the driveway and jumped out of his Lincoln. Dipper had heard the car door slam and he came to the door. Ford saw him and yelled, "Mason! How's the operation going?"

"Uh, I don't know! I located the parasite dimension—it's about as big as a walk-in closet, and it's way dense. The others are rounding up the different groups of ants. Oh, and I found this!" He handed the Wishing Jug to Ford.

Ford held his specs at the corner with one hand and the jug with the other, slowly rotating it. "Hm. Pre-Helladic pottery, Minoan influences. This goes back to 2,000 BC or earlier. I don't recognize the inscription."

"Soos says some of the kids, uh, uncorked it. Or unstoppered it. Wait." Dipper reached in his pocket and produced the stopper, which he handed to Ford.

"Same material as the container, but with a bitumen gasket," Ford said. "Amazing. This thing might not have been unsealed for four thousand years!"

"Could it turn busloads of kids into ants?" Dipper asked. "That's the point!"

"Who knows? Let's go inside."

"Got the maroon ones, the little sneaks!" Mabel yelled. "Wendy's netting them in now!"

"Done!" Wendy said, snapping a rubber band to hold the mosquito netting in place. "That's all of them! If we got every single one!"

Ford leaned close to peer at the red-shirted ones—one of the most numerous bunches—and murmured, "They move very erratically, don't they? You didn't poison them, did you?"

"Just gave them sugar to lure them in," Dipper said.

"Nuh-uh!" Mabel said, holding up a white-and-pink envelope. "Not sugar. Smile Dip!"

"Worse than poison," Dipper groaned.

Out in the yard, Stan, getting a little hoarse, was saying, "And you saw all these great mysteries, right? And you'd recommend that everybody you know come to the Shack. In fact, you're gonna. And tell them to bring money. Real money! Lots of it! 'Cause they're gonna want souvenirs. In fact, you all want souvenirs! You'll stock up before you leave! And you guys, don't hit on the redhead, 'cause she's in a relationship! You girls, neither! 'Cept if you want to hit on the messy-haired boy at the register, that'd be OK, 'cause he could use the ego boost. Uh, that goes for you guys, too, I guess. Let me see . . . did I mention money?"

And the distracting, hypnotic spiral spun.

With the ants imprisoned in the jars—they did try to climb up to the mosquito netting, but none made it that high, and it looked like each jar had started its own bizarre Smile Dip-fueled mini-rave—Teek, Wendy, and Mabel just watched, fascinated.

After going down to the foot of the driveway to put up a "TEMPORARILY CLOSED FOR INSECT TREATMENT" sign, Soos went to his and Melody's room to lie down for a while.

And Dipper and Ford descended the concealed stair and rode down in the elevator to the lab level where Ford kept his computers—with Dipper's advice, he had upgraded not long before and now the banks of computers were much more powerful than the old ones had been and, being only a few months old, were only a little outmoded.

Ford loved the computing power but complained bitterly about the Casements 10 operating system, which had to update itself nearly every day and half the time after the update crashed everything until Dipper could figure out how to fix it.

However, that day everything seemed to be working, and with Dipper at his elbow offering pointers and advice, Ford searched for information about what had happened.

A search for "people turning into ants" produced very little. Well, about three hundred thousand hits, but none of them suggested any help for their present problem. Surprisingly, "ants turning into people" produced even more, four hundred thousand plus, but they seemed equally irrelevant.

"Grunkle Ford," Dipper suggested, "if the urn's from ancient times, how about adding 'ancient Greece' to the search?"

Ford repeated the words under his breath as he slowly entered the search term. He was only a four-finger typist, and while that was twice as fast as an ordinary two-finger typist, it was still pretty slow compared to Dipper, who just by long practice could machine-gun out ninety words per minute. His fingers itched to take over the keyboard, but—it was Ford's, after all.

"And enter," Ford murmured.

Myrmidons was the first hit to pop up. "Of course!" Ford said. "The ancient Greek myth about the army of Achilles! The soldiers were descended from a race of men created when Zeus, king of the gods, transformed ants into humans!"

"That sounds pretty far out," Dipper said.

Ford shook his head. "Think about it. Ants would make perfectly good soldiers if they were in human form. They're used to marching in formation, they're strong and can take lots of damage, they operate well in a hierarchy, they'll obey any order no matter how idiotic, and if they break into an enemy stronghold, they can infest the pantries! Well, that last one, not so much, but—"

"How do you reverse it?" Dipper asked. "Or can that be done only by Zeus himself?"

"Let me see, let me see . . . magical amphorae . . .." After scanning a few web pages, Ford said, "Interesting! According to this, Pandora's box was not a box, but a ceramic vase—an amphora. Once opened, it could not be re-sealed. That's discouraging."

Dipper had given up coaching his great uncle and was sitting at another computer, rattling the keyboard as he did his own searches. "Grunkle Ford! Here, I'm sending you a URL to look up. This might be the answer!"

They both leaned forward, each gazing at his own screen. An observer might have thought that two versions of Ford had somehow time-warped into the same place, one at the age of fifteen, the other about fifty—they looked that much alike. And they both read the text in unison:

The Amphora of Circe appears in some fragmentary myths about the sorceress who transformed men into pigs. It was a magical vessel that contained her potion of transformation. Disguised as a fine wine, it affected every man who tasted it by changing him into a pig. The sole exception was Odysseus, who had been given a preventative potion by Hermes. . . .

[They both skimmed the stuff about the Odyssey]

A myth also known to the ancient Etruscans identified the amphora, not the contents, as the magical implement and said that the spell could be reversed only with the same amphora. The same potion that caused men to become pigs could restore them if a second ingredient, pure honey, were added. In fact, some myths said that if the honey were added and the amphora re-sealed, the spell would be reversed without the pigs drinking the potion . . . .

"Eureka!" Ford yelled.

"Uh—I don't think the kids actually drank anything from the jug," Dipper pointed out. "They just uncorked it."

"Still, we may be able reverse the effect if we add the honey and re-cork it," Ford said. "If the force that changed them operates like the one in this myth. What else do we have? It's worth a try!"

"Girl," Wendy said, "you gotta stop sprinkling that stuff into the jars!"

Mabel paused, a pinch of Smile Dip between her thumb and forefinger. "Aw, but they love it! Look at these little guys!"

The yellow ants had formed a pyramid, trying to reach the mosquito mesh. They obviously knew that Mabel had more of the powdered candy ready to drop in through the netting.

Which she did. The ants cheered—not that the humans could hear them—and went nuts on Smile Dip, popping around like jumping beans. "Little cuties!" Mabel said.

Teek muttered, "I hope your house never gets termites."

"I know, right?" Wendy said. "She'd, like, make pets of them!"

The vending machine swiveled, and Ford and Dipper emerged, Ford holding the amphora, Dipper the stopper. "Guys," Dipper said, "we think we might have a solution!"

Ford explained what they wanted to try. That took twenty minutes. "Dipper located the spot where the extra mass for the human bodies is probably trapped in a parasite dimension," he said. "We'll have to get all the ants in the same room—the Museum—and arrange them around that spot before we restore them to human form."

"Uh, won't the kids get crushed if they turn back into humans inside the jars?" Wendy asked.

"Good point, good point," Dipper said. "Uh, let's get some of those plastic food containers from the pantry. We'll put the ants in them and immediately try to reverse the, uh, spell? I guess spell."

They found eleven quart-sized containers and after Ford used his anomaly detector to confirm the general location of the parasite dimension, they spread the containers out on the floor in the Museum, encircling the spot. "The ants'll be able to crawl out of these," Teek pointed out.

"Nah, not so much," Mabel said, sprinkling in even more Smile Dip into the plastic boxes. "Trust me."

And sure enough, once released into the open containers, the Smile-Dip-addled ants simply milled about, most of them turning in tight circles, some lying on their backs, kicking their feet in the air, and most likely hallucinating.

Dipper ransacked the pantry. "We had a whole unopened pint jar of honey just yesterday!" he said. "What happened to it?"

"Uhh . . . " Mabel said, refusing to meet his gaze.

"Mabel!"

"It was sticky," she said. "It all stuck to my tongue!"

Teek went into the snack bar and came out with a little plastic single-serve packet of honey. "We have these for tea," he said. "This one was the last in the carton. There should have been 72."

"Uhh . . . " Mabel said again, tugging at the collar of her sweater.

"I figured," Teek said. He asked Dipper, "Is one enough?"

"We'll try it," Dipper said. He held the stopper. "Squirt it in!"

Teek tore off the corner and squeezed the contents of the packet into the amphora. "Wait, wait!" Mabel said. She dumped in the last of the envelope of Smile Dip. "Just for luck!"

"OK," Dipper said. "Zeus, here's an offering for you and Circe or whoever! Change them back!"

From out in the hall, they heard Soos's distant voice: "Thanks, but I don't want anything right now."

"Not Soos!" Dipper yelled. "Zeus!"

"Oh," Soos called back. "Easy mistake to make, dawg!"

"I, uh, stopper thee!" Dipper said, plunging the stopper into the neck of the amphora.

A silent explosion poofed through the Museum, rattling things on the shelves. The Jackalope briefly thumped one of its hind feet. The Singin' Salmon began to croon "Old Man River" and got through the ninth bar before shutting up. And suddenly kids were rolling on the floor, giggling and kicking their feet in the air.

Minutes later, as the campers staggered out of the Shack and reeled and stumbled toward their buses, Stan gave their counselors a few last suggestions: "You got happy campers! They're stoned outa their minds on, uh, Mystery Shack goodness! Tell all your friends! But tell 'em if they're bringing busloads of kids, they need like two chaperones for every kid! And remember, you all had a great time at the Mystery Shack! Don't forget to visit the gift shop!"

A shuffling nine-year-old girl in a red tee shirt stared down at her sneakers and giggled. "My feet are fat pink whistling bunny rabbits! And I want sugar!"

An eleven-year-old boy in a blue shirt pointed and slurred, "How come the bus turned into a big grinning yellow cat?"

But Mabel assured Dipper, "They'll be fine after they sleep it off."

Dipper took the jug on a one-way trip to the Bottomless Pit.

And they all agreed not to take down the temporarily-closed notice that Soos had put up at the end of the driveway. It was only noon, but they had already put in a full day.

From the Journals of Dipper Pines: Friday Morning: Wendy and I just got in from our run. Stan and Sheila are coming back today, giving Teek and Mabel the day off. Mabel's deep into planning for our party on Monday, and Teek is helping her.

I hope nothing happens today. We need a day of just normality. Not Gravity Falls normality, but normal normality.

Yesterday was so crazy! Mabel keeps making bad jokes—"Sorry all that BUGGED you, Dipper! Man, for a while there you were really ANTSY!" She also speculates on whether the kids in ant form did any fooling around—of the intimate variety—before they got changed back. After all, she says, the ants were wearing tee shirts but no pants. "Pantsless ants doing the fancy dance!" she says. I have no idea what that means.

Well, I do, but I really don't want to think about it.

Weird thing, before the end of the day yesterday Soos started getting calls and emails from the camps—they were all thrilled. Not only did the counselors and kids think they had a great time, but the kids got back completely exhausted, just wanted to climb into their bunks, and the camps were the calmest they'd been all summer. They're all planning more trips next year. Soos asked them to schedule ahead. We don't want nearly two hundred of them all at the same time again.

After the fifth telephone call promising a return visit, Soos went and tried to hide under his own bed.

I know that Mabel took a bunch of Smile Dip the last time she visited the Dusk 2 Dawn, and I tried to find out where she'd stashed it, but she's not talking. "I'm not an addict," she told me. "But I gotta keep some handy—in case of emergencies!"

Funny, I can't think of a single emergency that Smile Dip could make better.

What a week.

Two more days now. Then the party. Then on Labor Day, goodbye to the Falls for maybe the whole rest of the year.

Goodbye to my Lumberjack Girl.

By next June, she'll have graduated from high school. I'll be ready for my senior year. She'll be nineteen. I'll be sixteen. Three years difference again.

On the bright side, as of Monday, I'll be sixteen and she'll still be eighteen. Just two years! Like magic!

Stan says he's going to go to bat with our parents, fixing it so we can spend at least Thanksgiving here. Our school takes the whole week off, so that would be something. Not enough, but something.

We'll see. I told Stan that I hoped he could charm Mom and Dad into letting us come.

He grinned. "Oh, I think I can SPIN 'em a tale they'll agree to." He nudged me. "Spin, get it?"

I didn't, but I smiled anyway.

Well, I've showered and dressed. Time to go down to breakfast. And another day in the Shack.

I just hope it's a really dull one.

The End