Beware the Banshee

Chapter 5

From the Journals of Dipper Pines: Tuesday, June 10—I thought I was doing a good job not letting Wendy know about all that happened last night, I mean the howling and Russ visiting and all, but after our run, as we were doing our cool-off walk down the drive, she asked, "So, Dipper, what's worryin' you?"

"I didn't think it showed," I said.

She punched my shoulder. "C'mon, man! We're somehow gettin' this spooky ESP thing. I can, like, feel when you're not right. Spill it, dude."

"OK," I said. I could hear Mabel out back putting her pigs through some kind of obstacle course—"Work that fat off! Work it!" she was barking.

"Can we just sit on the porch for a minute?" I asked.

So we settled on the edge of the porch, facing the totem pole, and I told her about the weird noise, the weird visit, and the weird fact that we couldn't get in touch with Ford. "I tried to call him already this morning," I said. "No answer."

"Dude, I can understand why you're worried," Wendy said.

"So Grunkle Stan and I are gonna fly down to San Jose and see if we can track him down," I finished. "This morning. Stan will be here in about twenty minutes."

She suddenly hugged me. "You be careful, Dipper," she said. "I've heard about the banshee's wail. Not that I believe in stuff like that, but—this is Gravity Falls, man."

"Yeah."

So we showered and had a real quick breakfast and Wendy got to work in the Shack. I stayed there with her until Grunkle Stan showed up a couple of minutes before 8:00, and then I gave her a quick peck of a goodbye kiss and promised to call her when we got to San Jose.

I grabbed my duffel with a change of clothes and a couple of changes of underwear in it and ran out to the Stanleymobile. Stan had just climbed out from behind the wheel. "Ya ready?" he asked.

I opened the passenger door and tossed the duffel bag over into the backseat. "Let's do this."

"OK. I tried callin' Ford—"

"So did I."

"Then you know he ain't answerin'."

Grunkle Stan sped north to Interstate 84 because he said we'd make better time that way. We didn't talk much. I tried another time to call Grunkle Ford when we were about halfway to Portland, same result.

We got to the airport right around 9:40, found a parking spot—"Twelve bucks a day, what am I, made of money?" Grunkle Stan groused.

We rushed to the terminal, because we hadn't yet bought tickets—Grunkle Stan had checked that morning, and he said there were still sixty or so seats open, though, so it wouldn't be a problem—and as we went toward the airline desk—

Stan stopped in his tracks and yelled, "For the love of—what're you doin' here?"

And Stanford, burdened down with a suitcase in each hand, stopped and asked, "Stanley? Why are you here? Hello, Dipper. Hey!"

Dipper had run forward and hugged him, causing Ford to drop his luggage. "Grunkle Ford! We've been so worried about you! You never answered your phone—"

"Because the battery died!" Ford said, pushing Dipper away and looking baffled. "And the front desk at the motel didn't sell this kind of battery!"

"Ya don't buy new ones! Told ya, Brainiac, you gotta plug in it an' recharge it," Stan growled.

"But I forgot the charging cord!"

"Doesn't matter, doesn't matter," Dipper said, grabbing both suitcases. "We came to drive you home! Let's go!"

"Uh—oh. Very well. Thank you."

Though Stan dickered with the parking lot attendant, arguing that anything under fifteen minutes ought to be free, finally Ford paid the two dollars and they set off for home. "What happened at the Westminster House?" Dipper asked.

Sitting beside him in the shotgun position, Ford said, "Well, I did a full-scale psychoactive scan of the entire house, including the hidden room you spoke of, where the bones of Mr. Westminster were found—by the way, did you break that hole in the wall?"

"Had to," Dipper said. "The only other way out was like fifteen feet over our heads, a trap door in the stairs or something. So I found a place where there'd been a window, and all we had to do was break through the scantlings and plaster."

Ford nodded. "Fortunately, no one has any idea that a guest caused that breakage. The staff attribute it to earthquake damage and settling," Ford said. "The room is supposedly off-limits for the time being. But I crawled in through the opening you made anyway. I've rarely seen readings that far off the scale, but they're all residual. There must have been great ghost activity there recently."

"There was," Dipper said. "That was sort of the ghosts' waiting room for the Beyond."

"Dipper says the whole crazy place is alive," Stan said.

Ford settled back in his seat. "I wouldn't put exactly it that way. Yes, the house has some kind of baleful awareness, short of full sentience I think, and it's definitely malevolent. I saw no evidence that it could physically alter its characteristics, but I'm convinced it has the ability to create illusions—hallways that really aren't sealed off seem to have no exit, for example, and in any given room you're apt to hear horrible screams and moans coming from the room next door, until you actually enter it, and then they seem to be in the room you've just emerged from."

"In other words," Stan said, "it's a fixer-upper."

"Indeed. However, I did what I thought prudent. My hope is that now the lich is gone, the psychic energies will gradually ebb and vanish. I think I treated every reachable room to dampen the effects so the house will not be capable of actually injuring anyone."

"Yada, yada, yada. Listen, if I'd worried about that kinda thing at the Shack, I couldn't have afforded the liability insurance I'd've had to buy!"

"But enough about me," Ford said cheerfully. "My word, Dipper, but you've grown since last I saw you! How old are you now? Seventeen?"

"Fourteen, Poindexter, fourteen!" Stan growled. "I can't believe you can recite pi to like a gazillion digits an' you can't remember how old the twins are!"

So they talked for a good while about Dipper and Mabel and how they were doing, and Ford seemed impressed with Mabel's artistic abilities and with Dipper's athletic achievements. When they got to the Dalles, Ford asked about pulling off and finding a store where he could buy a new phone battery.

"You don't replace them," Dipper said. "It's like Grunkle Stan said, just recharge the battery. Really, it'll be good as new."

"Ah, well, I was sure it would be like a flashlight. These miniature computer phones never cease to amaze me," Ford admitted.

Dipper then said, "Uh, I ought to tell you something else, great-uncle Ford. It's kind of embarrassing because I panicked and—OK, you know about banshees, right?"

"Irish," Ford said promptly. A fae spirit that attaches itself to one of many Irish families and warns of impending death. The word means—"

"I Googled it, Grunkle Ford," Dipper said. "I think there may be a banshee somewhere in the woods behind the Shack." He told the story, including the late-night visit that Russ paid to warn Mabel.

"Well," Stan said, "we're off the hook, anyways. The Pines family ain't Irish."

"There's a new employee at the Shack," Dipper said. "A boy named T.K. O'Grady."

"Oh, yeah. That's as Irish as they come," Stan conceded.

"That's correct," Ford said. "However, Stanley, the Pines family is actually part Irish. Remember Grandmother Fiona?"

"I remember she useta scare the pee outa us when we were about five years old, tellin' us those spook stories."

"Yes, well, she was descended from the O'Conors, ancient kings of the Irish kingdom of Connacht. So there is that. However, Dipper, the banshee doesn't necessarily forecast the death of an Irish person, but perhaps of someone that person deeply loves."

"Miss Corduroy," T.K. had said, and with an adoring look in his eyes!

"Grunkle Stan," Dipper asked, "can you drive faster?"

Stan obligingly floored the accelerator, and Dipper closed his eyes. Sometimes, he thought, Stan has really good ideas. Like blindfolds for a car ride. They had turned toward the west and toward the lowering sun when all at once Stan stamped on the brake. "What th'—?"

Dipper stared, not quite believing what he saw. Ahead of them on the two-lane road that led into Gravity Falls Valley crowded . . . animals. A bunch of rabbits, three foxes, a whole herd of deer, a dozen or more, possums, five or six raccoons, field mice, two half-grown bears, even an elk. And oddly they looked peaceful. Peaceful, but determined.

The El Diablo fishtailed to a screeching halt, blue smoke from the tires drifting ahead of it. "What is this, a convention?" Stan asked, leaning on the horn.

The animals twitched a little, but did not move from the road. In fact, a flock of Canada geese sailed in and settled among the milling crowd. "This is most peculiar," Ford said, holding onto his spectacles.

"Oh, really? I thought it just was huntin' season an' these guys were givin' up," Stan growled, opening the driver's door.

"Don't get out!" Dipper warned.

"Hey," Stan said with a fierce grin, "I faced down screwy zombies, remember? I should be scared of a homeless zoo? Please!"

So Ford and Dipper climbed out too, just in case they needed to help Stan or run for their lives.

Stan walked toward the beasts with his arms extended and his legs sort of crouching. "Hey, you! Animal jerks! I'm drivin' here, you knuckleheads! Scat! Clear out! Get goin' before I make roadkill stew outa you!"

The creatures let him come right up to him, stepped, hopped, or fluttered just barely out of his way, and did not hurt him or act perturbed. For two or three minutes Stan waded around in the sea of animals, fruitlessly trying to shoo at least one off the road. When that didn't work, he turned and yelled, "Hey, Dip! Take out your phone and make a picture of me here. It'd make a great exhibit at the Shack: 'The Man Who Mesmerizes Animals!' Wait, let me pose next to the bear here. Man, he stinks!"

Dipper made three photos. Then he asked, "What do we do?"

The animals closed ranks again as Stan made his way back to the car. "Ya got me. This is the only road into the Valley. For some reason they don't wanna let us in."

"Could they be under a dark magic spell?" Dipper asked Ford.

"Unlikely," Ford said. "They're curiously passive. If they were minions of some evil force, I have the feeling they'd attack us."

Dipper walked forward, but Stan grabbed his shoulder. "Hey, hey, Dip, dangerous wild animals can be, uh, dangerous! And wild!"

"I want to see if they are," Dipper told him. "If I get in trouble, come and help."

But he didn't get into trouble. Just as they had done with Stan, the peaceful animals let Dipper walk among them, just beyond his reach, but not threatening him in any way. Ford came forward, too—and the deer moved to stand shoulder to shoulder in front of him in a solid mass, preventing him from joining Dipper in the midst of the herd.

Dipper made his way back. He couldn't pass the deer until Ford backed off and they broke ranks. Stepping away from them, Dipper said, "It's you, Grunkle Ford! I think they're trying to keep you out of the valley!"

"But that makes no sense," Ford said, scratching the back of his head. "I've never harmed an animal. Well, I take that back, I punched out a cycloptopus once, but it was attacking me. And anyway, it's a jerk."

"Maybe that banshee thing has it out for you, an' for some reason they're tryin' to protect you," Stan said.

"No, a banshee isn't malevolent per se," Ford said, shaking his head.

"Use English words, Poindexter! An' don't call me a pus—"

"No, no! I mean the banshee isn't evil as such. It offers a warning of impending death, through illness or accident or attack. It's possible that if the warning is heeded, the death can be averted."

"Well, what're we gonna do?" Stan asked. "I could just plow the Stanleymobile through the mob, squashin' 'em if they don't get outa the way."

"No, you couldn't," Ford said.

Stan sighed. "You're right. I ain't got the heart. I'm too kind an' gentle for my own good, that's my curse. So—what, then?"

Dipper and Ford hid their reaction by coughing. Then for a few moments no one said anything. The animals watched with a kind of patient alertness, docile and placid but looking ready to form a wall against them if they tried to get through.

"I'll call Wendy," Dipper volunteered. "She or Soos can drive out and maybe they can get through from the other side. Or maybe the animals will let us get to their car and then we can go home."

"I am not leavin' the Stanleymobile abandoned by the side of the road!" Stan said.

Ford took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "Look," he said with a sigh, "I don't think I can get through anyway. They seem set on blocking my path. If Dipper can get someone to come pick you up, and if you two can get through this—this living blockade, then I'll drive the car back to Hirschville. I can rent a room at the Overlook Motel there. I think there's an electronics store in their little mall, and I can buy a charging cord for my phone, and anyhow I'll at least have a room phone. See if you two can get back home, and we'll figure something out so I can come and join you. I don't know, maybe I can rent a helicopter. Or I could call the Professor. He and his agents owe me a few dozen favors."

"Don't call them in on it!" Stan said. "I hate those government guys!"

"Shh!" Dipper said. He had his phone out. "Wendy, hi! No, listen, Ford's OK, it was all kind of a misunderstanding . . . . Yeah, I'll tell him, but listen: Is Soos real busy? Can I speak to him for a second?" He held the phone away from his ear and said, "Wendy says she's relieved, Grunkle Ford. Hello? Soos?"

It took a few minutes to explain, but Soos cheerfully said, "Sure, dawg, I can, like bring the Jeep! I'll come to the rescue, just like back in Never Mind All That!"

"You are the Handyman of the Apocalypse, Soos," Dipper said, unable to hold back a smile.

"I am needed!" Soos said. "Soos is, like, up, up, and on the road, dude!"

"Thanks, man."

"It's what I do! Oh, here, Wendy, dawg, and you're in charge for now!"

"Sweet!"

Wendy came back on the line: "What's all this about?"

"Tell you when I get there," Dipper said. "Hey, is that O'Grady kid still there?"

"No, his shift ended and he headed home."

"OK. Look, do me a big, big favor and don't ask any questions. Just stay there in the Shack—I mean stay inside—until we either get home or I call you."

"Dipper? What is this? What's wrong?"

"I'll tell you when I get there. Stay in the Shack. Keep Mabel inside, too. I—I—you know. I'll see you!"

Stan, off to one side with his hands on his hips and facing down the animals, said without looking around, "Hey, Dipper? Whyn't you tell that nice girl ya love her?"

Dipper felt his face getting hot. "Stop it."

"He's quoting from The Godfather," Ford observed.

Dipper put his phone back in his pocket and said, a little sullenly, "I don't care."

"Sorry, Dipper," Stan said in a softer voice, surprising him. "I remember how painful it could be back when I was a teen an' liked some girl. You're lucky, kid. Remember how lucky you are."

"I do," he said with a smile. He didn't add, And I sure hope my luck holds.