Beware the Banshee

Chapter 11

A little before five o'clock, Stan drove over to the Corduroys' to pick up Abuelita and bring her home. A few minutes later, T.K. O'Grady rode his bike down the drive, heading for his own family—and Dipper fretted. The sun wouldn't go down for hours yet, not until nearly nine p.m., but what if something happened? Car trouble, delay—what if Stan and Soos's grandmother got caught outside of the protective field after dark?

Mabel prematurely stashed Waddles and Widdles inside, up in the attic—"No sense in upsetting Abuelita," she reasoned. Though she seemed her usual self, Dipper sensed that something was wrong—Mabel looked tense, and that wasn't like her. When he finally asked her, she said, "Oh, nothing, just the usual teen angst, bro." She laughed, but it sounded phony. "You know, what with having two boys interested in me, and both of them have their points, and I don't really want to hurt either of them, and death is hanging over our heads and all, I need to think things out."

"Think it all out after all this is over!" Dipper urged. "Mabel, we've got to work together on this. We're the Mystery Twins, right?"

"Yeah," she said, sighing. "I guess. Mystery Twins." Her fist-bump, though, came off as only half-hearted.

Stan and Abuelita returned about twenty minutes to six. She was beaming. To Wendy, she said, "Your father and brothers, such sweet gentlemens. I made them meals to last for a whole week."

"Yeah," Wendy said with a grin, "maybe that'll hold them for two whole days. Thanks, Mrs. Ramirez."

"De nada. And please," she said, "you can call me Rosa."

"That's a pretty name," Wendy said, giving her a hug. "OK, you've been in the kitchen all day, so Dipper and I will make dinner. You go rest."

"Oh, thank you. That does sound so good. I will go sit in my decliner chair and put up my feet. They are tired."

Actually, Wendy had started preparations for dinner as soon as business trailed off, and now a big pot of beef stew bubbled and simmered on the stove, chunks of beef, carrots, and potatoes rising and falling in the brown gravy. She hauled Dipper into the kitchen and said, "OK, man, let's see how you shape up as a cook."

"Wait, what? I've never really cooked before," Dipper confessed. "I mean, you know, not for the family or anything. I don't know how!"

"Doesn't matter. This one anybody could do." Humming cheerfully, Wendy bustled around, taking ingredients from the pantry. "Get the stock pot—the big tall silver one with the two handles—yeah, that one—and put it on the front burner." She rummaged in a drawer and said, "Ah-hah! I knew Stan would have a church key!"

"A what?" Dipper asked.

She tossed him a silvery punch can-opener with one sharp and one curved end. "Useta be a beer can opener, in the Dark Ages before pull tabs were invented. You see that sharp end? Ok, you put the little metal tab underneath it on the lip of a can, then pull it up like a lever, and it punches a hole. For liquids only, of course. And you need a second hole on the opposite side to let air in as you pour. Open these four cans." She set four big tins of vegetable stock on the counter.

"OK, I'll try. Uh, what's the round side for?"

"Poppin' the tops off beer bottles. No, you wanna hook that little square tab under the rim of the can to give you leverage. There ya go."

Dipper expected it to be hard, so he tried to hold the opener with both hands. "Like this?"

Wendy chuckled. "No, dude, hold onto the can with one hand as you punch it, or it'll spill. Yeah, now you got it. Open 'em all and pour 'em into the pot."

Dipper found that if he levered the opener, just as Wendy said, it took very little effort to make a neat triangular hole. The first one was tentative and kind of messy, but after that he nailed it. Meanwhile Wendy was lining up a bunch of ripe tomatoes and taking soft cheese and herbs from the fridge.

"All done," Dipper said.

"'Kay, now fill one of those cans with water and pour it in, too. Repeat that six times in all. You can go ahead and turn the burner on sorta high."

He did and then said, "Six." It was tricky getting the water to flow at the right rate to fill the can without splashing around the hole, but he did it and poured the six cans of water into the warming stock. "Now?"

Wendy didn't look up from slicing the tomatoes. "Now, dude, see that big box there on the counter that says 'Polenta?" That's what you're making."

Dipper picked up the box. "What is it?"

"Oh, man!" Wendy said with a laugh. "You never had it? Don't worry, it's easy to make and goes great with stew. Now, you want to stir that stock and water about every minute or so until it comes to a boil. In between doing that, open the middle drawer of the fridge and find that great big wedge of Parmesan cheese. You're gonna grate about half a cup. The grater's in the drawer to your right, and get a shallow bowl to grate it into. Don't worry 'bout measurin' it, just do it until it looks about this deep in the bowl." She held up her hand, her thumb and forefinger about an inch apart. Dipper noticed that she extended her pinky as she did so, and he found that somehow endearing.

Dipper followed Wendy's directions. When the stock was boiling, he stirred in two cups of the grainy yellow polenta, then industriously kept stirring it until the mixture thickened. He added a little salt, milk, butter, and the grated cheese, and Wendy took a look, got a spoon, and smacked her lips as she tasted the mixture. "Just right," she said. "OK, salad's ready, stew's ready, go set the table. Let's you and me eat at one of the round tables in the snack bar—not hardly enough room for everybody in the dining room."

They called everyone in, and Wendy said, "OK, everybody, you can get your bowls and serve yourselves the stew. Get whatever you want to drink, too. This big bowl is polenta, an' here's a tomato, onion, and mozzarella salad for a side. Mabes! Dip an' I did the cooking, so you're gonna wash up, got it?"

"Absopositively not!" Mabel said, ladling steaming stew into her bowl.

Wendy chuckled. "You learn well, Padawan. Kidding aside, though, you are gonna wash up."

"OK," Mabel said. "This smells good! What's the yellow stuff again?"

"Polenta," Dipper said. "Don't you know what that is?"

Stanford and Stanley got themselves a couple of beers and then dug in with a vengeance, and Soos shoveled everything in as though he were stoking a steam locomotive that was late with the morning mail. Melody ate with more restraint, and so did Abuelita, although she smiled all over her face as she tasted the stew and said, "Es muy bueno, Chica!"

"Hey, gracias, Rosa!" Wendy said.

Soos paused with his spoon halfway to his mouth, dripping stew onto the table. "Huh? Rosa? Is that, like your name, Abuelita? You never told me!"

"I tell those who need to know," she said. "To you I am always Abuelita, my little masa de grasa."

Wendy and Dipper took their food to the snack bar and set their bowls and plates on either side of one of the miniature tables. They didn't turn on the overhead fluorescent lights, but sat in the warm yellow glow leaking in from the gift shop. They could hear the clink of silverware and the hum of conversation from the dining room, but they had a kind of illusion of privacy. Wendy set a can of Pitt Cola in front of Dipper and then took the chair across from him. "Eat up, man."

"I'm tired," Dipper confessed, taking a sip of the cola and—just his luck—getting the pit in his mouth first thing. He spat it into his hand and put it down on a paper napkin.

"Go on and eat, you'll feel better," Wendy said. "Come on, Dipper, you heard what Abuelita said! It's mooey bone-o or some deal."

He mustered a weak smile but only ate a little of the tomato, cheese, and herb salad—unless they were in sandwiches, tomatoes weren't his favorite—but the beef stew was scrumptious, rich and tasty, and to his surprise the corny, cheesy flavor of the polenta really did set it off. "Hey, this is really good stuff," he told Wendy. "Thanks!"

She shrugged. "Eh, stews get to be your specialty when you spend days an' days out in the woods. Pretty easy to make, filling, and they taste good. You did good with the polenta, too, man. Very smooth, no lumps!"

With her lumberjack appetite, Wendy breezed through her meal before Dipper was half finished. She leaned her chin on her hand and smiled as she watched him eat. "You're real worried," she said. "Don't try to hide it, Dipper. I know."

Dipper squirmed a little, because in fact he had not intended to let on how concerned he was feeling—and how upset that nobody else seemed to be taking the threat as seriously as he did. "Well, yeah! I mean, something out there wants to kill us! And I have no idea what it is!"

"But you're gonna find out," she said. She sipped the last of her cola. "What're you planning, man? I know you're keepin' somethin' a deep, dark secret."

He blinked at her. "How—who—"

"Our crazy ESP actin' up, I guess," she said with a smile.

He felt a touch on his leg. She had kicked off her boots and reached out with her foot to rub his shin gently, up and down, her toes curling to caress his ankle. Dipper started to tingle and blush. "Aw," he said, "OK, I'll tell you. I'm gonna see if Ford will go with me tomorrow out to Needle Falls. You know where that is?"

"Sure," Wendy said. "It's over at the butt end of nowhere. Stunted, weird-lookin' trees, twisted, nasty weeds that look like they came from another planet or some deal, lotsa rock falls—all just badlands, really. Best not to drink the water from the falls, by the way—crazy metallic-tasting with minerals. And you can't get very close in a vehicle, so it's like a couple hours hard walkin' both in and then out again. But, Dip—Ford ain't gonna make it if the animals gang up on him. No way."

"Well—that's where whatever it is, is coming from, at least according to Jeff. I want to go there in daylight, check it out, and get back here by nightfall."

"Gonna be real hard, dude," Wendy said. "Long way and tough hikin'."

Dipper ran his hand through his hair. "I thought once Ford actually got into the Valley, the animals might, you know, give up and leave him alone."

"Betcha they don't, though. I got a feeling they're trying to protect him, not hurt him, so they're gonna head him off. 'Specially if he's goin' toward the danger. So—I guess it's up to you an' me."

"No!" Dipper said. "I—I'll go alone if I have to. I don't want to risk you getting hurt, or—or worse!"

"You think you're gonna stop me?" she asked, grinning. "Come on, man. You think I want you marchin' off into the lair of some stupid monster or ghost or somethin' without me along to help out? No way." In a soft voice, she added, "I got an investment in you, Dipper. Put a great big chunk of my heart into you already. Losin' you would kinda break me."

"That's the nicest thing anybody ever said to me," Dipper admitted. He slumped and shivered a little as her toes kept rubbing his leg. "Oh, Wendy! I—you know, sometimes I get so tired being the guy who chases down all the crazy ghosts and monsters! You'd think by now I'd be brave, but—I'm just scared. I'm really scared."

"But scared as you are, you're still gonna go hikin' out to Needle Falls anyhow. Where somethin' that might want to kill you might be, like, lurking."

Dipper swallowed hard. "Well, yeah—because I don't know what else to do, and we have to find out what we're facing."

Wendy leaned forward, took his hand and squeezed. "See, Dip, that's bein' brave. Not gettin' numb to danger. I mean, ignorin' a threat, that's just dumb, man! But bein' scared and still doin' what has to be done, now that's courage, Big Dipper."

He smiled miserably. "Yeah, but it happens like every week in Gravity Falls! I just wish when it does, I wouldn't always get the same feeling!"

"You can deal with it," she said. "I know you can." She raised his hand and kissed it.

"Dip-PER!" Mabel bawled from the kitchen. "Come on! If I'm gonna wash up, at least you can dry!"

"Way to ruin a moment, Mabel," Dipper muttered. But he called, "Be there in a second!"

"We won't do our run tomorrow," Wendy said, pulling on her boots and then getting up and reaching for the dirty dishes. "We'll let the hike do instead."

"Wendy—thank you," Dipper told her. "You—you're the—I mean—"

Smiling warmly, she shrugged. "Yeah, I know. Now go help your sister."