Beware the Banshee
Chapter 18
"Are you sure this will work, Grunkle Ford?" Dipper asked as he tinkered at one of the stations in Ford's lab.
From the next table over, where he tapped on a keyboard, Ford said, "Honestly, Dipper, I'm not sure of anything. But we'll try what might work. It's all we can do."
"I could try to reason with it," Dipper said. "Bill put a few of his molecules into me, and maybe—"
"If this is truly a denizen of the Mu reality, there's no hope of that. Muthonians understand brute force and a kind of forced loyalty. That's all. They don't have sense organs, or at least none that we understand. Language means nothing at all to them. A being like Bill could force a kind of telepathy, but humans aren't capable of that. Words would do no good. It comes down to a fight, Dipper."
"All finished," Dipper said, picking up the three devices he'd been working on. "I hope these will work on an alien."
"And I've done what I could here," Ford told him, switching off the computer. "I must say, I wish computing had been this advanced thirty-odd years ago. That would have made Stanley's search for me go a thousand times faster—I mean once the portal was repaired."
"You know," Dipper said quietly, "Grunkle Stan didn't do a bad job. I mean, he had no scientific or engineering training, and all he had to go by were the Journals and his memory of how the portal looked and worked. Sure, it took him all that time—but any other man would've given up."
Ford smiled. "Yes, that thought has crossed my mind now and then."
"Then tell him," Dipper said. "Please. You might not get another chance."
With a sigh, Ford said, "You're right. Mabel has advised me to do that, too. I find it difficult, though—my dad always taught me not to talk about feelings. He said that made you weak."
"I don't think it does."
The walkie-talkie made a sudden snapping sound, and Wendy's voice came loud and clear: "You guys! Something's happening! Get up here!"
"Let's go!" Ford took one of the devices, Dipper tucked one into a special deep pocket of his vest, carried the other in his hand, and they ran for the elevator. Just before it reached the main basement level, they nearly fell as the entire building shook and the lights momentarily went out. The elevator hesitated, then as the lights came back, whirred the rest of the way up and the doors opened. "You first," Ford said, and Dipper dashed up the steps.
"What's happened?" he asked.
"It's in the open," Wendy said. It just tried to smash into the Shack, but the barrier kept it out. It's nearly as big as the freakin' house!"
"It's out front now!" Mabel yelled.
Ford and Dipper hurried to the gift shop, where everyone was looking anxiously out the windows. Ford threw the door open—Stan yelled, "No!" but Ford snapped, "The wards mean that an open door makes no difference, Stanley!"—and Dipper stood beside him, staring into the twilight.
In the dimness, the alien creature really did resemble a gigantic loaf of spoiled, purple-moldy bread that had grown gorilla limbs. It stood in the middle of the parking lot, ran forward, smashed through the low fence, and would have rammed the Shack had the wards not been in place.
A shimmering force field sprang into existence, and Xanthar collided with it. The Shack vibrated from the impact, but the wards held. As though baffled and infuriated, Xanthar reared back and pounded with its fists. The field sparkled and glittered and—nothing else happened.
Ford held a scanner and aimed it through the open door. "It's not getting any energy from the field at all!" he said. "The barrier is perfect. I don't think it understands why it isn't growing stronger. Muthonians absorb energy—but it can't even touch the kind that we've created."
"Dudes," Wendy said from a nearby window, "is it, like, shrinking?"
"Yeah, dawgs, it is!" Soos said from beside her. "When it hit us from behind, it was, like, three or four feet bigger than it is now! This is inexplicable!"
"No, it's using energy at a furious rate," Ford said. "The more it uses, the smaller it becomes. If we could keep it attacking us, it might in time shrink down to nothing!"
"Oh," Soos said. "Then I guess it's, like, you know, explicable and junk. Thanks, Dr. Ford, dawg."
However, the creature realized or maybe simply felt that it was losing ground. It backed off and circled the Shack, as though scanning for a weakness, an opening. "Ford," Stan asked, "did you throw everything onto the back-up power?"
"That was the first thing I did," Stanford said. "We're on self-contained generator power only now. I also switched off the main electric lines down at the foot of the driveway. Electricity would only feed it."
"Good thinkin'."
"Yes," Ford said. "Um, Stanley—I don't believe I ever told you—your repairing the portal, with no scientific or engineering training—that was very astute of you, really. You should be proud of yourself."
"Don't get mushy on me," Stan snapped. "We can do a sibling hug if we get through this alive."
"With pats!" Mabel insisted.
"What's it doin', what's it doin', dudes?" Soos asked.
"Diggin'!" Wendy said. "It's gonna try to come up beneath us."
"We're prepared," Ford told her.
They felt it like an earthquake, a rumbling shudder. Other than that—nothing. A few minutes later the creature surfaced again, smaller than before. Now it was only three-quarters of the size it had been.
"Did it do that during Weirdmageddon?" Dipper asked. "Shrink, I mean?"
"We just got a good look at it that one time," Mabel said. "It sure didn't get little then!"
"During Weirdmageddon, the entire weirdness bubble was full of unearthly energies flooding in from Bill's dimension," Ford said. "It could draw on those. Now—Earth doesn't offer all that many strong sources. Lightning, fire, volcanic heat, even living things—nearly every form of energy but sunlight—but compared to the forces Bill let loose, those are insignificant to its needs."
Xanthar retreated out of sight. They heard crashing noises far down toward the highway, and then a red light flooded into the dusk. "What's it doing?" Stan asked.
Melody and Sheila had gone upstairs. They came down, Sheila holding the powerful binoculars. "It uprooted about twenty trees," she said. "And it set fire to them!"
"And it crawled right into the flames," Melody added. "Is it killing itself?"
"No," Ford said. "It's feeding."
"Look," Stan said, "when it comes back, I'm gonna go out on the porch an' shoot it." He hefted the destabilizer.
"No good," Ford told him. "The beam would lose focus as it passed outward through the barrier. You'd have to be in the clear to make a hit—and even that might not be enough to stop Xanthar. We can't risk it until you absolutely can't miss with the first shot. It's not very intelligent, but if we just wounded it, it would know enough to avoid a second hit."
That was a long night. Xanthar came back at midnight, grown larger—though not as big as he had first appeared. "Heat is not a high-quality source of energy," Ford said. "But he's recuperated some."
This time Xanthar tried to assault the Shack by hurling things—tree trunks, stones—but the barrier repulsed them all. It continued to prowl around and around the building, seemingly watchful in its own alien way.
Dipper, Mabel, Wendy, and T.K.—who had called his folks and told them he was camping with the kids—grabbed what sleep they could. It wasn't very much. Nobody objected when Wendy and Dipper lay down on a blanket spread on the floor and drifted off hugging each other. "Might be the closest they'll ever get," Stan murmured.
Mabel and T.K. sat next to each other on the sofa and dozed a little, leaning into each other. Sheila and Melody relieved Stan, Ford, and Soos on lookout duty, though Soos insisted on staying in their bedroom to watch over Little Soos, who could sleep through a tornado.
Midnight passed. Stanley, awake again while the women tried to sleep a little, peered out the window. "It's just waitin' there," he told Ford. "Damn thing's got us under siege!"
"Maybe that's its plan, as far as it can have one," Ford told him. "Starve us out. Or maybe in its slow way it's trying to think. What time is it?"
"One-seventeen," Stanley said.
"Sunrise will be in four hours and, let me see, five minutes," Ford replied.
"Ya got that in your head, Poindexter?"
"It's simple enough," his brother told him. "Anyway, I'm thinking this: If we can engage this thing just before the sun rises—I mean minutes before—we just might be able to catch it unawares. The sun drains it faster than effort does. Maybe we can weaken it to the stage that a shot from the destabilizer will kill it."
"Yeah? What are the chances?"
"I haven't calculated, but offhand I'd estimate less than five in a hundred."
"Long odds are my favorite," Stan said.
They talked in low voices, planning what they might do and what might happen.
Just possibly.
At three-forty, as if his patience had simply worn out, Xanthar attacked again, the same brute battering-ram charge, repeated three times. Nothing happened, except he shrank a little. Again the beast started to tramp around and around the Shack, as though keeping watch in case the tiny creatures inside tried to flee.
At four-ten, when Xanthar had settled into place in the parking lot again, Stanley went out onto the porch. "Hiya, Ugly!" he yelled, waving his arms, knowing he was outlined by the light from the open door behind him. "You want a piece of me? Come an' get me! Deedley do! Beedley boo! Hey, I'm doin' this insolent dance for you, sucker!"
He barely rolled backward through the door before the impact. Xanthar's attack shook everything, woke the kids, even made Little Soos cry, and caused the protective barrier to flare a reddish-white and sizzle, its reaction so strong that it sent the creature reeling back, smoking.
"Well," Stan said as Ford helped him to his feet, "That got his interest. Think it'll hold him until sunup?"
"We'll have to see. Stanley, you're a brave man."
"Yeah, only when they mess with family."
The darkness had begun to pale. Xanthar's fury seethed.
The weak creatures hid in their shell! Not fair! Not fair!
He remembered, or his body did, the time when this construction came to life and fought him, puny, weaker than he was, so weak that it could be shoved without effort, pounded, shaken! But it had seized him—seized him, touched him without dying, as these creatures were supposed to die, not fair!—had seized him and had thrown him high and far, and he had crashed hard into the cliffs like a meteor striking, and tons of broken stone had fallen on him.
His energies had been exhausted then. He had been so drained that his body shut down, and for the first and only time in his memory he had . . . slept? Was that the word?
Had gone unconscious while he absorbed the energies around him, small energies, little burrowing creatures, the roots of ancient trees, and at last from far below the heat of the earth. Miserable food, a trickle, but enough to bring him back. And when he had been conscious at last, he was able to send a tendril down, passing through even stone, to the sluggish but life-giving heat of magma. That had charged him, had brought him back strong and eager for revenge.
He should not have given so much of that great power back, when he tried to drown the tiny creatures in lava! So much strength sacrificed for anger.
If only now . . . but he could sense that the superheated stone lay far, far below. Sending a tendril to it would take a year, longer than that, even.
No time, not with the taunting, maddening Earth creatures so close, so close.
He would end it with what strength he could gather quickly.
End it and find the master.
Or if not—he could not sense the master anywhere, and this reality was not the one he remembered, when he bathed, swam, in the ferocious energies of the master's dimension—if the master had for some reason departed, then—
Then he would remain here and clear the world of these vermin! Populate the world with his kind (he could reproduce by splitting bits of himself off). A night world, where they would rule. Sleep underground when the hateful sun rose. Emerge at night. Own the night. Own the world.
Get stronger, stronger, stronger! Perhaps in time extinguish the sun! Make this world a Mu world! Destroy, destroy—
The sun was coming again.
End it quickly.
End it before the sun finds me.
End it.
End them!
Past five a.m. and once more Xanthar returned to the attack.
At first they all thought it had gone—for now everyone but Little Soos was awake—and as far as they could tell, Xanthar had retreated all the way down the driveway and out of sight.
"Has it given up?" Dipper asked.
"I'm afraid not," Ford said. "It's up to something. If it comes back, Stan and I are going to try a move that's, well, rather desperate. If it doesn't work, stay in the Shack as long as you can. It's possible that if it gets one or both of us, it will go away. Be sure it has before you go outside the—"
"Grab hold of somethin'! Here it comes!" Stan bellowed.
Xanthar had gathered speed and came hurtling at them full-tilt.
The rampaging beast smashed into the invisible shield. It flared into sudden brightness like a stroke of lightning, momentary visibility, crackling with energies, and once more repelled Xanthar. The unearthly thing, knocked off its feet, rolled across the yard, the grass smoking from its touch.
The sun peeped above the eastern horizon, touching only the tops of trees, not low enough to strike Xanthar.
"Now!" Stan yelled, leaping through the gift-shop door, brandishing the destabilizer.
Ford, looking like an old-time two-gun Western movie star, ran after him, a destabilizing pistol in each hand.
Wendy, Mabel, Dipper, and T.K. pushed through the door and stood on the porch, watching. "Make way, there!" Sheila pushed through. "You be careful, Stanley!" she yelled.
"Lights now!" Ford yelled, and inside the Shack Melody threw the switches that made all the outside Shack lights flare to full power.
Dipper shaded his eyes. Over at the edge of the forest, Xanthar picked himself up. For the first time, Dipper saw it clearly, unobscured by twilight. The creature had no face, no eyes—no ears. Yet it sensed them. Somehow it sensed them, and Dipper caught a wave of fierce hatred rolling from it. Yet—yet, with Ford and Stanley there, flanking the porch, each just outside the barrier, it hesitated.
Dipper clenched his hands into fists and tried to conjure up his inner Bill. Fiercely he thought, Cool it, Xanthar! These people are MINE, get it! Go dormant!
That had no effect.
"Look!" Ford yelled, and Dipper opened his eyes.
From the trees just behind Xanthar—it was raining Gnomes. A dozen of the diminutive creatures had launched themselves, giving their ululating, high-pitched war cry, as irritating as a toddler on a sugar high—
They struck the creature's back—
And fell off, lifeless. "Don't touch him!" Dipper shouted, running down the steps. "It'll kill you! Hold back!"
Now like a gigantic cat, Xanthar paced slowly forward. If it had possessed a face, it would have been grinning. "Wait for it, wait for it," Ford cautioned. "Get it in your sights! Dipper, get back inside!"
A shout from the left yanked Dipper's attention that way. It was—Russ?
Russ, running naked, at the head of a cadre of animals, bears and foxes and wolves—
"Russ! No! Don't touch it!" he yelled.
But the boy seemed to have no intention of doing that. The animals lined up—as they had prevented Ford from re-entering the Valley, they were going to cordon off the Shack from Xanthar's approach.
And for a moment that seemed to work. The purple beast hesitated, swaying its blank front "face" from side to side, as though puzzled. Then it stepped forward and with an almost casual movement, backhanded three deer.
They collapsed as though shot through the head.
Russ shouted again, in no language that Dipper understood, and the animals took a step back and closed ranks.
"It's just gonna kill them!" Mabel wailed. "Russ! No!"
She leaped off the porch, and both Dipper and T.K. just missed stopping her. She was running across the lawn toward the red-headed fox boy—
Russ, distracted, turned to look toward her, threw up his hand to warn her away—
Xanthar bounded, leaped right over the animals and eagerly rushed Mabel—
Russ, screaming in anger, threw himself at the creature—
"Mabel! No!"
Stan had dropped his weapon and ran to cut Mabel off, hurling himself forward, catching her in a rolling tackle, getting to his feet while clutching her, turning and running back toward the Shack—
Wendy had leaped off the porch, too, and she ran forward and said, "I got her, man! Throw her to me and get to safety!"
"Nuh-uh!" Stan pushed past, grabbing Wendy's arm and dragging her along, too.
Xanthar shook off Russ's lifeless body, which still clung to its featureless face, and with a roar leaped again, cutting off Stan's retreat—
"Hey!" Sheila's voice. She had jumped from the porch and had picked up the destabilizer. "You! You ain't monster enough to take my man!"
Ford had dropped to one knee, both pistols raised. "Come and get us!" he yelled.
The creature seemed momentarily indecisive, but then it ran like a cat, and barreled down on the two—
Sunlight struck it, and it began to smoke—
All three of the destabilizers fired at once, with a sizzle and a blinding glare of actinic light. Stan all but threw Mabel into Dipper's and T.K.'s arms.
Wendy scrambled back onto the porch and then reached to pull Stan up. "Back on the porch! Retreat!" Ford yelled.
Sheila came up, the weapon cradled in both arms. "Not bad, pulls a little to the right, though."
Ford was the last one back up the steps. "Charge it up again!" he said.
On the lawn, Xanthar lay on its side, legs feebly stirring. Its box-like body had been cored—a smoking hole had been drilled right through the center. Smaller wounds showed at the joints of both front legs where they joined the body. It dwindled in the sunlight until it was not much larger than a horse, and then it seemed to stabilize.
"It's stunned," Ford said. "But for how long!"
"The sun'll help," Stan said. "Has it stopped shrinkin'?"
"I got this," Dipper said. "T.K., take care of Mabel."
Mabel was clinging to the Irish kid, gripping his shirt, her face buried against him, sobbing into his shoulder.
Dipper took out his weapon of choice, resisted Stan's effort to grab him, and ran to within a few feet of the struggling Xanthar. "Let's see what this will do." He switched on—a flashlight. Then another.
Both had crystals strapped to the lenses.
As two cones of reddish light struck Xanthar, he rapidly shrank again—down to a size no larger than an ordinary loaf of bread.
"Let me get to him, Dipper," said Ford, pushing Dipper aside. "I think this should do the trick."
He aimed a device a little like a ray-gun and a lot like a two-liter bottle with a funnel at one end, fired it—and a green ball of—energy? Glass?—whatever it was, it formed around the shrunken, stunned Xanthar. All movement stopped. The smoldering wisps froze inside the bubble.
"Now," Ford said, "we have him—if we can keep him trapped! Time has stopped for him. This force-field will decay in a few days, though—"
Mabel ran across the lawn and past them, screaming, "No, no, no."
She fell to her knees and embraced the limp form of a dead red fox. Its head lolled in her arms.
T.K. came and stood over her, hands at his sides, looking helpless.
Wendy put her hand on the boy's shoulder. "Don't say anything yet, man. Let her grieve," she said. "She has to do it."
The animals quietly departed, all that still lived. Three dead deer lay on the lawn. Jeff and a few other Gnomes were already carrying away their dead.
From the gloom beneath the forest trees stepped two humans, a man and a woman, both handsome, barefoot, both wearing fluttering, rusty-red robes from neck to foot, and both red-haired.
They came and stood with their arms around each other, looking down at Mabel.
She raised her streaming eyes toward them and, choking, said, "He—he loved me."
"More than you know," the man said softly.
And the woman whispered, "Our only son."