September 11th, 1995

"I can't do this."

"It's required."

"It just feels wrong."

"It's a flower, Nicola."

"It makes me queasy."

Tate rolled his eyes, or at least Nicola assumed he did. "We're cutting off a little piece of a flower to grow it a new friend, it's not mad science."

Nicola tightened his grip on the scissors. "You know this stuff bothers me. Remember my nightmares?"

"I wouldn't let you copy off of me without reason. But I have to do the project to get the notes. Besides it's really not a big deal."

"It is to the plants! I mean, why can't one flower be enough? Why do we have to grow a second one? And, even if we do get a second flower, it won't be the perfect duplicate we're trying to get, it can't be! It grew in used soil at a different time!"

"The process is more important than the result. Now give me the scissors." Tate's expression softened. "You don't have to watch."

"Just make it quick."

"I'll try." Tate eyed his friend as he snipped the appropriate portion of the flower. "You didn't have this problem last year."

"That's because last year was chemistry. I've worked past it with chemistry. And I'll be fine when we move on to Physics, it's just the stuff with living things that makes me nervous."

"I'd say you have the most oddly specific irrational fear I've ever heard of, but arachibutyrophobia exists."

"The fear of long words?"

"No, that's hippopotomonstrosesquipedaliophobia."

"Whoever named that is evil."

"Yeah," Tate chuckled as he set down the scissors. "Have you ever considered alternate classes?"

Nicola peeked over his shoulder to confirm the cutting was finished before turning around. "That's an option?"

"If you can test your way into an advanced class, it is."

"Then how come you're not in one? You're the smartest guy I know!"

"Mom says advanced classes are just extra work for extra pressure. Also, this year's class is on robotics. Too close to home."

Nicola winced. "Your dad?"

"Yep. But that might work in your favor."

"How so?"

Tate turned his attention back to the flower, scribbling some notes in their logbook. "Because as looney as that man is, he's always had a mind for machines. If anyone can get you past the entrance exam, it'll be him."

"But you hate contacting your dad."

Tate grinned. "Who said I had to do anything?"

September 15th, 1995

Nicola had always known the town had a dump, but more in the vague sense that a little kid might know of a haunted house. The dump was a place to be avoided, no matter how long or complex the alternate routes might be. The dump was the domain of Fiddleford McGucket, whose presence seemed to linger over the remains of his family like a shadow.

Not that Nicola had ever actually met the man. Rather his only encounters regarding the crazed hillbilly were by running into the consequences of his latest action. Metallic skeletons of mechanical beasts, torn streets and sidewalks from something called a "Shame-bot", and of course the taunts Tate had to endure about his own chances of losing his mind. None of it made him feel any degree of fondness for the man.

He ventured a few steps into the piles of junk. "Mr. McGucket? Are you there?"

The dump offered no response.

"I know you don't know me, but I need your help. Someone told me you're really good with machines?"

A clattering noise drew his attention to a pile of scrap where an old man emerged. Much older looking than Nicola's dad or Tate's mom, with a long beard that would make Rip Van Winkle jealous, and a hunched posture that gave off the general impression of weariness. Were it not for their similar eyes and noses, Nicola wouldn't believe he was related to Tate at all.

"Ya can't make me," the man rasped in a fearful whisper. "Ah refuse to touch that machine again, ya can't make me Stanford!"

The heavy sense of dread in his words sent a chill down Nicola's spine. "You know my dad?"

McGucket trembled, his cloudy gaze looking somewhere past Nicola. "Ah warned him, ah know what I saw. But it saw me back. The one-eyed beast is still watchin' me!"

Nicola began to back towards the dump's entrance. "You know what, I'll just figure things out on my own. You seem to be occupied. So I'm just going to go and tell Tate it didn't work out and never come back here again."

McGucket's expression grew more panicked, if it was possible. "Don't bring my Tater tot into this. Please Stanford! Please!" The man was lunging towards him now, his steps frantic and unsteady, his arms reaching in an almost zombie-like manner. "Yer machine ruined my life, ah won't let it get him to!"

Nicola backed away as fast as he could, fighting to pull his eyes from the crazed man's gaze. "What machine?"

"The one that lurks beneath your house, the demon's gateway."

They were at the dump's entrance now, separated only by the shadow of its sign.

Nicola swallowed. "Mr. McGucket? I'm not who you think I am, but I am Tate's friend. Nothing's going to happen if I can help it. I promise."

McGucket chuckled, a harsh mockery of mirth. "So now ah get through to ya. Better late than never I suppose." He looked at Nicola with a thin smile. "Goodbye Stanford." And with that, he shuffled back into the piles of junk.

September 16th, 1995

Nicola peered at his friends over a stack of Greasy's pancakes. "Thank you for meeting me on such short notice."

Cilla shrugged. "Anything to get out of seating arrangements. I swear, we're not even upperclassmen yet and Preston's already freaking out about wedding plans."

Tate lightly shoved her. "Don't talk about weddings, you're making me feel old."

"Shame, and here I was thinking about what color your bridesmaid dress should be."

"Guys!" Nicola waved his hand in front of their faces. "I have something serious to tell you!"

Tate eyed him suspiciously. "Does it have something to do with meeting my dad yesterday?"

"Kinda. He thought I was my dad."

Cilla speared a pancake with her fork. "Of course he did, he's crazy, that sort of thing is to be expected."

"That wasn't the weird part. Before I left, he said there was a machine under my house. It seemed like he was scared of it."

Cilla raised an eyebrow. "So you think this hidden machine he was rambling about actually exists?"

Tate looked between the two. "That's ridiculous, I've been going to your house for years, we would've found it by now."

Nicola hunched down into his seat. "Remember that time I broke my arm?"

"Course I do. You said you fell down the stairs."

"I did. But not the stairs you're thinking of. I found a secret staircase, behind the vending machine. There was a door down there, but it needed a code."

Cilla pointed her fork at him. "And that's where you think the machine is."

Nicola nodded. "I mean, it's as good a reason as any to have a secret room."

Tate smiled. "Well then, what are we waiting for? Let's find a secret machine."

By the time the pancakes were finished their plan was set. Nicola would open the vending machine and remain in the gift shop in case his dad needed to be distracted. Tate and Cilla would use their combined knowledge of machinery and rich people security to try and unlock the door. Once they were in, Cilla would trade places with Nicola and then… Well, that's where they'd have to improvise.

Outside the Mystery Shack, Tate handed Nicola a walkie talkie. "My mom uses these on the lake, they should be strong enough for you to hear us underground."

"New tour's started!" Cilla called out from her position by the window.

Nicola checked his watch. "We've got roughly 30 minutes before Dad brings them to the gift shop, Operation Secret Machine Search is a go!"

The trio entered the gift shop, beelining straight for the vending machine. And just he had on that fateful present hunt, Nicola tried various combinations of the shinier numbers until the machine swung forward.

"Good luck," he whispered as his friends descended the stairs by the glow of Cilla's absurdly expensive flashlight.

The vending machine closed with a soft click, leaving Nicola to find non-suspicious activities to keep himself occupied in case the tour finished early. Deep down, he was relieved he didn't have to spend the time standing at the bottom of those stairs. Rationally, he knew there was an infinitesimally small chance he'd end up stuck at the bottom again, but there was still a large part of him that associated that place with the darkness and pain and fear that he'd be lost forever that he had felt back then.

"And this, Ladies and Gentlemen, is where you can purchase a small piece of non–refundable mystery to come home with you! We've got T-Shirts, snow globes, bobble- hey, everything okay kiddo?"

The familiar feeling of his dad's hand on his shoulder brought Nicola back to the present.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

Dad patted his shoulder. "Great. Mind manning the register?"

"Not at all."

The group of tourists filtered through, every one of them talked into at least buying a postcard before the showman smile fell from Dad's face.

"I can tell when there's something bothering you Nicky."

Nicola fiddled with his shirtsleeve. "Do you hide things from me? Big things?" Like a machine under the house?

Dad sighed. "Yes. Yes, I do. Not because I don't think it's anything you can't handle, you're a tough kid. Mostly because I'm afraid."

"Afraid of what?"

"Of what you'd think of me if you knew. Now-" He looked down at Nicola. "What started all these questions?"

"I met Tate's dad. He said there's a machine under the house, and I remembered the hidden stairs behind the vending machine so…."

"Well, I guess you would've found out sooner or later." Dad walked over to the vending machine. "Follow me."

Nicola pulled the walkie talkie from his pocket. "Um, before we go down there you should know Tate and Cilla are currently trying to hack the door."

Dad paused mid-way through picking up a lantern. "You told your friends."

"Yeah, kinda turned into a whole thing."

Dad straightened. "Emma-May's already in on it, so I'm not worried about her kid. Can rich girl keep a secret?"

"She wouldn't survive the upper class if she couldn't."

"Alright."

The vending machine swung open, the faint sound of frustrated muttering carrying up from below.

"You already tried that combination Tate."

"Why couldn't Nic's dad use numbers like a normal person?"

Nicola cleared his throat. "Um, guys?"

The pair turned so quickly it was surprising they didn't get whiplash. Immediately, they backed away from the door, trying their best not to look guilty.

Dad motioned them aside, "It's alright, I know all about what you've heard from McGucket. This is your last chance to turn back if you don't want to see."

All three teens stayed at the base of the stairs as he punched in the code. The door opened, but not in the swinging way a normal door opens, a sliding way more like-

"An elevator?" Tate murmured.

Dad gestured with the lamp. "Hop in."

The four entered the elevator, feeling the air slowly turn cool as they descended further underground. At last, the door opened once more, revealing a dark cramped space filled with large panels of flashing buttons, an empty doorway calling them forward with faint bluish light.

Dad led them through the doorway. "You wanted a machine? Here it is."

A huge triangle with a hole through its center hung above them, missing metal panels revealing the wires and circuitry underneath. Even the room itself seemed to be part of the thing, with thick cables running throughout the entire thing like blood vessels.

After a solid minute of silence Nicola spoke. "What is it?"

He could see his dad shift in the corner of his eye. "A portal. One I need to get someone special back."

"Is it Lee? Is that why my middle name's important to you?"

"No, but I think you'd like him. You've got quite a bit in common." Taking a deep breath, he turned and faced the teens. "None of you can tell anyone about this. Only person outside of this room who knows is Emma May."

"And my dad," Tate noted. "Did he really build this?"

Dad nodded. "Emma May found the blueprints in your house years ago, but Fiddleford had damaged them too much for them to be any use. I wasn't around when this thing was getting put together, so I can't say what impact it had on his sanity. Any other questions?"

Cilla raised her hand. "Who's this special 'he' you're saving? Is it a boyfriend or something?"

Dad's face screwed up like he bit into a lemon. "My brother. He may not have been the nicest to me when we last met, but I can't leave him. Nobody should be left behind."

Nicola brushed his teeth as he caught sight of his dad in the mirror.

"You got a minute kiddo?"

"Sure." He spit his toothpaste in the sink. "Something wrong?"

"I wanted to explain something without your friends listening in. Remember how you asked about your middle name earlier?"

"Yeah, you said your brother isn't named Lee."

"That's because he's named Stanford Pines, I called him Ford."

Nicola turned from the mirror to look his dad in the eye. "But you're Stanford."

Dad shook his head. "I had to use Ford's name to keep the house. My real name is Stanley Pines."

"So, I'm named after you."

"Yep."

Nicola smiled. "Cool. Any other revelations for today?"

"Actually-" Dad cut himself off, backing away. "No. Nothing else that really matters. G'night Nic-knack."

"Night Dad."

Author's Note

I'm not dead! And neither is this story!

Thank you for your patience.