quiet world

The street is awash with the soft glow of candlelight, backed by the glittering dots of porch lights spreading their pools of illumination across grass lawns and concrete sidewalks, rarely reaching as far as the asphalt. Streetlights stand at attention at steady intervals, a runway cutting through the gathering dusk and pointing the way to candy or home, depending on direction. Summerween arrives later in the day than Halloween, drifting into a darker time of night, waiting on the stubborn summer sun.

Mabel isn't super thrilled to be recycling her Ghost Harasser costume from the party, but she and Dipper did work hard on them. Plus, they have both been pretty busy lately. It hasn't been that long since the bash at Tambry's, and with all that's been going on, Mabel probably wouldn't have had the time to make a new set of costumes. She still feels like she's kind of settling.

Clad in their costumes, Mabel and Dipper have paused beneath a streetlight at an intersection while Mabel consults her phone. Pacifica waits nearby, once again dressed as a princess of some description. Soos, a rotund Batman, is ostensibly their chaperone but is mostly just along for the ride.

"So where are you meeting Candy and Grenda?" Dipper asks.

"I thought it was here," Mabel replies. She checks the street signs again and scrolls through her texts. "Wait, where's Poplar Street?"

"Back that way," Soos says, pointing the direction they came from. "Or… maybe that's Popular Street? But nobody really goes there."

"We can't be lost in this town. There's, like, five streets," Pacifica says impatiently.

That's an exaggeration, but she has a point. Mabel wonders if Grenda's text was autocorrected. She wants to meet up with her friends, but she knows that tonight, all lost time equals lost chocolate.

"Dipper, you start here, and I'll look for them," she says, wanting at least one of them to get going.

"Dude, Mabel—I don't think you should go alone. 'Specially not tonight, you know?" Soos cautions.

"Soos, how about you go with Mabel and me and Pacifica will start here," Dipper suggests.

Mabel is cool with that. "The sooner I get Candy, the sooner I get candy-candy. Come on, Soos!"

The group splits, Pacifica and Dipper heading for the first house on the row while Mabel and Soos backtrack towards Poplar (or Popular) Street. It's a beautiful, balmy late evening beneath a clear sky. Clusters of other kids pass by, talking, laughing. Mabel loves everything about Halloween (save for the meaner stuff some jerks get into) and its summer equivalent is, if anything, even more delightful. Better weather, better-tasting melons, and a whole town where the supernatural is super-real!

But as much as she is enjoying the gentle warmth of the incipient night, it would be all the sweeter if it came with a fat pillowcase of sugary treats. The sooner she finds Candy and Grenda, the better.

She and Soos wander for maybe fifteen minutes or so. Mabel soaks in the ambience, gliding through the temperate darkness between the flicking light of the jack-o'-melons. Still, she's starting to worry. She pauses at another intersection—there are fewer lit houses here. One of the signs says 'Poplar,' so she follows it.

But the street meanders around a copse of pines and dead-ends at a cul-de-sac. There are only two houses. One has no jack-o'-melons and the porch light is out (spoilsports). The other is under construction. One side of it is partially collapsed and the windows are boarded up; there's a pickup truck parked on the untended lawn and a couple big pallet stacks of two-by-fours and drywall. Two portable toilets sit side by side on the scrubby grass.

There's also no sign of Candy and Grenda.

"Dang it," Mabel sighs. "Where the heck are they?"

"Hey, I know this house," Soos says, pointing to the damaged one. "This is Brendon's place. I haven't seen that dude in, like, forever."

"What happened to his house?"

"Portal shenanigans," Soos says, making an O with his fingers. "That was lit, but also kinda crazy destructive."

Mabel winces slightly. It's not that she regrets keeping the portal on, but this is a reminder that bringing Grunkle Ford back hadn't been without collateral damage. There are less obvious signs of the gravitational anomalies all over town: the occasional patch of redder bricks; fresh black roof tiles; new glass in old frames.

"Yo, since we're already here," Soos nods towards the portable toilets, "good a time as any to empty the tank."

Mabel is still itching to get started, but he's got a point. She's been forced to hold it through multiple streets before and it's never fun. "Well, okay. Don't take too long—just make enough room for candy."

Soos gives her a thumbs up and walks into one of the stalls. Mabel goes to the other and pulls open the floppy plastic door. The inside appears oddly pristine, as if it has gone unused. The rays of the cul-de-sac's sole streetlight filter in through the screened slots just enough to see. Satisfied that the porta-potty isn't too gross, Mabel steps inside and lets the door clack shut behind her.

Instantly, she is plunged into complete darkness.

Confused, she turns around and pushes against the door. It doesn't budge. "Soos?" she calls out, pushing harder. "Okay, you got me. Great Summerween scare! …Soos?"

The silence is her only reply. The first pangs of panic begin to gnaw at her. Soos isn't above a practical joke, but he usually can't help giving it away, and at this point it's too mean-spirited to be him. If he had been holding the door shut, he would have opened it with a chuckle the second she said his name. She's genuinely worried now. Why can't he hear her? He's not far away, and the portable toilets aren't even close to being soundproof.

She pushes the door again. There's no give at all, not like there would be if someone was holding it. Well, she'd better step it up. Moving as far away as she can, she leans forward and throws her full weight against the barrier.

It bursts open and she tumbles to the ground, rolling to a stop. She just stays down for a moment, enjoying the fresh air. "Hey, Soos, the toilet tried to eat me!"

Still no response. She stands up, brushing grass from her costume. The other porta-potty is empty, its door ajar. But there's more reason than that to be concerned.

The world is different. Like, really different. Everything is colored wrong. The grass is black, and the sky is a milky grey with black stars. It's like looking at a photo negative, or maybe a TV with really bad settings. There's no wind, not a slightest rustle from the trees. The silence is total, and deeply eerie.

"Well this isn't right," she mumbles, taking in the inverted scenery.

What is this? Did the portable toilet mess up her eyes? She rubs at them experimentally; it makes no difference. Soos is gone, anyway, so she doubts it's her eyes. Is she in some kind of mirror dimension? Is that even a thing?

Well, if the porta-potty got her into this mess, maybe it can get her out of it. She goes back inside and shuts the door. This time when she tries it, the door swings open easily. Everything is still weird. She tries several more times to no avail.

Darn it.

Looks like she's not getting back to normality that quick.

Soos emerges from the portable toilet with a sigh of relief. "Lucky these were here. I feel kinda sorry for the next guy, but better out than in, right?" He crosses the short distance to the other toilet. "You still ocupado?"

There's no answer. Concerned, he raps his knuckles lightly on the door. "Mabel? Dude, did you fall in?"

That's when he notices the door isn't locked. He hesitates, weighing his worry against the possibility of interrupting Mabel in the midst of some very personal time. "Say something, dude, you're freaking me out!"

Nothing.

Finally, he grows too concerned to leave it alone. He puts one hand over his eyes so all he'll be able to see is the floor and, with any luck, Mabel's feet. "Okay, I'm gonna open it! Hope it's not about to get real…"

He pulls the door open, but even with his eyes partially covered it's obvious that Mabel isn't there.

He spins in place, surveying the cul-de-sac. There's no sign of anyone, let alone Mabel. "Not good," he mutters to himself. "Not good. Mabel?" He jogs back to the intersection and calls again. "Mabel?"

So now Mabel is stuck in some kind of mirror dimension (maybe). And there's no Dipper around to figure out what's happening.

"Guess it's up to me," she muses.

She checks her phone and isn't surprised to see there's no signal. No, it couldn't be that easy.

She needs to use her noggin on this one. Not spy style—science style. What would Grunkle Ford do? She tries to imagine him, all bookish and professor-y, explaining that mirror dimensions are something something and so she should something. Except without the 'something.' He'd be just like Dipper, more excited to be in such a weird place than worried about getting out of it. He'd know just what to do, which would be… tests! That sounds right. She needs to know stuff to do stuff. Duh!

"Test number one," she says. "What happens if I…" she spins around, looking for a suitable subject, "…pick up this rock?"

She picks up a nice, hefty rock from the ground, about the size of a tennis ball. It's a strange inky black, and the texture of it is all wrong. It's too smooth. It feels kind of like glass.

She tentatively touches her tongue to it. "Yep, that's glass," she declares.

The only thing around that looks normal is the door to the porta-potty. It's the right color, and it doesn't have the weird, shimmery quality that everything else does. Bits and pieces of the rest of the cubicle also look normal. An aluminum bar which serves as a handhold appears to be real.

Mabel pockets the glass rock and goes back into the stall; she gives an experimental tug on the metal bar and it comes free of the wall with a splintery crunch. Looking closely at where it had been attached, she sees that there's a layer of glass-stuff over the regular plastic. The toilet cubicle is a cross-dimensional hybrid!

Man, Dipper would be so proud of her for coming up with that. Too bad he isn't here.

Nothing else seems to be like that. The other portable toilet is all glassy and strange, along with the rest of the scenery. Even the grass feels cold and untextured when she bends down to touch it. It's not glass, but it's not grass, either. And it's so quiet. Not a whisper rises from the lawn or the strange black trees.

Mabel shivers a little. It's not noticeably colder here, but it's really, really spooky.

"Great Summerween setting, I guess…" she says to no one. "I'm scared for realsies. Not as much fun without everybody else, though…"

Think, Mabel! What would Grunkle Ford do? Tests, sure, but what else? How would he figure it all out and get home? She tries not to think about the inconvenient little fact that he spent thirty years roaming the multiverse and never did figure out how to get back. Not that she has to worry about that. Everything is made of glass or whatever, so she'll starve way before she turns forty.

Ugh, bad thoughts. Be positive! Soos is probably already looking for her. He'll get Dipper and Pacifica and Grunkle Ford and Grunkle Stan and they'll all work together. They'd never leave her here. She just needs to figure stuff out on her end to make it easier. That's all.

So, if Grunkle Ford were here, he'd say…

"Interesting predicament you've stumbled into. What is this, glass? Some manner of glass dimension? Well, at least we aren't breathing glass… unless glass is breathable here," Grunkle Ford says, appearing from nowhere.

Mabel gapes at him for a second, then charges forward to hug him in relief. But something blares a warning in the back of her mind, some sense of sheer wrongness. Where did he come from? Why didn't he come out of the porta-potty? She skids to a halt and looks at him with tentative suspicion.

"Wait… are you the real Grunkle Ford?" she says, hoping she's just being dumb and that he's totally real and ready for a hug.

"Very astute, Mabel," Not-Ford says, and her heart sinks. When he turns to face her, she can see that he looks just like the real Stanford, with the exception of his irises: they are a glassy black.

"If you're about to turn into a glass demon or something, I'll whomp you good!" Mabel threatens, brandishing her aluminum bar.

"Yes, there's that boldness, that spark!" Not-Ford says appreciatively. "Always ready to defend yourself or those you love. I wish Dipper had that same fire. He could learn a thing or two from you."

Feeling a bit disarmed despite herself, Mabel slowly lowers her makeshift weapon. "Um… thanks?" She looks behind Not-Ford, but there's no door or anything. "Were you here the whole time?"

"An interesting line of inquiry. Let's follow it, shall we?" Not-Ford suggests. "You are the brightest of us, after all."

"Well… I was thinking about you, and then you just popped up."

She's tempted to make someone else appear by thinking about them, but quickly stops herself from doing so. This Not-Ford is weird with his glossy black eyes and overly complimentary manner. Mabel is not the 'brightest' of her family. She can admit that and it's not even hard to do. She's always known Dipper is the smarty twin. If Not-Ford is trying to butter her up for sneaky reasons, he's wasting his time.

"Perhaps this place fulfills our desires," Not-Ford muses. "You wanted to talk to your great-uncle. Or, perhaps I wanted to talk to my favorite nibling!"

Okay, now Mabel really doesn't trust him. Grunkle Ford loves her, she knows that, but she's Grunkle Stan's favorite. Plus, this gloomy glass dimension doesn't look interested in making anyone's wishes come true. She's been to Mabeland already; this place isn't anything like that. Even if it was, she'd be just as desperate to escape.

Not-Ford is wrong, in more ways than one. But he's not totally super wrong; just mostly wrong. So… how? Has he been spying on everyone? He doesn't really seem that powerful, though. And if he has been, then he's not very good at it.

Unless it's not that at all. What if the glass is in her head? What if… what if the glass reflects her thoughts? But not like they are in her head, and more like a funhouse mirror. Tall and wiggly, short and wiggly, all fractured and mottled. Bits and pieces of everything, refracting shard to shard. If she looks down for a minute, she can make out her own reflection in the black-and-rainbow dirt, nothing but a jagged outline and slivers of shapes.

Darkly. Through a glass, darkly. She's heard that somewhere before. Maybe Dipper said it.

(Whoops, she shouldn't think too hard about anyone in particular. Better not make any more glass people.)

She's starting to think she summoned advice from the wrong grunkle. She reaches into her pocket and hefts the glass rock, solid and smooth. If everything is a mirror, then what's on the other side?

"This sure is a good huckin' rock," she declares, tossing it up and catching it again.

She's watching Not-Ford closely to gauge his reaction. His expression remains pleasant but becomes fixed. "I'd be careful with that, Mabel," he warns her. "An unknown environment like this could react in unpredictable ways."

He could be telling the truth. Throwing a rock in a world made of glass might not be the best idea. But standing around isn't getting her anywhere, and she figures anything Not-Ford doesn't want to her to do is probably worth doing.

She cocks her arm back, ready to fling. "Go, rock! FOR SCIENCE!"

She hurls it towards the second porta-potty, the one that seems to be entirely glass. It hits the door and shatters it with a crash that's shockingly loud in the silence. Glittering shards tumble to the ground, leaving a large hole in the door.

There's an image shimmering in the space where the rock tore through, jagged and uneven, constantly shifting. It looks a lot like Grunkle Stan's old television when the antenna gets overwhelmed by the valley's bizarre and unpredictable signals. The picture turns into banded colors that scroll up and down randomly, only occasionally snapping together to form a something recognizable for a brief and blurry instant, while voices hiss and fade in and out of the static. There's red and blue in the fragmented door, and maybe motion, like it's following someone.

"Ma… beL?" the statics sighs. "MAb… El." And then, for just a second, the static coalesces into a recognizable voice. "Mabel?" Dipper shouts.

Mabel jumps in place, waving her aluminum bar wildly. "Dipper! I'm right here!"

With a fizzing pop, the distorted image vanishes. The rest of the porta-potty looks damaged in its wake, cracked through and on the verge of collapse. Something about reality bleeding in hurts the glass, it looks like. Either that or she can throw a rock a lot harder than she thought!

But it worked, sort of. Now she just needs to make a bigger gap and get someone's attention.

"That was foolish, girl," Not-Ford says severely. "Do you know what you've done?"

"Nope!" Mabel admits.

"I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. You've always been careless." Not-Ford glares down at her accusatorily. "It was all your fault, you know. Yours and yours alone. You carry the blame for what happened. So blithely destructive, so thoughtless. Did you really think anyone would ever forgive you? It's your fault, Mabel."

Hurt spreads through her chest, despite her knowing that he isn't Grunkle Ford. All the doubt she's carried is still there, in one way or another, even if she's parceled it away. Not-Ford's words are just close enough to some of her own thoughts to cut.

But then she remembers the healing truth given to her above the earth, below the sky; and she remembers what real Grunkle Ford said, down in the basement. She sniffs, tightens her jaw stubbornly, and quickly wipes the first hint of tears from the corners of her eyes.

"What is?" she says.

Not-Ford frowns. "What?"

"What's my fault?" She grips the aluminum bar in both hands. "Huh? What is all my fault?"

Not-Ford is silent for a long, awkward moment. "…Everything," he finally says.

"You don't even know!" Mabel exclaims. "And my grunkle wouldn't have said that anyway."

She leaps forward and swings the bar against Not-Ford with all her might.

He explodes with a tremendous crash of shattering glass, and the destruction doesn't stop there. The entire world splinters; the sky is crisscrossed with widening lines and the earth shakes itself apart. All the houses and trees collapse with a deafening concert of jumbled glass. It's as loud as it is terrifying; Mabel isn't sure what she's still standing on. She covers her ears and waits for it to stop.

When she dares to peek through one half-opened eye, she finds herself in a black void. The glass world has vanished, its remnants disappeared. She stands on nothing and is surrounded by nothing.

There is only one exception.

In what she thinks is the spot where the porta-portal (ha ha!) once stood is another glowing, twisty image that expands and contracts. She can't tell what it is, but it's the only thing that exists other than her, and that's a good enough reason to approach it. The sound is fuzzy and distorted, but she thinks she hears voices.

Well, only thing to do, she supposes.

She takes a deep breath and plunges forward through the shifting colors.

Once again, she finds herself falling forward. She tumbles across the ground, but even in her disoriented state she begins to feel relieved. She can hear the trees again, and the grass that tickles her arms is warm and appropriately grassy. When she rolls to a stop, she just stays down for a second, enjoying the smell of the earth and the sounds of the wind.

When she raises her head, the first thing she sees is Pacifica and Grenda. The two girls are facing towards the woods and haven't seen Mabel.

"Mabel?" Pacifica calls. "If you're just hiding in the woods, it's not funny! I'm serious." She sighs and folds her arms tightly, clear worry in her posture.

"I'm here!" Mabel says, staggering to her feet. "I'm okay!"

"Mabel!" Grenda shouts excitedly as she turns.

Pacifica spins around at the same time, her eyes wide. "What the heck? Oh my god, were you actually just hiding? I'm going to kill you—"

"I wasn't hiding, I promise," Mabel assures her. "I got trapped in a glass dimension. It was super glassy, you don't even know!"

"Of course you did," Pacifica says with an elaborate roll of her eyes. She walks over and brushes some grass off Mabel's shoulder, then surprises her friend with a hug. "…At least you're okay."

Grenda wraps her arms around both of them and squeezes with her usual enthusiasm. Pacifica makes a strangled sound of protest, but Mabel wholeheartedly returns the hug.

Suddenly, Mabel gasps and wiggles out of Grenda's grasp. "Oh my gosh!"

"What?" Pacifica says, startled. "I thought you were okay—"

"Were you followed by glass monsters?!" Grenda asks, bringing her fists up defensively.

"What time is it?" Mabel frantically pats her costume down until she finds her phone. "There's still time! Come on!"

"W— hey!" Pacifica is nearly pulled off her feet when Mabel grabs her hand and begins running towards the exit of the cul-de-sac with Grenda close behind.

They run into Dipper and Soos just past the intersection; Candy is with them. Dipper is on his phone, his face creased with apprehension. Soos hovers nearby, equally concerned.

"I don't know why she'd run off. We checked the whole block. I think we're gonna need help, Grun— Mabel?!" Dipper nearly drops his phone when he sees her.

Mabel snatches the phone from his hand. "Everything's okay! Talk to you later, candy now, byeeeeeee!" She hangs up.

Dipper is sputtering in disbelief. "Mabel, what the heck, where have you been— gah—"

Mabel takes hold of his arm and starts running again. "I'm okay, mirror dimension, porta-portal, butthead glass-grunkle! CANDY TIME."

The whole group runs after her, all talking over each other, confused and relieved. Mabel tunes them out and keeps moving, her eyes on the prize. There will be plenty of time to explain later.

Right now, it's Summerween!

Quiet World by Gatherers (Equal Vision, 2015)