Volume 1 Act 1 – Chapter 16 | Catching Shadows II
Dipper's eyes darted through the darkness around him. He couldn't see the figure, but he knew it was there. He could feel its presence pressing down on him, a weight he wasn't able to shake. He turned around towards Pacifica. Her eyes remained shut, sealed tight as though the figure's influence held her in place. She moved around, her face contorted in pain and distress. He set his hands on her shoulder, trying to think of what to do.
Earlier, he had taken off her jacket and used a water bottle he brought to dump water on her face. But the figures hold on her remained unbroken. He glanced at his backpack, his eyes burning through the front pocket. They traced the outline of a small handle before he looked away.
The wind howled through the course around him, echoing off the concrete and shattered obstacles. The whispers were starting to slowly emerge from the eerie silence that filled the air, growing louder with every gust of wind. He had to try something, here and now.
He tried pinching her arm, squeezing hard enough to leave a red welt. Nothing worked. Each failure tightened the knot of panic in his chest. He glanced at his backpack again, his throat going dry.
The footsteps from earlier suddenly pounded in his ears, running around the windmill. He held his breath for a second, squeezing his eyes shut. He was out of options, his mind racing to find some way to wake her up. He glanced back towards his backpack with a grim expression, there was only thing he could try.
"Don't get mad at me, please," he muttered.
He reached over into his backpack, feeling for the items he needed. Eventually, he had them all laid out. A pack of bandages, his water bottle, and a pocketknife.
The footsteps were closing in, the weight of the figure's presence crushing him on all sides. He tried to slow down his breathing as he held his pocketknife with unsteady hands. He grabbed Pacifica's arm, moving it off her stomach and onto the ground beside her. Sweat beaded off his forehead, dripping onto his arms. He swallowed as he shakily unfolded the blade.
"I'm doing this to save you," he said, almost as if trying to convince himself.
Slowly, he pressed the knife against her skin. His breath hitched as he started moving it down her forearm. Blood welled up instantly, bright and shocking against her pale skin. He dropped the knife, his stomach twisting, but he quickly grabbed the water bottle. The footsteps were closer now, impossibly loud.
He scrambled for the bandages beside him as he poured water on her arm. Her face twisted into an expression not just of pain, but of panic, utter fear.
He hastily wiped the water and blood off her arm as he pressed a gauze pad onto the wound. His breathing was being drowned out by the footsteps and the wind dancing chaotically around the windmill. Dipper's chest heaved as he kept his grip on Pacifica's arm, pressing down on the gauze.
"Pacifica!" he shouted, his voice cracking with desperation.
Her arm flinched beneath his hand, and her head tilted slightly, lips parting as she whispered.
"Dipper…"
Relief surged through him, cutting through the suffocating dread. "Pacifica, wake up! Come on!"
Her head snapped toward his voice, her body trembling as though straining against an invisible weight. Under his grip, her arm twitched, then lifted slowly into the air, her hand moving as if reaching for something unseen.
"I'm right here," she murmured, her voice still faint but stronger.
"I got you!" Dipper grabbed her hand, squeezing it as her eyelids fluttered open. For a moment, she stared at him, her gaze unfocused, before raising a trembling hand to rub her eyes.
She winced. "Dipper, what…" Her voice trailed off, confusion etched into her face as she took in her surroundings.
"You're okay! You're awake!" he said, his words tumbling over each other. He set her arm back down gently, quickly grabbing another gauze to cover the wound.
Pacifica's gaze wandered downward, her eyes locking onto the bloody gauze Dipper was pressing against her arm. Her breath hitched, and she shot upright, recoiling. "Oh my gosh, my arm—what happened?"
Her hair stuck to the back of her head like glue as she ran her hand through it. "Why am I soaked?"
Dipper flinched at her panic but kept working, wrapping a bandage around her arm as fast as his shaky hands allowed. "I—uh—I tried waking you up with water, but it didn't work, so I…" His voice faltered, guilt tightening his throat.
Her eyes darted to the knife on the ground. The realization dawned on her, and her expression shifted from confusion to horror.
"You cut me?!"
He flinched again, the accusation hitting him like a slap. "I didn't know what else to do! That thing had you—I was out of options!"
"What the heck, Pines?! You don't just cut people! I—" She paused, her jaw tightening. "I guess it worked, but still! It hurts!"
She looked off to the side, avoiding eye contact with him. Deep down, she was relieved that Dipper was able to wake her up and pull her out of the darkness. She let her hair fall slightly over her face as she flicked it over her shoulder, trying to hide the slight blush on her face.
She did her hardest to ignore the burning sensation coming from her forearm, the feeling making her want to gag. The noises around them were loud, banging across the walls. Pacifica looked at Dipper in a Panic.
"What the heck is going on?!"
He finished wrapping the bandages around her arm, securing them in place. "It's looking for us, and it's close. We have to find a way to stop this thing, and I think I know what we need to do."
She rubbed her arm and winced. Suddenly, a sharp pain surged through her skull, forcing a gasp from her lips. Groaning, she clutched her head as hazy images and forgotten memories surged to the forefront, swirling like a storm. A pair of yellow eyes glared back at her from the depths of her mind—hollow, lifeless, and electric with malice. She trembled as the icy grip of fear shot through her veins, the phantom sensation of something cold and unyielding wrapping around her like a half-remembered nightmare.
Dipper looked at her with concern. "Pacifica!"
She held out her hand to stop him as she rubbed her head.
"I—I remember." Her voice was trembling as she paused. "What happened. What it did to me."
Dipper's stomach dropped as he heard her words. "What…what did it do?"
Before Dipper could respond, the footsteps and whispers grew even louder. The noises so loud it seemed to threaten to break down the walls around them. They both flinched as they covered their ears.
Dipper shook his head as he shuffled closer to Pacifica so she could hear him. "You can tell me later."
She nodded as they both crawled toward the front of the windmill, the broken blades framing the entrance like jagged teeth. The darkness beyond was impenetrable, the air so heavy it was hard to breathe. The figure's presence pressed in on them, a suffocating force that seemed to stretch and twist the shadows around it.
"It's here," Dipper muttered, his voice barely audible over the cacophony of whispers and footsteps. "We have to lure it out. I think I know how—but it's risky."
Dipper pointed to the other side of the course. Her eyes followed his finger to a golf cart, half-hidden in the shadows. It looked ancient, its once-bright paint peeling, the wheels caked in grime. Her stomach sank at the thought of relying on it to save them. He grabbed his flashlight, showing it to Pacifica.
"I shined my flashlight at it earlier, and it kind of sizzled before it vanished off into the darkness. It definitely doesn't like light."
Pacifica nodded. "Yeah, when it attacked me in my father's study, the flashlight from my phone was the only reason I escaped." She shuddered slightly as Dipper looked at her, his eyes widened before he focused back in.
"We need something brighter than a flashlight or else it will just come back. I think if we can get it running, its headlights should be bright enough."
Pacifica sighed, trying to muster her usual bravado, though the knot of fear in her stomach refused to loosen. "What's the plan, Pines?"
Dipper's eyes scanned the course in front of them, his mind racing. "It's risky, but I'll find a way to draw it off while you run toward the golf cart. Get it running and turn on the headlights. That light should be strong enough to drive it off for good."
"Do I look like a mechanic, Pines?" she shot back, masking the helplessness that threatened to creep in.
"Just try your hardest," he replied, his tone firm and jaw clenched. "I can't let you be the one to distract it. That's not happening."
The idea of letting Pacifica face that thing alone twisted his stomach, but he knew there was no other way. He couldn't risk her life—he wouldn't.
Her breath hitched. He was doing it again—putting her safety above his own. She glanced at him, her gaze softening, before she forced herself to look away. No time for that now. She had to focus.
"Okay," she muttered under her breath, steadying herself. "I can do this. I'm a Northwest."
"It's risky," Dipper admitted, his voice low. "If I mess up, it might come straight for you. That's why you need to get to that cart fast. No hesitations."
She nodded but then grabbed his arm, startling him. He froze, his eyes locking onto hers.
"Dipper. Whatever you do, don't let it grab you. It twists things in your head—makes you doubt what's real. That's what it did to me."
His eyes widened, his mind clicking the pieces into place. "That's why you couldn't remember." It was worse than he thought—this thing didn't just attack, it invaded.
She nodded. "You need to be careful. Please."
He forced a smirk, trying to mask his unease. "I got this. Weird things like this are what I'm good at. You remember that category ten?"
Pacifica rolled her eyes, a flicker of warmth breaking through the fear. "Yeah, don't remind me. And I saved you that time—don't make it twice!"
Dipper chuckled, the sound tense and brittle. "Alright, I'll run out first and draw it to the right. That's your chance once I've got its attention."
She nodded again, her hands trembling slightly.
You can do this, Pacifica. Just trust him. Trust yourself.
The whispers around them swelled, a chaotic chorus of half-formed words that sent chills down her spine. The shadows seemed to shift, closing in like predators waiting to strike.
In Dippers head this was it—the moment he had to prove he could still handle it all, that he could find the words this time. He exhaled shakily, gripping the flashlight tighter.
No room for mistakes now.
He muttered under his breath, "Here we go," and darted into the darkness.
The wind rushed past him, tossing his hair into a chaotic mess. His eyes locked on a broken pirate ship ahead, its mast splintered in half and leaning precariously over the course. He gripped the flashlight tighter, ready to flick it on.
"Hey! I'm over here!" he shouted, his voice cutting through the suffocating quiet.
The air shifted. The darkness twisted and contorted around him, pressing down on his chest like a heavy weight. The whispers grew louder, a cacophony of disjointed voices swimming in his ears.
Then, it struck.
Dark, misty tendrils lashed out from the void ahead. Dipper ducked instinctively, the tendrils whipping past him and slamming into the ground. He staggered but kept moving, sprinting toward the pirate ship.
From her hiding spot, Pacifica saw her chance. The whispers faded toward Dipper, leaving an eerie silence in her corner of the course. She bolted out from behind the obstacle, keeping her footsteps light. Her legs wobbled beneath her, but she forced herself to move, ducking behind another barrier.
She paused, her chest heaving, and glanced toward Dipper. The figure was following him now, its movements brisk and unnervingly fluid. Tendrils lashed out, barely missing Dipper as he sprinted for the ship.
Dipper flicked his flashlight on and off, aiming it at the figure. It convulsed, its form sizzling as a dark mist radiated from its body. It paused, disoriented for a moment, before locking its hollow, yellow eyes onto him.
Those eyes burned into Dipper's mind. Lifeless. Hollow. Malice on autopilot. He shivered, forcing himself to look away.
Ahead, the leaning mast loomed closer. He turned back just in time to slide under it, narrowly avoiding the tendrils that whipped past him. They smashed into the mast, cracking the wood under the impact before dissipating into swirling black mist.
Pacifica pushed herself upright, her eyes scanning the course. The dull paint of the golf cart stood out faintly against the shadows. Her heart hammered as she kicked off the concrete, sprinting toward it. Every step felt heavier, the air thick with dread.
Dipper's yelling broke through the silence, cutting through her focus like a lifeline. She didn't look back. She couldn't.
She skidded towards the golf cart, fumbling to a stop. Its seats were pealing, covered in a layer of grime and stained beyond belief. She gagged, taking every ounce of composure she had not to hurl on the spot. She made her way to the driver's side of the cart, avoiding the cracking paint and grimy seats like a plague. She looked at the steering wheel, the ignition empty. Dread filled her body as she let out a helpless breath.
"Seriously!"
A loud crash echoed from the other side of the park. Pacifica immediately whipped her head around to see that the mast had been splintered into large chunks on the concrete, smaller pieces flying into the water. Dipper stood at the edge of the ship flickering his flashlight at the figure as he ducked under its tendrils, the misty arms smacking into the water behind him.
She frantically turned back to the golf cart as Dipper yelled at the figure even louder.
"Think Pacifica…. think."
Her mind latched onto the faint memory of her father complaining about jump-starting the cart last summer.
Her chest heaved with panic, soaring to a desperate high. An idea struck her. Batteries! She lunged to the hood of the golf cart, setting her fingers underneath it. She didn't know exactly how to open it, getting irritated at herself for watching the servants deal with her family's golf cart. She grunted as she exerted herself, pulling up on the plastic of the hood. It bent under the force of her fingers, eventually giving way. Something suddenly snaped as the hood flipped open.
A foul stench filled her nose as she looked away with utter disgust. The space under the hood was filled with dirt and moldy plastic. She pinched her nose as she looked inside. The outside of the battery seemed corroded, wires dangling around it. Her mind spiraled downward. She didn't know what she was even looking at, she knew she way out of her depth.
On the other side of the course, Dipper was running around the Pirate ship as the figure chased him. He turned around again, flicking his flashlight on. The figure was stunned as it sizzled, more mist radiating off from its body. Dipper looked over at Pacifica's direction, seeing her standing in front of the cart.
"Come on Pacifica." He muttered under his breath.
The figure quickly regained its composure and sent tendrils towards Dipper's direction. He ducked but was a second too late. The fatigue of his legs caught up to him, one of the tendrils clipping his backpack. The force sent him flying into the pirate ship behind him, his flashlight spiraling into the air. The world swirled around him as he tried to yell at Pacifica before his back impacted on the deck of the ship, sending him through the wood as it crumbled inward. Pain exploded in his shoulder, sharp and electric, threatening to steal the air from his lungs.
The thud of Dipper's body echoed through the park like a thunderclap. Pacifica's heart dropped into her stomach, her breath hitching as she saw his flashlight spiral away, landing with a hollow clatter against the pirate ship's deck. She froze, every instinct screaming at her to run—to hide—but the sight of the figure looming over the wreckage snapped something inside her. This wasn't just about her anymore. Her hands curled into fists, and for the first time in a long while, she forced her feet to move.
The figure hesitated for a moment, its head tilting unnaturally as though piecing together a new strategy. Then, with an almost deliberate slowness, it moved—not toward Dipper, but toward the discarded flashlight. Dipper was deep inside the wreckage of the ship. His eyes rolled around him, locking onto the flashlight that was out of reach, its beam cutting through the chaos like a fragile lifeline.
Pacifica whipped around toward the battery, her eyes locking onto the tangle of wires dangling from the hood. Most were frayed, the ends capped with aged yellow plastic connectors. Her heart raced as her gaze darted between the connectors and the battery. There—a slot that matched one of the connectors. She snatched the wire with trembling hands, forcing it into place with a satisfying click before slamming the hood shut.
She sprinted to the driver's seat, her mind racing.
Keys! Where are the keys?
Her hands shook as she frantically searched the cabin. "If I were a nerdy, overgrown man-child running a golf course, where would I hide my keys?" she muttered through clenched teeth, her voice barely steady.
Her eyes fell on a small compartment in the middle of the dash, and a flicker of hope sparked. She thrust her hand inside, her fingers brushing against random debris before curling around something cold and familiar.
Keys!
She yanked them free, her pulse pounding in her ears as she stared at the metal glinting in her palm. She closed her eyes as she sat down in the cart, ignoring how soggy the seats were. She then slid the keys into the ignition, breathing out with a heavy puff.
Please work!
She turned the key, but the motor sputtered weakly, creaking before falling silent. Her heart raced as she turned it again, willing it to come alive. On the third try, the cart shuddered and roared to life, its vibration rattling her already frayed nerves.
Her fingers clenched the steering wheel as her eyes darted across the dashboard, searching for anything that might activate the lights. To the left of the wheel, she spotted a worn knob with faint, nearly illegible icons—a bulb and a few dashes. Swallowing her frustration, she pinched the knob and twisted it as far to the right as it would go.
A dim glow flickered from the headlights, sluggish and weak, like an old beast rousing from hibernation. Relief was short-lived as Pacifica's stomach sank. The beams were dull, smothered under a thick, grimy film caked onto the plastic. The headlights barely pierced the surrounding darkness, and dread coiled tighter in her chest as she realized they weren't bright enough to make a difference.
Her hands started shaking as she looked across the course towards the ship. The figure reached for the flashlight, its tendrils retracting as one shadowy limb closed around it. The beam trembled as the creature examined it, the light bouncing eerily off its semi-transparent form. Then, almost dismissively, it hurled the flashlight aside, focusing once more on the ship's wreckage.
The Tendrils dived towards the pieces of wood, throwing them around. Pacifica's eyes sifted through the remains of the ship. She was able to see Dipper's hair, subtly illuminated by the beam of the flashlight. He was underneath a beam and large chunks of wood.
She shot out of the seat and slid down in front of the cart. The headlights were caked in a coating of dirt and grime, plastered on by years of build-up. Her chest tightened, the cold grip of dread clawing at her insides. The voice in her head—the one that sounded so much like her parents—screamed at her to stop, to avoid the grime, to let someone else deal with it. But another voice, quieter but steadier, pushed back. She straightened her shoulders, forcing her hands steadily. She couldn't let fear win. Not now. Not when it mattered.
She smacked her hands on the headlights, wiping them off. The effect was immediate as she blinded herself for a moment, light piercing the darkness around her. She wiped her hands on her pants instinctively as she ran back up to the driver's seat, plopping herself down. She gripped the wheel as she watched the figure throw pieces of wood into the air behind it. Dipper yelped as the figure moved a beam that was laying on top of him out the way, tossing it into the water around the wreckage.
Pacifica slammed her foot on the pedal, the cart jerking forward with a screech. Her eyes locked on the figure looming over Dipper, its tendrils poised to strike. 'Hold on, Dipper,' she whispered, gripping the wheel so tightly her knuckles turned white.
The cart barreled across the concrete, Pacifica holding on as she weaved through obstacles in her path. The pirate ship loomed into view, its skeletal remains illuminated by faint beams of light. She slammed the brakes, the wheels screeching as the cart skidded to a near-halt. The figure hunched over Dipper, sweeping debris aside, its movements slow and deliberate—until it turned, locking onto the approaching cart.
Pacifica's knuckles tightened as she yanked the wheel hard to the left. The cart veered sharply, speeding past the ship in a wild arc. Her heart leaped as she felt the tires lose grip, the entire frame of the cart tilting precariously. The world spun as the vehicle tipped, her view twisting in a blur of shadows and flashing lights.
She clenched her eyes shut, bracing against the wheel as the cart crashed onto its side with a bone-jarring thud. Metal groaned, and the plastic shell scraped against the concrete in a teeth-gritting grind, sliding several feet before grinding to an agonizing halt.
The headlights were pointed at the figure's direction, their beam slicing through the darkness and flooding the obstacle course with blinding white light.
The figure recoiled, its shadowy form writhing under the onslaught. A guttural hiss escaped from itself, sharp and unnatural, reverberating through the night. It froze mid-motion, convulsing violently as the light pierced through its smoky exterior, searing away fragments of its body. Pacifica clung to the overturned cart, her hands trembling as she forced herself to stand.
Mist poured from the figure, swirling around it like a veil of despair. Its movements grew more erratic, the air warping around it as it twisted and buckled under the relentless light. Those haunting yellow eyes snapped toward her, locking onto hers with an intensity that felt like it was carving through her very soul.
"You cannot escape the pact," it rasped, its voice fractured and resonant, like dozens of whispers layered into one. "It will claim you both."
With a sudden, violent surge, the figure exploded outward, dissolving into a dark cloud of mist. The remnants lingered in the air, swirling and catching the light in eerie, fractured patterns. For a moment, the world stood still, the mist hanging like a ghostly shroud. Then a gust of wind swept through, scattering the darkness into the night, leaving only the faint reflections rippling on the water below.
Pacifica stood frozen, her breath catching in her throat as the silence settled like a weight around her. She exhaled shakily, the figure's final words echoing in her mind.
"Did… did I do it?" she whispered to no one.
A low groan broke the stillness, cutting through her thoughts.
"Pacifica?"
Her heart leaped. "Dipper!"
Without hesitation, her legs propelled her forward, splashing into the murky water of the moat. She waded through, the cold biting against her pants as she scrambled over shattered planks and debris. Pulling herself onto the wreckage, she spotted him—half-buried beneath broken wood, clutching his shoulder.
"Hold on!" she cried, dropping to her knees beside him. She yanked away the scattered planks, her hands trembling. One piece felt slick under her fingers, and for a moment, she thought it was just water. Then she saw the crimson streaks trailing across the wood.
Her stomach clenched. "Oh my gosh, Dipper, you're bleeding!" The words tumbled out, her voice high and laced with panic. Her hands hovered helplessly above him, unsure of what to do.
Dipper groaned, using his elbow to push himself upright. His face twisted in pain as he clutched his shoulder, glancing at the blood soaking his hand.
He managed a weak smirk, his voice strained. "Not the worst I've had…"
Her fear turned to frustration, her words snapping out before she could stop them. "I didn't ask you to almost die for me!"
He looked around, his movements slow and pained. "My bag... it has bandages," he muttered, glancing towards the rubble.
Before he could say more, Pacifica tore the purple sash from around her neck and pressed it firmly against his bleeding shoulder. Her hands shook as she applied pressure, her face pale but determined.
Dipper let out a slow sigh, his eyes scanning the wreckage around them.
"It was only a matter of time before it figured out my plan," he muttered. "I should've known better."
"You're bleeding all over the place," Pacifica snapped, her voice sharp—though the tremor beneath betrayed her fear. "Don't die on me, Pines. I'm not dragging your sorry butt out of here."
Dipper winced, but a faint, lopsided smile tugged at his lips. "You could at least say thanks, you know."
Her lip quivered as she turned her gaze away. "Thanks," she murmured, barely audible. "For… you know…" She trailed off, saying thanks was somewhat of a foreign concept to her still.
His eyes softened as he looked at her. "Hey," he said, his voice gentler now, "you held your own out there. You did great, you got rid of that thing!" He winched slightly, looking towards his shoulder.
Pacifica met his gaze, her body finally registering the weight of everything. Exhaustion rolled through her, but as she looked into his eyes—warm and steady despite the pain—a strange calm settled over her. It was as if the chaos around them had stilled, leaving only the quiet pull of those chocolate-brown eyes. For a fleeting moment, she thought she could sink into them, let herself float there, untethered.
Heat crept up her neck, and she quickly flicked her hair over her shoulder, turning away to mask the blush she knew was betraying her.
"I…" The word caught in her throat, crumbling under the weight of everything she felt but couldn't express. Her head spun with too much at once—anger that he'd gotten hurt, relief that he was alive, the ache in her muscles, and the damp, dirty clothes clinging to her skin. And then there was this… thing. This unshakable awareness of how close they were, the faint pull drawing her toward him, her mind betraying her with the image of leaning in, resting her head against his chest, letting go—
What?!
Pacifica blinked hard, shaking her head as if to clear the thought. No way. Not now. Not ever. She focused instead on the wreckage, spotting his backpack. "Your bag," she muttered, motioning toward it with renewed purpose. Anything to get her head straight again.
Dipper's gaze followed hers as he pressed down on the cloth at his shoulder, wincing.
"Can you grab it? I'm going to call Soos to come get us so we can get out of here."
Pacifica sighed in relief. "Good, anything to get me out of here." She stepped over splintered planks, water sloshing around her shoes, and picked up the backpack. Dipper pulled his phone from his pocket, his fingers trembling slightly as he dialed.
The call was short, Dipper keeping his voice low. When it was over, he walked Pacifica through applying gauze from his bag, her hands steadier than her thoughts. Without saying much else, they left the golf course behind, their footsteps quick against the eerie stillness that pressed down on them.
They stood outside the entrance, the night air prickling their skin. The sound of tires crunching gravel broke the quiet, and Pacifica let out a breath she didn't realize she was holding.
Mabel practically flew out of Soos's truck, her eyes widening as they landed on Dipper. Her gasp was sharp and panicked. "Oh my gosh, Dipper!" she cried, rushing to his side. She hovered close, her hands fluttering as if she wanted to help but didn't know how.
Wendy followed behind, her expression grim as her gaze flickered between them. "What happened?"
"Long story," Dipper said, his voice tight with pain. "Let's just get out of here."
As they helped him into the truck, Mabel stood back, her arms limp at her sides. She forced herself to smile when Dipper glanced her way, but the knot in her chest tightened. He was hurt—because of a fight she hadn't been there for.
Her stomach churned.
Did I make the wrong choice?
The thought stuck, heavier than she wanted to admit. She tried to push it away, focusing on the faint banter between Wendy and Soos as they loaded up. But it lingered, settling like a stone in her chest.
I wanted to come back to make things right…
She glanced at Dipper as he leaned against the side of the truck, his eyes half-closed.
But what if I've been making everything worse?
Pacifica glanced at the group gathered around Dipper, her arms tightening around herself as guilt clawed at her chest. After everything that happened, after how she treated them that summer, how could they just ignore it? She only really knew Dipper and Mabel. But what about the rest of them?
How do they see me?
She swallowed, her hands gripping onto her jacket as she looked down at the ground.
I don't belong here—not with them.
"I don't need a ride," she muttered, her voice quieter than she intended. She avoided their gazes, patting her pockets to distract herself. Her fingers froze mid-search. Her phone. Dead.
Mabel, snapping out of her own thoughts, tilted her head. "You sure? It's not safe to be out here alone."
Pacifica hesitated, biting her lip. The last thing she wanted was their pity. But the image of that shadowy thing flashed in her mind, its voice curling around her thoughts like smoke:
You cannot escape the pact…
She let out a sharp breath, crossing her arms. "Fine. Just drop me off. No big deal."
The truck rumbled to life, the ride back to her mansion steeped in uneasy silence. The tension in the air was thick, almost suffocating. Wendy and Mabel talked to Dipper from the front seat, but their words faded into a dull hum against Pacifica's thoughts. She stared out the window, her gaze fixed on the darkened trees speeding past, shadows twisting and bending in the headlights' glare.
When the ornate gates of her home creaked open, the truck rolled to a stop at the base of the grand staircase. The headlights spilled over the stone steps, momentarily scattering the shadows that clung there like cobwebs. Pacifica climbed out, her movements stiff, her murmured thanks barely audible. She avoided their eyes, keeping her face turned toward the mansion.
As Soos's truck disappeared down the winding driveway, the darkness surged back, enveloping her in its cold embrace. She stood at the base of the steps, the mansion towering over her like a monument to everything she hated and feared. Its silhouette was sharp against the starless sky, its windows gleaming faintly like watchful eyes.
Her stomach twisted. The house felt… different. Wrong. The shadows were darker now, the air heavier, as if it were holding its breath. She could still hear that voice, low and curling like smoke in her mind:
It will claim you both.
The words echoed in her ears as she stepped inside. The door groaned on its hinges, then slammed shut behind her with a weighty finality that made her jump. The chill followed her like a second skin, settling deep into her bones.
Her footsteps rang out against the marble floor, each step swallowed by the oppressive silence. Her eyes drifted toward the massive mirror that dominated the grand hall.
Her dirty reflection stared back at her, pale and wide-eyed, her hair tousled and damp, streaked with dust. She barely recognized herself. Her chest tightened as she leaned closer, her breath fogging the glass. For a moment, she thought she saw something move behind her—just a ripple, faint and fleeting, like a disturbance in water.
She blinked, holding her breath.
Nothing.
The mirror reflected only her own frightened face, but the unease clung to her. Shaking her head, she hugged herself tighter and turned away, her footsteps quickening as she climbed the stairs to her room.
The house was silent, but it wasn't the kind of silence that brought peace. This was a thick, oppressive quiet that pressed against her from all sides, as though the walls themselves were listening.
By the time she reached her room and shut the door behind her, the chill had seeped so deeply into her that it felt like part of her skin. She leaned back against the door, closing her eyes and drawing in a shaky breath.
Even here, in the supposed safety of her room, the unease lingered. The mansion wasn't just cold.
It was waiting.
But she stood against the door.
Alone.