Volume 1 Act 1 – Chapter 9 Unseen Eyes

Linkin Park | Hybrid Theory-Crawling

The hum of the fluorescent lights seemed louder than usual, a faint, dissonant buzz that set her teeth on edge. Pacifica walked across the diner, holding the paper in her pocket with an iron grip. A million thoughts raced in her head. What did they do? Is this why we were suddenly rich again? What was that shadow about? Each thought felt jagged, as though her mind was a puzzle someone was forcing the wrong pieces into. Her breath hitched as the edges of her vision seemed to waver, a faint flicker she couldn't quite pin down. Whatever happened, whatever she saw, it scared her. As she walked away from the closet, she felt hyper aware of everything around her. Her senses sharpened painfully, her ears straining to catch the faintest rustle of movement, her eyes darting to every shadow, every flicker of motion. She swore she could feel the weight of something, pressing down on her like a second skin.

The air felt thick, heavy with the weight of something unspoken, as though the diner itself was holding its breath. Her eyes darted around the diner, her gaze piercing the clock's monotonous ticks. They then jolted over to the other side where she could hear the jukebox vibrating, setting up a new track to be played. A very subtle chill swooped through her. She stopped in the middle of the diner, feeling it, feeling…. something. Her mind went silent.

Something is watching me….

She couldn't shake this feeling. She needed to do something to get it off her mind. Her heart pounded against her ribs as she clenched her fists at her sides. She couldn't let this feeling—this suffocating dread—win. She had to keep moving, keep busy. Anything to drown out the weight of it all.

She breathed in slowly, closing her eyes, trying to ease her mind. She let herself drift in her mind, floating aimlessly in a black void, vast and suffocating. The emptiness pressed down on her, but at least it was silent—free of the strange noises and shadows that now haunted her waking moments.

She breathed out. Maybe cleaning again will calm me down.

She headed over to the counter, once again retrieving the cleaning supplies. She then walked over to the nearest empty table, tidying up the mess the previous customers left. She grabbed the various dirty cups and plates, putting them into the tub to take to the kitchen to clean later. She could see her hands shaking as she picked up the dirty dishes, sliding them into the tub. She breathed in and out, trying to calm her nerves. She moved on to the next table.

She steadied herself, mentally and physically as she looked at the table. This one was a lot messier than the last one. She gathered the trash and scraps into the middle, looking at them with disgust.

She recoiled her hand a bit. Food scraps are absolutely disputing, they might ruin my nails. She started to gently place the plates and mugs into her tub when she heard a noise.

It was the sound of metal on glass, slightly scraping and ear bleeding, but oddly satisfying. She looked around and realized it was coming from the saltshaker at the end of the table by the window. The saltshaker sat askew, its cap just loose enough to teeter. For a moment, it seemed almost deliberate, as though someone—or something—had placed it there, waiting. She frowned, sliding it back into place, her movements slow and deliberate. Just as her fingers left its surface, she swore she felt the faintest tremor beneath her palm, like a vibration that shouldn't have been there.

She started blankly at the shaker, blinking, absolutely dumbfounded.

Huh?

She shook her head, thinking, I have to be tired.

She set the tub down in the booth. Looking at the sight before her tore her mind. She shook her head, gathered the rest of the plates and trash with slight hesitation and set them in the tub, stepping off to the next table. She turned around.

A clang shattered the stillness, sending a jolt through her body like a live wire. Her breath hitched, and a cold sweat broke out along the back of her neck. Slowly, as if compelled against her will, she turned back toward the table. Her heart sank like a stone when she saw the saltshaker lying on its side, its contents scattered like pale sand across the surface.

Her muscles locked, frozen with fear, as though the diner itself had come alive to mock her. She couldn't move, couldn't breathe—every instinct screamed at her to run, but the shadows seemed to hold her in place, waiting. All she could do was stare at the table, unable to look away.

A hand landed on her shoulder.

"You okay, sweetie?"

Pacifica jolted, her breath catching in her throat as she spun around, nearly dropping the tub in her arms.

"AHHH!"

Susan took a startled step back, raising her hands. "Whoa, hon! It's just me!"

Pacifica exhaled shakily, clutching the tub to her chest. "Jeez, you scared me, Susan."

Susan's face softened into a sheepish smile. "Sorry about that. I was just looking for you. You alright? You look like you've seen a ghost."

Pacifica glanced back at the table, her pulse still racing. Gravity Falls was weird—there was no doubt about it. Not even Susan could deny the strange, almost magical oddities that seemed to define this town. But this? This was something Pacifica wouldn't believe if she hadn't just seen it herself.

She took a deep breath, forcing a weak smile. "Yeah, I'm okay. I finished organizing about half the closet and thought I'd clear my head by cleaning some tables. Guess I'm a little tired."

Susan's warm smile returned. "Well, don't push yourself too hard, hon. You've only got a couple of hours before your break. Don't worry too much about the tables."

Pacifica nodded, clutching the tub tighter as Susan walked off. She let out another slow breath, glancing back at the overturned saltshaker. Whatever just happened, she wasn't sure she could explain it—to Susan or anyone else. She told herself in her head,

this town may be strange, but this? This was something else entirely.

Reluctantly, Pacifica grabbed some paper towels, wiping up the spilled salt and setting the shaker upright. She sighed, her nerves still prickling, and picked up the tub of dishes, heading toward the kitchen.

She passed the storage closet on her way, her eyes locking onto the door like a predator stalking prey. She didn't mean to—her body moved on instinct, her mind already dissecting every shadow and angle as if preparing for whatever might come next.

As she neared, she slowed.

Something was there.

A faint hum, low and muffled, seeped from the other side of the door. It wasn't loud, but it wasn't natural. It wasn't the sound of pipes or a draft—it had a rhythm, almost like a murmur, though she couldn't make out any words. Its rhythm felt off, as though something was deliberately trying to be heard.

Her grip on the tub tightened, her pulse hammering in her ears as the sound trickled through the crack of the door. The hair on her arms stood on end, her teeth clenching against the sudden chill that swept over her.

No.

She sighed loudly, rolling her eyes, forcing herself to move. "Get over it," she muttered under her breath, her voice steadying her steps.

The hum persisted as she walked past, but she refused to look back. "I'm just hearing things again," she whispered, the words hollow even to herself. She kept walking, each step feeling heavier than the last.

For a moment, the diner seemed darker than it had moments ago. The fluorescent light was buzzing faintly overhead. She caught herself glancing back at the closet, her gut twisting as if something was waiting for her to look away.

A few more hours, a few more moments, she kept telling herself.

Time blurred. Hours slipped by, each task blending into the next, but her mind couldn't shake the weight in her pocket. She wanted to know what was next, what was in store, what had happened. Her fingers brushed the paper constantly, as if checking its reality. Was it real? Had she imagined it? The memory of the closet felt twisted, a dream half-forgotten but impossible to ignore.

She had just finished wiping off her hands after cleaning a stack of dishes, leaving them in their racks to dry. She glanced out of the kitchen window— its tickets were dangling in its view. The traffic of the customers had started to pick up. She breathed heavily, setting her hands down on the counter by the sink, staring blankly at its surface.

I need to focus….

Her mind spun, torn between dismissing this paper she found earlier as paranoia and seeing it as a clue. A clue of something, perhaps a key to understanding. She desperately wanted to forget about this, about her family, and the constant reminders about their dark deeds. But she also had that naïve curiosity inside her, begging, pleading for a certain level of understating. It was to figure out—or at least understand—her family's dark secrets. Her mind kept telling her that surely….surely, there is more to this. And that this is something deep…..something

sinister.

She hardened her resolve. Looking at the water that was slowly draining in the sink beside her. Her reflection looked unpresentable for her standards. Frayed edges, disheveled hair, a messy apron. Her hair dangled down around her face as she stared down into the water, cloudy from the soap, just like her mind.

Is this how a Northwest should look?

This was the first thought that popped into her head. She didn't know how to feel about it, if she should have any pride in herself, in her family, considering what she had just found in the closet. For all their cruelty, a small, stubborn part of her still wanted to believe in the Northwest name, to find something—anything—worth saving. Her eyes were locked with the water, like she was being sucked in. She could see herself falling into the sink, drowning in its hazy hue. The water around her reflecting ambiguous light and memories as she floated in it, memories that left its weight with scars, memories that haunted her.

She could see the countless times her father had left such cryptic warnings, the many times he reprimanded her, scolded her. She saw a familiar one, where she was getting her makeup ready in the back of the car, preparing herself for the golf match Mabel had challenged her to earlier that week. Her father kept his nose in his newspaper, they weren't going to watch, leaving a stinging pain in her chest. She was used to this though, they didn't seem to be involved in her extracurriculars that much. The reflected memory in the water suddenly became a lot clearer as she watched. Her father opened his mouth:

"You're a Northwest. Don't. Lose."

She felt the pressure of those words, the weight of a thousand unspoken demands. She could feel herself sinking further, the pressure of the water pressing on her skin as she struggled to breathe, the pressure of her family, the Northwest legacy, thousands of pounds of force pressing into her body. She could see the paintings in that dark room she found with Dipper, the countless lifeless statues from the foyer and courtyard of her old mansion, the statue of Nathaniel Norwest in the town.

All lies… beautiful, terrifying lies, she thought to herself.

The thought stung. Her family's name was a burden, a legacy of lies and expectations, each memory like a stone pulling her deeper in the cloudy water that surrounded her. All these images reflecting around her, carrying this immense weight, the true nature of her family's legacy. And now, now there was something new. This receipt, this paper, another reminder she thought. A new discovery, once again tying herself to her family's struggles. Another secret, she thought. Another chain binding her to a past she couldn't escape. She could feel herself sinking even deeper into her cloudy surroundings, imagining the feeling of her lungs running out of air and filling up with water. The edges of her vision blurred, becoming obscured, blending in with the hazy water around her.

When…. when will this ever end…..

Her ears were immediately filled with the clinging of dishes and the sizzling of the food on the stoves around her. The sound cut through the fog, pulling her back. Susan's voice, warm and real, had emerged, calling her to the surface.

"Pacifica! It's time for your break." Susan yelled out from her office."

She hadn't realized that her face had moved directly over the sink, her nose practically touching the sink water while she was lost in thought. She breathed in and out, trying to control her emotions. She took her hands off the edges of the sink and stood up, clenching the paper in her apron pocket.

She straightened, forcing air into her lungs. "Got it!"

No better time than now, she thought.

She decided to walk to the back door, some urgency in her step. She looked around the kitchen, thinking that if she was really going to do this, she needed to make herself scarce, to find a place with secluded eyes. She moved toward the door, the paper clenched in her fist. Whatever this was, it was time to find out.

Pacifica sat outside on the backsteps of the diner. She was away from prying eyes, seemingly by herself, surrounded by the wilderness. She looked up to the sky, closing her eyes. The breeze wrapped itself around her, birds chirping, crickets talking to each other in the woods. She wanted to just feel for a moment, to ignore everything around her and soak it all in.

But despite her best efforts, they were meaningless. She opened her eyes, seeing herself on the steps, surrounded by those glass walls looming over her, even more hazy than before. They were something she couldn't even see through anymore. She looked down in her hands, seeing the receipt. Its paper was crinkled, worn edges, with smeared ink stains.

She immediately started reading the paper, grasping at any information she could find. A lot of the words had either faded, or had been covered in black ink, making them unreadable. She was only able to make out certain words, and read certain parts, seemingly without much context.

Her mind raced with questions. What was the "Final Payments"? Who is the "Benefactor". Did her family do something terrible to maintain her wealth?

She wanted to laugh at herself, the last thought was practically a given, or else this wouldn't even exist in the first place. Her family had always been the epicenter of something terrible. They were practically known—perhaps only by few— of their swindles and morally ambiguous methods. She stared at the note, her father's scrawled writing at the bottom stood out like a haunted mansion.

Whatever they did, it's not something I can take lightly.

To her, this "benefactor" seemed to be a separate entity, someone who held power over her parents. So much power that even her father had mentioned this benefactor's own patience. She gulped, with a vague but clear image in her mind. This "benefactor" could be someone foolish, someone sinister, to make her father cower like this, even though Pacifica already knew that her father was pretty much a coward.

Her mind spiraled, slipping into the aristocratic mindset she was raised with. Just how bad was this? It had to be terrible, but something that benefitted her father generously, giving them enough money to crawl their way back to the top of Gravity Falls.

But what was there to do?

Her mind ran blank, grasping at straws, finding itself empty handed. There wasn't much in the business side of Gravity Falls for her family to take advantage of...right? There were local businesses here and there, some new and some old. No, too small, she thought. And then there was the mall, its size being the most prominent. Maybe…. But her mind barked elsewhere. It had to be something hidden, something so ambiguous but so important, that it yielded its own weight back in gold.

She sighed, her head aching from overthinking. This was beyond anything she understood about her family. Distant. Out of her league. She stared out into the trees, her eyes scanning the pattern of their bark as she caressed the paper with her thumb. She looked down at the paper, seeing how messy her father's handwriting was. She then had a terrifying thought.

What if they hurt someone, or something…..

The paranoia set it, the quietness outside starting to feel unnatural as she looked around her. She stared into the tree line, looked at the bushes, the sticks on the ground, the bark that seemed to etch into the trees, surrounding her with faces that stared back. Shadows stretched farther than they should. It felt like the forest watched on, stalking her, seemingly eerie and still.

She shook her head, No, she thought. I have to be going insane right? She had a moment of doubt, wondering if she was imagining things. Despite this feeling, there was something that brought her back to a painful, and sinister reality.

It was the paper that was lying in her palms. The receipt. Its weight in her hand reminded her that this was real, all of it. Everything that happened earlier in the day. The closet, the shadow reflecting through the cabinet's glass, the saltshaker. It was a message to her, a warning...

Her hair stood on its end, the reality of her situation starting to set into her stomach. She mentally linked the receipt and the other strange occurrences that had happened to her together. It made sense, she thought, as unbelievably stupid as it felt to her. But why? How?

There was only one thing she could do, one thing she could think of.

Her Father's study.

It was such an odd place. She was never really allowed in, unlike the last mansion. Only able to take quick glances inside its cold, mahogany interior whenever she saw father open the door and slide inside. This mysterious room, its closed secrecy, was something that stood out to her as she looked down at her father's handwriting.

"The Benefactors patience wears thin…."

She read those words again. Pacifica new that this oddity in her father's behavior had to somehow be tied to this receipt, indirectly or not. She took out her phone, checking the time. Her break was almost over, and from the sounds behind her, the Diner was getting busy. She sighed, annoyed with the situation set before her.

If I have to handle another heckler I swear…...

She straightened herself out, checking her hair and makeup on her phone. She stood up, taking one last glance out into the still wilderness before her. She stared with an uncertain gaze. One that was fearful of her family's hidden sins, but naïve enough to want to know more, to know the truth of what they did, and what possibly lied out there. She swallowed, feeling an unnatural chill swoop through her. She quickly turned around, covering the sides of her arms with her hands as she shivered.

Pacifica re-entered the diner, the door swinging shut behind her with a hollow thud. The warmth of the kitchen felt suffocating now, the fluorescent lights harsh against her skin. She glanced around, half-expecting to see shadows creeping in the corners or eyes watching from the windows. But everything looked normal—too normal.

She tightened her apron, her fingers brushing the receipt still tucked in her pocket. The weight of it felt heavier than before, like a stone pressing into her thoughts. Focus, Pacifica. Just get through the shift. Then you can figure out what all this means.

But as she returned to her tasks, each clink of dishes and murmur of conversation seemed to echo, distorted and distant. The normalcy of the diner felt like a thin veneer, stretched tight over something much darker.

Something watching.

In between her tasks, she would find herself holding the receipt, feeling…something. Like an oppressive sense of dread, as though someone —or something—was standing directly behind her. Pacifica turned around quickly, goosebumps throughout her entire body. But there was nothing. Just the ordinary clink of dishes, the low murmur of customers. This made her skin prickle with unease.

Eventually, the monotony of the diner and the motions involved had distracted her mind long enough for her to blaze through the rest of the shift. Taking orders, cleaning dishes, serving food, she did it all as if on auto pilot, but actively checking around the diner, examining its walls and corners. She would watch how the shadows in the corners would fold around the walls and tables, swearing she could see them move.

You're losing it. She rolled her eyes, trying to ground herself.

Time had slipped; the night had crept in unnoticed. She looked outside, the still moonlight reflecting on the gravel lot, each stone and spec of dirt catching the light and spreading its silver shade onto the windows. She was finishing up, cleaning one of the last tables while the diner was closing when she caught herself staring out into the forest through the window. Her mind immediately went to when she was outside during her break earlier in the day. The way the forest sat, still, the way it seemed to move silently. She shook her head, unloading the dishes into the sink and gathering her things to leave.

She let Susan know who gave her a big hug (something Pacifica was still getting used to. She didn't really know what a hug was, or other things for that matter. What was word called again, sharing?). She double checked her apron packet, making sure the paper was there. She pulled it out and quickly stuffed it into her purse. Now that the diner was partially dark and empty, she could feel this…unease, this weird flicker around her. She walked towards the front door of the diner.

As she walked, something echoed….

Her footsteps sounded slightly out of sync with her movements. She caught on, stopping in place, looking around her. Everything looked fine to her. She started walking again, the sound of her shoes hitting the wooden planks on the floor lagging behind her feet. Like layers that echo over her own actions, echoing wrong, a solid beat behind her.

As she went to open the door, the sensation intensified, causing her mind to go into overdrive. Her hands shook with fear as she did her best to ignore the sounds and feelings around her, she swore she heard something….

It was a low, distorted voice, whispering…something.

a

Her body jolted, every nerve on edge. She shoved the door open on instinct alone, heart pounding. She stumbled down the steps, catching herself on the sidewalk. She looked around.

What….was that? Her mind echoed in disbelief.

She looked at the diner, the sidewalk and windows catching the moonlight at just the right angles. It was a sight she had grown familiar with, one that made her comfortable. One that pulled her away from the glass walls and the inconceivable ideas that were her family's legacy. But as she looked at the diner, she swore that the diner itself seemed…. darker.

She swallowed, firming herself with any ounce of resolve she could muster.

I need to learn more

She wanted, needed to know what was going on. As scared and disturbed as she was, that dumb, naïve part of her wanted to learn more, to learn the truth. It felt like something was calling her, beckoning her to uncover another secret, another stain of her family's sins, something un-washable. To her, this receipt was the start.

She looked out into the trees in the surrounding area, her mind immediately thinking of her break again, like a movie theater playing an old, repeated film. She could imagine the feeling she felt again as she sat on the backsteps, this time multiplied by one hundred.

She had stared into the forest, feeling the weight of unseen eyes.

But the forest didn't just watch

it knew.