Chapter 18 | Teen Spirit
Sleeping With Sirens | Let's Cheers to This – Do It Now Remember It Later
The clouds hung over the Northwest Estate, dark and bulging with an eerie stillness. Dipper and Wendy emerged from the tree line, their breaths barely visible in the cold air. The fence loomed ahead, black iron bars cutting through the mist that curled around the estate.
Dipper moved a few twigs out of the way, getting a clear view of the manor. The moonlight's pale glow sliced through the mist, casting sharp silhouettes against the estate's towering walls. He turned to Wendy, giving her a nod. Slowly, they crept toward a set of bushes lining the fence.
Dipper pulled out his phone, dialing Pacifica's number. She picked up immediately.
"You here?"
Dipper whispered, "Yeah. We made it to the bushes you told us about."
She hesitated on the other end of the line, letting out a slow, uneven breath. "Okay. Wow, this is really happening."
Beside him, Wendy crouched lower, swatting away a stray branch. She made a face, spitting out a leaf. Dipper stifled a snort.
"What'd she say?" she whispered.
Dipper glanced at his phone, absently tugging on the brim of his hat. When Wendy gave it back, he hadn't worn it as much as he thought he would. But tonight—this plan, the risk, the sheer ridiculousness of it—made him feel bare without it. He needed it, even if it was just a scrap of fabric.
"Told her we're here. Just waiting for the signal."
The wind stirred the bushes, whistling through the gaps in the iron bars. Pacifica's voice returned, hushed and urgent.
"Alright, I think they just left. Give me a few minutes."
Dipper and Wendy exchanged a glance. Pacifica's breath hitched.
"And don't mess with anything, got it?"
Wendy smirked, nudging Dipper as he rolled his eyes.
"Sure."
The fence was made of thick black iron bars with narrow gaps—enough to see through but too small to squeeze past. Dipper peered through the bars, scanning the backyard. Trimmed hedges lined a stone pathway leading toward a patio with a small fountain, its water still under the moonlight. His eyes flicked toward the back door just as a figure stepped out, moving carefully.
The moonlight caught on golden hair, making it shimmer as the figure shut the door behind her. Dipper smiled, tapping Wendy's shoulder. She turned, still watching the tree line behind them.
"What's up?"
He pointed through the fence. "She's coming."
Pacifica made her way across the manicured lawn, her steps quick but careful. When she reached the fence, a small smile tugged at her lips.
Dipper squinted. "What's with the look?"
Pacifica smirked, flicking her hair like she was in some shampoo commercial. "You look like a total dork. Right at home too."
Dipper deadpanned. "Thanks."
Wendy popped her head up beside him, brushing dirt off her sleeve. "You gonna let us in now, dude?"
Pacifica's confident demeanor faltered for a split second, her face heating up. "Oh… uh, right."
Dipper took off his backpack and tossed it over the fence. He and Wendy ducked low, crawling through the gap before Pacifica helped them over the bush in front of it.
She exhaled, nerves catching up to her. "Are we really doing this?"
Dipper nodded, already slinging his backpack over his shoulders.
Wendy pointed to herself, then gave Pacifica a confident nod. "Don't worry, you got us, man."
Pacifica hesitated, then motioned for them to follow. They moved carefully, weaving between the trimmed hedges and trees, the estate's perfection eerily untouched by time. The grass underfoot was soft, a stark contrast to the weight pressing down on them.
As they approached a small white stable, Wendy glanced around, unimpressed. "So, you taking us on the scenic route to flex, or what?"
Pacifica turned, frowning. "No, I'm making sure no one sees us through the windows."
Wendy arched a brow. "Wow. You put more thought into this than I figured."
Pacifica scoffed. "Of course I did!"
Dipper squinted at the stable. "Wait. You have a stable?" He smirked. "What, you got a pony too?"
Pacifica shot him a glare. "Yes, because I'm rich, obviously."
They all reached the stable, sticking close to the side out of view from the manor's windows. Wendy smirked. "Kinda defensive there, princess."
Pacifica folded her arms, shifting uncomfortably as she glanced toward the stable. Before Dipper could press further, she nodded toward the back door in the distance.
"Come on. Let's get this over with."
The damp grass clung to their shoes as they peeled off the stable's side and followed the stone path. Each step was quiet, swallowed by the stillness of the estate.
"What did you name it?" Dipper asked.
Pacifica halted, turning to glare at him. "None of your business, Pines."
They continued past the fountain, the moonlight cutting sharp shadows into the pristine walkway. Pacifica reached the back door and gently pushed it open.
Slipping inside, they moved through the kitchen, careful not to make a sound. The air shifted—colder, heavier. Shadows stretched unnaturally along the polished floors, flickering despite the stillness.
They stopped in the grand hall.
Dipper's eyes trailed upward, mesmerized by the enormous staircase leading to the second floor. The white walls and marble floors reflected the dim light, creating an unsettling glow. The entire place was immaculate, yet something about it felt… hollow.
Wendy lingered at the entrance to the east wing, her gaze sharp. It was too perfect. Too still. Her fingers hovered near the axe at her hip.
Dipper shook his head, snapping himself back to the moment. "Alright, let's set up."
He turned to Pacifica. "Can you grab some blankets?"
She nodded. "On it."
He reached into his backpack, pulling out a flashlight and handing it to her. "Remember—no mirrors, no polished tiles, no lacquered wood. Anything that thing can use to manifest, we block it."
Wendy peeled off her gray flannel, tying it around her waist before tossing her trucker hat aside. "Got it."
Pacifica approached a nearby closet and pulled the door open. A cascade of blankets and rugs spilled onto the floor, like a dam breaking. She grabbed an armful and tossed them toward Dipper.
He caught them and immediately started spreading them across the floor. Wendy did the same, kicking a few rugs into place along the hall.
Dipper stood, brushing his hands off. "Wendy, start here. I want to check out the study."
Wendy gave a thumbs-up. "Just don't go too far."
Pacifica stood at the entrance of the east wing, her breath catching. The memories slammed into her—panic, the breathless sprint to her room, the way her mind reeled. Her hands trembled.
A hand touched her shoulder.
Dipper. His eyes were steady, reassuring. "It's okay. We have a plan this time."
She swallowed hard, then nodded.
Together, they stepped into the east wing.
The deeper they went, the dimmer the lights became—until, one by one, they flickered out.
Pacifica had shut them off for Dipper's plan. They needed to lure the shadow here—to keep it contained. That meant entering its territory on its terms. It was a risk, but it was the only way.
They stopped in front of a door.
Dark mahogany. The woodgrain was deep, almost endless, like it could pull them in.
Pacifica pressed a hand against it. Her voice was quiet. "This is where it happened."
Dipper met her gaze.
Then, together, they pushed the door open.
Conversations echoed off the walls of the town hall. Disgruntled and tired townsfolk funneled into the main room as Mayor Cutebiker greeted them. Soos and Mabel stood in the room, trying to pick out the best seats in the crowd. Soos gestured to a row in the middle and they both slid in and sat down.
Mabel scanned the crowd, brows furrowed. "I don't see Pacifica's parents anywhere…"
She turned to Soos, only to find him mid-bite, his cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk hoarding rations for winter.
"Emergency sandwich, dog," he mumbled around the bread. Then, as if realizing how fast he was inhaling it, he gave a sheepish shrug. "I eat when I get nervous."
Mabel patted his arm knowingly. "I know."
The air in the town hall felt heavier than it should have, thick with unspoken worries. People weren't just tired—they were anxious. Murmurs of complaints and hushed conversations filled the space, crackling like static before Mayor Cutebiker took the floor.
He scanned the crowd, then sighed. "Hey everyone! Hope you're all doing well. Sorry for the late meeting…"
His gaze landed on Soos, narrowing.
Soos, completely unfazed, flashed a giant thumbs-up, his mouth still full of sandwich.
Cutebiker pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something under his breath before turning back to the crowd.
A low hum of conversation filled the town hall, voices overlapping into a muddled mess. Someone near the front muttered about the tax hike on possum removal. An old woman behind them whispered about "the strange lights in the woods" again. The air was thick—too many people crammed into a room that smelled faintly of old coffee and mildew. Cutebiker cleared his throat, but the chatter barely dipped. He sighed, rubbing a hand down his face.
"Hey, hey—settle down, people. Let's get this thing rollin' so we can all go home."
As his voice carried itself across the room, Mabel shifted in her seat. Her gaze flickered from one familiar face to another—Toby Determined mumbling to himself, Sheriff Blubs and Deputy Durland whispering in the back, Manly Dan crossing his arms with an impatient huff. It was strange, being back here, like stepping into a dream she thought she'd woken up from.
Cutebiker's voice suddenly grabbed Mabel's attention.
"In other news, I would like to welcome the Pines twins back to Gravity Falls! It's nice to see ya'll again!"
The applause came fast and loud. Too loud. Mabel flinched slightly as the town's eyes turned toward her. Normally, this was her moment. A chance to ham it up, soak in the spotlight. But this felt... weird. Like she was an old cast member returning to a show that had moved on without her. The weight of their attention pressed against her like a spotlight she wasn't ready to stand under. She smiled awkwardly, waving back to everyone. Cutebiker spoke up from behind his pedestal.
"Sooo, where's the other one?"
Mabel stared at him, his eyes catching her like she was a deer in headlights. She laughed nervously, quickly spilling out a response.
"Oh. Uh Dipper? Pshhh, yeah he's just doing some nerd stuff right now. You know how he is."
Cutebiker looked at her fondly. "Awww, some things don't change."
The doors groaned open. A ripple of silence spread through the room, a hush that spoke louder than words. Preston and Priscilla Northwest strode in, every inch of them pristine and unbothered. Cutebiker's expression flattened.
"Ah. Mr. and Mrs. Northwest," he said, voice barely masking his annoyance. "You're late. Again."
Preston barely looked at him as he wiped his fingers on a silk handkerchief, tucking it neatly into his coat.
"Yes, well. I was rather preoccupied," he said with a smooth smile, like he'd just walked into an art gala instead of a town meeting. Beside him, Priscilla barely acknowledged the crowd, her fingers adjusting the delicate lavender coat draped over her arms.
They slipped into their seats near the back. A few people stole glances at them—some curious, some annoyed, some muttering under their breath. Cutebiker sighed heavily, rubbing his temples before turning back to the crowd.
"Right. Moving on."
Mabel stared at Preston and Priscilla across the room. They were dressed in usual formal attire. Preston sported a dark grey suit while Priscilla wore a long purple dress, a lavender coat hanging around her arms. Mabel looked at them, distain filling her mouth.
Geez, they look rich. Too rich.
Realization struck her. She whipped around and poked Soos in the arm.
"Soos, this is our time. We have to do something."
Soos felt his stomach drop. "Oh. Uh. I don't know what to do, dude. You know I fold under pressure! I'm like one of those cheap folding tables at a birthday party—one wrong move and BAM, I collapse."
Mabel clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry, Soos. You'll figure something out."
Mabel stood up. Soos' panic spiked.
"Wait, where are you going?!" he whisper-yelled.
Mabel motioned toward the exit. "Chauffeur, remember? Gotta go play bridesmaid. I'll be right back! Just… do something to get everyone's attention!"
Soos' hands grasped uselessly at the air as she slipped through the seats and headed towards the door. His mouth felt dry. The crowd around him looked restless—some yawning, some muttering, some tapping their feet impatiently. He gulped, fixing his cap in place.
"Okay, Soos. No big deal. Just gotta do something cool. Something legendary. Something that won't make you look like a total idiot."
He inhaled sharply. Adjusted his stance. Cleared his throat.
"When the world calls..." he muttered under his breath. Then, with slightly less confidence: "Mr. Mystery... eventually answers."
Mabel closed the door behind her. The town hall's muffled noise faded into the stillness of the night. She glanced around and spotted an older man standing by the exit, tall and stiff as a lamppost. His black suit was pressed to perfection, his graying hair neatly combed, and his hands were clasped behind his back in a rigid, almost military posture. His face, illuminated by the dim streetlight, was fixed in a permanent scowl—though whether at the cold, the dark, or simply the state of existence itself, Mabel couldn't tell.
She hesitated, turning slightly back toward the door.
Okay, Mabel. All you gotta do is unleash the charm. Then this guy will crumble like a stale cookie.
She breathed out, straightening her sweater and skirt, rolling her shoulders.
It worked for homecoming, didn't it? How hard can this be?
With the confidence of someone who had definitely planned this out in advance, she strode forward, hands on her hips.
"Hey there, sir! You look like a man of refined taste. What's your cologne? 'Mystery Chauffeur Number 5?'"
The chauffeur didn't so much as blink. "The Northwests requested an early ride home," he stated flatly.
Mabel pulled her head back. Early? They were planning to leave early? That wasn't good. That wasn't part of the plan. Her mind raced for a way to stall, delay—anything.
She pouted, shifting gears. "Booooring. Say, why don't you stop standing around and let me give you a tour? Come on, live a little! Who could resist a cute and sparkly girl like myself, huh?" She nudged his arm lightly with her hip.
The man did not buckle. Did not budge. Did not react. He might as well have been a statue carved from pure disinterest.
"I'm afraid not, miss," he replied, voice curt but not unkind.
Mabel's confidence flickered for half a second. Okay. So he's not a pushover. But she wasn't out of tricks just yet.
She rocked back on her heels, studying him. "Alright, I get it. You're a serious guy. All work, no play. But what if—" she leaned in slightly, wiggling her fingers dramatically, "—I told you I could find your true love?"
The chauffeur did not react.
"Yep. Full-on fortune-telling. Real stuff. I once made a match between two of Wendy's friends. Oh! And a badger and a snake!" She held out her hands as if unveiling an invisible sign. "Magic may have been involved, but love is love!"
Nothing.
Mabel pressed on. "Come on, just let me see your hand. I bet your lifeline is, like, dripping with intrigue." She waved her arms like a stage magician. "Ooooh, who is this dashing yet broody chauffeur? What secret desires does he carry? Will he ever take a day off? Tune in next time—!"
The chauffeur let out a slow, measured sigh. He didn't look at her, but his fingers twitched slightly behind his back, as if resisting the urge to rub his temples.
Mabel's grin widened. Gotcha.
She crossed her arms, tilting her head. "Ohhh, that was a reaction! That totally counts. You're not made of stone, admit it! You're intrigued."
The chauffeur's gaze flicked toward her, just for a moment. Not long enough to be considered acknowledgment—just a brief, unreadable glance—before returning to the darkened road ahead.
"I'm afraid not, miss," he repeated, but this time, Mabel swore there was a trace of amusement buried deep, deep under that professional monotone.
Her words weren't working. She sighed.
Fine, I'm pulling out the big guns.
As she was teetering on her heels, she moved her foot, letting it slip out from underneath. She 'accidently' stumbled into him, grabbing onto his sleeve for balance.
"Whoa! My bad. Who knew gravity worked indoors too, huh?"
She slyly moved her hand on his arm, patting it appreciatively. "Woah. Do you lift, or is that just premium chauffer strength?"
She peered up at him, squinting. "I bet you've got a tragic backstory. Mysterious people always do. Let me guess—lost love? A secret vendetta? Are you secretly a spy forced into the limo industry after a mission went wrong?"
The chauffeur fidgeted, finally reacting. He sighed, adjusting his sleeve slightly.
"…Miss"
Mabel grinned like she just cracked his entire backstory.
"A-ha! That was totally an 'I have a secret past' sigh! No use denying it!"
The chauffeur exhaled sharply, his shoulders dropping slightly. His eyes flicked toward Mabel, then snapped back to the street.
"I believe you are wasting your time here, miss."
Mabel pouted, resting her hands on her hips. "Geez, does Pacifica really not let you people have fun?"
The chauffeur hesitated. "Are you… one of her friends?"
Mabel blinked. The question caught her off guard.
When she first met Pacifica, she was easy to dislike—spoiled, bratty, rude. But things had changed. Pacifica had changed. She wasn't just some rich snob anymore. Beneath the designer clothes and perfectly styled hair, there was a girl just trying to figure herself out, same as anyone else.
Mabel smiled. "Yeah. I am."
Something in the chauffeur's posture eased. It was barely noticeable, but Mabel caught it.
"Tell me," he said, "is the Miss up to something?"
Mabel rocked on her heels. "I mean… well, yeah. I guess you could say that."
The chauffeur gave her a long, unreadable look. "Hmm. Should I be worried?"
Mabel let out a nervous laugh. "Well, uh… yes and no?" She hunched her shoulders, shrinking under his gaze. "As long as her parents don't go home just yet."
The chauffeur's expression was unreadable.
Mabel waved her hands frantically. "But seriously! You don't have to be worried! Pacifica is—"
He cut her off with an almost imperceptible smile. "Well, it seems I'll take the long way around."
Mabel tilted her head as the chauffeur gave her a polite bow. "Thank you. Tell the Miss I said hello."
With that, he slid on a pair of black gloves and strode toward a sleek, elegantly designed car parked near the entrance. Mabel watched as he stepped inside, the car purring softly to life before rolling down the street and disappearing into the night.
Mabel hummed to herself, crossing her arms. "Huh. Kinda nice for a chauffeur. Classy, mysterious… maybe I should go over to Pacifica's more often."
She shook her head and made her way back inside.
Pacifica and Dipper entered the study. The fire in the hearth cackled throughout the room, casting everything in a subtle, flickering orange glow. As they stepped further inside, the pale moonlight bled through the window onto the worn wooden floorboards. The air felt different in here—stuffy and heavy, as if the room itself were holding its breath in anticipation.
Pacifica led the way, her eyes fixed on the large desk illuminated by the light from the window behind it. It looked untouched, exactly as she remembered it. Taking a deep breath that mingled with the scent of aged paper and smoky wood, she cut through the crackling of the firewood.
"Before I called you that night, I stayed up late to snoop around in here," she confessed in a hushed tone. "Even though I considered every possibility, I always suspected my parents were hiding something."
Dipper nodded, silently urging her to continue. She walked over to one of the bookshelves lining the study's side and reached for a brightly colored book. With a resigned sigh, she pulled it out—almost as if exhaling her doubts.
"Of course, I was right," she murmured, more to herself than to him.
Suddenly, a sound—metal clinking—echoed from somewhere within the walls, followed by a soft click emanating from the desk. Dipper's eyes snapped to the desk. He noticed that the bottom drawer was slightly ajar, subtle enough to be missed by anyone not looking closely.
Together, they approached. Pacifica knelt by the desk and gently pushed the drawer open, revealing a thick ledger. She carefully pulled it out, then retrieved a folder from within. The ledger's cover, a deep velvet-like material, caught the moonlight and sparkled faintly along its edges. Its surface was marred by tiny imperfections that hinted at untold stories. As her fingers traced its cover, a frigid chill washed over her—her body recoiling at the memory. For a moment, her hand froze, as if the ledger itself had the power to recall the fear, adrenaline, and lingering dread from the last time it had "attacked."
She turned to Dipper, her voice soft and tremulous. "Look, the last time I opened this, it messed with me—made me see things I'm still not sure were real."
Dipper stepped closer, setting his flashlight down on the table so its beam cut across the room, landing on the bookshelf like a thin strip of truth.
"That makes sense," he murmured. "Whenever you find something tied to its presence, it will react. But you said it…really affected you?"
Pacifica's hand slowly dropped away from the ledger as she stared out the window, the distant lights of fireflies in the forest mingling with the darkness. The ledger wasn't just a book—it was a portal to a nightmare she couldn't quite shut out.
"Yeah. One minute I was reading through the pages, and the next… everything went dark, like I was swallowed by a void. And then I—" Her voice faltered, and she coughed into her hand as she struggled to maintain her composure.
"I saw Susan," she continued, her voice barely above a whisper. "She was in a chair—just like her office chair at the diner. And that thing…it was attacking her. The same way it attacked me…"
Dipper exhaled slowly, the sound heavy with unspoken empathy. This was the first time he was truly hearing the details of her ordeal. He saw her body trembling, a deep-seated scar from past horrors resurfacing with every word. The thought of Susan's screams and desperate cries, echoing in an endless darkness, sent a shiver down his spine. For a moment, he even wished
Mabel hadn't broken the memory gun.
His heart pounded as he watched her, the memory of his own fears mingling with a determination to help her face this nightmare. His mind raced as he tried to piece everything together.
"That makes this a bit more complicated. So it doesn't just immediately attack you—maybe it's trying to discourage you from digging any deeper?"
Pacifica crossed her arms and rolled her eyes, using her usual bravado to mask her fear. "So you're telling me this thing isn't just a mindless monster? No way, Pines—it attacked me."
Dipper stepped up to the ledger sitting on the desk, his eyes narrowing as he studied it. "Not entirely. I think you have to push it a bit before it resorts to violence…" He quickly turned to Pacifica. "Wait—what did you do that made it attack you?"
Pacifica hesitated, then answered, "I got frustrated—almost threw the stupid book into the fire.
But then I figured, maybe I'd better take a picture of what it said, so my parents wouldn't find out."
Dipper nodded, his hand resting on his chin. "Yeah, that checks out. If you keep pressing, it'll eventually lash out to stop you… and then it takes your memories."
He turned back to the ledger. Its presence on the desk was almost suffocating—like it were laughing, begging to be opened.
"That just leaves the question: what exactly is in this thing?"
Pacifica came up beside him, quickly gripping his arm. "Dipper, I don't think this is a good idea…"
Dipper set his hand on the cover. "I know, but we have to know what's inside. You might have missed something. I—I need to know the truth. And you have me this time. We can do this together, Pacifica."
Pacifica looked into his eyes. His words reached her, making her knees weak yet filling her with a confidence she couldn't muster alone. She managed a small smile as she set her hand on the cover, too.
"Yeah, together…"
They leaned in, their hands hovering over the ledger's cover—when suddenly, a series of knocks shattered the silence.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
They both jumped. Pacifica immediately clung to Dipper's side. He snatched up his flashlight and pointed it toward the door.
A figure shielded its eyes and muttered, "Dude, not cool…"
Dipper exhaled sharply. "Oh, Wendy. Geez, you scared me!"
Pacifica glared at her. "Yeah, what the heck was that for?"
Wendy smirked and rolled her eyes. "Well, I came to tell you guys I was finished, but you and Miss Fancy were getting all cozy over there."
Pacifica's arms tightened around Dipper as they exchanged wide-eyed glances. Then, in unison, they yelped and stepped apart. Dipper scratched the back of his head, his cheeks turning red, while Pacifica flicked her hair, trying to hide her blush with a scoff.
"I was just caught off guard! Why would I ever want to get close to this nerd?" she muttered.
Wendy raised an amused eyebrow. "Uh-huh."
She walked further into the room, taking in the eerie ambiance. "Wow, creepy place, huh?"
Dipper nodded, gesturing toward the ledger on the desk. "We found this."
Wendy strolled up to the front of the desk and leaned casually on it. "Spooky. What's inside?"
Pacifica interjected sharply, "It's nothing good."
Wendy noted the urgency in her tone. "That bad, huh?"
Dipper swallowed hard and set his hand on the ledger's cover. "Only one way to find out."
He flipped open the cover and began skimming through the pages. The first header read:
Offerings
His stomach dropped as he whispered, "Oh, man."
He quickly turned the pages, noticing that the ledger was partitioned into multiple sections. First came the section titled Transactions. His eyes widened at the figures and details listed.
He spoke breathlessly, "Pacifica, this is—"
She sighed, a mix of resignation and dread in her voice. "I know—it gets worse." She turned the page.
The next section was headed:
Customers
Dipper read on, noting several names he'd never heard of. They were merely names on the page, yet they dark and twisted, carrying something unspoken as Pacifica's finger glided over a few of them.
"All familiar faces," she murmured. "Business associates of my father."
While Dipper continued scanning the ledger, Wendy's attention was drawn to a folder on the desk. She reached for it, and a small folded piece of paper slipped out from its bottom and fell onto the floor. Raising an eyebrow, she picked it up—the paper was slightly browned, neatly folded into a small square.
Dipper set his hand on a corner of the paper and turned it over. Pacifica tensed, as if bracing for a specter to leap out. At the top of the new section, the header read:
Quarry
He leaned in closer. This page was filled with names—names of people he recognized from Gravity Falls. Then he paused, his breath catching as he spotted a name that made his blood run cold. He turned to Pacifica, who was staring at the page.
Susan Wentworth.
Sweat formed on his neck as he whispered, "Pacifica, this list—"
She replied nervously, "Yeah, something like… happened to them, right?"
Dipper adjusted his hat, his mind racing. "You saw Susan in that vision, right?"
She nodded slowly. Dipper then turned back to the ledger. "What did she say…" he prompted.
Pacifica's gaze darkened as she recollected the memory. "She said she was… sorry. That she was scared—claimed it was all an accident. Then it attacked her, and a piece of paper slipped from her hand. It was this receipt I found while cleaning out the storage closet."
A flicker of understanding crossed Dipper's face. "The one you mentioned by the water tower?"
Pacifica's face went pale. "Dipper, you don't mean…"
He continued, his tone low and steady, "That what this thing showed you was real. That what happened to Susan actually happened."
For a heartbeat, silence reigned as both absorbed the weight of his revelation. Then Wendy interjected with a grim look.
"Guys, you might want to check this out—I found something in the folder." She extended the folded paper toward Dipper. Pacifica leaned over his shoulder as he unfolded it and began to read aloud:
"Preston, I am delighted to hear that you have taken me up on this opportunity. You made the right decision. It would have been foolish not to see the benefits that could come from this pact. You get what you want, and I get what I want. To maintain secrecy, I will give you some assistance. All you have to do is sign something for me. They call it the Echo Collector. It will make sure you won't have any 'loose ends.' I look forward to seeing you in person…"
Fire cracked from the mantle as a log split apart and crumbled into ash, its sizzling fragments scattering in the dim light. The flames clawed at the walls, their dancing silhouettes twisting into grotesque shapes. Suddenly, the very air around them grew tighter and colder—as if the room itself were recoiling from what was about to unfold.
Wendy's eyes darted about the study, her hand instinctively hovering over her axe, while Dipper switched off his flashlight, leaving only the erratic glow of the fire to animate the shifting shadows in the corners.
Pacifica gripped Dipper's arm, her knuckles turning white. The ledger on the desk began to sizzle, as if stirred by an unseen force. She stared at the list of names printed on its pages, and horror deepened in her eyes as new words started to form along the bottom. Slowly, deliberately, three names burned into the paper:
Mason Pines
Pacifica Elise Northwest
Wendy Corduroy
An electric shock of terror shot through Pacifica, rooting her to the spot. Her breath hitched as she stuttered, "Uh… Dipper?"
Wendy glanced nervously around, watching the shadows pool around the ceiling and cling to the walls, their edges blurring the line between reality and illusion. Dipper's heart pounded as he followed Pacifica's trembling finger, his eyes widening at the names.
Then, a low, ghostly whisper rose from somewhere within the study—a sound that sent a chill crawling up their spines. The temperature plummeted further, and the acrid tang of smoke mingled with an unidentifiable, bitter scent. The dark wooden floorboards seemed to writhe under the flicker of the fire, their reflections twisting and swirling as if echoing the mounting dread.
Gradually, the shadows began to converge. From all corners of the room, dark forms emerged, gathering like a heavy, misty cloud in the center of the study. The cloud hung motionless for a heartbeat, thick and oppressive, before slowly coalescing into a vague, shifting figure. Its outline was blurred and indistinct, yet hints of a familiar presence glimmered within the darkness—as if it were both a memory and a malevolent specter. The figure exhaled a low, mournful sigh, and the sound, carried by the frigid air, sent shivers down their spines.
For a long, suspended moment, the room seemed to hold its breath—fire crackling, shadows swirling, and their own hearts pounding in unison—while the dark figure loomed ever closer.
Soos stood at the front of the town hall, holding up a piece of paper. "And next on the agenda...uh...the history of Gravity Falls' sewer system!"
Groans rippled through the crowd. Lazy Susan and Toby Determined leaned forward in their chairs, visibly invested in the absurdity of it all.
"Dude, you've been talking for over an hour!" someone shouted. Another person simply got up and walked toward the door.
Soos waved his hand enthusiastically. "C'mon, dog! This is vital—our town's sewer system is the backbone of Gravity Falls!"
Mabel winced, checking her phone. It was well past twelve o'clock, creeping closer to one in the morning. She glanced out the window where the stars twinkled over the town, their indifferent sparkle making her eyelids heavy. She rubbed them with her palms, fighting off sleep as Cutebiker's voice cut through the murmurs.
"Okay, now Soos, I think that's enough about the sewer system!"
From the back, Manly Dan yelled, "Yeah, no one cares!" He slammed his hand down on his rickety seat, sending splinters flying. Lazy Susan folded her arms, her expression unimpressed.
"Hey, he did mention the water pressure at my restaurant—of course, I'm interested!"
Murmurs rose among the crowd, a mix of annoyance and bizarre curiosity. Some were oddly invested, but most wore expressions of impatience. Mabel glanced at her phone again—it was now one in the morning. With a resigned sigh, she stood and walked toward Soos, who was still passionately rambling about outdated sewage plans. She placed a gentle hand on his arm.
"Okay, wrap it up, big guy," she whispered. "We're running out of time."
Soos looked at her, lowering his head slightly as he finished his exaggerated bow. Just then, she caught sight of Pacifica's parents standing near the entrance, their expressions wholly unimpressed.
"Well, that was dreadful," Preston muttered, wiping his hand on his suit. "Come, dear, let's leave these insufferable idiots."
Priscilla nodded with a scoff as they both approached Cutebiker. Preston's mustache twitched as he spoke.
"Thank you for such an interesting meeting, Mayor Cutebiker. Priscilla and I will be taking our leave. The pageant is still on for next week, correct?"
Cutebiker gave a tired nod, exhaustion etched on his face.
Preston clapped his hands. "Excellent. Make sure everything's in place—we expect a stellar performance from Pacifica this time."
Priscilla smiled coldly, resting a hand on Preston's shoulder. "Indeed. After all, she's the only one expected to win."
They walked off toward the door, their departure marked by a heavy clunk that was quickly swallowed by the murmurs of the crowd. Cutebiker sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he climbed back onto the pedestal. Off to the side, Soos and Mabel listened intently, Mabel's ear straining to catch every word of Cutebiker and Preston's conversation.
"Alright everyone, thank you for coming to the meeting. I know it was a little bit, uh, long—but it's time to get on outta here! Same day next week at eleven!"
The crowd began nodding and murmuring in agreement as they started to drift toward the door.
Mabel clenched her fists. She barely noticed as Soos grabbed her arm and pulled her toward the exit. Outside, the Northwests were angrily calling their chauffeur—but he was nowhere to be found.
"Soos, we need more time," she whispered, her voice low and urgent. Her mind churned with the memory of the meeting and the callous words of Pacifica's parents. Then Soos casually tapped her shoulder.
"Hey, you were totally able to get the chauffeur to go do his own thing, right?"
Mabel nodded as Soos, inexplicably, produced a taco from his pocket—a remnant from who knows when. An idea sparked in her mind, and she playfully poked his stomach.
"We take them to the manor!"
Soos blinked, momentarily surprised. "Wait, we're actually gonna—oh. OH, I gotcha."
Mabel grinned mischievously. Soos crossed his arms and nodded. "You got it, dude. Let me just check in with Dipper real quick."
He pulled out his phone, navigating to Dipper's contact and putting it to his ear. Mabel's eyes shifted to Pacifica's parents as she gripped the edge of her skirt. Their conversation with Mayor Cutebiker echoed in her mind. A bitter thought flashed through her:
She's your daughter. Do they even care what she's going through?
That thought nagged at her—those suffocating expectations, the way they talked about her as if she were nothing more than a trophy. It clung to her like glue, something she couldn't ever seem to peel away. All they cared about was how she fit into the family name, how they expected her to perform and win at all costs. And it drove her crazy.
How can she live like that? Her thoughts like a whisper. How can they do that to her…
Preston, as if sensing her inner turmoil, turned around and his eyes locked onto hers. It was as if he could read her thoughts—a cold, condescending glare that made her step back instinctively.
Soos suddenly tapped her shoulder again, pulling her focus away. She snapped back to him, his expression filled with worry.
"I tried calling him, but he won't pick up, dog," he said, sighing as he nervously tugged at his cap.
In that moment, Mabel's thoughts spiraled. Is he okay? What if something happened to him—if he's in danger again? Her stomach twisted at the possibility. The late-night air, once cool and refreshing, now carried a chill that settled deep in her chest. Every second without Dipper's voice felt like an eternity, and she couldn't shake the fear that something was terribly, unmistakably wrong.
But she knew she had to push those thoughts aside and focus—there was no room for panic when the plan was already in motion. She hesitated, breathing out as if ridding her body of her worries. Her heart still pounded with concern for Dipper, each moment crawling at her mind.
"I'm worried, Soos, but we have to stick to the plan and trust Dipper. I'm sure he's fine, right?"
She phrased the last part like a question, seeking reassurance from him.
Soos nodded, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Don't worry, dog, Dipper is a tough dude. He's a pterodactyl bro!"
Mabel smiled, turning back to Preston—who was bickering with Priscilla. "Alright, Soos, get your game face on. Let's give these rich folks a night they'll never forget!"
The figure lashed out, sending shadowy tendrils spiraling toward Dipper and Pacifica. Dipper grabbed Pacifica by the shoulder, yanking her down as the tendrils slammed into the window behind them with a shattering impact.
Wendy slid beneath the figure. With a swift motion, she pulled out her axe and swung at one of its leg-like appendages. The head of the axe sliced through the tendril with ease, carving a jagged hole through which a swirl of mist escaped. Yet, as quickly as it appeared, the shadows around the hole sucked the mist back in, sealing it as if the darkness itself was healing the wound.
Wendy rose to her feet, her eyes locked on her axe with a grim expression. Dipper and Pacifica scanned the study, now awash with shifting, undulating shadows. Dipper peeked over the desk, his gaze following the figure as it turned its attention toward Wendy. At that moment, Pacifica clung to his leg, panic in her eyes.
"Dipper, what do we do?!" she cried.
Dipper inhaled sharply, the air tasting of ash and fear as it filled his lungs. "I need to find an opening—Wendy can only distract it for so long!"
The figure retaliated: more tendrils erupted from its back, snatching books and a chair from the far side of the room. With brutal force, it launched them toward Wendy. She ducked and weaved, narrowly avoiding the flying debris. Spotting a chair hurtling her way, she drove her axe into its frame, redirecting it aside. The chair smashed across the room, splintering into pieces, while she crashed into a nearby bookshelf—her hair cascading over her face as she struggled to regain balance.
Dipper's eyes darted around the desk, desperately searching for anything he could use. When he turned, he caught sight of Pacifica, her gaze locked at the window as if hypnotized. He grabbed her shoulder and shook her, urgency cracking his voice.
"Pacifica, what are you doing?"
She didn't answer immediately, her eyes fixed on the window. The glass was distorted, reflecting a vortex of swirling memories and an impenetrable dark void. In that instant, dizziness overwhelmed Dipper. His legs buckled, and his vision lurched, the void pulling him in. Pacifica's voice faded into nothingness.
Suddenly, he was surrounded by complete darkness. A cold, suffocating stillness wrapped around him, pressing against his skin. His breath wavered as he took a hesitant step forward.
Then came the whispers. They clung to him like cobwebs, brushing against his ears, murmuring just out of reach. The voices were familiar—too familiar.
One stood out. A voice cutting through the void, raw with desperation.
Mabel's.
His body went rigid.
"But what about me, Dipper?"
His stomach twisted. He knew where he was before he even turned around.
The darkness peeled away, melting into a soft orange glow. Sunset light filtered through the attic window, bathing the wooden walls in a warm haze. The air smelled like dust and pine.
And there they were.
His younger self stood in the center of the room, facing Mabel. His face was lined with fresh cuts, arms smeared with bruises. Across from him, Mabel trembled, her eyes wet with tears, voice cracking from exhaustion and heartbreak.
Dipper clenched his fists.
This memory never left him. It followed him into dreams, lurking in the quiet corners of his mind. A ghost of the past that never stopped whispering.
He had been so caught up in Ford, in the adventure, in the promise of something bigger than himself. And Ford—Ford was everything he had ever wanted to be. Someone brilliant. Someone who understood the weird parts of the world as deeply as he did. Someone who saw him, not as a kid, but as a mind worth cultivating.
And Mabel?
He had brushed her aside. Again and again, without even realizing.
She had tried to reach him—so many times. And each time, he had convinced himself it didn't matter. That she'd understand eventually. That she didn't get it the way Ford did.
Looking at it now, that justification felt hollow.
His younger self stood there, frozen, as Mabel turned and grabbed his backpack, her small hands clutching it like a lifeline. He knew what came next—he had seen it replay in his mind too many times. She would leave, hurt and alone, and then their world would fall apart at the seams in the sky.
Dipper swallowed hard, tugging the brim of his cap lower over his face. Heat crawled up his neck—a shame that never quite faded.
Then the attic flickered, dissolving back into the abyss. The void stretched before him, endless and unfeeling.
He exhaled, voice hoarse.
"I know this isn't real."
The words rang out, swallowed instantly by the darkness. But even as he spoke them, doubt curled at the edges of his thoughts.
Because wasn't it real, in some way?
Wasn't it still inside him?
This weight, this mistake—was it really something he could leave behind? Or was it a wound he would carry forward, no matter how much he tried to move past it?
Suddenly, Pacifica's voice echoed around him. He looked above, seeing a small ray of light. He breathed out again, trying to bury the doubt from earlier.
"This isn't real."
He reached his out above him, grasping something solid before his vision flashed white. He opened his eyes. Pacifica was kneeling by him, worried etched all over her face.
"Oh my gosh, you're awake!"
Dipper immediately sat up, looking at himself. His right forearm had a small bandage on it. Pacifica's hands were shaking as she held a pocketknife, its blade extended. Dipper gave her a reassuring nod.
"Good job. What's going on?"
A set of books flew across the room, hitting the window and falling onto the floor. Wendy shouted across the room.
"Could use some help here, dudes!"
Dipper scrambled to his feet behind the desk, shouting back at Wendy. "Keep it distracted—we need time!" He looked around the room before ducking behind the desk again, formulating some kind of plan.
He turned to Pacifica, gripping his flashlight. "When I give the signal, I'm going to flash it in the eyes. We all run out of the study." He pointed to a mirror pinned between the bookshelves. "I'll get Wendy to shatter that mirror on your way out. That'll force it to follow us."
Pacifica swallowed hard, her pulse hammering as she nervously closed the pocketknife. "And then?"
Dipper glanced at the grandfather clock. "It's almost sunrise. You need to cover that window with a blanket. Once we lure it back here, we'll rip it off at the right moment and let the sunlight finish it off."
Pacifica's mind raced, but she forced herself to nod, swallowing the fear clawing up her throat.
Across the room, the Echo Collector lurched toward Wendy, its tendrils writhing through the air. Books and pencils tore from the shelves, hurtling at her like shrapnel.
She swung her axe, knocking them aside midair. The books collided with the tendrils, bursting into thick mist.
Dipper and Pacifica crouched behind the desk. He readied his flashlight, finger tense against the switch. He peeked over the desk.
Wendy dodged backward as the creature lunged, its eyeless face twisting toward her. She backed into a bookshelf—too slow.
A tendril struck her shoulder, knocking her hard against the wood. She winced, stumbling to the floor with a sharp gasp.
"Wendy!" Dipper's gut twisted as she staggered up, gripping her arm.
The Echo Collector hissed, shadows rippling around its shifting form.
Its head turned—Dipper caught the glint of its hollow eyes.
This was his opening.
He flicked the flashlight on.
A beam of harsh white light cut through the dim study, searing into the creature's empty gaze. The Echo Collector reeled back, its limbs convulsing unnaturally.
"Go! Get out of here!"
Pacifica bolted toward the door. Dipper threw a quick glance at Wendy—she was still holding her shoulder but moving.
He shouted again. "Wendy—the mirror! NOW!"
Without hesitation, she grabbed a nearby vase and hurled it across the room. The glass shattered, shards clattering to the floor.
The Echo Collector shrieked. The path to its reflections—gone.
Its limbs lashed out violently, clawing at the air as if grasping for something unseen. Its form flickered, caught between the window's reflection and the real world.
For a moment, it refused to move.
Dipper's stomach twisted. No. No, it has to come out—
"MOVE, MOVE, MOVE!" He grabbed Pacifica's wrist, shoving her into the hallway.
Wendy snatched up a chair and hurled it at the creature's legs. It twisted toward her, its mouth stretching into a grotesque line.
Dipper flashed the light again, directly into its eyes.
The Echo Collector shrieked as its body snapped backward. Its limbs contorted, yanked by an unseen force as it was torn from the study. It collapsed onto the hallway floor like a spilled shadow, writhing to reform.
Pacifica sprinted ahead, nearly tripping over herself. Dipper and Wendy tore after her, their footsteps muted by the thick blankets and rugs lining the hallway.
Behind them, the Echo Collector loomed forward, mist curling off its shifting form. Then—
The hallway stretched.
The walls elongated, twisting like an optical illusion. The study door shrank, retreating impossibly into the distance.
"What the heck—?" Wendy panted.
Pacifica's breath hitched. "It's—messing with the hallway."
Despite the fear clawing at his throat, Dipper didn't hesitate. "Keep running! It can't hold this forever!"
The Echo Collector let out a shrill, warbling hiss—
Then, reality snapped back.
Dipper stumbled, nearly losing his footing. Wendy grabbed his arm, yanking him forward. The hallway's end was approaching fast. He shot a look over his shoulder at Pacifica.
"Pacifica! When we turn the corner, hug the wall! It'll keep chasing us—then you slip away and set up in the study!"
Pacifica exhaled sharply. "Okay. Just—don't die."
They skidded around the corner.
Pacifica slammed her back against the wall, pressing herself into its hard exterior as Wendy and Dipper tore past. Her heart pounded against her ribs.
A beat passed—
Then the Echo Collector surged forward, mist unraveling around its form. It didn't hesitate. It streaked past her, hunting its prey.
Pacifica let out a slow, shaky breath. Her legs nearly buckled, but she forced herself forward, bolting back toward the study.
As she ran, she spotted a pile of blankets Wendy had left earlier. She scooped up an armful and crashed through the study door, making a beeline for the window.
Meanwhile, Dipper and Wendy sprinted down the hall.
The Echo Collector's presence loomed closer. The air behind them thickened, warping unnaturally.
Dipper gritted his teeth. Just a little longer. He looked at Wendy. "Pacifica's in the study. What now?"
Wendy shrugged, glancing down the dimly lit corridor. "I don't know, dude, but the end of this hallway is coming up—fast!"
The looming figure behind them twisted unnaturally, its presence warping the space around it. At the very end of the hallway stood a door, slightly ajar. An idea sparked in Dipper's mind.
"Wendy, do you trust me?"
She turned to him mid-sprint, her green eyes sharp with confidence. "Of course."
"Then get to that door!"
They both bolted toward it, footsteps pounding against the wooden floor. Wendy threw herself through the doorway, Dipper right behind her as she shoved it shut.
"Now what?" she panted.
Dipper scanned the room. It was some kind of guest bedroom—stale, untouched, lifeless. A queen-sized bed sat in the center, dressers lining the walls like sentinels of a forgotten time. His grip tightened around the flashlight in his hand.
"Hug the wall. I'm creating a distraction."
Wendy swallowed but nodded, pressing her back against the wall near the door. Dipper mirrored her on the other side. With a swift motion, he hurled the flashlight over the bed. It clattered onto the floor, its beam casting jagged silhouettes across the far wall—pillows and blankets distorting into shifting figures.
The door exploded inward.
The Echo Collector glided into the room, its twitching form zeroing in on the shadows dancing against the wall. Dipper held his breath, heart hammering against his ribs. He stole a glance at Wendy. She met his eyes, steady despite the adrenaline thrumming through her veins.
The Collector floated toward the bed, its tendrils unfurling like smoke. It lashed out, shattering the bed frame, sending the mattress flying—
—but there was nothing but a flashlight blinking against the wall.
A low, grating hiss echoed through the room. The creature snapped its head toward the door—just in time to catch a glimpse of Dipper and Wendy sprinting down the hall.
It lurched, tendrils slamming against the walls as it propelled itself forward.
"It caught on quick!" Wendy shouted between breaths. "Think she's ready?"
Dipper's chest burned as he ran. "She's got it! Don't worry!"
The door to the study was just ahead. Their last hope against the encroaching dark. They burst through, Wendy slamming it shut behind them.
Pacifica jumped at the noise, whirling around from the window. "Geez! Don't do that!"
Dipper forced a grin. "Sorry."
"No time!" Wendy snapped, pressing her weight against the door. "It's coming!"
Dipper flicked his gaze to the grandfather clock. 5:55 AM.
Almost there.
Seconds. They just needed seconds.
"Get ready to rip it down!"
Pacifica groaned, gripping at the edges of the thick blankets covering the window. "I just put these up!"
Dipper sighed. "You can nag at me later!"
Pacifica scoffed. "I don't nag!"
Wendy snickered. "You kinda do."
Then—the door blew open.
The Echo Collector slithered through the entrance, its tendrils unfurling into the thick mist clinging to the room. It advanced, slow, deliberate, knowing it had them trapped. The air grew heavier, colder, buzzing with something unnatural.
Dipper gritted his teeth, gripping the cloth over the window.
It came closer.
And closer.
And—
"NOW!"
They ripped the blankets away, shielding their eyes from the flood of—
Nothing.
The room remained dark.
Dipper's stomach dropped. Panic surged through him as he fumbled for his phone, fingers trembling.
4:56 AM.
The clock was an hour ahead.
A guttural hiss filled the air. The Echo Collector twisted, its presence expanding. Pacifica backed against the wall, her breath coming fast and shallow. Wendy's hands tightened around her axe, knuckles bone-white.
Pacifica's voice wavered. "…Why isn't it working?"
Dipper stared at the clock, horror settling into his bones. "The Collector—it must've messed with the time on the clock…We're not at sunrise yet."
Wendy exhaled sharply, adjusting her grip on the axe.
"…Then we're screwed."
The truck's cabin was thick with silence, broken only by Soos' nervous humming. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead as he shot Mabel a panicked look. She glanced at the dark road ahead, avoiding his gaze.
A sharp cough came from the back. Then—
"I believe your... servant has been driving in circles for the past twenty minutes!" Preston's voice cut through the air, tinged with irritation.
Mabel forced out a laugh, waving a hand dismissively. "Oh, pfft, don't worry! Soos is just, uh, taking us on a—" She darted her eyes toward him. "...special scenic tour?"
Soos kept humming, completely oblivious.
Mabel smacked his arm, whispering to him. "Dude, help me out here!"
Soos flinched. "Huh? Oh, uh—yeah! We're just takin' the... historical route. Y'know, 'cause of all the, uh—old stuff?"
Mabel winced. Preston and Priscilla's unimpressed stares burned into her skull.
Soos yanked off his cap, using it to mop his sweaty forehead with both hands.
Mabel blinked. "Uh, hands. Steering wheel—"
The truck started to drift toward the median.
Priscilla let out a horrified gasp.
Her stomach lurched.
Soos slapped his hands back onto the wheel. "Whoops, almost history'd ourselves there!"
"What is wrong with you?!" Preston barked, gripping the door handle like his life depended on it.
Mabel laughed nervously, muttering under her breath. "Oh gosh."
The truck lurched forward, then slowed to a painful crawl. Soos' eyes widened as he yanked the wheel and pulled over to the side of the road. The engine gave a horrible scraping noise, like an old vending machine trying to cough up its last snack.
Then—silence.
Soos smacked the dashboard with a weak chuckle. "Welp. That's new. Hahaha."
That seemed to be the final straw.
Preston let out an exasperated huff, his patience officially obliterated. "This is unacceptable! How could you be so insufferable and take someone like me on a route like this?"
Priscilla crossed her arms, rolling her eyes dramatically. "Well, maybe if someone had actually booked a proper car service instead of trusting the gopher in the front seat…"
Preston whipped his head toward her. "Oh, don't start with me. We needed to get home as fast as possible!"
Their argument ignited like a gas fire, both of them talking over each other with increasing venom.
Mabel and Soos exchanged a quick glance.
Soos shrugged, then sighed as he pushed open the driver's side door and awkwardly slid out.
Mabel whisper-yelled after him. "Hurry up!"
Soos gave an apologetic wince. "Once a handyman, always a handyman." He shuffled over to the front of the truck, popped the hood, and immediately started poking at things with a wrench like he totally knew what he was doing.
Meanwhile, Preston and Priscilla's voices rose into full-blown bickering.
Mabel took a deep breath, cracked her knuckles, and threw herself between them with a big, chaotic grin.
"Heyyyy, guys! No need to argue! This is totally an adventure, right? And speaking of adventures—y'know who loves adventures? My Grunkle Stan! You have heard of him, right?"
Preston narrowed his eyes. "Yes. He's an insufferable old man."
Mabel winced. "Oooof, okay. Tough crowd."
She clapped her hands together, undeterred. "Well, buckle up, folks, because this is a doozy!"
Priscilla sighed but leaned back, deciding to endure whatever nonsense was about to come out of Mabel's mouth.
Mabel grinned. "So, picture this! The year is 1982. The location? A high-stakes underground wrestling ring in an undisclosed tropical location…"
Soos, from under the hood, whispered, "Ohhh, I love this one."
Mabel winked. "I know, right?"
She turned back to the Northwests, launching full-throttle into her absurd tale, while Soos quietly prayed the truck wasn't actually broken.
"Stan 'The Slammer' Pines is going toe-to-toe with the strongest man in Belarus—Big Boris Bonecrusher. The stakes? A briefcase full of gold doubloons and a cursed amulet from an ancient pirate king!"
Soos, now completely invested, gasped. "Dude. No way."
Priscilla stared at Mabel, mouth slightly open.
Mabel grinned and raised her hands dramatically. "Just as Boris goes for his finishing move—the Borscht Buster—BAM! Stan counterattacks with a suplex so powerful, it causes a mild earthquake in three neighboring states!"
Soos clapped. "Classic Stan move."
Mabel nodded sagely. "Legend has it, if you stand near the Idaho state line on a quiet night, you can still hear the echoes."
Preston scoffed. "I refuse to believe this… this baloney."
Priscilla slapped his arm. "Dear, she might be onto something. That old man did have large arms, no?"
Preston whipped his head toward her. "Priscilla, this is obviously utter nonsense!"
From under the hood, Soos chimed in as he banged something with his wrench. "Nah, dudes, this is like, totally legit. Just wait 'til Mabel tells you about the PineBuster!"
Mabel closed her eyes for a moment. Soos clearly had no idea what he was saying, but hey, it was a solid save. She pressed forward, ignoring the concerning clanks from the front of the truck.
"That was another one of his greatest moves—one only Soos, Dipper, and I have ever seen! He finds the heaviest thing in the area, hoists it over his head, then dives from the top ropes and brings the pain! Rumor has it, he once did it to a wrestler named Perilous Steve… using a golf cart."
Preston stared at her, deadpan. "…Ah. Of course. Now, Priscilla, surely you don't—"
He turned—only to find Priscilla leaning forward, hands on her knees, somewhat invested.
His mustache twitched. "Oh, come on!"
Priscilla shushed him, eyes sparkling with intrigue. "Preston, this is impressive!"
Preston sputtered. "How can you possibly believe this—"
She simply shrugged, thoughtful. "Mr. Pines does seem to have that kind of build. And the golf cart? Unbelievable!"
Preston groaned into his hands.
A loud clang came from under the hood, followed by a sharp slam. Soos wiped his hands on his pants, tucked his wrench and duct tape back into his pocket, then slid into the driver's seat. He turned the key—the truck sputtered and coughed before finally roaring to life.
Soos wiped his brow. "She lives."
The truck rumbled forward, continuing down the road… in the same direction as before.
Mabel kicked her feet up on the seat, grinning. "Now, some haters say Stan is past his prime. But did you know he once rode on the back of a pterodactyl… and punched it in the face?"
Preston squinted. "Why does that one sound plausible?"
From the front, Soos piped up. "Cause that one was dog!"
A beat of silence.
Then, realization hit.
Preston slowly turned to Priscilla, smirking. "A-ha! Now do you see? These stories were obviously fabricated! That animal just—"
Priscilla waved him off, her gaze still fixed on Mabel. "Shush now, dear, I want to hear this one."
Preston groaned, dropping his head into his hands as the truck took a slow left—completing a circle for the fifteenth time.
Pacifica and Dipper were backed against the window. Wendy gripped her axe like it was their last lifeline.
Dipper glanced at his phone. Still some time before sunrise. He just needed to think—anything.
A group of tendril's lashed toward them.
Dipper hit the floor, narrowly avoiding it. Pacifica tried to move left, but she wasn't fast enough. Two tendrils struck her square in the chest, sending her crashing into a bookshelf with a hollow thud. She crumpled to the floor, coughing.
"Pacifica!"
Wendy's eyes flicked to Dipper before she tightened her grip on the axe. Then, without hesitation, she charged.
She tried to slide under the figure again—except this time, it was ready. It reeled back, then snapped several tendrils toward her mid-slide.
She barely had time to react.
The tendrils slammed into her chest, lifting her off the ground before hurling her sideways. Wendy crashed into the wall with a sharp grunt, her axe flying from her grip and clattering across the floorboards.
Dipper staggered to his feet as the Echo Collector loomed over Wendy. Think, think! His eyes darted to the desk—the ledger. It sat there, staring back at him like the last piece of a puzzle he'd been desperate to solve.
His breath caught. If I take it, it has to follow me. That meant he could lead it somewhere—anywhere but here.
No time to hesitate.
Dipper lunged forward, snatching the ledger by its corners before vaulting over the desk. The Echo Collector's head snapped toward him as he bolted through the doorway.
A shrill, warping hiss echoed behind him.
His feet skidded on the blankets lining the hallway floor as he sprinted toward the grand staircase. The second floor was his best shot—but it also meant no protective coverings. No blankets. No rugs. Just polished marble and reflective wood, the perfect hiding place for the thing chasing him.
Huge risk. No choice.
The dim glow of the foyer lights shimmered against the staircase's slick marble. Behind him, the Echo Collector trailed like a creeping void, its tendrils propelling it forward—picking up speed.
Dipper hit the foyer.
His foot slipped.
He lurched forward, barely catching himself on the banister before he could faceplant onto the cold marble. With a sharp breath, he pushed off and took the stairs two at a time.
The Echo Collector reached the foyer—and stopped.
For one eerie moment, it just stood there, tilting its head. Then, with a sudden whispering hiss, its form unraveled into a mist, slithering into the shadows.
Dipper's heartbeat slammed in his ears.
He knew what was coming.
The light fixtures above flickered. The shadows beneath them moved, twisting unnaturally. It's in the walls.
Dipper gritted his teeth and kept climbing. He turned just in time to see a ripple in the darkness to his left—a shifting blot of shadow lunging free.
Tendrils shot toward him.
He grabbed the railing, twisting his body at the last second. The tendrils whipped past, grazing his arm with a freezing chill before dispersing back into mist.
Two more steps—three—he reached the second floor.
The shadows beneath the walls hissed and slithered, retreating toward the floor. But they weren't gone.
They were following him.
Dipper sprinted down the hall, his feet pounding against the floor, his eyes darting between the rooms that whizzed past him. He brushed past a small table adorned with potted plants, knocking it over. The pots shattered, scattering dirt and shards across the floor. He barely registered the mess as he slipped into the first door on his right, quickly closing it behind him.
Another guest room? How many of these do they have?
He glanced around the room. It was just as hollow and sterile as the last one, furnished with minimal decoration. A glass door at the back led out to a balcony, and he could see the first traces of dawn coloring the sky. With trembling hands, he pulled out his phone: 5:53 AM.
Suddenly, the room creaked, and a thick, oppressive shadow slithered beneath the door, creeping through the crack in its hinges. The shadows stretched across the floor like dark fingers, coiling together into a dense mist. From within it, the familiar form of the Echo Collector began to take shape. Dipper's heart skipped a beat as he fumbled for his phone's flashlight.
With a shaky tap, he activated the light, aiming it at the Collector. But just as he did, tendrils of darkness shot toward him. The light blazed against the Collector's form, causing the tendrils to lash out in all directions, erratically striking the walls and floor. One tendril, however, found its mark, striking Dipper square in the chest.
The impact sent him flying backward, crashing through the glass door. His phone and the ledger flew from his hands, skittering across the floor. The shards of glass tore into his skin as he collided with the railing of the balcony, a painful thud ringing out. Air rushed from his lungs, leaving him gasping, struggling to get a breath.
The Echo Collector loomed in the doorway, undeterred by the chaos, slowly moving toward him. A tendril shot out, wrapping around Dipper's arm and hoisting him up, lifting him off his feet.
Pain seared through him as he hung by his right arm, his face contorting with the effort of holding back a scream. The Collector's hollow, empty eyes fixed on him, as if trying to peer into his very soul.
Suddenly, a ray of light pierced the Collector's form. It froze, a flicker of hesitation in its unnatural movements. Dipper, gritting his teeth, managed to twist his arm free and jerked his head toward the sky, feeling a surge of hope.
The sun was rising.
An orange glow spread across the horizon, a soft warmth radiating over the pines. The effect on the Echo Collector was immediate. Its body convulsed, twitching violently as it shrieked—a high-pitched, bone-chilling sound. It attempted to move, but the light, now growing in intensity, held it in place. The Collector writhed as the sun climbed higher, its form disintegrating into smoky wisps of dark mist.
The creature let out a final screech before it was consumed by the sunlight, its presence burning away into nothingness.
Dipper slowly pushed himself to his feet, every muscle in his body shaking with the aftermath of the adrenaline and the pain. He staggered forward, his hand pressing against his side where the shards had cut him.
He turned to face the sky. The sun, now fully risen, cast a brilliant light over the pine trees, the orange and yellow hues blending together. The rays shone through the branches, casting intricate shadows on the balcony.
A soft breeze brushed against his face, ruffling his hair and aggravating the cuts on his cheeks. Dipper sucked in a sharp breath, his body aching, but a smile tugged at the corner of his lips, despite the pain.
The sunrise had come—just in time.
He tried limping back into the room, but his legs buckled under the weight of his body. Pain shot through him, rendering him unable to move. Clutching his side, he rested against the balcony railing, panting for breath.
Hurried footsteps echoed down the hall, growing louder. Wendy burst through the door, with Pacifica clutching her head behind her.
"Dipper!" Pacifica exclaimed, pointing toward the balcony. The two of them rushed over to him, Wendy helping him to his feet. She noticed the cuts on his arm and the dark red hue seeping through his shirt where his side had been injured. Dipper tried to regain his footing, but winced, his hand instinctively clutching his side.
Wendy held him steady. "Whoa, easy there, dude."
Dipper managed to get his feet under him, his breath still shallow. Wendy raised an eyebrow.
"Dude, what did I tell you about getting your butt kicked by this thing?"
Dipper gave her a sheepish smile. "Sorry. I knew I had to lead it away and buy some time."
Wendy sighed, relief flooding her expression. "Right. Well, it worked, I guess." She glanced toward the balcony, her gaze shifting to the sun climbing in the sky. "It's gone, right?"
Dipper felt the weight lift from his shoulders as he nodded. "Yeah, it's gone."
Without warning, Pacifica threw her arms around him, squeezing him tightly. "Geez, don't go off trying to be a dumb hero, Pines!"
Dipper froze for a moment, completely stunned by the gesture, before slowly returning the hug.
A beat of silence passed before Pacifica pulled back, her expression shifting as clarity set in. She cleared her throat, a faint blush creeping across her cheeks.
Dipper rubbed the back of his neck, sheepishly grinning. "Are you going to try and pay me to pretend that didn't happen again?"
Pacifica flicked her hair and lifted her chin, her face a mix of embarrassment and pride. "I don't have my purse on me, so just pretend that didn't happen, Pines."
"Or I'll sue you."
Wendy snorted, and Dipper let out a light chuckle, the tension from the fight still lingering in his chest but easing with the moment. "Sure, you've got it all figured out."
They returned to the main hall. Wendy handed Dipper some bandages, and he pressed them against the gash on his side. Around them, the wreckage of the aftermath sprawled out—broken vases, scattered picture frames, and blankets littering the hallway and the main hall.
Pacifica let out a slow breath, surveying the damage. "My parents are so gonna kill me."
Dipper, wincing as he adjusted the bandages, gave her a sideways glance. "You'll figure it out." He nudged her lightly with his elbow. "You always do."
For a moment, Pacifica just looked at him. The words were simple, but something about the way he said them made her chest feel lighter. She smiled, just a little, before they stepped out into the backyard. The first hints of dawn touched the sky, streaks of soft pink and gold stretching over the trees.
Pacifica turned to Dipper. Her voice was quieter this time. "Thanks. For everything."
Dipper opened his mouth to reply, but before he could, headlights flashed through the trees. Wendy's phone buzzed in her pocket.
She checked it and answered quickly. "Gotcha." She pocketed it and turned to them. "Soos and Mabel are here. They, uh… also brought your parents."
Dipper's head jerked up. "Wait—what? What did they do?"
Wendy smirked. "Not sure, but all I could hear was a guy in the background pleading for mercy while Mabel talked about Stan's wrestling career."
Dipper blinked. "Stan had a wrestling career?"
Wendy shrugged. "Dunno."
She glanced at Pacifica, who was fidgeting with her hair, staring at the manor like she was already bracing for war.
"Hey, you sure you'll be okay?" Wendy asked, voice softer now. "If you need us to cover for you, we can. No questions asked."
Pacifica's heart lifted at that. She wasn't used to people offering help—at least, not without expecting something in return. It was strange, realizing that they cared.
But she couldn't accept. If her parents found out, they'd be furious. And she was already in way too much trouble.
She forced a small smile. "That would be nice… but I'll be alright. Don't worry."
Wendy studied her for a second, then nodded. "Gotcha." She turned to Dipper. "Soos says they're at the side entrance. Let's go."
Dipper nodded, following her. But then he hesitated. His hand twitched at his side before he turned back to Pacifica.
"Hey." His voice cracked.
Pacifica jumped slightly, then laughed. "What is it, journal boy?"
Dipper rubbed his arm, shifting his weight. "I, uh… I'm glad you're okay. And that I could help."
She blinked at him.
For a second, it was just them. Wendy's footsteps faded into the distance. The quiet hum of the morning settled around them, the cool breeze brushing through Pacifica's hair.
She squeezed her eyes shut briefly, like she could will away the warmth creeping into her cheeks.
"Yeah, uh… me too," she muttered. "Thanks. Seriously."
Dipper nodded, rocking on his heels. "I, uh… better get going." He let out a nervous chuckle.
Pacifica rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. "Uh-huh. Don't miss your bus ride, nerd."
Dipper hesitated, then pulled out his phone, waving it in the air.
"Hey, we're here, you know. Don't be a stranger."
Pacifica's breath caught for half a second, but before she could respond, he turned and jogged after Wendy.
She watched him go, standing in place even as the morning breeze played with her hair. The last traces of night still clung to the sky, fading into soft strokes of dawn. A dark hue burned across her cheeks, but she just sighed, brushing her hair over her face as she turned back toward the manor.
She hesitated.
For just a second, she thought about calling him back.
It wasn't like she had a real reason to—nothing pressing, nothing urgent. But still, a part of her wanted to say something. Something. Maybe just a casual remark, maybe something closer to the edge of honesty.
Instead, she clenched her fists and turned away.
As she stepped inside, she nearly bumped into them.
Her parents.
They stumbled into the entrance, their clothes slightly wrinkled, the smell of expensive perfume and exhaustion clinging to them. Her father barely looked at her, dark bags under his eyes, his expression unreadable beneath the weight of whatever the night had drained from him.
She stiffened like a board.
"Mother. Father," she said, forcing her voice to be level.
Her father barely glanced her way, his gaze distant. "Mhm…" His grumble trailed off into nothing as he slowly made his way toward the stairs.
Priscilla lingered behind him, her sharp eyes catching Pacifica's. She placed a hand on her daughter's shoulder, her grip light but cold.
Pacifica swallowed. She didn't know what she was expecting—a question, a scolding, anything—but instead, her mother just held the stare for a moment too long. Then, without a word, she turned and followed Preston up the stairs.
Pacifica stood still.
They hadn't even noticed the mess. The shattered glass, the misplaced furniture. They hadn't noticed her—the bruises hidden beneath her sleeves, the stiffness in her movements.
But it was the same as usual.
Dismissive. Barely acknowledging her. Only speaking when necessary.
She let out a slow breath, her fingers tightening at her sides.
She turned on her heel and made her way up the stairs toward her room.
The pageant was coming up.
And the last thing she needed to do was fail in front of them.
Wendy and Dipper eventually made their way to the front of the house. Their clothes were scuffed beyond belief, cuts and bruises lining their arms, and Dipper was pretty sure he stank.
Soos' truck was parked nearby. Mabel hopped out the moment she saw them, relief washing over her as they walked toward her. She rushed forward, Soos trailing behind.
"Oh my gosh, are you guys okay?"
Dipper nodded, forcing a small grin. "Don't worry. We did it."
Behind them, Soos pumped his fist into the air. "Yesss!"
They all laughed as Mabel threw her arms around Dipper in a tight hug.
"I'm so glad you're okay!"
Dipper sucked in a sharp breath, wincing. "Ow…"
Mabel immediately pulled back, laughing sheepishly. "Sorry…"
Dipper waved her off.
Soos chuckled. "Dude, I was like 90% sure you guys were goners when you didn't answer my calls. But nah, you totally pulled a rad Mission Impossible move instead."
Dipper tilted his head, unsure whether to take it as a compliment.
"Uh… thanks?"
Wendy exhaled, stretching her arms over her head. "Well, that was a night."
The group murmured in agreement.
"Yeah…" Dipper pulled off his hat, running a hand through his hair before setting it back in place. He looked over his shoulder, back at the manor.
"Kinda crazy we actually pulled it off."
Mabel nudged him in the arm. "Mystery Twins, bro-bro!"
Dipper chuckled. "Yeah, I know."
They started filing into the truck. Dipper pulled out his phone, his thumb hovering over the screen.
Several missed calls. He scrolled through them. Soos, Soos, Soos…
One name stopped him cold.
His breath hitched. A breeze swept through the trees, sending a chill through him that had nothing to do with the wind.
He stared at the screen, the contact name glowing back at him.
Dad.
His stomach twisted. Why now? What happened?
A pang of sadness hit him—the memory of the four of them hugging in the family room flashed through his mind.
For the first time tonight, the real world felt more dangerous than anything in Gravity Falls.