Dipper stood back. “Okay, try it now!”
Ford gave a thumbs up and flipped a switch.
Dipper, Ford, Stan, and Mabel were all out on the front lawn of the Shack, where they were working on Ford’s latest project – which at this point looked like a very large satellite covered in computer monitors. Ford was sitting at the top. When Ford flipped the switch, about half of the monitors lit up with static, five of them showed snowy images that flicked past too fast to see, and the remaining seven or eight decided to spontaneously combust.
“Hey!” Stan shouted, yanking Mabel back. Dipper grabbed the nearest fire extinguisher and started spraying. “Sixer, I swear, if you blow up the lawn again –”
“I’m telling you we need to get those cords from the Portal!”
“Well I ain’t goin’ down there for some dumb science noodles –”
“I’ll get it,” Dipper said, tossing the extinguisher to Mabel. “Here, take over for me.”
She grinned. “Al-right! Next person who argues gets a Santa-themed makeover!”
“We weren’t arguing!”
“DO I HEAR TAKERS?”
Dipper grinned and headed off across the lawn. He happened to know exactly where the cords they’d need would be. Soos had had the Shack for two years now, but there were certain things he left untouched, and the Portal Room was one of them. (That, and Stan’s yellow armchair, which was immortalized in the Museum.) Hopefully by the time he and Melody got back from their honeymoon, the lawn would be back in one piece.
He went down, grabbed the cords, and headed back up, already trying to figure out how to reroute the circuitry. Too bad McGucket was out of town, but he’d taught Dipper a thing or two about computers last summer. Maybe if they grabbed a couple of extra circuit boards and a switch breaker…
He reached the front door, opened it – and stopped short. Wirt was standing on the porch, one hand raised to knock.
“Wirt! What’re you doing here?”
Wirt blinked. “This isn’t the mall.”
He laughed and stepped out. “Nah, but I’ll walk you there if you want, I was gonna head there anyway. Lemme just give these cords to Great-Uncle Ford.”
“Uh, okay. Sure.”
Dipper frowned a little. “You alright, Wirt? You look kinda pale.”
“Yeah, yeah.” He turned to follow Dipper down the porch steps. “Sorry, I could’ve sworn I was heading for the mall like two seconds ago for – what is that? ”
Dipper glanced at the mutant satellite. “Great-Uncle Ford’s latest project. You didn’t notice it on the lawn?”
“Nope, we cut through the forest!”
Wirt practically teleported two feet straight up.
“Hey Greg,” Dipper said.
“Hi, Dipper!”
“Wh – how – when did you even get here?!” Wirt gasped, clutching at his chest.
“Walking?” Greg said, looking puzzled. “Is this a quiz? I didn’t think there were quizzes on summer vacation. I was just telling you all about Jason Funderburger’s Great Potato Adventure, but you didn’t even crack a smile at the part with the teaspoon. I think you were in one of your Emo Poetry Moods.”
“Where is the frog, anyway?” Dipper asked, as Wirt sputtered incoherently.
There was a loud squeal from across the lawn.
“THE FROG NEPHEW HAS COME!” Mabel announced, holding it aloft like a Lion King remix.
Greg zoomed across the lawn, and Dipper took one look at Wirt’s face and laughed. “C’mon. I just have to give all this stuff to Great-Uncle Ford and then we’ll hit the mall, alright?”
“Uh, yeah.”
They headed over. Stan and Ford were arguing now that Mabel was sufficiently distracted, and Dipper laid the cords at the base of the satellite.
“I’m going to the mall, Great-Uncle Ford!” Dipper called up. “I think we need a circuit breaker. From this century.”
Ford broke off mid-sentence to glance over. “Are those all the cords? They don’t look nearly…monochromatic enough.”
“Mabel painted a few last summer and called them ‘science noodles,’” Dipper reminded him.
“Fine, fine, as long as they’re still functional.”
“And don’t blow up the lawn,” Stan reiterated. “I don’t want any giant cracks leaking undead party-crashers.”
“Wasn’t that you?” Wirt whispered.
“Only the first time,” Dipper whispered back.
They started across the lawn, but they’d only made it halfway before Mabel and Gregg caught up, Gregg safely in possession of his erstwhile amphibian.
“Wait, wait, I wanna come!” Greg piped.
“Me too!” Mabel said. “Summerween is one week away, and we need to coordinate our new lawn ornament with thematic decorations. I’m picturing a giant tea cozy the size and shape of the world’s biggest jack-o’-melon!”
“Fine, fine,” Dipper sighed, as they kept walking. “But it’s just a quick trip. Like twenty minutes or less per store. Got it?”
Mable smirked. “Let’s see if you can stick to that when it comes to electronics.”
“I can stick to it!” he protested. He glanced at Wirt for backup, but Wirt didn’t look like he was paying attention. In fact, even though they were on the road by now, Wirt was looking around like he was lost. Even though the road cut straight through the trees and into town. And wow, was he pale.
“Wirt?” Dipper called, touching his arm. He had to say it a couple of times to get Wirt’s attention, and then he sort of jumped like Dipper’s touch had shocked him.
“Yes! Uh, sorry, what?”
Dipper frowned. “Hey man, are you even up for the mall? You’re not looking so good. And I know you zone out in Emo Poetry Mode, but it’s really unlike you to not notice Gregory with you.”
“It is not ‘Emo Poetry Mode.’”
“Yes it is,” said all three of them at once.
Wirt groaned. “Look, I’m fine. Maybe just hungry. Although I can’t imagine why; I ate a pretty big breakfast.”
“Wirt, it’s four in the afternoon.”
“It is?”
Dipper stopped walking, because the way Wirt sounded, Dipper was sure he wasn’t joking. “Yes, Wirt, it is four in the afternoon. Are you sure you’re okay?”
Wirt rubbed at his forehead. “It’s just hypoglycemia,” he muttered. “I’ve had it since…uh…the Unfounded? No, that wasn’t it…”
“The Unknown,” Dipper supplied.
“Hypoglycemia means he needs candy pants!” Greg announced. Then, before Dipper could ask what that meant, Greg plunged both hands into his suspiciously bulging pockets and produced a confetti of hard candies and caramels. “Tada! Candy rain! Eat as much as you need, I’m gonna restock the pantry on Summerween!”
“I’m fine, really,” Wirt told Dipper, when he still looked worried. “Just hungry. Greg’s got me covered. Huh, little brother?”
“Abso-licorice! Want some? This one’s – oh, wait, that’s just a bendy straw.”
“What was a whole bendy straw doing in your pocket?”
“You don’t wanna know,” Wirt said. He popped a caramel in his mouth and ruffled Greg’s hair. “Thanks, man. C’mon, let’s just go to the mall. They have that new camera at the electronics shop, right, Dipper? You buy me a churro and I’ll pitch in for the camera.”
“Oh, deal, definitely!”
“Twenty minutes!” Mabel sang.
Dipper, with great dignity, jabbed her in the ribs.
Great-Uncle Ford’s project kept Dipper pretty for the next several days, but Dipper still managed to run into Wirt a couple more times – once at the grocery store and once outside of Greasy’s Diner. Both times he looked paler than usual. Greg was with him the second time, holding Wirt’s hand, but it didn’t seem like Wirt noticed he was there. Dipper had finally gotten his attention and made him sit down.
“It’s probably just hypoglycemia,” Wirt said again. “Sorry. I’ll be fine in a second, really.”
Dipper didn’t like it, but he didn’t push it, either. He also didn’t bring it up with Great-Uncle Ford. Originally, Dipper had had a theory that the hypoglycemia had been a side effect of traveling through dimensions. He'd mentioned it to his uncle last summer. Ford hadn’t heard of such a thing and wanted to experiment. But apparently the whole experience had left Wirt way more shaken than he let on, and the whole idea of talking about it had had him stuttering half-sentences for a good half hour before he calmed down. Dipper didn’t want to set that off again, not if Wirt wasn’t ready to talk about it.
That didn’t stop Dipper from worrying about it, though. He’d known Wirt for a good two years, but he’d never seen hypoglycemia get this bad. Maybe it was getting worse. So he made a mental note to keep an eye on Wirt, just in case.
The day of Summerween, Dipper was heading back from the library with a book under each arm and a third in front of his face. Little gremlins in costumes darted every which way through the streets. Each lawn was decked out with scarecrows, jack-o’-lanterns, and creepy lawn gnomes (and some actual gnomes, who eyed the kids until Dipper caught sight of them and then scampered away). Dipper smirked and kept reading, turning down Gopher Road.
He’d been walking a few minutes when he saw a figure standing a short ways ahead. Dipper was an expert at reading and walking, though, and automatically moved to go around – until he realized who it was. He looked up, startled.
“Wirt?”
Wirt was just standing there, hands at his sides, facing away. Dipper was sure Wirt had heard him – they were less than two feet apart – but he stood so still he might as well have been made of stone. Dipper reached out a hand.
“Wirt…?”
Wirt turned. For a split second Dipper thought he saw something flash in his eyes, something that made his skin crawl and the hair on his neck stand on end. Then Wirt blinked and it was gone.
“Dipper?” He looked around. “Where…I…huh?”
Dipper swallowed. “Wirt, where’s Greg?”
“He…” Wirt looked vaguely panicked. “Home, I think? No – a friend’s house. For the Summerween thing tomorrow. They were making matching costumes. I was – I had to come see you for something – I don’t remember…”
“Tomorrow? Wirt, Summerween is tonight.”
“N-no – it’s tomorrow – I don’t…he…”
Dipper stowed his book and pressed a hand to Wirt’s forehead. He was cold and clammy, almost sweating even under the hot summer sun. “Yeah okay, you’re definitely coming down with something. I think you need to go to the hospital.”
“No, no…” Wirt brushed Dipper’s hand away but then held onto Dipper’s wrist, like he needed it to stay balanced. “No hospitals. It’s just the hypoglycemia. I’m just…weirdly hungry lately…I’ll feel better after some juice or something.”
“We have some at the Shack.” Dipper stepped right up next to Wirt and wrapped an arm around his waist. “You okay to walk? It’s like two minutes away from here. I can carry you, but you’re kind of taller and noodlier than me.”
“Ha ha,” Wirt said weakly.
It took a little longer than two minutes, but Wirt was still on his feet when they reached the Shack. Ford’s experiment was nearly finished; the satellite was covered in a thick knitted blanket and striped with glow-in-the-dark paint. Monitors poked out through the holes to create the exact expression of a small child on Smile Dip, the search lights forming a circle around the base. Several thick cables running from the Shack to the base of the machine. Ford and Mabel were standing in front of it, Ford at the computers, Mabel crouched next to the breaker half-buried in the grass.
Ford stepped back. “Okay, Mabel, try it now.”
Mabel flicked a switch. The satellite sent a low hum through the ground, and Dipper could feel it through his sneakers. The lights hit Mabel’s disco ball and sent multi-colored rays of light sweeping across the lawn. The computer monitors flickered to life one at a time. Then suddenly the cords sparked and the whole thing shut off.
“What – Mabel, did you change the cable order again? ”
“They’re color-coordinated that way!”
“I told you not to do that, that’s exactly what will attract the denizens of 35&, they’ll checkerboard everything!”
“Oi!” Stan shoved open the Gift Shop window. “The heck are you doing out there? My TV just went out!”
“You shouldn’t watch so much TV, you’ll rot your brain!” Mabel called.
“I have water guns and Mabel Juice in here!”
“We’ll fix it, we’ll fix it!” Ford said hastily. Then he turned and caught sight of them. “Ah, Dipper! I could use an extra pair of hands, my boy. One that isn’t quite as oriented around aesthetics.”
Mabel stuck her tongue at him behind his back.
But Dipper just squeezed Wirt a little closer. “Sorry, Great-Uncle Ford, but I gotta grab some juice for Wirt. He’s not feeling so great.”
“Heeey, you’re right,” Mabel said, looking closer. “Oh wow, he’s even paler and sweater than you. You want me to make you some hot chocolate, Wirt?”
“Just some juice will be fine,” Wirt muttered, swaying.
“Okay, but I’ll definitely make some for you later. Chocolate is the answer to everything. Ooooh, I wonder if I could make chocolate noodle soup! WITH CHOCOLATE-FLAVORED CHICKEN!”
“Please don’t.”
It took another minute or so to stagger across the lawn, but finally Dipper got him to the kitchen, where Wirt collapsed on the nearest chair and rested his face on the table. Dipper made sure he wouldn’t keel over, then grabbed some orange juice from the fridge. He poured a glass for each of them and grabbed some candy from the pantry – they’d stocked up on several pounds it for Summerween.
“Here.” He sat down and set a bowl of N&N’s in front of Wirt. “Eat up. We got actual good stuff this year, mostly because Soos offered to buy it all.”
“Thanks.” Wirt ate a couple, then dragged the juice closer and sipped at it. He nodded out the window toward the lawn. “What even is that, anyway?”
“It’s a dimensional shield,” Dipper said, sitting down. “Me ‘n’ Ford came up with the design. Turns out Summerween is when all the dimensions line up, and this year the alignment is almost perfect.”
“Line up?”
“Yeah.” Dipper gestured like he was shaping a pile on the table. “Think of the dimensions as being like a heap of rings, and you want to leap through this ring to get to that one. But they’re not even next to each other, and you have to go through a bunch of other rings first, and you can’t see which rings are the most direct route. That’s why Ford had such a hard time getting back to our dimension in the first place.
“But every hundred years or so, it’s like someone hits the heap of rings with a magnet, and stacks them up like a cylinder. Suddenly it’s a straight shot through all the dimensions at once, and for a place like the Falls where weirdness leaks through anyway, it’d be like opening a door to all the weirdness at once.”
Wirt set his glass down so heavily the juice almost slopped out. “That sounds bad,” he managed.
“Yeah but it’s okay!” Dipper said quickly. “Ford’s machine is basically generating a unicorn shield spell between each of the dimensions. Like putting coffee filters between all the rings. It’ll keep everything in its own dimension. Even if something does get through, the shield would weaken it a lot, and it’d be easy for us to deal with. It’s just until Summerween’s over anyway, like twelve hours tops, please drink your juice you look like you’re gonna pass out.”
Wirt drank.
“Sorry,” he said shakily, when he was done. “I’ve been a bit…off lately.”
“Yeah, I’ve noticed.” Dipper meant to sound dry, but genuine concern softened his tone. “Is your hypoglycemia getting worse?”
“Maybe. I think I’m eating right, but I get hungry, or I space out, and the nightmares aren’t helping.”
“Nightmares?”
Wirt put his face in his hands. “I’m just. Unmoored. Like a star cut loose. Just drifting through a darkling silence. A singular point of consciousness drowning in freezing cold, a void utterly empty of everything but silence, and the silence itself crushes me into nothing…”
“That’s great!”
Wirt looked up, startled. “Huh?”
Dipper grinned and scooted his chair closer. “You totally entered Poetry Mode just now. So you must be feeling a little better, right?”
Wirt gave a sputtered laugh. “I guess so. I think that’s why I was headed here.”
“You were?”
“I…think so? It’s kind of fuzzy. I felt like I had to get to you. Like you’d make it better, or something?” He ducked his head. “I know, it’s stupid, I’m not even sure where that came from. I feel like I have to get here and say something, but then I just space out, and I don’t even really remember how I got from one place to the next…”
“You really need to keep some snacks on you or something, Wirt, you’re gonna zone out and get kidnapped by gnomes again.”
They both shuddered.
“Here.” Dipper pushed a Hirschey bar at him. “Mabel was right, chocolate solves a lot of problems. Eat some, okay? And then tell me about your nightmares. I know Poetry Mode is one of the ways you deflect, don’t think I didn’t notice.”
“I’m actually wondering why you’re not working on the satellite thing with Ford,” Wirt said, nodding toward the window. It looked like Ford and Mabel were arguing again, this time over a disco ball Mabel had attached to the top. “Experiments, weirdness, Science Uncle Bonding Time – seems like you’d be all over that.”
Dipper just looked at him.
“What?” Wirt said defensively. “What? I’m not deflecting! Don’t – just – how can you guilt trip me, you didn’t even say anything!”
“It’s a gift.”
“It’s illegal is what it is! And it’s just a dream anyway.”
“I will continue the guilt trip,” Dipper warned.
“It’s just a dumb dream.”
Dipper took his hand.
“About the Beast,” Wirt whispered.
Dipper gave his hand a squeeze. “It’s okay. Sometimes I have really horrible nightmares about Bill. But even Bill wasn’t invincible, Wirt, and neither was the Beast. Based on what you told me, I’m 98% sure the woodsman blew him out.”
“He did.”
“What?”
“He did blow it out,” Wirt said, very quietly. “I guess once you’ve held the lantern you can feel it. What his soul was like. The Beast didn’t just need to feast on souls, Dipper. He…enjoyed it…” He took a shuddering breath.
Dipper let go of Wirt’s hand so he could wrap his arm around him. Wirt didn’t feel quite as clammy, but Dipper could feel a small tremor running through his shoulders.
“The dream is just that one moment,” Wirt said. “Just me holding the lantern. He asked if I’ve ever seen true darkness. I opened the lantern. I took a breath like I was going to blow it out. And when I inhaled I felt like…like I’d breathed some of it in. I could feel the coldness sink into my soul, like – like I went out, not the lantern. Even after we left and I felt the lantern go out, the feeling just sunk deeper, like my bones had turned to ice. And then I wake up and it’s like I can hear echoes of his voice in my room, singing, but he was singing my name, and I’m so cold…”
Wirt’s head dropped onto his shoulder. Dipper almost jumped – Wirt’s whole body was abnormally cool to the touch, his skin chilled like he’d been lying in snow. Had he been that cold a second ago?
“It’s just hypoglycemia,” Dipper said firmly, ignoring the way his gut twisted. “Just like you said. You probably caught a cold or something that made it worse, and that’s what’s giving you nightmares.”
“I know, I’m just being stupid…”
“Fear isn’t stupid, it’s smart. It keeps us from taking risks or repeating mistakes. But even if the Beast is still around, Wirt, there’s no way he can get to you. I know I said something might get through, but honestly, I don’t think anything could breach Ford’s combination of science, magic, and Mabel’s knitting. Especially the knitting.”
Wirt snorted a little, and Dipper tightened his grip.
“I promise, Wirt, we’re perfectly safe.”
Wirt had looked better after that, but he still didn’t look quite right. So even though they’d planned to go trick-or-treating, Dipper insisted that he and Wirt stay at the Shack while Mabel and Greg head out. Wirt reluctantly agreed, and went home to grab his sleepover gear. Mabel had gone to get Greg, and she’d been disappointed when he broke the news to her, but perked up when they agreed to eat candy together at the end of the night.
“We’re gonna have to get major candy quantities, Greg,” she’d told him seriously. “Lucky for us, I know all the best houses. Lazy Susan’s passing out edible yarn balls this year, Lars the Vampire gives away giant bags of gummi koalas, and the biker guy hands out twenty pounds of sugar in one go.”
“That’s going to be hard to carry in my pants,” Greg said thoughtfully. “Hmmm. I guess I’ll just have to carry some in my mouth.”
“That’s the spirit!”
“Also,” Greg added, turning to dipper, “Wirt said he had a stomach ache, so he’ll be by around four. He has to drink the Barbie-flavored stomach smoothie.”
“Barbie-flavored? ” Dipper sputtered. “Literally how do you know what Barbies taste like!?”
“Candy preparation, Dipper,” Mabel had said, wagging a finger at him. “Know all the flavors. Taste the rainbow. Eat the rainbow. Puke the rainbow.”
“Yeah!”
They’d long since left to get an early start, and Dipper had grabbed every spooky movie in the Shack and piled them next to the television. Now he slouched in Stan’s yellow arm chair, staring at his phone.
Four o’ clock had come and gone. Wirt hadn’t showed up. And Dipper was trying to ignore it, but he was starting to get worried.
Where was he?
“What’s hangin’, kid?” Stan asked, walking into the room.
Dipper grunted. “Wirt’s not here yet.”
“What, really? Thought you and Noodle Nerd would be halfway through The Blob by now.”
“Yeah….” Dipper glanced outside. It was getting dark. Ford’s satellite sat in the middle of the lawn, slowly rotating, a faint beam of colored light flicking over the trees. Their shadows stretched over the lawn like creeping fingers.
Suddenly Dipper’s phone rang.
“It’s Wirt!” Dipper cried, hitting the answer key. “Wirt, where are you, I’ve been –”
SCREEEEEEEEEE!
They both jumped and Stan’s hearing aid squealed. Dipper scrambled for the volume button when the noise suddenly cut off, like someone had chopped it with an ax.
“Geez! Dipper what the heck?”
There was a hiss of static. “Vessellll…”
“What? Hello? Wirt, is that you, are you there?!”
His hands were shaking and he accidentally hit the speaker. A low, steady static noise filled the den, then subsided. Again. And again. Like someone breathing.
The line went dead.
Stan rolled his eyes. “Way to go, kid, you found someone even more into Summerween than Mabel.”
“No, this isn’t funny, he wouldn’t do this!”
There was a squeak from the staircase and Ford walked in, frowning and reading through a sheaf of papers.
“Great-Uncle Ford!”
He glanced up. “Ah, Dipper. Weren’t you studying cryptid representation in visual media this evening?”
“No! I mean yes, but I need your help, I think something happened to Wirt!”
“Come on, kid, he’s right there,” Stan said.
“What? Where?!”
Stan pointed to the window.
A figure stumbled out of the trees. The satellite beams were angled away, leaving the figure in shadow, but it was definitely a person. They were wearing a cape, and a pair of antlers sprouted from its head, but even that wasn’t too odd on Summerween.
Then the figure stepped foot on the grass, and Ford’s satellite buzzed and a beam caught the figure full in the face. Its skin was the color and texture of grained wood, its red cape glistened like fresh blood, and its rainbow eyes glowed like twin points of madness.
It was Wirt.
Dipper was out the door and racing across the front lawn before he’d even registered moving. His grunkles were shouting but he didn’t stop. “Wirt!” he screamed. “Wirt! WIRT!”
“Diiiiippppeerrrrrrr,” Wirt slurred, and thick black smoke billowed from his mouth. He moved in slow-motion towards Dipper, his body creaking and snapping horribly, like a tree branch in high winds about to break in half.
“Wirt!” Dipper caught him around the shoulders. “Wirt, can you hear me? What happened?! ”
Wirt’s eyes flashed pure black, then normal, then the jungle-cat glow. He curled in on himself with a groan. Possession, it had to be, Dipper didn’t know of anything else that could change someone’s eyes like that.
“Hang on!” Dipper plunged a hand into a pocket and pulled out a silver mirror.
Suddenly Wirt’s hand shot out and gripped Dipper’s arm so hard he could actually feel his ulna and radius creak. Dipper cried out, knees buckling. More black smoke billowed out of Wirt’s mouth and eyes. The second it touched the mirror, the glass exploded in a thousand tiny shards.
“Hey – GET OFFA HIM!”
Stan’s fist came out of nowhere and slammed Wirt’s right cheek. Wirt reeled back a couple of inches, still in slow motion, and his grip on Dipper’s arm loosened. Stan yanked him back and Ford darted in. He quickly drew several runes on Wirt’s forehead.
Dipper pulled away and grabbed Ford’s sweater. “What’s happening, what is this?!”
“Stand back!” Ford said sharply.
Stan grabbed them by their shirts and jerked them away. Wirt slowly rocked forward. His mouth opened wide, wider, impossibly wide, distorting his face beyond recognition. More smoke billowed out and smothered them, stinging their lungs like acid.
Suddenly the satellite beams caught Wirt in the face again. The black smoke swept back, as if blown by a powerful gust, melding with Wirt’s shadow.
“Hold on!” Ford hurried to the satellite and started pulling levers and twisting dials at its base. Just as the green beam swept away, a pink one took its place. Then a yellow one joined it. In seconds all the lights were fixed on Wirt. They threw Wirt’s shadow on the nearest trees.
But it wasn’t Wirt’s shadow at all. The longer the light stayed fixed on Wirt, the more the shadow grew, until it resembled a nightmare of branches and skull-like faces barely in the shape of a man at all, with antlers sprouting from its head in patterns of broken bones.
Stan gave a startled shout. “What IS that thing?!”
“It’s the beast!” Dipper cried. “I didn’t know – Wirt told me about it – I thought he was just having nightmares!”
Wirt’s eyes rolled up and his knees buckled. Dipper broke out of Stan’s grasp.
“KID!”
“It’s safe!” Ford said quickly. “I converted Mabel’s disco lights into a temporary purification system.”
Dipper caught Wirt hit the ground and lowered him to his knees. Wirt shuddered and gasped in his grip. A sharp wind howled through the trees, sending leaves skittering across the ground like dry bones. Wirt’s eyes were wild and his breath rattled in his throat.
“Dipper,” he wheezed. His eyes flickered from neon to normal and back, ringed with white. “A vessel…he wants…a vessel…”
The wind howled around the clearing, faster and faster, roaring through the air, whipping at Dipper’s eyes. Suddenly Stan grabbed his shoulders and dragged him back.
“No, Grunkle Stan!”
“Look at his feet!”
Dipper looked. And he saw with horror that Wirt’s legs had sprouted roots, and were slowly, inevitably creeping into the soil. Wirt’s hands were still outstretched, and tiny twigs sprouted from his fingertips. Black oil soaked his cape, gleaming like fresh blood. He was turning into an edelwood tree. Only his eyes still moved, gleaming with rings of pink and yellow and blue like a rainbow of madness. Wirt’s gaze met Dipper’s.
“He’s still in there,” Dipper gasped. “Great-Uncle Ford, he’s still in there!”
“Sixer, what do we do?” Stan yelled.
A new sound filled the air. A low, rich voice, singing in harmony with the wind.
Come wayward souls
That wander through the darkness,
There is a light for the lost and meek…
“He isn’t lost!” Dipper screamed. “He beat you! He found his way home! GIVE HIM BACK!”
The singing voice laughed, and kept laughing, the shadow growing so huge its antlers melded with the treetops and then into the inky black of the sky.
On the ground below, the light of Wirt’s eyes snuffed out.
“Check the runes again, everything has to be spelled right or it won’t work.”
“I know, I know.”
“Take the candles and set them around the perimeter.”
“Where’s Grunkle Stan?”
“Here – I got the chalk.”
“Thank you.”
Dipper took a piece and kept working, sweat chilling his skin. They were drawing the most complicated diagram Dipper had ever seen, with three large interlocking circles centered on Wirt, while the shadow above them laughed and sang.
Ignore it, Dipper chanted in his head. Ignore it, ignore it, ignore it, if you don’t then Wirt’ll be–
“Guys?”
All three of them looked up.
Mabel and Greg were standing at the edge of the lawn, massive bags of candy slung over their shoulders. Greg’s eyes moved to Wirt. Horror dawned on his face.
“WIRT!”
“Don’t get too close!” Ford warned. Stan moved forward instantly, but Greg darted around them. He ran up to his brother and started scraping off the leaves that had grown from his antlers.
“Don’t eat leaves, Wirt, they don’t taste nearly as good as they look!”
“Get off,” Stan said, picking Greg up around the waist. He stepped back quickly: the ground around Wirt’s legs already had roots poking through it, waving gently toward the spot where they’d felt a living creature’s warmth.
Dipper felt a hand on his shoulder. “Dipper, what’s happening?” Mabel whispered.
“The Beast,” Dipper said darkly. “Based on Wirt’s dream, we think part of the Beast lodged itself in his soul. The rest of the Beast was stuck in its home dimension, in the lantern. It was severely weakened when it’s lantern was snuffed out, but now that the dimensions are all lined up, it’s trying to take control of him.“ He set his jaw. “And we’re going to exorcise it if we have to rip it out of Wirt’s soul bare-handed.”
Above them, the forest rang with laughter.
Stan set Greg down next to Mabel. He sniffled and scrubbed at his eyes. “I knew something was wrong,” he choked out. “Jason Funderberger knew it, too. He didn’t eat any breakfast this morning, but I thought he was just saving room for all the candy tonight…”
“Stand back, everyone,” Ford said grimly. Mabel gently tugged Greg out of the way.
Dipper stood up. He, Stan, and Ford took their places, each at the edge of one of the three circles. More intricate designs were drawn around the edges of the circles, linking them together a dozen different ways, and runes of three different languages – one of them not even from this dimension – had been written around the perimeter of each. Ford raised his arms.
“Aestiomus sum cum descendentibus in lacum. Factus sum sicut homo sine adjutorio, inter mortuuos liber. Fohdyh wkdw zklfk lv dolyh iurp wkdw zklfk lv ghdg. SURRENDER AND DEPART!”
Dipper felt the lightest breath of wind in his hair before a bolt of lightning split the ground at his feet. He shouted and nearly fell as more bolts of lightning struck again and again, hitting the few blank spots between curls of text that now blazed and crackled like hot coals. The air shuddered as if the very earth had turned into a huge speaker and was blasting subsonic frequencies through Dipper’s spine. He heard Stan and Mabel shouting and then a bolt of lightning struck Wirt’s body. Something flattened Dipper to the ground a split-second before a final, powerful shockwave blasted through the air. The clearing rang with silence.
“Don’t do that again,” Mabel gasped. She’d tackled him full-body and looked nearly as dazed as he felt.
“Did it work?” Dipper panted, sitting up. “I saw the lightning hit him – did it work?!”
She rolled off him and the two of them sat up. Greg was crouching on the grass behind them, his hands over his head. Stan was getting up, groaning and holding his lower back, and Ford was already on his feet, his hair smoking slightly.
Wirt was still in the middle of the clearing. Woodgrain still patterned his skin, and in the light from the satellite, the ground around him glistened with oil.
“No!”
Laughter rang out from the trees.
“Shut up!” Dipper shouted. “Shut up, shut up, SHUT UP!”
“It’s okay, Dipper,” Greg said. Huge, fat tears rolled down his cheeks and his lips trembled. “At least he won’t be lonely here. He’ll have lots of tree-friends to do tree things with. And when Christmas comes we can decorate him with lights and a little star on top and everything.”
“How is this even happening!?” Dipper cried. “I should’ve seen it happening! This is my fault! He’d been acting weird for days, I should’ve known, I should’ve known something was wrong!”
Stan sighed. “Don’t beat yourself up, kid, you two act weird alla time.”
“But it should’ve worked,” Ford said, looking halfway between stunned and indignant. “That was the strongest exorcism spell I know.”
Mabel went over and patted his shoulder. “It’s okay, Grunkle Ford. It’s not your fault, either. Even the best baker can’t make a bad recipe taste good.”
“The recipe was fine. I designed it myself, and specifically included clauses for interdimensional beings. Even the shielding wouldn’t have stopped it from being returned to its original dimension.”
“But this is Wirt’s original dimension.”
“AND NOW IT IS MINE.”
The voice sounded for all around them. Stan jumped back and the five of them grouped together, back to back. Wind rushed through the trees and the shadows seemed to flicker like living nightmares. Dipper turned and saw black oil dripping from Wirt’s eyes like tears.
“Get out of him!” Dipper shouted.
“It’s too late!” Ford said, gripping his shoulder. “The only reason the spell didn’t work is because it didn’t recognize the demon as a separate entity. It’s not possession anymore; they’ve started to fuse!”
“They what?!”
The ground erupted with roots, bursting through the soil like shriveled claws that visibly grow, reaching for their bare skin. The second they touch they seem to burn and the five of them shout, stomping at the ground, but the roots are endless.
Stan grabbed Mabel and started running. “Get to the house!”
“The trees!” Greg shouted.
All the shadows thrown by the harsh light of the search beams were now actually curling down, dripping like dark stalactites, reaching for any living thing. A squirrel panicked and tried to flee, but the second it jumped from its branch another shadow caught it and swallowed it whole.
Dipper didn’t even stop to process. He turned and leaped for Wirt, chalk already extended; the Wards had been burned away but he knew how to replicate them. He had a split second to see Ford on his left in the exact same pose, teeth gritted –
And then the Beast sank straight into the ground like a slurped-up noodle.
Ford and Dipper banged together and rolled to their feet, now in the middle of the search lights. The lights burned away the roots, but Stan, Mabel, and Greg were struggling to make it across the lawn. Greg gave a small scream as a long shadow suddenly dipped from the trees above like a poisoned dagger. Mabel scooped up a candy bag to use as a shield and the shadow pierced straight through it, spilling its colorful guts.
Dipper paled. “They’re not gonna make it!”
“Stay here!” Ford sprinted for the control at the base of the satellite, and Dipper hurried as close as he could while he hovered in the light. Ford unslung his raygun and shot at the roots, burning a path and holding them off while he tapped frantically at the controls. One of the beams swung out, landing squarely on Grunkle Stan.
“Run!” Dipper shouted.
“YA THINK?!” Stan bellowed, picking up one kid per arm and hauling butt. Dipper gave a half-strangled gasp of relief and turned back to Ford, still bent over the controls, raygun sizzling a small circle around him.
Then the ground behind Ford started to boil. The Beast’s antlers broke through the soil, crowned with bloodred leaves. Ford whipped around and the Beast swung, knocking Ford’s ray gun from his hand so hard Dipper heard his bones crack. Mabel screamed and lunged for the crossbow, but roots were already erupting from the earth, aiming straight for Ford’s heart.
Dipper lunged.
The Beast’s head suddenly snapped sideways and he smiled. Dipper had a split-second to realize it was a trap before something struck him around the neck so hard he gagged, and suddenly the Beast was standing on the top of the satellite, laughing, Dipper hanging in midair, the Beast’s wooden hands wrapped around his throat.
“No! DIPPER!” Ford shouted.
“Ggk!” Dipper swung up the chalk but the Beast easily away, knocking it to the ground below. He was suffocating already and it hurt. His heartbeat roared in his ears.
“DON’T KILL HIM!” Mabel screamed. “WIRT! PLEASE! I KNOW YOU’RE IN THERE! YOU’RE KILLING MY BROTHER!”
Dipper’s toes found the edge of the satellite and he hung on desperately, struggling to rip the wooden fingers from his throat. He was getting air but not enough; his vision was going spotty.
“You can’t,” Dipper gasped.
Wirt’s entire face was shrouded in darkness, but his eyes gleamed with madness. “I CAN, ” whispered the Beast. “THE BOY’S LAST STRUGGLES ARE NEARLY OVER. HE IS ALL BUT DEAD - AND SO ARE YOU.”
Suddenly Dipper’s skin felt like it was on fire. A choked scream tore out of his throat. He thrashed and claws at the wooden hand around his throat. The last of the wards on Wirt’s forehead burned off, and the hand tightened. His scream cut short. The beast’s glowing eyes filled his brain, chilled his soul, he couldn’t see – his lungs convulsed –
And suddenly the Beast reared back with a howl, his grip on Dipper’s throat loosening. Dipper’s legs tangled and he collapsed on the narrow edge of the satellite, coughing. Warmth flooded back into his bones. Then he caught sight of his hands and froze.
The Beast turned with a swirl of his oily cape, glaring down at Mabel, who had reloaded her crossbow.
“Try it again,” she said, voice low and dangerous. Beside her Stan’s brass knuckles flashed, and below them Ford grabbed the raygun and took aim. His hurt arm was limp at his side but his other hand was steady, trained directly on Wirt’s head.
Greg whimpered.
The Beast’s face twisted in a half-snarl, half-smile. “I AM BEYOND THE NATURE OF YOUR WORLD. YOUR WEAPONS CANNOT HARM ME. YOUR WARDS CANNOT STOP ME. I WILL CRUSH YOUR BONES AND FEAST ON YOUR FEAR-SOAKED SOULS!”
“Yeah I thought you’d say that,” Grunkle Stan said, and Ford fired.
“NO!”
Dipper lunged forward and shoved the Beast, hard. The heat from the ray singed his hair and Dipper staggered back. Mabel screamed and Ford gave a shout.
“Dipper, stop!”
“Wait, wait,” Dipper panted, scrambling back before the beast could grab him. “You can’t hurt us, Beast, wards or no wards. Look!” He held up his hand. The wavering outline of his soul-hand was still visible around it, just like when Bill had dragged him out of his body. “You tried to take my soul just now, but it didn’t work, did it? That’s because you’re fused with a body from this dimension, so you have to follow our rules. And our rules say demons don’t eat souls. They do something else.”
He stepped forward.
Stan’s face turned white. “Kid, what’re you doing!?”
“What people normally do with demons,” Dipper said. He locked eyes with the Beast, felt the full weight of the insanity trying to drill into his brain.
“Let’s make a deal.”
Wirt was running.
He didn’t know how he landed back in the Unknown. But he was here in the Forest at night, in the middle of winter, and the cold bit at his face and hands and the wind lashed at his eyes. He was just wearing his summer clothes– shirt, jeans, sneakers. The wind cut straight through the shirt and drove a thousand icy needles into his flesh, and when he breathed in it cut like knives at his lungs and throat. He pulled the shirt over his mouth and kept running.
He only remembered what was happening when he was here. The Beast was getting stronger, and whenever it tried to take control, it sent him here to keep him out of the way. He wasn’t even sure if he was trapped in his own head or if he’d actually been sent to the Unknown. Either way he couldn’t reach his body but he knew the Beast was using it. It hadn’t hurt Greg yet, but what if this time it did? What if this time, when he woke up, he’d look down and see a Greg-shaped tree -
He had to get out. Had to reach the end of the forest. Get to Dipper. Dipper would know what to do.
But which way was out? The snow was covering any trail and the sky above was pitch-black. He could be running in circles and not even know it, especially with the wind messing up his footprints the second he lifted his feet.
He slipped on a chunk of frozen ice and went down, hard, hitting his shoulder on a rock under the snow. He struggled to his feet, panting – and promptly collapsed against the nearest tree. His legs were almost totally numb, and he couldn’t feel his feet at all.
“Hello!” Wirt called, but the wind ripped the sound from his throat. “Please, somebody! HELLO!”
He realized he wasn’t even shivering. That was probably a bad sign. He had to hurry or this time he really wouldn’t make it out of the forest. What would happen then? Would he just die here or be stuck wandering forever while the Beast took over his body?
He was on the ground but he couldn’t remember falling, and when he ordered his arms to move, nothing happened. He couldn’t even feel the snow on his face. The dark trees around him rattled and chattered in the wind, and underneath the sound he could hear very faint laughter.
“Somebody…”
The cold hurt. It stung his face and his flesh, drilled into him like needles. It was like he was going numb and being roasted alive at the same time, but completely without heat. It pierced him where he touched the snow, leaching through his skull, into his brain. His thoughts churned sluggishly. More laughter rang through the trees.
“Stop it,” he mumbled.
“That’s the plan.”
Dipper stepped out through the trees.
Wirt wanted to melt with relief. Dipper was here. He was wearing summer clothes, too, but he didn’t look bothered even when the wind slashed at his bare arms and legs and snow soaked into his shoes.
He looked around for a second like he was checking something, then knelt next to Wirt. “Hey, buddy. C’mon, let’s get you out of here.”
“Okay,” Wirt whispered. His eyes closed.
“No!” Dipper’s voice was sharp and Wirt startled awake. “Wrong way, Wirt. You have to come home. Find your way home.”
“Everything’s the same,” Wirt said, only his voice came out slurred.
“Yeah, that’s a new trick from the Beast. But you have to come home now, Wirt. We’re waiting for you.”
“I can’t…get up,” Wirt managed. What was wrong with his mouth? It was becoming harder to move his teeth and tongue. And he’d closed his eyes again and couldn’t get them open. “Dipper, help me.”
“I can’t, Wirt, I’m not actually here. Part of the deal is you have to come back of your own free will.”
“How?”
“Just open your eyes.”
I’m trying, Wirt said, but this time his mouth didn’t move at all. The cold cut right though his soaked shirt, his flesh, down to his skeleton. Like it was pinning him to the earth by his bones. He was so cold and so heavy and suddenly so, so tired.
“Wirt.”
Distant alarm bells rang in Wirt’s head. This was how people died, wasn’t it? He’d read about it after he’d started having nightmares. They got really cold and then really tired and then really dead.
“Wirt, I’m serious.”
The cold was crushing him, burying him in the dark. It didn’t matter if this was the Unknown or not. If he didn’t wake up he would actually die.
“Wirt! WIRT, OPEN YOUR EYES, NOW!”
He did.
There was light and pressure and a noise like the infinite roar of space itself. Then Wirt snapped violently into his own head. He lurched dizzily, blinking and gasping. He was sitting on wet grass with dew soaking his pants, but everything else was a blur of color and senseless noise.
“Guh! Wha, hhh…”
“Take your time,” said a voice. Wirt blinked hard. His head was weirdly heavy. He had to concentrate to keep it upright, but he managed to turn and a face swam into focus. Dipper was kneeling in front of him, with Greg clinging to Dipper’s shoulders like a pudgy monkey. Wirt felt a squeeze and realized Dipper was holding his hands. He looked around.
Wirt was sitting on the lawn of the Shack. Okay, so that explained the wet grass. Morning light was only just breaking through the treetops, and the sky was lightening to a milky gray. The massive satellite-thing sat to one side of them, but it didn’t look like it was on, and all of the monitors were cracked or shattered. Mabel stood next to it. She was holding a fistful of plugs, and Ford and Stan were crouched next to her, their backs to Wirt, arguing as usual.
“What happened?” Wirt croaked. His throat felt like he’d been swallowing sawdust. “Dipper, what are those marks on your throat? How – how is it morning? Is it still SummerAAAGH!”
Stan had stood up at the sound of his voice, and sitting there on the ground was the lantern from the Beast! Wirt shoved himself back, head reeling.
“It’s okay!” Greg said, grabbing his sleeve. “Wirt, it’s okay, it’s safe now!”
“What?! It – you – Greg, what is that thing even doing here?!”
“We pulled it from the Unknown,” Dipper said grimly.
“You – you can’t!” The dream came rushing back. “Dipper I think the Beast has been trying to control me and we have to get that lantern out of here before he comes back!”
“Bit late for that,” Stan said drily.
“Wh-what?”
Ford glanced up. “Hmm? Oh, good, the petrification wore off.”
“The what? ”
“Wirt,” Dipper said cautiously, “do you remember anything from last night?”
“I – no…”
“You were right about the Beast. That little bit of his soul fused with yours, like an apple tree grafted to an oak. There’s no way to separate you without literally destroying your soul. So we made a deal.” Dipper nodded to the satellite. “We used Ford’s shield system to reach straight into the Unknown and grab the lantern. The deal is, as long as most of his consciousness stays in there, yours stays in control.”
“You reached…?”
“Straight through the rifts, yeah.” He grinned wryly. “Stan wasn’t exactly happy about crossing dimensions.”
“I’m still not happy!” Stan barked.
“Yeah but you’re never happy,” Mabel told him. “You’re like Grumpy Cat. Perpetually crusty and infinitely adorable.”
“Don’t worry, Wirt,” Greg said, patting his shoulder. “I already asked, and Poetry Mode has nothing to do with Scary Oil Demon Mode. You can still write all the pointlessly dramatic poetry you want!”
“I – they’re not pointlessly dramatic!” Wirt sputtered.
Dipper laughed, then winced oddly and coughed, rubbing at his neck.
Wirt’s heart sank straight through the ground. Those marks on Dipper’s throat were distinctly finger-shaped. And if the Beast had possessed him last night, then Wirt knew exactly how they’d gotten there.
“Uh-uh,” Dipper said, catching his eye. “Don’t do that guilt thing. Tell you what. I promise not to feel like an idiot for not realizing this stuff sooner, and you don’t feel guilty for something you were already fighting really hard to control.” He held up one his hand to shake. “Deal?”
Wirt laughed weakly. “Deal.”
They shook on it – and a burst of blue fire lit up between them.
Wirt yelped and yanked his hand back. “What was that?!”
“Ah, right, that’s the other part of the deal. So in the Unknown, demons eat souls, right? But that’s actually the exception to the rule. In most other dimensions, including this one, they eat deals. The Beast fused with you, so now he has to follow this dimension’s rules, and that means he eats deals. Bet you don’t feel as hungry anymore, right?”
“I guess not,” Wirt said slowly, glancing nervously at the lantern. “That’s…better than grinding up souls, anyway…”
“Definitely.” Dipper reached over and helped him up. Greg still hung on Wirt’s arm, and only shifted when Wirt moved to put his arm around Greg’s shoulders. “C’mon. Let’s go inside and get some breakfast for the human half of you.”
“Oooh, I wanna come!” Mabel said, dropping the cords and prancing over. “I’ve been perfecting my recipe for chocolate-banana pancakes! There’s sixty-two secret ingredients!”
“Don’t use the powdered gnome hat!” Ford called over his shoulder.
“Aw.”
“And watch the furniture!” Stan shouted. “Betcha five bucks Noodle Boy’s gonna be twice as clumsy with his new antlers.”
“I am not clumsy!” Wirt said shortly, as the others led him toward the Shack. Then his brain registered the rest of Stan’s sentence.
“…MY NEW WHAT?! ”
