Chapter Text
Night.
Narrow road curves in the midst of the pine woods; trunks as tall as the eyes can reach, disappearing into the darkness of the pine needles. What is not shrouded into the oblivion of the woods, is obscured by the rain. Occasional thunder signals it will not stop any time soon. The only thing that breaks through it are the two eyes made of light, rapidly passing the turns of the road, and only for a moment illuminating the depth of the forest.
On the radio, an electric guitar struggles to drone out both the rain and the gallop tailgating the speeding van; out of two passengers, neither dares to turn and look.
There is no need to.
It's still out there, hollow sound of something that were once hooves keeps up with them. Judging by the drawn whistle coming from the engine, it won't need to for too long.
"How much longer??" the driver speaks with a strain; there has to be one who is not afraid.
"Watch out for the signs!" the boy in the passenger seat grips the control board with white knuckles, but his voice is steady; he is the one. Other hand holding down a worn out trapper hat, his eyes are fixed onto the side of the road.
Radio sings on, occasionally interrupted with static.
"What signs, they are all question marks!"
"That means we're close!"
Decrepit pieces of wood stand ominously by the road, blurred from the rain and the speed; but the red paint curve of the question mark is unmistakable. Somehow, they stand out as if they were placed there yesterday yet seem older than the woods. In a fleeting moment, the driver is washed over with a strange feeling they would have taken this road even if the circumstances were completely different.
"Not too far now!"
Galloping falls suspiciously silent, as the static begins to drown the music out completely. They might just be safe now. The creature might have given up on the pursuit, retreating into the night.
One check of rearview mirror.
Another.
Static is filling the small space of the van rapidly.
Third check. There is nothing there; nothing but darkness in which two blue eyes open in the reflection of the back window, suspended in air, then narrow.
"Watch out!"
It's far too late to look ahead - the wheel sways as if it has a mind of its own, avoiding a stump by a breath when the road turns into uneven ground. Under a heavy foot, the brakes cry out but give in; the van abruptly stops in a clearing.
The expected impact into the back of the van doesn't come.
"Are you okay?" the driver turns to the boy; his hands are closed tight around the seatbelt, his eyes are wide, still in residual shock, but he nods.
The drone of the static is impossible to silence, even when the radio is turned off.
"Now what?"
"Now...." the boy points somewhere beyond the curtain of water gliding down the windshield, ".... we go inside. We'll be safe here."
Exiting the van feels almost mechanical. So does running. A hundred feet feels endless, until the rain reveals an ominous shape of a tall triangular roof on a cabin - as if the entirety of the building was made out of the roof. As soon as they stop near what looks to be the entrance into the cabin, the knob in front of them turns seemingly on it's own.
Sound of relief comes from the boy, but before his companion can stop him, the door opens, and he runs inside into another kind of darkness. Before the idea of following him inside can be fully processed by the limbs, a figure steps outside onto the porch.
A faint click comes from the inside and suddenly the door frame is turned into a portal of light coming from the inside of the cabin, the figure now almost invisible save for the soft glow around it.
"You brought Dipper home?"
A nod.
"Thank you."
Another turn towards the road and the woods.
"It's still out there. But it won't go past the fence."
Feeling of relief is so overwhelming, if for a moment - before it's replaced with another dread settling in.
"Why was the boy outside this late at night?"
The figure stands before the open door, still, in silence that could be a lack of manners, or something entirely else. They are nothing but shapes to each other in the darkness, and suspicions creep in from both sides.
"It happens."
"Is there anything going on in there that makes it happen?"
Another beat of silence.
And then, suddenly, a soft sigh that seems to push the man to come forward. He is no longer a sharp shadow; a man, old as the sigh he let out, in a burgundy turtleneck.
The glasses cover most of his face, but the smile he offers is genuine.
"My name is Ford. And I appreciate the concern. More than you can imagine. If you wish, you can come inside and see for yourself. There is no place...." he stumbles on his words a little, "....where Dipper is safer."
When he's met with unwavering suspicion, he reaches beyond the door and flips another switch.
The new source of light spills over them both from the rusting lamp on the porch - driver, drenched to their toes, in a worn leather jacket and a beanie pulled down to the eyes holding a fixed gaze on Ford. What was previously an entrance into the unknown, now is a simple wooden frame leading into the worn-out interior of the cabin. Slightly cracked walls where they aren't covered in peeling but homey wallpaper. A ceiling light that has seen better days. Beyond that, a shaggy carpet and a corner of a yellow recliner.
Ford gestures towards the entrance.
"You could use some warmth, as well. And I can keep the front door open, if that would make you feel more comfortable."
With another nod, his offer is accepted.
"Welcome to the Mystery Shack."