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Strictly Business	By : Nastyzak Category: +G through L > Gravity Falls Views: 4078 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
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Chapter List
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Strictly Business

1
“All I really know for certain,” Pacifica told Dipper as, outside the windows, night darkened the world, “is that the house was built by Jeremiah Findlestone between 1874 and 1876. The first version was just this wing. Ten years later he added the east wing, because his family was growing.”
“Why did he build it so far from everything?” Dipper asked. “I mean, in 1874, there were a bunch of tiny little villages, logging and mining towns around in the Valley, but Gravity Falls was the only real settlement of any size.”
“At the Historical Society they told me he was hard to get along with and didn’t like people. He had just built the first railroad to come into the valley. The land back up here was cheap, and he bought a big spread.” Pacifica bent her elbow and rested her forearm on her forehead. “Okay, supposedly he came out west along the Oregon Trail in 1865, after the Civil War ended. His father was a railroad baron back in New England, and Jeremiah had trained as a mechanical engineer, I guess it was. Anyway, he got as far as Portland, worked there for about a year, and then his father had a job for him and ordered him to go to California. They were starting to build railroads there.”
“Oh, right,” Dipper said. “That was the beginning of the Transcontinental Railroad.”
“Yes, and Jeremiah’s father owned a piece of it. Jeremiah helped extend the Pacific line from San Francisco to Utah. He was there when they drove the golden spike in 1869. And his dad paid him off with a buttload of money.”
“So how did Findlestone wind up in Gravity Falls?”
“With the money he had, Jeremiah wanted to strike out on his own. He built narrow-gauge railroads for a few miners. Then he worked on the coastal road from Portsmouth south to Corvallis, sold out his stake in that for a profit, and started laying the main rail east from Portland along the Columbia River. In 1872 or 1873 he built a spur south for the lumber industry, visited Gravity Falls, and bought the land. He liked the place and decided to build his house here. Later he expanded it to make room for his children and their families, but in the end only Abner—his oldest child—and his wife and children stayed. And even they got sent away eventually.”
“All right,” Dipper said. “And where did the ghost come from?”
“Nobody knows,” Pacifica said. “There were rumors that one of the Findlestones died horribly in the room, but just rumors. Jeremiah died eventually and his grandson, I think, moved back to live with the widow and take care of her. And then the grandmother died and the grandson married, had kids, so on and so on. Supposedly the grandson sealed the room off in about 1918. If you look, you’ll see that the wall between the room and the rest of this floor is double thick. The grandson—I don’t remember his name, something like Wilford or Wiley—had that done to keep down the noise. See, at night they could hear screams coming out of the room. Wilford—let’s call him that—soundproofed it. He also had the door nailed shut. You can still see the holes where the big nails were driven.”
“Did it work?” Dipper asked. “I mean, a ghost can go through walls and everything.”
“This one never did,” Pacifica said. “Anyway, there are no stories about that happening. The ghost was shut up in the room. The noises stopped. But anyone who came into this wing got a creepy feeling. And at midnight, nobody could stand to be anywhere on this hall. The east wing was okay, but people on this end just had to leave and go elsewhere in the house. It go so the Findlestones couldn’t keep servants. The family itself went sort of crazy, they say. Around 1950, the owner was an old guy, seventy or whatever, named Martin Findlestone. He had two daughters, both in their forties, who never married and lived in the house with him. Supposedly, he got impatient with that room being shut off and pried out the nails. Once the door was open, his daughters went totally insane. He claimed they tried to kill him several times. Finally he just packed everything up and moved away with them, to somewhere in the Midwest. He stuck the daughters in an asylum. When the county got in touch with him and tried to collect taxes on the land a few years later, Findlestone told them, ‘Keep it.’ When they asked what to do about the house, he said, ‘Burn it.’ They didn't, but for years the place just stood empty. Funny, but no vandal ever even broke a window or forced a lock. The old barn fell to pieces. The yard was like a jungle until the country started trying to sell the place again ten years ago. No takers, but they did clean up the ruins of the barn and cut down the saplings and sort of take care of the lawn. Then I bought it, finally. And now the ghost is my problem.”
Under his arm, curved around her shoulders, Pacifica trembled a little. He said, “So the house had a bad vibe? Is that why the county couldn't find a buyer?”
“Partly the bad feeling,” Pacifica said. “I think mostly because it’s so far away from anything. There used to be little farms out this way, but one by one they were deserted.”
“All right,” Dipper said. “Tell me about your—decorator, was it? The one that got scared away.”
“Her name’s Lavinia Marchon. Marchon Designs works out of Portland. She cost me a bundle, but I wanted the house to be, well—grand. As soon as the repairs started, I hired her and we met a bunch of times for me to approve her plans. I bought the furniture and agreed on the decorations and colors. She had a team of ten, counting the painters. They started work on the first floor in May while the carpenters were up on the second. Everything went fine. Toward the end of the month, they moved up to the west wing. Three weeks into that, the painters quit. First, they said one room hadn’t been repaired—I didn’t know until later that the carpenters had refused to work in the haunted room. Second, the decorators heard awful sounds and felt things touching them when they went in there.”
“Wow.”
“Lavinia isn’t superstitious. She took a cot into the room and said she’d stay in it to prove that nothing was in there. Around midnight she came running out and got in her rental car and drove into town. She was wearing only a short nightgown. She called me—I was living in a hotel up in The Dalles while the work was going on—and I had to drive down and go to the house and pack her clothes. All she would tell me was that she was finished with the job, though the job wasn’t finished. She talked about how cold it was in the room and said there was something not normal in there. She heard it and it touched her.”
“What about you? Since you moved in, I mean?”
“Every morning I double-lock that door. Every night at midnight, the locks open by themselves and I hear the screams and the groans, even on the far side of the house, in my bedroom. I've only gone inside it alone once, and I wouldn't sleep in there if somebody promised to pay me a billion dollars.”
“Category nine, at least,” Dipper said. “And what do you plan for us tonight?”
“I want you to go with me into the room when the locks open. I want you to—send whatever it is to hell. Exorcise or banish it or whatever. Let’s not talk about that any more. Tell me about you and Mabel and college. Tell me something that will make me laugh.”
Dipper tried. He talked about Mabel and her misadventures with romance. She accepted three different dates to a Junior Prom and spent the evening ducking from one guy to the next, trying to avoid being seen by the odd two. “And she got caught out, of course,” Dipper said. “The three guys went out back to fight it out. Mabel was on the sidelines, asking them to stop, but enjoying seeing them fight over her. After just a few minutes, one of them said, ‘Stop hitting me! I’m not interested in Mabel! I’m gay!’”
“Oh, I can just see her,” Pacifica said. “What happened?”
“One of the other guys said he was gay, too, and just felt sorry for Mabel, so he agreed to go to the dance with her. Fight ended. The two gay guys started off together. The third guy looked at Mabel, thought about it for a second, and then yelled, ‘Hey! Wait for me!’ and ran after them. Mabel says she was mad at first but also relieved. The three guys moved in together not long after that. She kept telling me, ‘The Match Maker Queen succeeds again!’ She also—uh, I don’t know if I should tell you this. It’s private.”
“She’s bi, isn’t she?” Pacifica said.
For a moment Dipper didn’t say anything. Then, quietly, he murmured, “Oh, she already told you.”
“No, not directly, but we had lunch, and I picked up the signals,” Pacifica said. “She had a little too much wine, and she sort of hit on me. But then I took her to that tiny storefront she rents for her clothing business—didn’t it use to be a newsstand?”
“Yeah, back when we were twelve,” Dipper said.
“Anyway, she had bought some supplies, and I parked at the curb and her business partner, I guess? Kind of a willowy guy with jet-black hair?”
“Kirby,” Dipper said.
“Yes, she introduced us, but I forgot his name. Anyhow, Kirby came out and helped her carry her bag in, and I saw them kissing. It didn’t look like just a friend kiss, either.”
“Yeah, they’re living together,” Dipper said. “But Kirby’s kind of, uh, free and easy. I know that Mabel’s had girlfriends, too, and Kirby doesn’t mind.”
“How about you?” Pacifica asked.
“Well, there are no women in my life right now,” Dipper said. He grinned. “No guys, either, I'm not even curious. I did have a couple of girlfriends in college, but nothing lasted very long. They both told me I’m too geeky to live with.”
“I don’t think you’re that geeky,” Pacifica said.
He shrugged. “I’m annoying sometimes. I can be kind paranoid, and I get obsessive, and there’s the whole paranormal thing, stuff that most people don’t believe in. Both times the girl put up with it for a few months, but in the end each one called it off. We never got close to an engagement, but it was, you know, more than one-night stands. Anyhow, I can see their point, I guess.”
She laid her head on his shoulder. “Those girls didn’t grow up in Gravity Falls,” she said. “If they had, they'd have a higher tolerance for weirdness. I think—don’t take this the wrong way, it’s not a proposition—I think I could get to like you.”
“Out of my league,” Dipper said with a sigh.
“Yes,” Pacifica agreed. “There is that.”
She dozed off about 10:45. Dipper remained awake, now and then checking the time on his phone. The minutes crept by.
At 11:55, he heard the first creaks, which could be mistaken for the old house settling. Then two sharp metallic clacks. The locks opening?
And then came an extended, low, inhuman moan.
Gently, Dipper shook Pacifica. “I think we have company,” he said.

2
At dinner on Friday night, Jeremiah Findlestone ate grimly, his jaw working as he locked his gaze on Lina. She kept her own eyes turned down, and she ate very sparingly. Her father, mother, and brother behaved as if she were not even in the room. Her grandmother, as usual, had a small plate and two glasses of wine and then rose and excused herself. Lina knew that she would go straight to the bedroom adjoining her grandfather’s and drink herself to sleep.
When everyone had finished and the maids had cleared the table, Jeremiah stood. “Son,” he said to Lina's father, “I’m going into town. See that your daughter goes straight to her room. Be sure you lock all of the doors.”
“Yes, Father,” said Abner. Perhaps he had a paternal affection for Lina. Perhaps it was a matter of his own father’s fierce selfishness. Or it could have been his father's money.
Anyway, he walked Lina to her bedroom. “You shouldn’t have angered your grandfather,” he said at the door.
“I only went to pick blackberries,” she told him for perhaps the fifth time. “What’s wrong with that?”
“What’s wrong is that you made your grandfather angry.” Her father shook his head. “I don’t know how much longer this will go on, how much longer he’ll confine you to your room.”
“I really don’t mind it so very much,” she said with a straight face. “There’s little to do out here in the woods, anyway.”
“Well—goodnight,” her father said awkwardly. She went into her room, and she heard his footsteps going down the hall. He would, she knew, carefully lock the front, back, and side doors. Only he and her grandfather had the keys.
Ah, but the house had a cellar, and the cellar had a door that opened onto the side lawn, and it was held closed only by a rod thrust through two hasps on the outside. She could not open it from inside, but Eddie had clever fingers. She could call softly from the window and tell him what he must do.
She had two hours to wait. She undressed and put on a thin cotton shift. It was short on her and quite old—she had worn it the first year she was away at school—and with many launderings and much use it had become translucent. She used a hand mirror, not very satisfactory because she could not see much of herself at once, but all she had.
The simple short-sleeved gown had been pink, but had faded to a very faint blush. The fabric was so flimsy now that she could clearly see the round circles of her nipples, the dark triangle of her brown pubic brush. Getting out of the garment would be easy, a simple lift over the head, and there she would stand, naked and ready for Eddie to take her, to penetrate her, to make her a woman.
She turned the lamp low—she would watch the time and turn up the flame a few minutes before their rendezvous—and thought about what was to come. What shall we do after? Grandfather will refuse to let us marry. We will have to run away, run as far as we can. Grandfather will find us, but maybe by that time I will be with child, my belly swollen, and then he will have to allow us to be quietly married or else face shame for what his own flesh and blood did. But even if Eddie and I have only a few days, or a few weeks, and Grandfather forces us apart, at least I will have that time to remember.
She did not go to bed at all, but opened her window and stood there, looking out. At first the well house looked ruddy, and then the red bricks changed to brown as the sun’s light faded, and then in the night and under the moon, it was just a dim rectangle somewhat lighter than the dark lawn around and behind it.
Lina held the lantern and adjusted the shade. The yellow glow was enough—she could see the individual bricks and even the lines of mortar. She would be able to see Eddie when he arrived.
She set the lantern down again and idly played with her breasts and her pussy, imagining Eddie’s touch, his fingers, his tongue. She would make herself quite wet and eager, she might even suck on his member and moisten it with her saliva, and then she would lie back, and he would put his prick inside her, and she would hug him with her thighs, cross her ankles, and he would ride her.
She would not mind any momentary pain. She did not know whether to expect any. Perhaps some remnant of her maidenhead remained to be torn away, or perhaps the whole experience would bring only pleasure.
The cool night air made her already excited nipples swell. Lina smiled. To do this, under her family’s noses, was so wicked, so delicious.
Her mind drifted back to that evening at school. It was a holiday weekend. More than half of the pupils and three of the teachers were away, visiting relatives or enjoying picnics, swimming, lawn tennis, or what have you.
However, Lina and her four closest friends had decided to remain in the dormitory over Saturday, Sunday, and Monday nights. A few other girls did this because their homes were so far away, but Lina, Belinda, Annabel, Deirdre, and Nanoa had made excuses to their families because they had already plotted the downfall of Miss Montague.
On Friday night, after dark, Lina had gone to Miss Montague’s room, in the teachers’ wing of the dormitory. She tapped lightly but urgently on the door, and Miss Montague, wearing a floor-length nightgown even in warm weather, answered. “Is something wrong?” she asked in a whisper, even though the other teachers were all away.
“I think Annabel is dreadfully ill,” Lina said. “Will you come look at her?”
“Certainly,” Miss Montague said. “Let me put on my gown—”
“Please, no, there’s no time,” said Lina.
And so the woman and girl hurried into the student wing and into the first door on the left. A single dim candle showed the four beds, one of them—the one farthest from the door, on the right—looking as if a girl were huddled beneath the sheet.
“Annabel, dear,” said Miss Montague, “whatever is the matter?”
She took three steps in, and then the five girls—the shape on Annabel’s bed was made up of pillows—seized her. Nanoa, the strongest, clapped her hand over the teacher’s mouth. “Don’t cry out,” Lina warned. “We’re not going to hurt you.”
They forced her down on a bed. Lina knelt beside the head. “Dear Miss Montague,” she said, “You’re the only kind teacher we have. We all love you. And we want to show you.” She bent and kissed Miss Montague’s neck. The teacher stiffened, arched her back, struggled a little.
The girls’ hands were busy undoing the buttons of her nightgown. She wore nothing beneath it. Belinda began to suckle her nipples, and Miss Montague groaned and squirmed, but they held her down.
“Sh-sh,” Lina warned. “We love you. We want to please you. Take your hand away, Nan.”
As soon as Nanoa did, Lina leaned down and kissed Miss Montague on the mouth. At first the older woman kept her lips firmly pressed together, but now the other girls were stroking her, nuzzling, and licking her. Lina felt her teacher trembling. And then she opened her lips and greedily returned the kiss, her tongue exploring Lina’s mouth.
“Ohh,” she moaned when Lina finally pulled away. “This is wrong.”
“Look,” Nanoa said from the other side of the bed. Miss Montague rolled her head.
Deirdre knelt, licking Nanoa’s pussy, her hands clutching the other girl’s hips, and Nanoa was fondling her own breasts. “We love you, teacher,” she said.
“Let us love you,” Belinda said from where she had stretched out. She was naked, and the teacher’s pussy was only inches from her mouth.
“It will be our secret,” Lina urged. And then she lied: “We know you have done this with other women. Do it with us. Be our lover.”
Quivering, panting, Miss Montague struggled silently but then hoarsely whispered, “Yes.”
Such a night! Miss Montague led them back to her room. She locked the door leading to the hall where about thirty other students slept. And in her larger room, the five girls were all naked and she was naked. With the only lamp turned down low, everywhere Lina glanced she saw gleams of dim light on shiny flesh.
They all tasted their teacher’s pussy. She tasted each of theirs. Lina had orgasm after orgasm, they all did, and at last it did not matter whose lips were on Lina’s pussy, or whose clitoris was beneath her tongue, or whose fingers pleasured her, or even which opening she herself fingered, pussy or asshole or even mouth. It was a glorious evening, a wild orgy, and from that day on, for the rest of her last year at school, Lina had enjoyed such freedom—she could impudently pair off with any willing girl, at any time of day or night, or sometimes Miss Montague would ask her to remain after a class and then the older woman would teach her such forbidden things—
Lina had heard that, following her last year, Miss Montague had interceded with the school and had persuaded them to hire Deirdre as an assistant to her. Now, according to Deirdre’s recent letters—chastely phrased, because Lina had warned her that her grandfather read her mail—Deirdre and Miss Montague shared a dormitory apartment and “Miss Montague is such an inspiration to me!”
And Belinda had been married off, Deirdre said, to “a man of suitable fortune.” Nanoa was betrothed, as was Annabel. Only Lina alone had no partner, no fiancé, no prospects.
Except, she thought as she stood by the open window, she did. And he would be there at any moment.
It was not quite 9:30 when she saw movement in the yard. Lina held the lantern up again and she saw Eddie, in baggy white shirt and dungaree jeans and boots, standing near the well house. He opened a dark lantern and waved.
Leaning out, she called softly, “Do you see the cellar doors? Go to them!”
“I, I, I see them.” Eddie crossed the lawn to the slanting double door.
“Draw the bolt, but carefully so it doesn’t squeak. Go down the steps and wait. I’ll be there in a moment and we’ll use the side stairs to get to my room.”
She heard the faint sounds of the cellar doors opening. Smiling, she trimmed the lantern down—she knew the house well, she needed only the dimmest glow—and opened her bedroom door. The hallway stretched dark and quiet.
Barefoot and on tip-toe, she went to the door that opened on the side stairway, the one the servants most often used.
She opened it.
Her grandfather stood on the landing, glaring at her with the eyes of an insane devil.
In his hand he gripped a bullwhip.
- 5
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