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Twin Pines	By : MichaelATownshed Category: +G through L > Gravity Falls Views: 37004 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Gravity Falls or Twin Peaks, nor am I making any money off this story. Christ who would even pay for this?

Chapter List
- 6
- 7
Chapter 7
The Girl with the Bunny Tattoo

Dipper slipped on a clean pair of shorts, this time skipping on the underwear.
Mabel, wearing her nightgown, the one emblazoned with a picture of a tape recorder, shut the curtains to the attic window. She loved owls, absolutely adored them, so much so that she once tried to hook up an owl with a squirrel. That relationship didn’t end well.
Her tiny hands clasped tightly at the curtain’s fabric. She couldn’t stop thinking of that strange owl that had watched over them. It was no friend of hers, that much she was sure of. If she drew the curtains back, what would be there to greet her? Her hands were beginning to ache; she let go of the curtain and peered back at her brother as he put his shirt back on. She gazed at him as he picked up the journal and began contemplating its writings. She thought he was so beautiful even as he stood there facing away from her. He was memorizing, so much so that somehow she found herself right behind him, breathing heavily into his ear.
The boy turned around to face the girl breathing down his neck. “Hey sis, I appreciate the company, but mind giving me a little breathing space? It’s uh, kinda distracting.”
“Yes I do mind,” she said promptly. Her smile stretched from ear to ear. “I want you to put your Big Dipper in my Mabel Stable.”
Dipper blushed. “But didn’t I do that already?”
Mabel slowly pulled her nightgown up, exposing her legs, showing just enough to let Dipper know that she wasn't wearing underwear either. “This wild Mabel needs some taming. Come Master, ride your pony...”
The two leaned in for a kiss, only for a small, familiar little face to butt in.
“No, bad twins, no!” said Lebam, physically pulling the two away from each other. “There’s plenty of time for that later, like, right after we solve all this vision stuff. Remember that guys, that whole thing?”
Mabel and Dipper both groaned in disappointment. Mabel crossed her arms and sat on one of the beds. She looked down. There was a wet, reddish stain on the sheets. Hey, that’s from when I first made love to Dipper. Oh, the memories, I remember it like it happened yesterday. Or was it a couple hours ago? She squeezed the wet portion of cloth and then sniffed her hand. Oh my Gosh, it still smells like him. After a long lick of her hand she started giggling. “Wow, I’m such a freak.”
Dipper flipped through the pages of his journal, his eyes glossing over as he tried, and failed, to concentrate. Those legs are incredible. It was hopeless. “What am I looking for?”
“Love!” said Mabel, giggling as she laid sprawled across the bed. She spread her legs further for him. “And you don’t have to look very far either.”
Lebam approached him. His heart was a flutter. Her face was blushing. Whoever or whatever she was, he couldn’t help but think that he could love her too. The girl stretched out her hand. He did so too. She dropped something into his palm, a little piece of shiny metal.
“You dropped this,” she said. Her fingertips brushed across Dipper’s fingertips. “Bro-bro, I think you have everything you need to figure this one out.” Mabel stared at the both of them with a hardened gaze.
Dipper inspected what had been placed in his palm. It was jewelry, shaped like half a heart with a jagged edge, split along the middle like as if it was supposed to click into another half. The chest out in the woods, with the necklace. The heart shaped necklace. The boy turned the pages of his journal while his sister and his possibly also sister watched on. Mabel pressed her hand to her chest. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but closed it before Dipper could notice.
He found the page. There was the picture of both halves of the pendant, with one of the halves attached to a fine chain necklace. Dipper looked at the piece he had in his palm. Where's the other half? he wondered. The boy went back a couple pages.
He yelled.
Dipper dropped the book in his shock. The book landed face up, with one of the pages baring the picture of a blonde girl from an old newspaper article. UNCOVERED EVIDENCE ON L.P. CASE??? was written in big, black letters on the page, surrounded by a multitude of other newspaper clippings. The thunder roared outside.
“Is it her?” asked Mabel. She was already by his side, tightly holding his hand. Lebam held the other. “The ghost who's possessing Wendy, is it her?”
“She was in my dreams,” said Dipper, staring down at the picture, “she tried to kill me. Wait, Wendy’s possessed?”
Mabel rolled her eyes. “Of course she's possessed! Come on Dipper start thinking with your big sexy brain instead of your big sexy penis. Did you even notice that she possessed me too?”
“Wha?”
“Back when we found that chest out in the woods. I touched the shawl, and then things got weird. I think I was still myself, but kind of not, and I was getting all sorts of urges. It was like I was falling in love with everybody instead of just every cute boy I see. And then I bled down my skirt, which, yuk. She only went away when she made me say 'fire walk with me' to Wendy, back when Wendy was helping me with my Aunt Flo problem in the shower, and I think that's when she possessed her. I'm never going to see that skirt again am I?”
Dipper didn't have the heart to tell her that Grunkle Stan had already torched it with a flamethrower. He quickly brushed that matter aside. “So there was a curse all along. Called it. Also, since when did we have an Aunt Flo?”
“I’ll let you think on that one my broski.”
Dipper tentatively poked at the journal with a stick, and when he was satisfied that the ghost of a dead girl wouldn't jump out to kill, possess, or screw him, he picked it up. He read part of one of the newspaper clippings, dated February 1989.
The body of a local girl was identified as that of Laura Palmer, 17, daughter of Sarah Palmer and Leland Palmer. The local police are investigating the murder in tandem with agents from the FBI. As of yet no potential suspects have been identified but town officials are urging all citizens to remain on the look out for any potential...
“Laura Palmer,” said the boy. “Her name was Laura Palmer.”
Lebam, nodded. “Now we're getting somewhere.”
“Did you know who she was?” asked Dipper.
Lebam pressed her head against his shoulder. “We know as much as you do hon.”
“Well, maybe a little more,” said Mabel. “Before we started doing… this,” she said, while momentarily humping at the air, “Waddles took me somewhere else. Somewhere strange.”
The boy's eyes widened. “The room with the red curtains!”
“No... there weren't any red curtains, but it was weird, I don't really know how to describe it, but it was a place where anything I wanted came true. Waddles and me had a conversation about coffee, it was very Alice in Wonderland-y. Honestly kinda clichéd.”
The dream with the talking pig. “Waddles was in my dre- erm, vision!” he said. “Lebam was there as an angel-”
“Aww,” cooed Lebam.
“And then I – some stuff happened and then Waddles was sitting on top of me. He said one thing, 'His name is Bob'.”
The girls exchanged glances.
Dipper eyed both girls. “Who's Bob?”
“There's something else,” continued Mabel. “We both know Waddle's done the talking thing before, so it's not that big a deal. But... when he talked... I mean, you know how the last time he sounded like that one famous scientist guy with the afro that you’re always gushing about?”
“You mean renowned astrophysicist Neil deGrasse Tyson?”
“Yes,” she replied, “Waddles sounded just like renowned astrofizziness Neil The Grass Tyson. Only... this time, in the weird place, he didn't sound like that. He even acted different, it was like he was someone else completely.”
Dipper recalled what Waddles had said to him in his dream. “You're right, he didn't sound like renowned astrophysicist Neil deGrasse Tyson at all. What does it mean?”
“It means the plot thickens Big D,” said Lebam, “because I was in the weird place with Mabel too, and Waddles told us two things. First, he told us that you dropped something, and that we would have to give it back.”
Dipper looked down at the half-heart piece in his palm. “Oh my God, the ace in the hole, Bill Cipher gave me this.”
“Secondly, he left a message for you, one that we weren't allowed to play until you remembered your vision. Mabel, do the honors.” The girl gritted her teeth. “And by honors I don’t mean dry hump our bro-bro.”
Mabel narrowed her eyes at her double. The tape recorder decal on Mabel’s nightgown resembled one of those old-fashioned kinds that required mini cassette tapes. Dipper was surprised to learn that it functioned as an actual recording device. Mabel pressed one of the buttons. Nothing happened.
“No sweety,” said Lebam, “you're fast forwarding it, you have to rewind it. No, press the other button. No, that's the eject button, wait, oh crap.” A little tape cassette as thin as a slice of paper shot out of the recorder, forcing both girls to fumble for it.
Wow, these novelty nightgowns sure are getting pretty gimmicky, thought Dipper.
Finally the two managed to get the cassette back into the tape recorder. They pressed play.
“Diane, I have to make a confession, today has turned into something truly inexplicable,” said a man's voice, one that Dipper had heard before.
It's the man from the tape recorder in my vision, he realized. More than that, it was also the voice of the pig from his other vision.
Dipper looked at his sister. She nodded slowly at him.
“With me at the Double R Diner I have Mabel and Dipper, Caucasian twins, respectively one female and one male, approximately 12-13 years old. Both have refrained from giving me their surnames. In the name of following standard protocol I'll notify local police so a search can begin for their parents. However, something tells me that such efforts will ultimately prove to be in vain.”
“Did you know about this?” Dipper asked Mabel.
“No,” she said, “we hadn’t even listened to it.”
Lebam paused the recording. “Diane, I have good news,” she said.
“That show you like is going to come back in style,” finished Dipper. “Something’s… repeating itself, is that what that means?”
Mabel nuzzled herself against her brother. “I don't remember ever going to any diner with a stranger. Who's voice is that?”
“I don't know,” he said, “Why would they need to find our parents? Why would it prove to be in vain? Who recorded this?”
Lebam continued playing the tape. “Do you two believe in the soul?” the man asked. “A Native American man once told me about the power and fragility of the human soul. He told me of a place called the Black Lodge, a place of unspeakable evil and cruelty. He also told me of a White Lodge, a place of pure goodness and love. According to his culture, when we di-, move on, we go to a place of waiting, nestled between the White and Black Lodges. Here it's decided where the soul will go, either to Paradise, or to a place of pure chaos.”
Who's Bob?” said the recording of Dipper’s voice.
Dipper gasped.
The man in the recording was silent. “How do you know about Bob?” he finally asked.
Lebam paused the tape. “Are you ready to find out who Bob is?” she asked.
Dipper nodded. “We have to find out as soon as possible. I think he might be the key to all this.”
“Then how about you tell your sister to stop dry humping your leg?” she yelled. “It’s the one thing I told her not to do!”
It was true, Mabel had nuzzled up to his body, pressed her face against his chest, and begun to ever so subtly grind against his thigh. Mabel stopped, and though blushing heavily, she gave the boy a kiss on the cheek. “But he's my broski, my brother from the same mother, that means I get to do whatever I want to him, right hubby?”
Dipper shrugged his shoulders. Lebam huffed at his lack of an answer.
Jealous sisters or no, he still needed to figure this all out. “Here are the clues so far: a dead girl who possessed Mabel and is now in Wendy, half a heart pendant belonging to a missing necklace, a spirit realm, a pig with a strange voice, and someone named Bob. What does it all mean? In my dream, or rather, vision, three girls were dancing around me. Wendy, Mabel, and Pacifica. I stood in the middle. Three points around me, like a triangle.”
“I wasn't in your dream Dipper,” said Mabel. She pressed herself against Dipper, swooning at his touch. She couldn’t resist pecking at his gorgeous neck.
“She was and she wasn't,” said Lebam, who, tapping her foot, looked away from the little girl kissing Dipper's neck. “Wendy and Pacifica were definitely there.”
“I was in a waiting room,” Dipper said, as he cuddled up against his sister, “that's what the tape recorder said in my vision. I must’ve been at the room this guy’s talking about, I was between the Black and White Lodges.” The boy groaned as he felt his sister’s fingers rubbing against his penis. “So that means I… I… ohh Mabel…”
“Mabel, stop hogging him all to yourself!” whined Lebam, “I thought we were going to share him forever!”
“No!” she cried, hugging him so tightly that it hurt, “he’s my husband, and I love him. I need him, he's my other half, like peanut butter and jelly, and just like peanut butter and jelly, we're complete as one!”
“But I need him!” Lebam cried. “I need him more than you do! Stop banging your brother for just one second AND PAY ATTENTION!”
Lebam pounced, taking Mabel by surprise and forcing her on her back. Mabel fought back by pulling on Lebam's hair, causing her to shriek. “Ow ow ow no, ow, that’s not fair, we agreed never to hair pull!”
“All's fair in love and even more love!” said Mabel.
Lebam pulled Mabel’s hair in response. She let out a shriek of her own. “That's not fair, we agreed never to hair pull!”
“Well, all's fair in love and even MORE LOVE!”
The two girls wrestled on the floor, pulling at each other's hair while rolling around the room. The two bounced off a table, causing a lamp to fall and shatter. “Darn it, not another one!” cried Lebam, “look at you, can't you ever think about anyone except yourself? We're trying to solve a mystery here and you can't stop trying to take him from ME!”
“The only mystery here is why you're still even around,” growled Mabel, “you're just a third wheel on the Vespa Dipper's gonna use to drive me to Hawaii for our real honey moon!”
Lebam gasped. “This third wheel's about to run all over your pretty little face!”
“DIPPER'S MINE!” they both screamed simultaneously.
Dipper watched on as the two girls fought. “Huh.” A thought came to Dipper. Maybe the dream, the three girls dancing around me, was it some sort of ritual? Something that involves me, and Grunkle Stan too? I was dressed like him. Something's going to happen to him. And if a ghost is possessing Wendy, does that mean that Bob’s also a ghost? Is he possessing people too, and if so, then who? “I just don't know enough yet. Guys, we gotta find Grunkle Stan, I think he might be in- guys?”
The two girls ignored him as they kept pummeling each other with their girly little fists. Though he figured neither one could possibly hurt the other too badly, he still felt like he should at least try to break up the fight, even if in some perverse way he enjoyed the attention. Love might be the only way to solve this sticky situation. The boy removed his shirt, readying himself to move in, pull the two girls apart, and then make passionate love to the both of them. It was what they all wanted after all.
He heard something behind him. The creak of the staircase floorboards made him turn around. He saw Wendy, standing at the room’s entrance, her body hidden behind the doorway. He opened his mouth and was immediately silenced as the teen girl slowly exposed her naked body to him. She curled her finger at him. Come with me, she said, though he didn’t see her speak.
Aren't you possessed? he briefly wondered. But he wanted her. Ever since she left to get snacks his loins begged for her touch. Maybe she had beaten back the ghost, he figured. Maybe both girls were wrong, and she was never possessed at all. Regardless, he followed her, leaving behind his sister and her copy to fight amongst themselves. Neither one noticed him leave the room.
Wendy had already gone down the steps by the time he reached the staircase. She stood in the darkness, a silhouette shrouded in shadow, silent and seductive. He took the first step down, but the girl sprinted away before he could take another. Up above he heard the muffled yelling of two angry girls knocking against furniture and each other in their bid for his undying love.
Each step was a careful, deliberate movement as his eyes adjusted to the inky blackness. He held to the railing, winced as he felt bits of what he feared might be glass but which he concluded were actually chunks of plastic. He brushed the pieces away with his foot and continued his descent, the floorboards creaking with each step he took.
When he reached the ground floor he still couldn’t quite see very well. He tried turning the lights on only to find them not working. He tried flicking the switch on and off several times. Nothing. The sound of quick, light footsteps running by startled him. “Wendy?” he asked.
“Dipper,” whispered the girl. He saw her for a split-second poking out from the living room entrance before sprinting away with a giggle. He followed her into the living room only to find no one there, only a room enveloped in black, save for a single lit candle.
“Wendy?” he asked again. He was about to search another room when his foot was stopped by something soft. Even in the dark he could tell what it was.
“Pacifica?” he asked, as he knelt down and inspected the girl. “Pacifica, are you alright? Pacifica?” She was still breathing, and her heart was still beating. She seemed unharmed and yet in a sleep so deep that his attempts to wake her failed. Her cellphone was by her. He picked it up and tried calling 911, except that the phone was dead. Still, he had to call the cops, he knew he had to find a way to help her, and yet, he found himself distracted.
The boy had never been particularly fond of Pacifica, as she had always taken so much pleasure in bullying his sister and himself by association. Though, at the least, the rivalry between Mabel and her had over time become more frenemy-ish and much less flat out hostile, so she wasn't quite as bad anymore. Still, that Mabel thought he might have a crush on the girl was just wrong in his eyes. No, she was pretty, sure, but him, with someone like her, he couldn’t…
The girl's leggings were missing. Usually she wore black leggings to match with her favorite pink dress, and yet for some reason she was lying on the floor without them. Not even stockings, just her knee-high pink dress and... no panties.
The boy gulped. Pacifica Northwest, the prettiest, richest mean girl stereotype in all of Gravity Falls was here, in his living room, without her panties. He looked around him, searching for her clothing. Had she taken them off because the storm had soaked them? He couldn't find them. He touched her thigh to check if she was still wet. She was warm and dry, and so very soft. Unbelievably soft. What kind of skin lotion does you use, essence of pure silk? She'd be able to afford it too.
Putting the cellphone aside, he caressed her skin, licked his lips, and in the cover of darkness sneaked a peck at her thigh. She didn't budge, not even a little. He kissed her thigh again, this time for longer, lingering as he licked her flesh. He kept enjoying her thighs, caressing and stroking them up to her bare, smooth bottom. She was more developed than Mabel, he had noticed that from the moment he first saw her, with her blossoming bust and her rounder rear-end, but those were thoughts he had always tried to brush away in the past. Now though, having fallen in love with his fiancé, he couldn't stop comparing the two. He spread her legs apart as his kisses reached higher up her legs, till his lips touched the warm folds of her tight little sex. The girl offered no resistance. Mabel had proclaimed many times that her hair was clearly bleached blonde. Since she was here and partially nude, he was kind of curious as to what her natural hair color could really be. The boy took a good look at her vagina, and was disappointed. The girl had shaved off whatever pubic hair she might have had. So much for settling that issue.
But it was still pretty, especially her cute, tight little bald slit. He kissed her vaginal lips, smothered them with his lips as he fondled her rear. He reached up and grabbed hold of one of her petite breasts. Her tit was definitely nowhere near as big as Wendy's, but the girl definitely had more growth and maturity there than what his sister could offer him. Dipper heavily groped the unconscious girl's body. She didn't react at all to his touch, not even the kisses he gave to her pussy, not even when he licked the cleft of her loins. The only movement he noted was the serene, rhythmic rise and fall of her chest with each soft breath she took. He thrusted his face into her feminine parts and pierced her sex with his tongue.
Oh wow you taste wonderful, the boy thought to himself as she lapped at her canal. She tasted sweet, not unlike her sister, or Lebam, or Wendy. He found her little clit with his lips and nibbled on it, tugged at it ever so gently, and then gave her pussy a long, wet lap of his tongue. The boy sloppily ate out the angelic object of his adoration, suckling and flicking at her little fleshy button till his cheeks were drenched with his own saliva. And still the girl remained silent and passive to his lust.
He wanted more. His covered cock dangled between his legs, hard and aching for pleasure. He had grown so stiff ever since Wendy had exposed herself to him and now longed for a release in something warm, soft, and very rich. Wiping the saliva off his face, Dipper positioned himself on top of her, face to face. He examined her facial features, so delicate and carefree, and smelled the perfume radiating from her vulnerable neck. What is it? he wondered. The aroma was something subtle and refined, and most likely very, very expensive.
Holding one of her hands in his own, he kissed her every knuckle and suckled on every finger, grunting as he bumped his clothed dick against her naked thighs. He pulled her dress up from her waist to her bust, exposing her training bra. He kissed her chest as he worked to unclasp the bra and free her breasts, but he was still very inexperienced with them, and after a few minutes of trying he instead pulled the cups off her breasts and sucked on both her nipples, one then the other. Every inch of her body was so smooth and perfect, right up to her pointed little pink nipples. He nibbled on her left tit while he pinched both her nipples, and then, in the throes of his lust, bit her breast, gnawed at her skin till he left his mark on her. Gripping the back of her head with one hand, he moved her face closer to his. Her silky blonde hair shimmered by the dim glow of candle light. Brushing her hair gently he then kissed her chin, her cheeks, and lapped his tongue across her face. Meanwhile, with one hand he unbuttoned his shorts. When the button came undone, he swiftly pushed his manhood against her sex.
“Wake up Sleeping Beauty,” he whispered. The boy kissed her mouth roughly as his cock invaded her pussy. The boy grunted loudly as he pumped himself in and out of her. Her body jerked forward and back with each one of his pumps into her, the girl quiet and pliant to his every desire. Her face did not contort into an expression of pain or pleasure. Her body did not tense up in ecstasy, she did not quiver at his touch. Her eyes remained closed, even as his tongue swirled around in her mouth and his cock drove deeply into her womanhood.
And she was a woman, his woman, at least for now she was. I wanted this for so long, he thought as he thrust his cock freely and harder into her. Ever since I saw you torment my little sister I wanted to do this to you. You aren't so mean now, are you? He brushed the girl’s hair away from her brow, admiring her beauty and even more so the pleasure her body brought him. She seemed so at peace, even as he ravaged and used her. His chest rubbed against her small bosom while his cock seeped its precum into her tight little cunt. What am I doing? he wondered, as his tongue played with hers, slack and unresponsive as it was.
He didn’t want to stop. No, he wanted to force her, humiliate her, spill his seed in her and ditch the bitch before she ever found out he what he had done. He watched her intently while he thrust back and forth between her legs, waiting for the moment that her eyes would open. How would she react, he wondered, as he forced another kiss on her lips and bucked lustfully at her moist, warm sex. She certainly wasn’t dry down there, maybe that meant she liked it after all, even in her sleep.
Can you feel that? Dipper nibbled on Pacifica’s neck. He panted through teeth lightly clenching against the delicate flesh of her throat. As the boy came closer to a climax he slowed his pumping, eager instead to enjoy his time with her for just a little while longer. He pressed his nose against her hair and sniffed deeply. He didn’t care if it was artificially colored; it was like burying his face into a golden sunflower.
When Dipper pulled out of Pacifica’s pussy he noticed his cock was caked with a thin layer of thick whitish cream consisting of his precum and her lubricant, which he wiped off using the girl’s inner thighs. He turned her around, face down, and with her backside exposed to him he began groping her delicious white rump. Her butt was warm and jiggly. He massaged her ass, grabbing handfuls of her plump butt, and then smacked one of her ass cheeks followed by the other. It wasn’t quite as loud as he wanted, so he smacked her butt again, harder this time, and then again, until the spanks reverberated as loudly as he wanted. Mabel would’ve squealed in delight, Wendy would’ve begged for more, and yet Pacifica was silent, even as he kept spanking her ass till it gradually turned a bright pink. In a way he enjoyed it more like this, taking this poor, helpless, half-naked thing and using her however he wanted. All the money in the world wouldn’t stop him from filling her holes with his spunk. I think I’m starting to get what Mabel’s slave fetish is all about. He would have to try this out with her too.
Rubbing his stiff cock between her ass cheeks, he then squeezed her cheeks together and started sliding his dick forward and back within her crack. It was fun, but he didn’t want to spill his seed across her ass, so the boy, spanking the girl's butt once more, spread her rear cheeks open and aimed his dick at her loins. He didn't want her asshole, not yet. Finding her wet, tight pussy, he pivoted his hips forward and re-entered the girl. He leaned down on her and held tight to her limp wrists as he fucked her.
Dipper grunted as his cock accidently popped out of Pacifica. Frustrated, he bit the girl's neck as he worked on forcing himself back inside her, and when re-entered her he kept humping away as swiftly as he could, aching for a release. He wrapped her golden strands around one of his hands and then pulled, forcing her head back. He kissed, nibbled, and pecked at her neck as he fucked her. You’ll need a silk scarf for weeks after I’m through with you.
He tugged at the girl’s hair as he came, grunting with each final thrust until his cock finished shooting its load inside her womb. Panting, the boy remained on top of the unconscious girl, relaxing in the afterglow of their sex. He didn’t take his penis out of her cum-filled vagina. “I love you,” he whispered in her ear. He kissed the back of her head, and then let her head rest on the floor. He bucked just slightly at the girl’s loins. It felt good. His cock was hardening again.
The candle’s light flickered out. In the pitch blackness Dipper was compelled to look upwards. There was a bright light, from where Dipper couldn’t tell, and from it walked Pacifica Northwest, dressed in a red dress, gazing down at him. Dipper looked down at the half-naked girl underneath him. It was definitely Pacifica, and yet so was the girl watching over him. She stared at him in a silence that stretched on for minutes.
“I was in a room,” Pacifica finally started, “you were there, and I wanted to dance with you.”
The boy looked away, and in his silence he began to weep.
The Pacifica in the red dress glared unflinchingly at him. “I found a bust of me, in a corner of a room covered in red curtains. It was flawless and perfect, utterly gorgeous in every way. Except, that’s not exactly true. There was a little crack on the nose. You just, had to look a little closer.”
Dipper wiped the tears from his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he uttered out. Her gaze did not change. And then he noticed it, something on Pacifica’s lower back that he had missed while he had taken her. She had a tattoo, a little tattoo of little white bunny. “Oh my gosh,” said Dipper.
“This isn’t the first time he’s done this,” said the Pacifica in the red dress, as she and the bright light began to fade away, “It won’t be the last.”
“Bob?” said Dipper, “do you know who Bob is?”
“No,” she said. She pointed down at the Pacifica underneath him. “But she does.” The light and the other Pacifica disappeared, and the darkness returned.
Underneath him Pacifica began to stir. He could hear her murmuring something under her breath. He moved his head closer, and with his ear to her mouth, he made out what she was saying. Dipper jolted backwards. “Oh my gosh. Mabel. I need to get her ou-”
The boy was silenced by the butt of an axe crashing against the back of his skull. He went limp on top of Pacifica's body as a grinning Wendy stood behind them. With the boy unconscious, she slung both Dipper and Pacifica across her shoulders and carried them into the Mystery Shack's exhibition room.

***
Summer of Last Year

So I am going back in there or not? wondered Wendy as she paced back and forth in Stan’s kitchen. Sure, he had just taken her virginity, and there was an agreement, but that didn't mean he had to finish in her, did it? Or do I want him to finish? I don’t think it was that bad, was it? A scant amount of bright red blood had streamed down her legs, which she had wiped away with a dish rag. Her vagina stung her mildly.
The girl sighed. Looking out the window, Wendy couldn’t believe the sun was still out. God, what a day. I need a cigarette.
The cellphone in her hand rung again. She had missed the first call, but this time her drunken self managed to press the answer button. “Hello?”
“Wendy?” answered the guy she recognized as Tambry's boyfriend, calling her on her phone instead of Tambry's for some reason, “where’s Tambry? I need to talk to her right now!”
You seem pretty pissed. “I'm not some messenger bird, just call her on her phone.” Wait a minute, Wendy said to herself, as she looked at the phone, this IS Tambry’s phone. She started laughing. “Oh, look at that, I'm such a doofus.”
“Wendy, are you high?” asked Tambry’s boyfriend.
“Nooo, of course not, neverrrrr…” she said while chortling.
“Whatever, I need to talk to Tambry, she can’t just dump me like that!”
Wendy forced herself to stop giggling. “Wait, wait, she dumped you? What?”
“Come on there’s no way you don’t know you… you…” he said, more irate sounding, “you stupid drunk bitch! Now where’s Tambry?”
Wendy repeatedly slammed the phone against the kitchen counter. She definitely heard something crack. Tambry would’ve screamed in horror if she had seen her phone abused like that. “Don’t call me a stupid bitch, you stupid bitch! You stupid, mean stupid bitch face! You stupid... hey... where is Tambry?”
Dropping the phone, she stormed back into the living room. The old man wasn't there, though it wasn't like she cared about him anymore; he could go jerk his blue balls off into his shitty whiskey for all she cared. “Tambry,” she yelled. “Tambry!”
She stumbled into the hallway, heading off towards where she thought the bathroom might be, using the walls as a brace to keep her balance. She didn't care if Tambry was puking her guts out into some old guy’s porcelain pooper, she wanted an explanation, and she wanted it now.
She heard something drop to the floor, followed by someone's hushed crying.
“Tam-Tam?” Wendy asked, her stomach churning terribly. The toxic smell of burning motor oil hung heavily in the air, though she saw no fire or smoke anywhere around her. She walked through the hallway as quickly as she could force her drunken body to move, almost tripping on her own feet more than once. “Tambry!” she screamed, as she turned the corner and found her friend on the floor at the other end of the hallway, unconscious, with a man standing over her. At first she thought it was Stanford but then her heart skipped a beat. It was a man with long, wavy, greasy gray hair wearing a blue denim jacket with matching denim pants. He bore a wide, toothy grin, and his eyes were full of malice as he stared at her menacingly. His eyes were piercing and cold, chilling her to her bones, and he did not deviate from his stare as he knelt down and grabbed Tambry by her hair.
“Leave her alone,” Wendy said, covering her breasts with one arm while she pressed her weight against the wall. The room seemed to be spinning. Was it the alcohol or his horrible eyes? She took a step back, and then another two forward. “You motherfucker, you stay away from her!”
The man stood up and began walking toward Wendy, dragging the other girl behind him. Wendy, her heart racing, dropped to the floor. She tried to get up only to stumble on her feet again, and had only managed to get on her knees by the time the man reached her. “Please don’t hurt Tam-Tam,” Wendy said, with tears welling in her eyes.
He out stretched his hand. She noticed he was wearing the ring she had brought to the Mystery Shack. His hand caressed her cheek. “Let's fuck, little girl,” he said, his voice taunting and raw with simmering rage.
And then the hallway was gone. There was only the darkness, and a single cone-shaped ray of light. As her eyes adjusted to the dark, Wendy noticed the smell of burnt oil anew. She was in an old rusted train car, empty and left derelict for what looked like decades. At first she thought she was alone, but in the dark she saw the outlines move. Someone picked up a flashlight and aimed it a weeping young woman with long blonde hair, with blotted mascara staining her face and dressed in little more than a bloodied pink nightgown. The man holding the flashlight was dressed in a brown jacket and matching slacks. His hair was short and brown, and his expression was one of desperation. “DON’T MAKE ME DO THIS!” shouted the man, and with the girl screaming, he balled up his fists, raised them in the air, and beat her across the face.
Wendy tried to moved, and realized she was paralyzed and suspended in the air, her feet dangling a few inches from the ground. Her hands were outstretched and frozen in place. She could only watch as the man brutalized the screaming girl. And then he was someone else. His facial features changed and so did his clothes; he was wearing a denim blue jacket with matching denim pants. She recognized him as the man who had hurt Tambry. His long, greasy hair did not hide the fury in his eyes as he beat the girl.
She now remembered what McGucket had told her in the woods, a message that she had dismissed as nonsense at the time. Only two types can see him: the truly gifted or the truly damned.
Wendy watched the blonde girl’s head hit and bounce off the dirt covered floor with a heavy thud. Her screams had abruptly ceased with the first blow, but her sobs still escaped her in blood choked gasps. Wendy could do nothing to stop the man as he continued brutalizing the girl. She watched her legs kick and struggle and then only twitch, and after one final blow, he backed away from her. Wendy gazed into the beaten girl’s lifeless eyes.
The murderer caressed the dead girl's hair. He kissed her forehead. He screamed. Tears ran down Wendy’s eyes. He sobbed loudly, holding the dead girl in his arms, cradling her body. When he was done, he tore a necklace from the dead girl’s neck, and then began wrapping her up in a large sheet of semitransparent plastic.
Aside from the murderer and the dead girl Wendy thought she was alone, until she sensed the presence of another person in the train. He wasn’t there and then he was, standing in front of her, a young man in a tidy black suit, with slicked back, shiny black hair and a squared jaw. He stared up at her. “She died 23 years ago. Or she died a few minutes ago. Maybe it was a little over two weeks ago. Do you know what time it is Wendy? I can't tell anymore.”
Wendy looked at the man in silence. The murderer with the long gray hair was gone, in his place was the man with the short brown hair, and when he was finished with wrapping the corpse up, he set about rolling her toward the train car doorway. “He wants to feel your fear,” said the man in the black suit. “He's killed before, and he'll kill again. Now open your eyes Wendy, because he’s going to kill you next, and the second you’re awake, I’ll need you to scream as loud as you can. One last thing, don't forget the ring.” The man raised a cup of coffee to his mouth and took a sip. The man with the brown hair rolled the dead girl’s body out of the train car. Her corpse landed with a horrible thud. “Now, wake up.”
When she awoke the first thing she saw was the face of her best friend. Tambry was tied up, gagged and weeping. She was too, her arms tied behind her back and her legs bound together at the ankles. The both of them were in the middle of Stan's living room, with the furniture pushed away from the center. Wendy couldn’t remember how she got there.
“Tambry?” asked Wendy, only her voice was muffled by the cloth in her mouth. As their eyes locked onto each other’s, her trembling friend motioned her gaze toward another direction. Wendy turned her head. It was the man with the gray hair, wearing the same blue denim jacket and jeans. Wielding an axe, he scraped its blade against the floor as she circled around them.
Tambry screamed. Wendy managed to spit the cloth out of her mouth and shrieked as loudly as she could. Both girls struggled in their rope binds to no avail as the man glared at them and cackled. “Sorry girls, this is it for us. Don’t get me wrong, I had a great time, but I hope you don't mind when I say, I think I'll keep the drugs for myself!” He lifted the axe up in the air.
As he swing it, Wendy watched the axe descend upon her. She felt the wind of the swipe swish across her face. She didn't even see Old Man McGucket until he had already slammed into the murderer and swept him off his feet. She thought she was dead, she even heard the swing cut through something. Flesh and bone? She didn't know what that would feel like. Her scream pierced the air. Oh God he killed me.
Only he hadn’t. The axe missed her body, instead just slashing the ropes tying her legs together. A thin trickle of blood seeped from a light gash on one of her legs.
“I see you,” McGucket cackled, picking up the axe before the gray-haired man could. “I see you. I know what they say, I hear them in my dreams. He told me the words, he told me what you say!”
The man charged as McGucket swung the axe. He missed. The gray-haired man was bigger and faster than the ragged old McGucket, and had no trouble grabbing hold of and then throwing him against a wall. The murderer punched McGucket in the gut, then laughed as the old man crumbled to the floor. He placed his foot against the older man's throat and began to press down.
“This is my fury,” he said, almost in a hiss, “I'll break your neck, but you won’t die. You’ll watch me kill the bitches first, and they will blame you for their deaths. No one cares about you, no one will believe you. I win.”
“YOU FUCKER!” cried Wendy as she threw a punch that connected with the man’s face, landing so hard that he lost his footing and fell to the floor. With blood covered legs the girl pounced on him and bit his hand. He screamed as she broke one of his fingers. “Give me that fucking ring!” she yelled, and then shrieked when his other hand balled up into a fist and connected to her jaw. She saw stars, and her body tumbled across the floor. Her vision began to blur, but before she fell unconscious she saw the ring, with its sapphire stone, roll across the floor. It was scooped up by McGucket, who scrambled down the hallway and then ran away laughing. The gray-haired murderer was gone, instead Stan was there, wearing his smelly wife-beater, confused and cradling a broken finger. He was the last thing she saw before she passed out.

***
Present Night

After pushing the attractions out of the way, the Mystery Shack's exhibit room became the perfect place for what she had planned. The hard part had been unchaining Stan's chair from the cage and dragging it out to the middle of the room. Thank God you're so strong, thought the ghost possessing Wendy Cordoroy, you must do crunches. Do you do crunches? Cause, I don't want to do crunches.
“Ah jeez, what are you doing now?” asked a blindfolded, still immobilized Stan, “and what are you doing to my floor? You’re scratching it up moving all my stuff around, do you have any idea how much I spent renovating this place after the last time it got trashed?”
With a bucket of black paint and brush in hand she drew a big circle on the floor that encompassed Stan, Pacifica and Dipper. Stan had surely heard her drop the two children behind him, though the blindfold and their state of unconsciousness was enough to keep him ignorant of their presence. “I'm just doing some redecorating,” she said, “got to get this place nice and ready for the grand finale.”
“Christ kid, whatever you’re planning just do it already, cause at this rate old age’s gonna get me before you do.”
Dropping the paint brush, she picked her axe up and walked closer to the old man. She let its blade drag across the wooden floorboards. Her eyes narrowed at him. “You know what I’m lugging around, all nice and sharp. I bet it’s never been inside someone before. Don't provoke me.”
“Or what you dumb bitch?” barked Stan, “you think you have the market cornered on torture? You’re a rank amateur, I’ve seen 12-year-old immigrants from Ecuador do this better. Now stop wasting my time and hurry it up.”
The girl raised the axe above her head and aimed it squarely at Stan’s skull. “One swing, and it’ll all be over for you.”
The blindfold prevented him from seeing what she was doing, but he could guess. He envisioned the axe ready to come down and slice his head off in one clear blow. He gritted his teeth and regretted taunting the being posing as Wendy. He waited, holding his breath until he finally heard the girl sigh.
“She cares about you.”
Stan exhaled. Christ what a night. “Who are you talking about?”
“Wendy,” said the girl, “I feel her deep inside me, fighting my every urge to murder you. She doesn't want to see you die.”
“Who are you, really?” asked Stan.
The both of them listened to the rain. “I used to have such a perfect life. I was so happy, and I had great friends, and good grades too. I even used to coordinate one of the routes for the local Meals on Wheels, just cause I was such a good little girl. Everyone thought so too. But they didn't know. Not my teachers, not my friends, not even my... parents.” The girl laughed. “They didn't know about him. They didn't know about the man that would sneak into my room at night and then… he would... I think you get the picture.”
“Jesus,” he said. “Did they… catch him?”
“Not really,” she said, wiping a tear from her eye. “Either way it doesn’t matter, a corpse is still a corpse, you know? Who the fuck cares if they caught him or not, I’m still the one that got dumped in a river so some random asshole could find me the next morning.”
“Bob,” said Stan, “Bob’s the one that was...?”
“For years,” she hissed.
“And then he…?”
“Yep, I can still feel his fists after all these years. He didn’t stop until he was sure I was dead.”
“But why do you think I'm him?”
“Because I have Wendy’s memories, that’s why. I remember Wendy and her little friend had a party with you. Drugs, sex and booze, you know, all the good things in life. She was drunk, high, and very confused, but I can vividly see you trying to chop her and her Tam-Tam into tiny pieces. It was last year I think, I dunno, time doesn't have any meaning when you’re dead. But Bob was in there, his burning stench was all over you.”
“But he's not in me anymore.”
“Liar! Not only did you try to kill her last year, but you decided to try again tonight. I found her in a tub bathing in her own blood after you raped her and left her for dead. You can’t hide what you’ve done from me, BOB, I know your modus operandi. Oh and great job on drugging Pacifica. You must have a thing for underaged blondes.”
“Wait, who?”
She removed his blindfold and then dragged Pacifica in front of him. In the dark he couldn’t see much of her except for a ray of dull moonlight shining across her face. “Her!” she said. “You drugged her. I brewed this girl tea and then you ruffied it when I wasn’t looking. The poor thing's been out for hours. Sure I was going to knock her out anyway, but shame on you for doing it first.”
“I didn't do that, I didn't even know she was here.”
“Liar liar, oil on fire.”
“I mean it, when did she even show up?”
“After I pushed you down the stairs.”
“Then how did I drug her? You kicked the crap out of me, remember?”
The girl bit her lip. “But you drugged Pacifica. I know you did.”
“Come on kid, think, none of what you’re saying adds up. What if there's someone else in the house?”
The girl lowered her axe.
“Let me talk to Wendy,” said Stan, “the talking pig left a package for her. Come on doll, give me a chance to prove it to you.”
The girl shook her head. “And then what? You think I'm just going to let you go? You don't get it, do you? For decades I was nothing, just a memory, the worst half of a shattered whole, trapped in a rotting box out in the middle of nowhere. Do you know how horrible that feels? Can you imagine the loneliness? If I had wrists to slit I would've done it! Except you know, dead and all. But not anymore. I feel so warm! Breathing feels so good! And touching and kissing and fucking. Oh my God, the fucking. I'm alive, and I'm not going anywhere. A sacrifice has to be made, and guess what...?” She pointed the axe at Stan. “You're it.”
There was a sudden noise that startled the girl. She quickly turned around, raising the axe into the air, scanning the room for any movement, only to realize it was just Pacifica muttering something in her sleep.
“You're jumping at shadows now. You're not sure this Bob guy is in me anymore, are you?”
“Shut up, shut up,” she said, her voice breaking.
“The only way you're really going to find out is if you let Wendy take the package. Come on, do you wanna lose that body too?”
With rage and tears in her eyes she swung the axe down at his head. Stan screamed as the weapon came down. The axe head imbedded deeply into the seat, mere inches away from his bare genitals. “Holy shit, that’s one way to give a guy a heart attack.”
“This is my body just as much as it is hers,” said the girl, glaring cruelly at him. “Wendy doesn't understand yet, but she will. I’ll be watching.”
Her entire body shivered, and when Wendy’s eyes opened wide, her expression changed from one of hate to one of pure terror. “Wait…. no… nooooo oh my God I'm dead. Am I dead?” Wendy said, looking at her hands. “I was on the motorcycle, and James kissed me, and then I ran, because… because… no what? That's not right, I...”
“Wendy, is that you?” asked Stan. The girl didn't seem to hear him.
“I kissed him, and then I ran away. I didn't want him to know... no no no that didn't happen to me. I... I... never had a boyfriend named James. Did I? No, my boyfriends were Rus, Eli, Stoney, Mike, Nate, Danny, that one idiot with the tattoos, uhm … who else… Mark! Mark, and James Hurley! Wait no, who's James Hurley?”
“Wendy!” yelled Stan.
She stared right into his eyes. “Why do I know that name?”
“Cause that’s you! Get it together, we don’t have much time.”
Wendy looked at her hands. Even in the dark she saw the bruises. “Oh my God,” she said, “the girl in the mirror, she whispered ‘fire walk with me’ before the bathtub turned into an inferno. I was burning alive, and that's when the blonde girl came inside me. She kept whispering to me, slowly taking control until I wasn't myself anymore. Oh my God, what did I do?” Wendy gasped as she trembled. She was freezing cold, and everything hurt. She looked down at herself and found that she was nude except for some bandaging on her wounded arm.
“Wendy,” said Stan, “come on, you gotta untie me before the ghost lady comes back.”
“No!” she squealed, “no on no no no, he's inside you. There's a monster inside you, she calls it Bob. He did terrible things to me. I can't, I'm so sorry, I can't untie you, I'm so sorry, but he'll torture me again. And she's still here. I hear her, whispering horrible things, there's a fucking voice in my head Stan! If I untie you she'll never let me out again.”
“Wendy -”
“Oh God, and she's out of her mind too. I saw the light go out in your eyes while she made me strangle you and she loved it. I could feel her rage, my fingers are still shaking from how good it felt. I couldn’t stop her, I- oh God your dick was inside me.”
“Calm down for Christ's sakes. Trust me, this isn't even the worst situation I've ever been in. We just gotta get our shit together, fix ourselves up, maybe I’ll have to chew through some ropes, but we can figure this all out.”
The girl's lips trembled. She covered her breasts with her bruised covered arms. “He raped me.”
Stan didn’t know what to say. He looked away from her nude body.
She wiped the tears from her eyes. “What do we do now?”
“There's something here for you, from Waddles, the uh... talking pig.”
Wendy looked down at the package by Stan's feet, wrapped in plastic. She spotted a coat rack with one of Stan’s suit jackets. She went for it first. Was this what you were wearing when you raped me? she wondered, as she buttoned it up. She was still cold, and her legs were still bare, but the jacket did at least hide her private parts.
She unwrapped the package next. It was a black light, like the ones at the Mystery Shack, only this one was damaged, with cracks along the bulb and dents along its handle. She turned it on. It still worked, though the light kept flickering on, as if on the verge of dying. She turned it back off.
It wasn't obvious to her what she was supposed to do with it. She remembered what Waddles had told her. Three entities in hiding. The black light was what Dipper used to detect the secret writings in his journal. There’s a mirror in the living room. Wendy ignored the old man and his questions as she walked past him and the two unconscious children. The guilt of what the ghost had made her do to Dipper and Pacifica stung her heart. And yet she couldn’t stop thinking about Dipper being inside her, driving his juvenile sex into her in his desperate longing for release. She adored his cute, horny grunting, and how satisfied he looked when he had finished in her. And she had loved watching him make love to his sister, and when he had climaxed inside Pacifica. Wendy regretted not having more fun with the little blonde girl.
She felt nauseous when she realized how much those thoughts aroused her. She pushed aside the fantasies, even though her yearnings wouldn't go away.
The living room was dark and silent. Wendy almost tripped over the grappling hook she had left on the floor. She didn't bother trying to turn on the lights; she was the one that had taken the light bulbs out of their fixtures in the first place.
Wendy saw her outline in the mirror. Biting her lip, she turned the black light on.
The light revealed white stains all over her. Sweat, saliva, cum; the girl's face was streaked with the residue of whatever body fluids had leaked, dripped, and splattered across her face. But that wasn’t what shocked her.
It wasn't her reflection; it wasn't her face in the mirror. She knew it was coming, and yet it still made her jump. It was the dead girl’s face, body, long blonde hair, and cold blue eyes that seemed to pierce at her heart.
The black light flickered again and the reflection became her own face and body, only, her eyes were glowing yellow and she had long black cat-like slits for pupils. She had the most horrific of smiles on her face, taunting and malicious. And then the reflection let out a distorted, high pitched laugh she knew she was making but couldn’t force herself to stop, until she finally turned the black light back off. Wendy turned away from the mirror and screamed.

***
“I saw her die.” Wendy explained to Stan. He remained seated while she stood in front of him. She still refused to untie him. “Last year, during our orgy. And… it was that ring, that stupid ring we thought we could sell you for weed. It's cursed by Bob, he… made me watch him murder her.” The memory made her shiver.
Wendy had found a carton of cigarettes in Stan’s Lost and Found. It wasn’t her brand, but she didn’t care. She tried offering one to him. He turned it down. “For a very long time I tried to forget it,” she continued as she lit the cigarette, “you told me it was all a bad trip, that the drug dealers must've laced the weed with something mind-altering. And for the longest time I believed you. I wanted to, I mean, ghosts? Come on.”
She took a puff from the cigarette. It calmed her. “But then a few weeks ago I had to re-evaluate all that when ghosts attacked my friends and I at a convenience store. So I caved, and that’s when I researched it. I even went through old news clippings at the library, can you believe that? I found out who she was: Laura Palmer, died in ’89 out in some podunk town in Washington state. She was 17 years old when they found her corpse washed up on a lake bed like someone’s garbage.”
“Wait,” said Stan, “you knew who she was all along?”
Wendy shook her head. “Dude, I was possessed by a girl I only ever saw either in old newspapers or while in a drug fueled delirium, excuse me for not realizing I was going to get an unwelcomed visit by the Ghost of Summer’s Past. It didn’t click until just now, when everything started coming together.” Wendy took another puff. “Look, in my dream Waddles told me that there would be three of them. Three ghosts or spirits, or whatever. They're hiding in people. And he wanted me to find them. So, I know Laura's in me, but so is something else. The thing who’s name I won’t know, but my friends do. It had glowing yellow eyes and this horrible laugh. My friends will know his name, even though I won't. Would you happen to know who I'm talking about?”
The old man shrugged. “My act doesn’t involve riddles, I’m just as lost as you are.”
“Maybe you don’t count as a friend? I dunno, that tip felt pretty vague. But… two of the entities are inside me. It's making me feel pretty slutty actually, why is my body a magnet for so many freaks?”
“Do you really want me to answer that?” asked Stan.
Wendy put the cigarette out after one last puff. She picked up the black light and a handheld mirror she had found in the exhibition room. “Alright, two down, one to go. If Bob's possessing you, this will tell me.” She pointed the black light at Stan.
“Is that really gonna work?” he asked.
Nodding, she flicked the black light’s switch on.
Wendy gasped. “Oh God,” she whispered. Her hand shaking, she dropped the mirror and the black light. It shattered and died.
“What the Hell?” asked Stan, “don't leave me in suspense, am I possessed or not?”
“No,” she uttered out, covering her mouth as she backed away from the glass of the black light’s shattered bulb.
“Then get this crap off me!” he yelled, struggling against the ropes and chains that kept him firmly tied to the chair. In his manic thrashing he accidently toppled the chair over. “Fuck, ow. Could this day get any worse?”
Wendy took another step backwards, until her foot bumped against Pacifica's body. She turned to face the little girl. On her lower back was a tattoo of a white bunny rabbit. Pacifica's blonde hair glistened in the dark. Her body seemed lifeless. “I’ve seen this before.”
“What?” asked Stan, “what you talking about?”
“The police figured out who killed Laura Palmer. I never read anything about some ghost named Bob, I don’t think the police would ever take that seriously. Too cray-cray, right? No, they pinned it on Leland Palmer, Laura’s father. He must’ve been the one Bob was possessing back then.”
“What does that mean? He’s the one that attacked you?”
“No, Leland Palmer's been dead for over 23 years. But I know where Bob is.”
Pacifica, grunting in her drug induced daze with eyes half opened, uttered a single word. “Daddy.”
Wendy heard a footstep behind her. She swung a fist at the monster behind her. He grabbed her arm and punched her stomach so hard that she could no longer stand. Before he swung the next punch that would knock her out she managed to catch a glimpse at the cruel face of Preston Northwest.

***
- 6
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