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Description
The obstacle was being carefully distanced from a second support, and would soon be beyond its help for good. Just a few more, carefully placed ripples . . .
But, in the meantime, now was the time to remove another support.
It was time to make the fourth ripple.
On Main Street, the knob to #13 rattled. Then, suddenly, it turned sharply once.
****
“EXCELLENT, MY CHILDREN! BUT DO NOT FORGET TO EXTEND YOUR ARMS WHILE YOU TWIRL!” Daniel “Manly Dan” Corduroy praised his valiant offspring—children who could fell a tree with one hand and lead a partner through dozens of different dance steps with the other . . . AT THE SAME TIME, EVEN! Because, as he often boasted, “MANLY DAN HAS THE MANLIEST FAM!” Yes, the children of a man who was unironically called “Manly Dan” had been raised since birth to do both—to handle lumberjack axes AND dance partners. To his manbearded mind, this was no contradiction; there was no irony in this fact; the only thing manlier than cutting down a tree was cutting up a rug with such suave sophistication that people would be falling left and right at the sight of it. Even his eldest, a beautiful, graceful daughter (who more took after her mother in terms of physical appearance) was manlier than all the boys in town where it really counted: her ability to take an axe OR a dance partner in hand and make it do whatever she wanted with such calm confidence that neither axe NOR dance partner would ever think to question her right to lead. One of his proudest moments as a father had been the first time she took a boy’s hand on the ballroom dance floor and put the boy through his paces (watching that boy’s face go from complacence to confusion to acceptance to worried effort—as he strove to keep up with the daughter—had made Manly Dan so happy he had bench-pressed the buffet table).
“Like . . . this, Dad?” the second son asked, twirling on the spot.
“NO! LIKE . . . THIS!” And Manly Dan demonstrated the move again. “LIKE YOU’RE PUNCHING SOMEONE, BUT WITH AN OPEN HAND! SEE WHAT I’M DOING? LIKE . . . THIS!”
His four children watched him demonstrate it several times in a row, each time perfectly synchronized with the music. It was such a beautiful, manly display, that they all began to chant on the beat. “Dad! Dad! Dad! Dad!”
“NOW YOU ALL TRY! WENDY, YOU AND WENTWORTH DO IT TOGETHER; YOU TWO CAN’T BE TOO PRACTICED FOR YOUR TEAM COMPETITION TONIGHT!”
With a breezy sigh, Wendy took the hand of her eldest little brother. “Okay, Dad.” Then, she twirled around his handhold (doing the requisite arm extension for extra flair), took a step forward, and twirled him (so he could mirror her).
“YES! EXCELLENT! TONIGHT, YOU WILL SURELY WIN!”
They will be performing with a live accordionist. They haven’t practiced enough with him.
“AT LEAST, YOU WILL IF YOU AND YOUR ACCOMPANIMENT ARE PERFECTLY SYNCED. HMM . . . WHY IS SOOS NOT HERE, REHEARSING WITH US? AND, COME TO THINK OF IT, WHY AREN’T YOU AND HE REHEARSING TOGETHER IN SALEM IN YOUR COSTUMES? THE COMPETITION’S ONLY SIX HOURS AWAY!”
“Dad, the event starts at six. The competition won’t be until, like, eight,” Wendy pointed out. “And it’s only, like, a four-hour drive to Salem from here. Not even that.”
“IRREGARDLESS, IF WE ARE TO WIN, WE MUST BE FAMILIAR WITH THE TERRAIN OF BATTLE AND THE FEEL OF OUR WAR GARB AS WE MOVE IN IT! THIS SHALL GIVE US ADDITIONAL TIME TO PRACTICE!”
“Uh, Dad, it’s just a dance competition. It’s not like we’re going to war,” the second son said.
“WRONG, MY CHILD! EVERY DANCE IS A WAR, AND EVERY WAR IS A DANCE! ALL OF LIFE IS BOTH A DANCE AND AWAR, AND THAT IS WHY WE CORDUROYS ARE INVINCIBLE AT BOTH! WE UNDERSTAND THE TRUTH OF THE DANCE-WAR-WAR-DANCE!”
Both Wendy and Wentworth sighed. The latter said, “Here we go again . . . Way to go, Wilbur, you set him off on the dance-war-war-dance speech. Way. To. Go.”
“NO! NOW IS NOT A TIME FOR SPEECHES!” Manly Dan declared. “NOW IS A TIME TO PREPARE FOR WAR! MY CHILDREN, FETCH YOUR OUTFITS AND YOUR LUGGAGE! WE DEPART AT ONCE TO SALEM! AND WE SHALL TAKE SOOS WITH US, SO THAT WE ARE CERTAIN HE WILL ARRIVE ON TIME!”
“Uh, Dad, I don’t think he can just—”
“NO TIME TO BE REASONABLE, MY CHILDREN! GO! FOR GLORY! GO! GO! GO!”
The three boys immediately sprinted for the house to grab their things. Wendy heaved an enormous sigh and dragged after them.
“HEY, WENDY?” her dad called after her. When she looked back, he gave her two thumbs up. “YOU’RE DOING AMAZING, PUMPKIN. YOU AND YOUR BROTHER ARE GOINNA THRASH ‘EM TONIGHT.”
She rolled her eyes, but still smiled a little. “Thanks, Dad.”
****
“We’re almost out of size large shirts!” Norman shouted over the fray.
“Which ones?” Mabel shouted back from behind the register, even as she took money and returned change from tourists.
“The question mark ones!”
“Have you checked in the storage closet?”
“I’m in the closet, Mabel! Like, right now! Right in the middle of the closet!”
And, floating just beneath the ceiling, Elaine chuckled to herself.
“And I can’t find any of those shirts in that size!” Norman continued to shout.
“Well, then . . . Grab whatever size large shirts you can find, and put them on the rack! Better to have something than nothing for the chum . . . er, for the customers to buy—that’s what Gruncle Stan always says!”
“Ffffffine . . .” Norman groused. “It’s not like we’re w-wasting our time today working when we need to be p-planning for tonight, or any—”
Suddenly, a wave of cold passed through the Medium. He shivered so hard that he tensed up into a curl like a peelbug. He even bumped into the closet’s shelves.
No amount of planning will save you. He will come, he will take you all, and there is nothing—
“No!” Norman hissed at himself. “Don’t think that! Think about—”
Dipper (with his thick hair slicked across his forehead like a 1940s businessman, and wearing a neat charcoal suit, a magenta bowtie, and an eyepatch) passed in front of the closet door. He was gesturing widely at the gift shop and telling his tour group, “The real mystery here at the Mystery Shack, of course, is how we manage to keep our prices so low with all this quality merchandise available! Please feel free to look around and buy a thing or two or three to remember your visit today—and maybe a few for your family and friends, just to remind them that you care! You do care about them, don’t you? Well, you must not really care about them, if you’re not buying them a gift.”
“. . . that . . . Think about that, instead,” Norman counseled himself. “Since seeing that is a pretty big fringe benefit of . . . this whole being stuck here working development . . .”
Then, mostly because it let him see more of Dipper in a suit (and partly because it allowed him to actually finish the task Mabel had given him), Norman grabbed an armful of size large shirts (some were puma shirts, some were panther shirts) and went to go hang them up on the rack in the gift shop.
For that reason, all three kids were present when Soos stuck his head in the crowded room. “Hey, um, dudes! Great work handling everything with me! We couldn’t’ve wrangled these rubes any better if Mister Pines himself was present.”
“Uh, we’re standing right here, and we can hear you,” one of said rubes huffed indignantly. “I, for one, do not appreciate being called a—”
“Sssh! Ssssssh . . .” Soos responded, placing one finger over the rube’s lips. “Stress will make you not enjoy your souvenir-shopping experience. Take this bobblehead of the original Mister Mystery when you go to check out. Pay for it.” Then, addressing the kids once more, Soos continued, “Anyway, things are winding back down again, I think. So, um, I’m gonna quickly run back over to my house for just a sec. Just to drop off my accordion and outfit from last night.”
“But what if more tourists show up?” Dipper protested. “You can see what a mad house this place is already, man!”
“This is the busiest day we’ve had in weeks—maybe even months,” Mabel agreed.
{And what if that monster shows up again?} Elaine posited aloud. {Though I suppose there are plenty of people here to keep it at bay, what with it apparently being the busiest day in weeks . . .}
Making a soothing gesture, Soos resolutely maintained, “I know, dudes, which is why I’m only going to be gone for a few minutes. Ten tops. I’m just dropping off my stuff, ‘cause it just barely sorta occurred to me that . . . Well, that Mister Pines might’ve been okay with their existence last night, but that doesn’t mean he will be when he gets back. Especially if they’re still in the Shack. That just occurred to me just now. Just sorta—boom—popped into my head.”
“Can’t you do that later?” Mabel asked.
“Yeah, but . . . Dudes, I just get this bad feeling that if I don’t do it right now . . .”
Dipper sighed, then resigned himself to this annoying but tolerable development. “Just hurry back. Okay, man? We’ve already been going non-stop for hours.”
“Dudes, you got it. I’ll even pick up pizza for lunch. An awesome lunch for an awesome crew!”
“You rock, Soos!” Mabel called after him. Then she turned back to the boys. “Norm, we need more snow globes! Dip, we’ve got more tourists pulling into the parking lot!”
“I am gonna kill Stan and . . . have a firm talking to with Wendy for not being here today . . . Like, seriously, where is she?” Dipper grumbled. Then he plastered a smile across his face and hustled out the door, shouting, “WELCOME, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, TO THE MYSTERY SHACK!”
****
“SORRY TO BOTHER YOU, MA’AM, BUT WE’RE LOOKING FOR SOOS. HAVE YOU SEEN HIM?” Manly Dan asked of the sweet, little, old Latina with his manly cap in his manly hand—as is only right when I real manly man addresses a lady.
She shook her head. “He spend the night at the Shack and is working there today.”
That bemused Wendy. “What? I thought he got today off like me for that dance competition up in Salem. That’s what he told me, like, weeks ago, anyway. He say anything different to you, Abuelita?”
The sweet, little, old Latina shrugged. “Last night he tell me that he need to stay there to make los mellizos feel safe from a monster. I do not hear anything since then from him.”
“THEN WE’LL GO TO THE SHACK NOW. THANK YOU, MA’AM!”
Before Manly Dan and his manly clan could climb back into his manly sedan truck, however, Soos pulled up to the house. “Hey, dudes! Hey, Wendy! Hey, Abuelita!” he called cheerily as he climbed out of his own truck with costume and accordion in hand. “What’s up?”
“WE HAVE COME TO GIVE YOU A RIDE TO SALEM!” Manly Dan proclaimed. “BOYS, HELP HIM WITH HIS THINGS!”
“Oh, dang, dawg, is that today?” Soos exclaimed as the boys pulled said objects out of his arms. “Dudes, I’m really sorry, but something’s come up back at the Shack and—Whoa!”
At that second, Manly Dan scooped up Soos as easily as he would have scooped up a felled tree (which is to say: very easily), carried him over to his manly truck, and deposited him inside.
“But, dudes, you don’t understand!”
“WHAT I UNDERSTAND IS THAT WENDY AND WENTWORTH CAN’T BE VICTORIOUS IN SALEM WITHOUT YOUR SUPPLE HANDS TICKLING THE ACCORDION, SO TO SALEM YOUR SUPPLE HANDS NOW MUST GO! FOR THE GLORY OF THE CORDUROYS! BELT HIM TO THE SEAT, MY CHILDREN!”
And the boys did as instructed, even as Soos protested that the kids needed him at the Shack.
Wendy, for her part, slid into her seat behind him and advised her friend and coworker, “Just go with it. There’s no way Dad’s gonna change his mind now that he’s got his blood up for a dance-war-war-dance anyway, so you might as well just enjoy the crazy ride.”
“But the kids!”
“Oh, don’t worry about them; they’re technically teens now, and both surprisingly mature for their age. I’m sure they’ll be fine. Besides, Stan and them can handle things without us for a day.”
“But Stan isn’t—”
The rev of Manly Dan’s truck (which used diesel, of course, because it was—as previously stated—a manly sedan truck) drowned out the rest of the handyman’s words. As did its driver’s battle cry, “GRAGHUAGH! TO DANCE-WAR-WAR-DANCE, MY CHILDREN . . . AND PASSENGER!”
From her doorstep, the sweet, little, old Latina waved goodbye. “Have fun! I go clean your room and read your diary now!”

Description
The obstacle was being carefully distanced from a second support, and would soon be beyond its help for good. Just a few more, carefully placed ripples . . .
But, in the meantime, now was the time to remove another support.
It was time to make the fourth ripple.
On Main Street, the knob to #13 rattled. Then, suddenly, it turned sharply once.
****
“EXCELLENT, MY CHILDREN! BUT DO NOT FORGET TO EXTEND YOUR ARMS WHILE YOU TWIRL!” Daniel “Manly Dan” Corduroy praised his valiant offspring—children who could fell a tree with one hand and lead a partner through dozens of different dance steps with the other . . . AT THE SAME TIME, EVEN! Because, as he often boasted, “MANLY DAN HAS THE MANLIEST FAM!” Yes, the children of a man who was unironically called “Manly Dan” had been raised since birth to do both—to handle lumberjack axes AND dance partners. To his manbearded mind, this was no contradiction; there was no irony in this fact; the only thing manlier than cutting down a tree was cutting up a rug with such suave sophistication that people would be falling left and right at the sight of it. Even his eldest, a beautiful, graceful daughter (who more took after her mother in terms of physical appearance) was manlier than all the boys in town where it really counted: her ability to take an axe OR a dance partner in hand and make it do whatever she wanted with such calm confidence that neither axe NOR dance partner would ever think to question her right to lead. One of his proudest moments as a father had been the first time she took a boy’s hand on the ballroom dance floor and put the boy through his paces (watching that boy’s face go from complacence to confusion to acceptance to worried effort—as he strove to keep up with the daughter—had made Manly Dan so happy he had bench-pressed the buffet table).
“Like . . . this, Dad?” the second son asked, twirling on the spot.
“NO! LIKE . . . THIS!” And Manly Dan demonstrated the move again. “LIKE YOU’RE PUNCHING SOMEONE, BUT WITH AN OPEN HAND! SEE WHAT I’M DOING? LIKE . . . THIS!”
His four children watched him demonstrate it several times in a row, each time perfectly synchronized with the music. It was such a beautiful, manly display, that they all began to chant on the beat. “Dad! Dad! Dad! Dad!”
“NOW YOU ALL TRY! WENDY, YOU AND WENTWORTH DO IT TOGETHER; YOU TWO CAN’T BE TOO PRACTICED FOR YOUR TEAM COMPETITION TONIGHT!”
With a breezy sigh, Wendy took the hand of her eldest little brother. “Okay, Dad.” Then, she twirled around his handhold (doing the requisite arm extension for extra flair), took a step forward, and twirled him (so he could mirror her).
“YES! EXCELLENT! TONIGHT, YOU WILL SURELY WIN!”
They will be performing with a live accordionist. They haven’t practiced enough with him.
“AT LEAST, YOU WILL IF YOU AND YOUR ACCOMPANIMENT ARE PERFECTLY SYNCED. HMM . . . WHY IS SOOS NOT HERE, REHEARSING WITH US? AND, COME TO THINK OF IT, WHY AREN’T YOU AND HE REHEARSING TOGETHER IN SALEM IN YOUR COSTUMES? THE COMPETITION’S ONLY SIX HOURS AWAY!”
“Dad, the event starts at six. The competition won’t be until, like, eight,” Wendy pointed out. “And it’s only, like, a four-hour drive to Salem from here. Not even that.”
“IRREGARDLESS, IF WE ARE TO WIN, WE MUST BE FAMILIAR WITH THE TERRAIN OF BATTLE AND THE FEEL OF OUR WAR GARB AS WE MOVE IN IT! THIS SHALL GIVE US ADDITIONAL TIME TO PRACTICE!”
“Uh, Dad, it’s just a dance competition. It’s not like we’re going to war,” the second son said.
“WRONG, MY CHILD! EVERY DANCE IS A WAR, AND EVERY WAR IS A DANCE! ALL OF LIFE IS BOTH A DANCE AND AWAR, AND THAT IS WHY WE CORDUROYS ARE INVINCIBLE AT BOTH! WE UNDERSTAND THE TRUTH OF THE DANCE-WAR-WAR-DANCE!”
Both Wendy and Wentworth sighed. The latter said, “Here we go again . . . Way to go, Wilbur, you set him off on the dance-war-war-dance speech. Way. To. Go.”
“NO! NOW IS NOT A TIME FOR SPEECHES!” Manly Dan declared. “NOW IS A TIME TO PREPARE FOR WAR! MY CHILDREN, FETCH YOUR OUTFITS AND YOUR LUGGAGE! WE DEPART AT ONCE TO SALEM! AND WE SHALL TAKE SOOS WITH US, SO THAT WE ARE CERTAIN HE WILL ARRIVE ON TIME!”
“Uh, Dad, I don’t think he can just—”
“NO TIME TO BE REASONABLE, MY CHILDREN! GO! FOR GLORY! GO! GO! GO!”
The three boys immediately sprinted for the house to grab their things. Wendy heaved an enormous sigh and dragged after them.
“HEY, WENDY?” her dad called after her. When she looked back, he gave her two thumbs up. “YOU’RE DOING AMAZING, PUMPKIN. YOU AND YOUR BROTHER ARE GOINNA THRASH ‘EM TONIGHT.”
She rolled her eyes, but still smiled a little. “Thanks, Dad.”
****
“We’re almost out of size large shirts!” Norman shouted over the fray.
“Which ones?” Mabel shouted back from behind the register, even as she took money and returned change from tourists.
“The question mark ones!”
“Have you checked in the storage closet?”
“I’m in the closet, Mabel! Like, right now! Right in the middle of the closet!”
And, floating just beneath the ceiling, Elaine chuckled to herself.
“And I can’t find any of those shirts in that size!” Norman continued to shout.
“Well, then . . . Grab whatever size large shirts you can find, and put them on the rack! Better to have something than nothing for the chum . . . er, for the customers to buy—that’s what Gruncle Stan always says!”
“Ffffffine . . .” Norman groused. “It’s not like we’re w-wasting our time today working when we need to be p-planning for tonight, or any—”
Suddenly, a wave of cold passed through the Medium. He shivered so hard that he tensed up into a curl like a peelbug. He even bumped into the closet’s shelves.
No amount of planning will save you. He will come, he will take you all, and there is nothing—
“No!” Norman hissed at himself. “Don’t think that! Think about—”
Dipper (with his thick hair slicked across his forehead like a 1940s businessman, and wearing a neat charcoal suit, a magenta bowtie, and an eyepatch) passed in front of the closet door. He was gesturing widely at the gift shop and telling his tour group, “The real mystery here at the Mystery Shack, of course, is how we manage to keep our prices so low with all this quality merchandise available! Please feel free to look around and buy a thing or two or three to remember your visit today—and maybe a few for your family and friends, just to remind them that you care! You do care about them, don’t you? Well, you must not really care about them, if you’re not buying them a gift.”
“. . . that . . . Think about that, instead,” Norman counseled himself. “Since seeing that is a pretty big fringe benefit of . . . this whole being stuck here working development . . .”
Then, mostly because it let him see more of Dipper in a suit (and partly because it allowed him to actually finish the task Mabel had given him), Norman grabbed an armful of size large shirts (some were puma shirts, some were panther shirts) and went to go hang them up on the rack in the gift shop.
For that reason, all three kids were present when Soos stuck his head in the crowded room. “Hey, um, dudes! Great work handling everything with me! We couldn’t’ve wrangled these rubes any better if Mister Pines himself was present.”
“Uh, we’re standing right here, and we can hear you,” one of said rubes huffed indignantly. “I, for one, do not appreciate being called a—”
“Sssh! Ssssssh . . .” Soos responded, placing one finger over the rube’s lips. “Stress will make you not enjoy your souvenir-shopping experience. Take this bobblehead of the original Mister Mystery when you go to check out. Pay for it.” Then, addressing the kids once more, Soos continued, “Anyway, things are winding back down again, I think. So, um, I’m gonna quickly run back over to my house for just a sec. Just to drop off my accordion and outfit from last night.”
“But what if more tourists show up?” Dipper protested. “You can see what a mad house this place is already, man!”
“This is the busiest day we’ve had in weeks—maybe even months,” Mabel agreed.
{And what if that monster shows up again?} Elaine posited aloud. {Though I suppose there are plenty of people here to keep it at bay, what with it apparently being the busiest day in weeks . . .}
Making a soothing gesture, Soos resolutely maintained, “I know, dudes, which is why I’m only going to be gone for a few minutes. Ten tops. I’m just dropping off my stuff, ‘cause it just barely sorta occurred to me that . . . Well, that Mister Pines might’ve been okay with their existence last night, but that doesn’t mean he will be when he gets back. Especially if they’re still in the Shack. That just occurred to me just now. Just sorta—boom—popped into my head.”
“Can’t you do that later?” Mabel asked.
“Yeah, but . . . Dudes, I just get this bad feeling that if I don’t do it right now . . .”
Dipper sighed, then resigned himself to this annoying but tolerable development. “Just hurry back. Okay, man? We’ve already been going non-stop for hours.”
“Dudes, you got it. I’ll even pick up pizza for lunch. An awesome lunch for an awesome crew!”
“You rock, Soos!” Mabel called after him. Then she turned back to the boys. “Norm, we need more snow globes! Dip, we’ve got more tourists pulling into the parking lot!”
“I am gonna kill Stan and . . . have a firm talking to with Wendy for not being here today . . . Like, seriously, where is she?” Dipper grumbled. Then he plastered a smile across his face and hustled out the door, shouting, “WELCOME, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, TO THE MYSTERY SHACK!”
****
“SORRY TO BOTHER YOU, MA’AM, BUT WE’RE LOOKING FOR SOOS. HAVE YOU SEEN HIM?” Manly Dan asked of the sweet, little, old Latina with his manly cap in his manly hand—as is only right when I real manly man addresses a lady.
She shook her head. “He spend the night at the Shack and is working there today.”
That bemused Wendy. “What? I thought he got today off like me for that dance competition up in Salem. That’s what he told me, like, weeks ago, anyway. He say anything different to you, Abuelita?”
The sweet, little, old Latina shrugged. “Last night he tell me that he need to stay there to make los mellizos feel safe from a monster. I do not hear anything since then from him.”
“THEN WE’LL GO TO THE SHACK NOW. THANK YOU, MA’AM!”
Before Manly Dan and his manly clan could climb back into his manly sedan truck, however, Soos pulled up to the house. “Hey, dudes! Hey, Wendy! Hey, Abuelita!” he called cheerily as he climbed out of his own truck with costume and accordion in hand. “What’s up?”
“WE HAVE COME TO GIVE YOU A RIDE TO SALEM!” Manly Dan proclaimed. “BOYS, HELP HIM WITH HIS THINGS!”
“Oh, dang, dawg, is that today?” Soos exclaimed as the boys pulled said objects out of his arms. “Dudes, I’m really sorry, but something’s come up back at the Shack and—Whoa!”
At that second, Manly Dan scooped up Soos as easily as he would have scooped up a felled tree (which is to say: very easily), carried him over to his manly truck, and deposited him inside.
“But, dudes, you don’t understand!”
“WHAT I UNDERSTAND IS THAT WENDY AND WENTWORTH CAN’T BE VICTORIOUS IN SALEM WITHOUT YOUR SUPPLE HANDS TICKLING THE ACCORDION, SO TO SALEM YOUR SUPPLE HANDS NOW MUST GO! FOR THE GLORY OF THE CORDUROYS! BELT HIM TO THE SEAT, MY CHILDREN!”
And the boys did as instructed, even as Soos protested that the kids needed him at the Shack.
Wendy, for her part, slid into her seat behind him and advised her friend and coworker, “Just go with it. There’s no way Dad’s gonna change his mind now that he’s got his blood up for a dance-war-war-dance anyway, so you might as well just enjoy the crazy ride.”
“But the kids!”
“Oh, don’t worry about them; they’re technically teens now, and both surprisingly mature for their age. I’m sure they’ll be fine. Besides, Stan and them can handle things without us for a day.”
“But Stan isn’t—”
The rev of Manly Dan’s truck (which used diesel, of course, because it was—as previously stated—a manly sedan truck) drowned out the rest of the handyman’s words. As did its driver’s battle cry, “GRAGHUAGH! TO DANCE-WAR-WAR-DANCE, MY CHILDREN . . . AND PASSENGER!”
From her doorstep, the sweet, little, old Latina waved goodbye. “Have fun! I go clean your room and read your diary now!”