Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

I met a monster in the woods today.

His eyes as cold as the autumn breeze,

And just as dulled as a stone in a stream.

His horns, that of the dark woods surrounding us,

Dripping black ichor from his antlers like sap.

His smile, hollow as the husks of logs in the clearing,

Left to burn within the fiery lantern within his hold.

And yet,

All I saw was a child looking back at me.

Ford cursed whatever deity or spirit was staring down at him for the umpteenth time that day. His glasses keep fogging up from the mixture of humidity and cold weather around him, he had stepped in a number of puddles and his socks were successfully drenched to the thread, it had begun to rain at one point (thus the wet socks) and now his whole person was sopping wet, and the cherry on top - that was this disaster of a day out of the shack - was he was completely and utterly lost. Honestly, he saw no other way to spend his Thursday.

His foot caught on a root loose from the soil and he swung his arms wildly in an attempt to gain his center of balance, and yet gravity had a larger hold on him than he thought. And, as if by fate, it seemed that right before the root, was that of a slope that led down further and further into a forest, one could even argue that it was going downhill just like his luck! With the grace of a newly born foal, Ford went stumbling down the incline and into the awaiting forest below. He came to a sliding halt near the bottom, thanking whatever deity and/or spirit that was listening to his pleas that he hadn’t literally eaten the dirt.

Huffing, and accepting that this was simply bound to be a purely cursed day, Ford got up to his elbows. Unfortunately, before he could fully get to his feet, it appeared his brain had others priorities in mind. That being to find who was the apparent owner of the pair of black leather boots posed before his gaze.

Slowly, Ford’s gaze lingered upwards, finding a pair of dirty grey trousers. Above that was an old WW2 nurse cape that appeared worse for wear, what with the dark branches and orange leaves hugging the fabric. And as Ford’s eyes raised, he found himself locked with a set of inhuman orbs staring right back. A swirling pool of colors that stared right into his soul, with black stains on his cheeks like dried tears. Oddly enough there was a red tipped hat on his head that reminded him of the gnomes he’d met, but that wasn’t what grabbed his attention and interest, it was the long twisting branches that came from his head like antlers, similar black ichor leaking from the cracks in the bark.

Apparently seeing Ford’s utter bafflement, the monster - which Ford had realized couldn’t have been older than a 14 year-old boy - tilted his head to the side, the leaves that were sticking out of the branches rustling gently. Before Ford was ready, a young voice greeted him, “Hello sir.”

Ford, finally realizing that he was still on the ground, scrambled to his feet. Once up, he was surprised to find that the young boy barely even reached his chin. Ford nervously dusted his pants off as he struggled to find his words. “I- er- greetings.” 

It appeared that his poor attempt at a hello made the young boy give a tilted smile, perhaps finding some amusement in the way Ford greeted him. Though the tilt to his lips seemed to lack proper expression, like it was just a mimic of a true emotion. And yet the smile stayed, as if to give the boy some semblance of normality. Finally, after what felt like a decade of wind rustling the leaves - both the boy’s and the forest’s - the young monster moved.

Moved may have been too kind a word to describe it, because there was no crunch of leaves or snapping of twigs as the boy turned to stalk away. Instead, the boy seemed to hover, although he still moved his legs like he was walking. Ford mentally wondered if it was in an attempt to appear human, similar to his smile. And yet these thoughts were driven away when Ford watched the boy look back at him, one arm now free from beneath his cloak and holding what appeared to be a rusted lantern with a bright flame inside. 

“Sir?” The boy asked in that eerily young voice of his.

Barely snapping out of his thoughts, Ford managed to gather his wits just in time to trot up to keep pace with the young monster. He didn’t bother to hide his interest in the young boy as he actively stared at the seeping horns and shining lights for eyes. And yet, he couldn’t help from pondering on the other topic of concern in his mind. 

“Where are you taking me?” Ford asked slowly, still unsure of his thoughts on the boy.

Humming, the boy did not answer at first, his focus instead on the path he was apparently leading Ford on. For a moment, Ford swore that he watched the boy’s gaze flicker down to the lantern in his grasp, but it disappeared soon after as he immediately looked back at the path. After what seemed to be another awkwardly long time of silence, Ford assumed the boy would not answer, but was proven otherwise as soon as the thought crossed his mind.

“You are lost.” The boy stated matter-of-factly and Ford contemplated the answer… as it wasn’t exactly the answer he was searching for. It wasn’t even a question. It was a statement, a fact. Before Ford could ask as to why that was important, the monster simply followed it up with, “I will lead you home.”

Now, had it been anyone else, they would most likely have read deeper into the words and thought that home was in fact a metaphor for their impending death. Yet, Ford, a genius in his own right and one of the smartest of his time, appeared to lack the one thing these people would have: common sense. Instead of panicking, his mind ran rampant with theories and ideas of all sorts.

“What are you?” Ford couldn’t help but finally blurt.

Finally, the boy stopped, although it was less than a second, as if contemplating his answer. He started back forward without having Ford stop beside him. Once again, Ford thought the boy wouldn’t answer, but was proven otherwise as the boy answered with an eerie lilt to his voice, “I am the Beast.” 

“The Beast?” Ford asked the young boy. His inner researcher told him to be cautious around this boy (who apparently dubbed himself the Beast), yet his instincts didn’t see the child as such. He saw him as just that. A child.

And yet the boy nodded in confirmation, “A monster.” He clarified, as if offering a synonym for the name would help to describe himself. He did not stop as he instead went on to say, “I am the monster of these woods, and thus have been dubbed the Beast.”

“You don’t look like a monster.” Ford said without thinking, still staring at the child. He watched as the boy slowed, face skewing for a moment as if taking Ford’s opinion into account. When the Beast made no move to respond, Ford moved to continue, perhaps to inquire the horns and eyes, but was stopped when seeing the trees change. 

The trees' eerie black crooked branches cleared into a more light and straightened shape. The orange and red leaves turned green with life, and grass began to spread underfoot. Ford had thought it to be night, but was surprised to see light easily slither through the cracks in the foliage above, as it had somehow been blotted out in the area he had previously been exploring. 

His gaze lowered and he blinked in surprise when seeing that his shack was right before him. He openly gaped at the sight of his home and wondered if he had simply been wandering in circles the whole day. The wildlife - which had apparently been nonexistent when with the Beast - suddenly came back to life, twittering and singing with the day coming to an end.

“You lead me home.” Ford spoke in awe, not quite realizing how near impossible that should have been with how lost he had been in the woods. A smile snuck its way onto his lips as he couldn’t help from stopping a bewildered chuckle from escaping. “Thank you.”

When hearing no reply, he turned to repeat himself, perhaps thinking that if he looked the boy in the eye that it may elicit some reaction in him. And yet as the words came to his tongue to be repeated, they froze before escaping his lips. His eyes widened in confusion.

Ford was met with nothing but a cold breeze.

Of course, out of habit and instinct at this point, Ford wrote about the young boy he had met in the woods. He had titled the page as “The Beast” and wrote all that he could, only realizing, not even a quarter down the page, when getting his thoughts down on paper that he knew next to nothing about the young monster he met. He was left to his own theories and ponderings.

And this was, of course, what led him to getting lost in the woods again the very next day. Unlike the day prior; however, he was intentionally attempting to get lost. Which of course was a problem, as it seemed that when one is intentionally trying to become lost, they, in fact, recognize nearly every obvious feature around them that tells them where they are.

It was only when he contemplated if he had accidentally walked into Washington that he decided he was satisfyingly lost. Which, for any other human, might be contemplated as a sign of one losing their sanity, but for Ford it was a sign of success. But that success was beginning to dwindle as it appeared that no one was coming to his rescue. The hour of wandering and calling for “The Beast” led to nothing but echoes of his voice throughout the forest.

Ford finally came to a stop after about two hours of wandering around and finding nothing. He sat on a stump that he managed to stumble upon and ran a hand through his hair as he contemplated calling it a night and just figuring out his way to the nearest town. He was about to get up and do such when a set of black polished boots peeked into his view. The leaves didn’t even crunch .

Snapping his head up, Ford felt a large jolly grin take over his features as he managed to find none other than the Beast himself before him. The monster, unlike last time, was frowning down at him. The Beast looked torn over something as he stared down at him with a frown that held too much knowledge for someone his age to possess. 

“Salutations!” Ford greeted jovially, standing to his feet and dusting himself off. He squinted at the sky, realizing that in the time he had been traversing the woods, it had grown eerily darker. He looked back down at the Beast, who was still staring at him with a cryptic expression.

“You’re lost.” The Beast spoke in a tone that suggested he was explaining something to a child. Ford stared down at him, not quite knowing what to say to such a blunt statement.

“...Yes?” Ford felt like he was being interrogated despite having come out here for the sole purpose of interrogating the Beast. 

“It’s dangerous to be lost within these woods.” The Beast was staring at Ford, analyzing something within the elder man. Finally, he shook his head with a sigh that seemed so very tired. “Come,” he turned, lantern clutched tight in his hand as he began walking, still the sound of crunching leaves did not greet Ford’s ears, “I will guide you home.”

“Now hold on,” Ford quickly reached into his coat and pulled out lucky journal number 2. Luckily, the Beast stopped just long enough to give Ford a moment to gather himself. Ford stepped forward, already opening the page to the single area marked as The Beast. He pushed his glasses further up his nose. “If I may, I was hoping to ask you some questions…” 

The boy merely stared back at Ford with those eyes full of a million colors. He blinked once. Twice. A third time. Then shook his head with a drawn sigh. “You are certainly the strangest person I have met stumbling upon my woods.” 

In those few seconds that passed, where the Beast was staring at Ford with a look of pure curiousness, he swore he saw something akin to pain within those eyes. Like the young boy was looking at a long lost memory. It was gone before Ford could read anymore into it. 

Turning around again, the Beast began to depart. “Come, I suppose I can allow you to ask me questions along the way to finding your home again.” Upon hearing this, Ford stumbled forward, fumbling with his pen and journal. 

“I have met so many creatures within Gravity Falls, but you are by far the most human among them.” I take insult to that Sixer , Ford definitely thought that was what Bill might tell him. He, unfortunately, did not catch the cautious look from the Beast, as if sensing his thoughts. “I must ask, are you a fae? A spirit of some kind?”

The Beast stared at Ford for a long time, staring deep into the man’s soul it seemed. He turned his attention to his path as he answered, “I suppose I am what the mortals refer to as a guide.” 

Ford’s pen stopped short from writing, “A… guide?” The Beast nodded, but did not expand upon his answer, so Ford simply wrote down the answer while noting to possibly theorize on other meanings at a later time. “Alright, does that have an origin, possibly something relating to a religion or the liking?”

“No.” The Beast answered, shaking his head quickly. “As there is life and there is death, there will always be a guide.”

Okay, so it has something to deal with the afterlife? Ford made the note with ease. “Why do you appear so human-like, and as a young boy no less?”

This time the Beast had to pause as he thought over his answer. “I was once mortal.” Ford wanted so badly to get more of an answer out of the young boy, but by the frown, he knew there was no chance of such a thing happening. Ford simply wrote what he could.

Ford contemplated his more scientific questions with a grain of salt. Perhaps he’d get more out of the young man if he weren’t asking such personal questions? Afterall, Stanley his brother always prided himself on being a people person, and he was a master at getting people to open up. Maybe he could use that. “Do you have any likes, any interests?”

It seemed his theory was correct as Ford watched the young boy’s face light up into a soft smile. “Yes... I… used to play the clarinet and read poetry.” He looked up at the sky at the thought, absently slowing his pace, a knowing smile on his face.

“ In visions of the dark night

I have dreamed of joy departed—

But a waking dream of life and light

Hath left me broken-hearted.”

“Edgar Allen Poe.” Ford responded, a smile of his own on his face, clearly amused. The Beast looked back at him and smiled a bit more openly now. The face that once housed a terrifying monster now replaced by that of a child. Ford was once again reminded of how child-like this so-called monster is. He held back a chuckle as he decided to say, “I guess the next time I come for a visit I’ll have to bring one of my books of poems.”

Apparently, that was the wrong answer. Instantly, a frown marred the child’s face. “You mustn't become lost so often. Those lost can sometimes never find their way home. You are lucky that I have found you twice now, but you would be wise to not test your luck a third time.”

Ford blinked in surprise at the statement, clearly not having expected the serious warning. He said nothing as he instead fidgeted, feeling the conversation almost immediately die off. But then again, he wasn’t quiet for long as he immediately followed this statement up with, “If you are a guide meant to take those lost home, then why are you scared of being incapable of such a task?”

“Sometimes, people cannot be guided home by the likes of even myself.” The Beast answered back cryptically. “You walk along a thin line, Stanford, a line that is difficult to see and properly lead home. The powers you deal with have laid their claim, and it is difficult to see your path. I suggest you be cautious over your future path you decide to take.”

Ford never gave him his name.

Blinking back his surprise, Ford tried to solve the strange statement until his thoughts were interrupted by the Beast again. “We’re here.” Lo and behold they were. The shack was now in clear view, and Ford did not know how he had not noticed sooner. 

This time, Ford managed to see the Beast turning to leave, lantern creaking with the shuffle. “Wait, one last question.” The Beast paused, and Ford took that as an invitation. “Why do you carry around that lamp?” He failed to see the young boy stiffen up. 

“I must keep it lit, else we all fall into the darkness.” Ford wanted so badly to ask what he meant by those words. So cryptic yet filled with hidden meaning behind each and every one. He opened his mouth, ready to ask for clarification. He breathed. He blinked.

The Beast once again was nowhere to be seen.

One would think that after the warning he’d gotten from someone named the Beast to not get lost again he might have heeded their words. But then again Ford wasn’t just anyone and he was stubborn. He wanted - no - needed answers! 

Which was why on this fine autumn afternoon, he decided to test fate, wrap a blindfold around his eyes, and stumble blindly into the Gravity Falls forest in hopes of getting hopelessly lost. He was willing to bet that he’d come to regret this decision much later, but at the moment he could care less. His need for answers was leading him by the heart.

When he spent about an hour stumbling and wandering aimlessly he finally deemed himself perfectly lost and reached up to take off the blindfold, only to startle when seeing the boy standing right in front of him. Unlike prior times, it seemed that the boy’s face was skewed into something confused and annoyed. No. That wasn’t right. Annoyed was too strong a word. It was more like concern disguised under an air of disappointment. 

“I would say I’d be surprised by your appearance, but I suppose I’d be lying to myself at this point.” The Beast said as a way of greeting.

And despite it all, Stanford gave a breathy laugh, out of breath from his hours long walk through the unknown. “I suppose so, yes.” The bag he’d been lugging along was pulled off his shoulders and placed onto the ground unceremoniously. He might have winced at hearing something - most likely one of his pens - snap, but he was more focused on the present. With ease he opened up his bag and began sifting through the contents.

“Come along then, before the sun sets and it is impossible to-”

“If what I believe is to be true, then we’re in some type of pocket dimension yes?” Ford was too busy searching through his bag to notice the young monster freeze up. His back was to him, but the young boy did cast his eyes over his shoulders, eyes glowing dangerously. Ford leaned back up, taking out a small book from the bag at long last. Ford raised his eyes to the Beast, noting how the young boy seemed to be drawn taut, like a wolf cautiously watching its next meal. Ford might have felt nervous had it not been for his weeks of studying the paranormal and what other wonders it had to offer. “Am I correct?”

The Beast did not answer at first, instead watching Ford with cursory eyes. The eyes dripping millions of colors with a constant glow to them that definitely made him appear inhuman. Seeing the being at this angle reminded Ford of some of the folktales he’d heard from around the country. Different folktales describing beasts of all sorts. Wendigos, skinwalkers, demons, all the liking. But the Beast was different. Unlike those monsters who strived off of pure instinct, the Beast’s eyes always held a level of knowledge to them. Like the young boy before him was so much older than how he appeared to be. Ford had long since accepted that creatures could come in all shapes and sizes, and had also accepted that the Beast was no doubt much older than how he held himself.

“...What is that?” The Beast asked instead, apparently not eager to answer Ford’s first question yet. Instead, his eyes on the solid black book clutched in Ford’s hands. The man unconsciously loosened his grip, not even realizing that he was holding it so tight in the first place.

Despite what lingering fear had been churning in the pit of his stomach, Ford forced a genuine smile. He lifted the book partially to give the Beast a better view of it. “I did say that I was going to bring a book of poems the next time I visited did I not?”

“...” The Beast said no words, but that cautious look to his eyes had since faded. Instead, he slowly turned. Slowly, and with great deliberation, he lifted one hand out from beneath his cloak. Ford might have startled at the black clawed appendage that was so unlike its fleshy counterpart had it not been for his curiosity overruling his possible fear. 

Ford stared at the arm that was much too long to be considered proportional. Dark vines of bark wound round his arm, trailing further up his arm till it disappeared beneath his cloak. Black ichor dripped at some of the cracks within the wood, dripping down the length of the arm like a gauging wound. Fickle dry leaves, brown with death sprouting here and there. If Ford had any suspicions that this boy may be some subspecies of Spriggin then it was immediately ruled out. Spriggins thrived and bloomed, this boy, this so-called monster, was composed of nothing but death.

“May I?” The Beast interrupted Ford’s thoughts, making the researcher’s focus snap back into place. His eyes lingered up towards the boy’s face, finding those pits of endless glowing pale colors swirling. He realized he was staring. His arm extended almost hesitantly, as if afraid to touch Ford.

It took a moment for Ford to realize what the boy was speaking in reference to. “Oh,” He blinked back fully into the present and immediately thrust the book out closer for the boy to take, “of course.” He took careful note of how the boy refused to touch him, only skimming his oak like claws over the outer edge of the book, keeping a decent amount of space between Ford’s flesh and his bark. 

Slowly, The Beast managed to wrap his fingers around the corner of the novel, taking it from Ford’s grasp with a surprisingly strong grasp. He lifted the book to his face, flipping open the blank black cover with surprisingly dexterous fingers. His eyes for a moment seemed to clarify, the glowing swirling forming into something that Ford might vaguely describe as eyes. He watched the Beast’s eyes roam over the front page before looking to Ford in what he realized was childish curiosity. “Emily Dickinson?” 

“Yes, well, it seems that I misplaced my copy of Edgar Allen Poe poems.” Ford scratched the back of his neck in an almost sheepish gesture.

Then came a noise, the sound of the wind blowing harder, the trees trembling from the breeze. The branches creaked harshly, up and down, up and down. But through that there was a noise that cut through it all. A child’s laugh. Albeit it was quiet, almost a rasp, like it had not been used in so long. 

Then Ford realized it was coming from the Beast and he stared in awe. This creature, that was so clearly a monster in its own right now resembling something so human . The more Ford stared at the monster, this Beast , the more he could only see a child. 

The sound was quickly finished with, but a small smile was still present, hinting at the bell like sound that had just rang throughout the woods. The Beast peered fondly at the novel in its grasp before holding it back out for Ford to take. And an almost sad look in its eyes that seemed to have cleared even more. Ford spoke without thinking, “Keep it.”

To say that startled the Beast was the understatement of the century. The Beast blinked a few times, its smile slipping off its face rather quickly into a confused frown. Its fingers seemed to instinctively tighten around both the book and lantern. For a moment it even seemed like its lantern flickered. “I insist-”

“No, I insist.” Ford proceeded, watching as the Beast continued to stare imploringly at him. Ford merely smiled, looking around the forest with all the skill that a friend had when pretending to mind their own business. “It must get awfully lonely out here.” The way he talked seemed like he was merely commenting on the weather. “I know that I’d be horribly bored without something to pass the time. And I know that I’ve already memorized just about every poem in that book, so I suppose there is no use in keeping it around somewhere where it will only collect dust. I think it’d get much better use when in someone’s capable hands.”

The Beast still looked torn, gazing down at the book. The tension had left his body, but there was still a clear hesitance. “...Are you sure?” It was a childish question, and it only solidified Ford’s growing curiosity.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been more sure.” Ford answered.

Still, the Beast was slow, carefully pulling the book beneath his cloak, almost making Ford wish he could see wherever it was going. But he kept his mouth shut when he heard the monster mutter something. Ford had to take a minute to realize just what the young monster had muttered.

“Thank you.”

After that day, the Beast hadn’t warned him of getting lost again, so Ford took that as an invitation. Every so often he’d wander around till he was satisfyingly lost and met with the Beast. It was about the fourth of these wanderings that he decided that he’d take a chess board with him. From his constant chats with the Beast, he found that he was a knowledgeable soul, who preferred to spend his days working his mind rather than working his physique. Not that there was much to change, Ford assumed.

So, here he sat, on a flattened log in the middle of the woods, with a strange cryptid apart from him playing a game of chess . He’d never admit to it, but he might say that the Beast was a surprisingly difficult opponent. Ford supposed that may be due to the knowledge he held that was far beyond this plane of existence, but he supposed he was no better, what with Bill in his head. 

But that wasn’t important, what was important was the fond smile on the Beast’s face as he appeared to be getting friendlier and friendlier with Ford. Right now was a quieter day as it seemed that Ford was taking more pleasure in simply spending time with a friend rather than interrogating a new discovery. With each day that passed, that original fear that had churned in his gut was dwindling.

And that was when it happened.

“Why do you keep visiting this place when I have warned you time and time again that you are treading a thin line?”

Ford looked up, his fingers hovering over a pawn. He noticed that the Beast was not looking at him, staring at the board with calculative eyes. Ford absently pondered if the monster even meant to ask that question in the first place. 

Slowly, Ford moved the pawn, answering while doing so, “I suppose for some peace of mind?” It was sort of true. Afterall, whenever he came to visit the Beast there was a strange emptiness to his mind. It wasn’t an unwelcome feeling, as he recognized it as Bill more or less leaving for a bit. As much as he appreciated the dream demon’s aid in discovering the paranormal, it could be suffocating at times. But for some reason, everytime he met with the Beast, it was like Bill all but vanished from his senses.

Humming, the Beast slid a knight into place. He leaned back, continued to stare down at the pieces. “Peace of mind.” He repeated the words, as if testing them upon his tongue. He paused for a moment, watched as Ford reached out for a pawn again. “You mean escape from Bill Cipher, correct?”

Ford almost choked . He jolted without really meaning to. His eyes flickered up again, finding that the monster was only staring down at the board with sharp eyes. Slowly, as if afraid that his hand might snap or break under the wrong move, Ford slid a pawn to the side, hearing the piece scrape against the board. “That is one way of phrasing it, yes.”

The Beast was quiet, only giving his attention to the board with a carefully empty gaze.

“I’m surprised you know his name.”

“It is a name I am familiar with in this realm, although he is incapable of traversing here.”

Is that why there is an emptiness in my head?

Finally, the Beast’s eyes flickered up to Ford’s and Ford almost shivered at the sharpness staring back at him. “You would do well to be cautious with him, and I suggest you do not mention my name within his presence, should you choose to continue meeting with him.”

“Is he scared of you?” Ford finally asked.

The way the Beast’s mouth curled made Ford think it was a smile, but he swore that there was something smug about the expression. The corners of his mouth grow just a little too wide despite it being thin. “Let us just say that my domain is the one place where he will never come to by choice.” His eyes flickered back down to the board, and his smile turned into something gentler, “Unlike you, of course.”

The rest of their meeting was spent in relative silence. Ford continued to be polite, but he couldn’t get the words out of his head. The warning the Beast gave him. He hadn’t mentioned the Beast to Bill, but now he was curious on what would happen. But something told him that would be a very bad idea. 

So instead, they spent their time in silence, playing the rest of the game. The Beast won with ease and it was only at the end of their game. Ford realized that he’d only been moving the pawns for some reason. He was normally better than that.

“Come now.” The Beast spoke gently, coming to his full height with his back creaking like a lumbering oak tree. He peered towards Ford with calm eyes, lantern clutched tight in his hands just as always. Ford followed in silence, not having any questions to say today.

For some reason the Beast didn’t like that.

“Wirt.”

The sudden statement took Ford by surprise, his eyes blinking in confusion. He peered at the young monster that was staring forward with a steady gaze. There was the faintest smile on his face that Ford recognized as fondness. Like he was thinking back on a happy memory long since past.

Ford held that smile when thinking about the past with his twin sometimes.

“Pardon?”

“Wirt.” The boy reiterated. Staring forward with a calm gaze. “It was my mortal name.” 

Oh.

Ford turned, his momentary fear put aside by something more curious.

The Beast Wirt was already gone. 

Later, when Ford scoured all sources he could find that mentioned the name Wirt he would come across an old article written at least ten years before about a pair of young boys. One apparently stuck in a coma and another that went missing. He would stare at the article for hours that night, rapidly scratching out the title of “ The Beast ” from his journal, only to replace it with “ Wirt McLoughlin ” in invisible ink. 

And even later, he would tape a picture of the young missing boy into the journal, right beside the crudely drawn image of the boy-turned-monster.

Ford didn’t visit again. But Wirt already knew that he wouldn’t. At least... he wouldn’t visit again for a long time.

“Mabel! I told you that we were supposed to turn at that tree we saw a mile back!” 

“Well I thought we’d have much more of an adventure if we followed that rabbit!”

“Okay, first of all, it was clearly a jackalope, not a rabbit; and second of all, now we’re completely lost!”

“C’mon!” Mabel teased with a playful smile on her face. She strut forward with all the confidence of a runway model making their first debut on the stage. This, of course, was utterly ruined when her foot caught on a particularly lose something and her foot went sliding out from beneath her. She yelped in startlement as she collided with the ground rather roughly.

“Mabel!” Her twin shouted, Dipper running forward worriedly and sliding down beside her after watching Mabel collapse. He quickly helped his twin up, relieved to find that she wasn’t that scraped up. “You alright?”

“I’m fine…” Mabel rubbed at her temple, searching for whatever rock might have caused her momentary tumble only to pause at seeing something that was definitely not a rock lying a few feet away. She got up with relative ease, dusting herself off as she marched forward towards the object in question, ignoring her brother’s protests the whole time. “Dipper look at this…” She reached down to pick up whatever had caused her fall.

Curious, Dipper got up, stepping forward to look at whatever had made his sister go quiet and stare in disbelief. He blinked in surprise when recognizing it to be a black book of some kind. There was moss covering the outside, along with vines carefully crawling up the outside. The pages were yellowed with age, and when they opened the front up to reveal the title, it was revealed to also be water-stained, left to dry one too many times if the flimsy pages and bleary inked words were anything to go by at least.

“Emily Dickinson?” Dipper asked out loud when seeing the text

“Didn’t we study her in school or something?” Mabel asked, face scrunching up in confusion.

“Oh, I see you found my book.”

Freezing up, the twins slowly twisted themselves around to regard the voice’s owner. They stared at the monster that was looking down at them with too large eyes that were filled with an impossible amount of colors. A gentle kind smile split across his lips, his face glowing due to the faint lantern’s light clutched tight in his hand.

“I see that you’re lost.”

Chapter Text

I met a monster in the woods today.

He smiled something kind and full of woe.

When I scraped my knees he did not laugh nor chortle,

he looked upon me with eyes filled with long-lost memories.

Thoughts of times long since past swirling in endless pits of color.

He helped me to my feet, smiling something that did not meet his eyes.

He held my hand and guided me home.

For a monster, he was much too human.

Contrary to popular belief, Stan was well aware of his great-niece and nephew’s shenanigans. He was aware of the little exploration they went on. Their adventures into the woods to search for mythical creatures and monsters. He feigned ignorance every time they came back with an equally bizarre story of whatever quest they went on for that day.

Stan was quite fine with playing the fool.

Until his great-niece and nephew returned earlier that day. 

“Grunkle Stan! Grunkle Stan!” Mabel had shouted with all the glee a twelve-year-old should have. She was covered in sticks and dirt and leaves, but there wasn’t one scrape on her, so any concern he had was gone in an instant. “We made a new friend today!”

“Is that so?” He chuckled, ruffling his great niece’s hair with fondness that was only reserved for family.

“No, we met a monster!” Dipper grumbled as he stumbled inside, looking equally as covered in foliage and nature. In his arms was a familiar book. Something worn and old and looking like it had seen much love. 

“He was nice!” Mabel argued.

“Mabel, he had oil running out of his eyes and branches coming out of the head.”

“Yeah, but he didn’t kill us did he?”

“Kid, although I admire your tenacity in seeing the good in everyone, that’s an awfully low bar for what makes a good person.” Stan pointed out as he finally turned his attention to the book in Dipper’s arms. “Whatcha got there, kid?”

Dipper blinked, clearly thinking that the book would go unmentioned. “Oh uh, here,” He reached out, offering the worn book for his great uncle to take. And just as expected, Stan took the offered novel, turning it and seeing the title. A knot forming in his stomach. “I mean… he wasn’t that bad I guess, he guided us back to the shack and even let us keep the book.”

“Huh,” Stan said, and his throat felt tight, too small, and not enough flow for air. But even still he forced himself to take a deep breath, tucking the old worn book in the crook of his arm. “Weird.”

“Weird.” Stan scoffed, remembering the memory in crucial detail. “Good going Stan, a master con man and the best you could muster up was weird.” He shook his head as he stepped outside and took a deep breath. The kids were in bed and the sun was just beginning to set now. But even still, he had a mission.

He reached for the flashlight at his hip, clicking it on and walking straight for the forest wall. The sound of the grass and leaves crunched beneath his shoes. The birds twittering louder and the wind rustling the trees. His light shone on the already darkening forest, casting it in an eerie glow. Had he been a lesser man he might have even admitted to being on edge. 

But no, he was Stanley Pines and he wouldn’t let some creepy forest rule over his life-

Snap.

No. Stanley did not shriek. Nor did he let out a manly wail. He merely… jumped in surprise. A very manly jump, he would have you know.

And he turned towards the source of the noise, shining his light right at the figure beside him while shouting, “You better be ready to catch these hands because I am not dying today!” 

Now, the thing was, Stanley was in no way in any danger. He was probably the safest he’d ever been, having not noticed that the further he had walked the more the forest had contorted around him into a nightmarish hellscape. Nor did he hear the wildlife vanishing and being replaced with a silence that was unlike anything he’d ever heard - or more accurately lack of ever heard. But now with his guide having arrived, there was guaranteed safety.

Of course, it may have been rather rude to have his first interaction with the monster being the shine of light right into his eyes. Of course, unlike any human that might shout and demand he move the direction of his light, The Beast merely raised one hand to partially cover his face. “Hello Stanley, a pleasure to meet you, but would you be so kind as to move your light away?” It was said in such a morbidly monotone voice that it sent a shiver down Stan’s spine.

But he didn’t move yet, his eyes locked onto the black stained hand that was too long and too lithe to be on a frame of a young boy. Well… a young monster boy it seemed. In all his years of Gravity Falls, he didn’t recall reading about this creature once in Journal 1. 

Immediately, Stan was on edge. “How do you know my name and who are you?” He was kind enough to move his light at the end of his question, watching as the young boy moved his arm away from his face and revealed two eerie eyes that were paler than the moon hung above them. 

The boy tilted his head to the side, some leaves stuck on the branches of his head shivering with the movement. He stared for a time before turning his attention away. The lantern which Stan only just noticed turning as well to illuminate a path near them. “Come, it’s growing late, we shouldn’t be out here for long.” He began walking along the path.

“Hey, you didn’t answer my question!” And despite knowing nothing about this stranger creature, his feet moved without much hesitance, following the monster without a hint of hesitancy. 

“I know many things.” The Beast said by way of answer. 

“Think you could give a more cryptic answer?”

“If you’d like.”

“It was rhetorical, kid.” Kid, because the longer Stan stared, the more he realized that this monster was barely older than Dipper and Mabel. His brows furrowed, staring in deep concentration for a time as he finally said, “You were the one that met my great-niece and nephew earlier today weren’t you?”

“They were lost so I guided them home.” 

Stan pursed his lips, thinking deeply, “Their home is in California.”

“Home away from home then.” The Beast didn’t show any emotion, and it was to a point that made Stan wary. Stan was good at reading people, it was one of the qualities of his childhood that he prided himself on. Because he may not be book smart, but he was people smart. And it made him uncomfortable to see emotions on the face, but nothing in the words spoken.

“Why?”

“They were lost.” The Beast answered, it was short and to the point. “They were young, they didn’t deserve to be lost at such a young age.” And it was the first time that Stan heard real emotion in the boy’s tone. Something deep that ran to his core. Something that spoke of experience, and in an instant it was gone. The only sound that of Stan’s feet crunching the soil. 

“Care to expand on that?”

“Not particularly.” 

Stan huffed, well, at least the kid was amusing. But then the reason for coming out here struck him, and boy did it strike him hard. His lips thinned, the momentary amusement he’d felt disappearing in an instant. “That book, the Emily Dickinson’s Poems one, who gave that to you?”

“I think you know who.” 

Yes.

He did.

“I’m the Beast, by the way.” The boy spoke, cutting Stan out of his moping. “I know everyone who stumbles into my woods, but I always forget that not every soul who traverses here knows who I am.” 

“The Beast, kind of presumptuous, don’t you think?” Stan joked, realizing that he could see the lights of the shack now cutting through the treeline. The sound of the birds coming back to greet him and he realized that he felt warmer, like he just stepped into a sauna after a cold winter storm. 

“I didn’t choose it.”

“What do you-” Stan turned to look at the kid oddly.

All that was left was an empty space beside him.

The funny thing about power is people will do whatever they can to get a grasp on it. They will stab you in the back and take what they want if it means an inevitable lead to power. The greed will eat away at you until you find a new way to obtain what you desire. And even if that meant tempting the unknown, those bold enough would be more than happy to do so.

So The Beast wasn’t surprised to be approached by someone seeking such methods.

He was roaming the Unknown as he always did, looking for lost souls to guide home or, in the worst-case scenarios, guide towards their new home, when a sickening feeling filled his gut. It felt like someone had placed a lump of hot coal within his mouth and forced him to swallow, the burning feeling traveling down his esophagus and burning him to his very core. Something sick and uninvited was in his territory.

With a mere thought, he appeared in the area that originated such terrible and filthy feelings. He took but one parting glance and knew what the cause of such malice had originated from. As standing in an open clearing, a journal in his hands, was a young boy. 

He was dressed in a pale blue suit that stunk of curses and magic that brought back memories that made him want to gag. His hand instinctively curls tighter over the handle of the lantern. The branches on his head creaking, and some more vines slithering out of the folds of his cloak to hold her fleshy hand tighter, if ever so slight. But that isn’t what made his insides twist, it was the stench of demonic play at work, the odor that seemed to resonate from the boy that suggested that this was not his first time working with powers above him.

But the stench was a familiar one, one he had previously correlated with Ford before he learned the truth. And the only reason he didn’t turn Ford away then was because he knew that Ford was different. He wasn’t a man looking for power for the sake of holding something above everyone else, he was a man that wanted to know things beyond human understanding. He was willing to learn. So that's why he sought out the unknown.

But this boy.

This boy reeked of greed and hunger.

Stepping out from behind his perch, The Beast paid one look at the boy, noting he had yet to be seen, before announcing in a grim tone, “You are lost.”

Just as always when he made himself known, the person in question was always startled. Surprised eyes turned to face him in shock, taking in his form for a brief moment, casting one glance down to his journal, before a conniving smile curled at his lips and he snapped the journal shut. He tucked the journal into his suit jacket soon after, speaking in an accent unfamiliar to The Beast, “Well well well, I was once lost, but seems I’ve been found! And by the exact person who I was hoping to find, no less!” 

The Beast thinned his lips. “You are lost.” He reiterated, dead set on not hosting a conversation.

“I- yes.” The little boy said, who looked taken back by the coldness in the Beast’s tone. That realization that this wouldn’t be a walk through the park was obvious if the boy’s lips turned and his face scrunched in annoyance, but it was gone in the blink of an eye, replaced with a - frankly - over-the-top smile. “Well, see, I was hoping that you’d talk to wittle ol’ me!”

The Beast stared at the ridiculous pose the boy took. “If you’re trying to convince me that you’re innocent and deserving of whatever you want, then you’re failing.” He stared as the boy looked aghast by his admittance. “The innocence is held in a person’s soul, and although you look the part, your soul is darker than the forest we stand in.”

Getting past the fact that he was called out on his façade, the boy decided to just up and abandon the ploy to act naïve. He narrowed his eyes on the Beast and asked, “What gave it away?”

A young boy, a pot on his head, smiling up at him with a frog held in his arms. 

The Beast shrugged. 

The boy hummed, eyes rolling over the Beast’s form, deep in thought. “Well then, I appreciate someone willing to get straight to the point.” He adjusted his suit like he was in the midst of a business deal. Then, he held out his hand for them to take, “The name’s Gideon Gleeful, child psychic, and I’d like to strike a deal.”

At the word deal, The Beast’s eyes glowed brighter. Loud whispers in his ears begging and pleading at the opportunity to gain something from the mortal realm. His mouth watered, his antlers ached. Instinctively, his fingers twitched. 

No.

Just as quick as the urge had taken hold of him was as quick as it vanished. The Beast hastily snapped his eyes shut, head tilting to the side as he took a deep breath to gain his bearings. He took a deep breath, ignoring the aching in his bones, and reigned back his instincts. “I believe there has been a misunderstanding.” 

Gideon looked insulted as he allowed his hand to drop. “What do you mean?” He asked, taking his journal and flipping towards a page inside. He read whatever was written inside and said, “You’re a demon, when I offer a deal, you have to take it.”

“What is it you even want me to do?” The Beast asked, hand instinctively tightening over the lantern at the boy’s words. His skin crawled, the situation making his stomach churn tenfold.

“I want you to get rid of the Pines family.” The forest went silent. “You guide lost souls home, or so it says in the journal, so I want you to make sure they stay lost.” The Earth became still. “Deal with them.”

Deal with them?

A broken wheezing laugh escaped the beast, it wasn’t amusement, more so condescending. Gideon looked insulted. The Beast turned his attention to Gideon and offered a smile that was much too wide and full of teeth. “Someone hasn’t done their research.”

“Wha-” Gideon looked thoroughly flabbergasted. He suddenly seemed to remember the journal in his grasp as he rushed to the page in question. He pulled it up and pointed to it, showcasing a rather well-done drawing of The Beast and a filled page of information showcasing just what was known about him. Of course, it seemed to be only half-seen, as, although the human eye couldn’t see it, The Beast could see the faint traces of invisible ink. “Here! Right here it says you're a Death Demon! Which means you-”

“You needn’t educate me of my own being.” The Beast interrupted, beginning to walk for the outer edge of the forest, knowing that the boy would follow. And follow he did. “But it’s only half the information. I am an aspect of death, not death itself.” 

“But you’re a demon! You like making deals! Bill did-”

“Do not-” The Beast stopped in the clearing, stopping short as to hold himself back from shouting. He cleared his throat and said in a gentler voice, “I recommend not comparing me to the likes of Cipher, we are two different breeds of demon.”

“But demons nonetheless.”

“Demons which a young boy such as yourself should not be basking in.” The Beast had managed to cool his temper, keeping up appearances and noting how the forest was beginning to turn brighter and more lively. Lovely, they were coming near the edge.

“Well then what do you do?”

“I guide lost souls home. I do not let them stay lost, unless there is no path leading them home,” He gestured forward, as if in example. “Be lucky your soul shines a clear path for us to take, others are not as lucky.”

“What are you-”

“Here we are.” Lo and behold they escaped the confines of the trees and were at the main road. Gideon looked struck by the sight, knowing that it hadn’t been nearly that quick a walk to locate The Beast compared to returning outside the forest. “And I don’t often give words of advice, but I will now.”

Gideon looked up in confusion, only to be struck fearful by the imposing eyes staring down at him. 

“I do recommend not dwelling with powers above your own anymore, else you may come to regret your decisions later.”

Gideon blinked and-

The Beast was gone.

Just as always, he was unsurprised to find another Pines entering his domain. Honestly, with the way they got lost, he wouldn’t be surprised if one of them simply couldn’t go home. He hoped and prayed that day would never come, but he was never certain. But of course, he would make sure that day wasn’t this day. 

So with a quick thought, he appeared in the place in which Dipper had come to visit. The boy had taken to visiting him more often, so it wouldn’t be such a far cry of an assumption to make that he was simply coming to see him again. So much like his great uncle.

So he stepped out from behind his perch, ready to state the obvious. Always so very lost. But as he took in a breath of air - unneeded - to do so, it caught in his chest. 

His back was towards him, but the Beast knew that this was not Dipper. Dipper was a curious soul, and similar to his twin, he radiated nothing but kindness. Sure, he wasn’t nearly as in touch with his emotions as his sibling, but it was a near thing.

So why, when the Beast stared at the back of this child now clad in holy-wear, was the Beast staring at him.

And of course, because he did love a grand entrance, the possessed boy turned, eyes now thin slits and a too-wide smile on his face. He looked pale, unnaturally so, it was almost like the Beast could see the veins and bones beneath his skin. And this… this was not Dipper.

The Beast knew exactly who this was.

“Get out of him.”

“Oh, c’mon Beast!” A voice so-very un-Dipper drawled. His eyes blinked, but not in time with each other. His smile grew ever larger, and it made the Beast’s own mouth turn into a grimace. “I just got a meat sack for the first time and you want me to ditch it like that? Friendly reminder buddy, but not every demon is blessed with the opportunity of picking out hosts left and right!”

The Beast’s grip on the lantern tightened, the branches that were his fingers aching. His eyes grew brighter, the black ichor picking up its face as it raced down his face in droves, splattering onto his nurse cape and staining the already ruined cloth further. The branches on his head shifted, wanting to grow larger.

But he held himself back.

Taking a deep breath and closing his eyes, the Beast schooled himself. Losing his composure would prove to be the worst course of action to take here. And The Beast vowed that he would not lose his temper to the likes of the dream demon. 

Exhaling, The Beast raised his head, eyes peering down his nose to stare at the child - demon - before him. His eyes held nothing but contempt as he curtly said, “Cipher,” by way of greeting. Of course, he couldn’t keep the sneer out of his tone.

“In the flesh!” The demon laughed like it was something to laugh about. “Do you get it?! Because I’m-”

“I understood it the first time, yes.” The Beast said, his monotone a striking opposite to Cipher’s natural charisma. “Now, I will ask this once and once only and then I will ask that you leave my woods, but why are you here, and why are you possessing Dipper’s body?”

“What? Pine Tree?” Cipher asked incredulously as he gave a broad gesture to himself as if showcasing his prize. “Kid decided to make a deal with a demon,” He giggled, which made The Beast’s skin crawl, “didn’t think through all the loopholes, you know how humans are. Never thinking out the cons, always thinking of the pros. You thought the same with Gideon, yeah?” 

The Beast did not grace that with an answer.

“You did not answer my first question.”

“Yeah yeah, I know Beasty, geez, can’t a demon have a little time to enjoy his newfound freedom around here. You’re acting like I’ve damned the kid to an eternity of misery- oh wait.” The Beast’s hand tightened around his lantern, and the aching became worse. Cipher rolled his eyes, head falling to the side like a doll without strings. “I did, didn’t I?”

“Should you not answer my question again then I will be forced to remove you from my home.” 

“Okay okay! Sheesh! Impatient much? Got places to be? Souls, to keep up with?” The Beast grit his teeth, and he knew his branch-antlers grew an inch or two at the jab. Cipher didn’t seem to notice the impending threat as he merely rolled his eyes and drawled, “I simply want to make a deal.”

“What?”

This time, The Beast allowed his composure to break. His limbs growing longer, his back arching forward so he towered over the smaller demon. His branch-antlers grew and shaped upwards, making him even taller. The black ichor now ran down his face like small waterfalls covering the floor in the sap. The lantern creaked with how hard he gripped it as his claws became longer and sharped. 

No longer was he willing to keep up appearances when speaking to the other demon.

“Ah, there he is!” Cipher crowed like it was something he was proud of. He threw his hands into the air almost joyously, “I was afraid you’d lost your touch buddy! But there you are!” 

“What deal?”

“Right to the point, I like that!” Cipher laughed, as he held out his hand, blue flames beginning to crackle to life in the palm. “In exchange for this body and Pine Tree’s life, you give me that.” He stretched one finger out, pointing right towards the heart of The Beast.

The lantern. 

The forest groaned in time with The Beast’s laughter, which was a deep rumble that made the roots of the forest floor unearth and quake. “You think me such a fool that I would trade my very heart for a child I barely even know?”

“It’s what Greg would want.” Oh. “Wouldn’t he?”

It was a low blow.

But it was a valid argument.

And The Beast stood there, holding his brother, his heart, to his chest. The feeling of his brother’s soul, a gentle burning thrum that kept him awake and never dying. A reason to continue living, or a near equivalent at least. And Greg, kind Greg, would never throw away the opportunity to give his life in exchange for another.

It’s what he did for Wirt.

The Beast stared at Cipher, the ichor running down his face seeming to slow. Like he was rolling over ideas in his head, loopholes, and opportunities he could make out of this. Cipher was smart, given he knew that The Beast had a connection to the Pines Family. Going as far as to bring his brother into the argument, reasoning uncanny to any other. And one he had not heard in a long time and one he often could not argue with.

But…

The Beast made the same low grumbling laugh, the forest groaning in time again. Then he shrunk, his limbs receding and the tapered sharp edges dulling. His thorny horns going back to the large imposing branches they were. More human, much less demonic. 

And there stood The Beast again, as human as he strove to be.

“I cannot accept your offer.” 

“Excuse me?”

“While your argument was sound,” The Beast admitted that much, because it was truly sound, going for his emotions and toying with him. He raised his eyes, shining brighter than the cosmos that Cipher craved to have. “There is one thing in which you overlooked.”

Cipher stared, eyes flickering over The Beast’s form, likely looking for where he could have gone wrong in his logic. “And what is that?”

The Beast, a neutral expression on his face, leaned forward until their noses were nearly brushing. His eyes were bright, the black ichor that had rained hard earlier not stains on his pale skin. And in a tone so very deadly, he whispered his answer, “You've mistaken me for the kind soul of my brother.” And he leaned back, staring back down at Cipher with his contempt expression. He turned on the cheek, striding back into the Unknown, back to the demon. “You can find your way out, I’m sure.”

“You’re going to regret this, pal.”

The Beast stopped.

“And you are going to regret the day you chose to threaten a shadow of death.” The Beast took one parting glance over his shoulder, his eyes half-lidded and now uncaring. “Now, I do hope you run along. Knowing you, you’ll be gone by tomorrow. Those Pines twins are awfully crafty when they want to be you know.” 

“They won’t-”

“Oh, and Cipher?” The Dream Demon stopped short, staring at The Beast, who was no longer looking at him. “You best hope that the next time we meet you have another body you’re inhabiting. Else the consequences may be… more permanent.” And with that he left, a dumbstruck Dream Demon left in his wake.

He could feel the moment the shift occurred.

The minute in which the world cracked and something unforeseen stepped back into the land in which they dwelled. His forest felt it. The Beast turned his head and felt the likes of the universe flow over him. His eyes brightened and he moved without thinking, walking for the outer edges of the Unknown, the place that separated the living from the forgotten.

And he crossed it.

He didn’t remember the last time he crossed it.

Once upon a time he did, when he could look upon his hands and see flesh and skin and not branch and black ichor. 

And his feet led him forward. Each step was well placed, well thought out even though he was led by nothing but instinct. The sounds of birds twittering and the forest filling with a song followed each step he took. No longer was he surrounded by twisting, gnarled branches, but now he saw something kinder, something much less fear-inducing. Something living.

He came to the edge and stopped, staring upon a shack that he had led lost souls home to so many times. And he stared. He stared at the black cars sitting around like ducks to a piece of bread in a pond. People mulled around outside, shouting and yelling, none have seen him though. Not that they could, it wasn’t their time. 

Then there was a flash of something unearthly, something which humans weren’t used to, but something that he could easily handle. He watched and waited until four forms stepped out of the house. Three which he’d seen near-constant now, and one which he had not seen in a very long time. He held himself up with the same confidence he’d always had. 

It was like he hadn’t left.

He smiled over the crowd of men, waving them off as they left, and his eyes scanned across the clearing, making sure that it was thoroughly cleared until landing on the forest. And they stilled at the sight of him.

Even from so far, The Beast could see his mouth move. “Wirt?”

The Beast only smiled and turned back towards his forest, disappearing yet again, happy to see yet another soul return home. 

“Come come! There is someone I’d love you to meet!”

“Who is it, Great Uncle Ford? Is it a monster?!

“I bet it’s a mermaid!”

“Knowing him, he’s probably off on some nerd quest.”

While Ford smiled at his niece and nephew's guesses, he scowled at his brother. He led them further into the woods nonetheless. He watched in glee as the branches and sky became darker and more twisted. The sounds become farther and more distant. The atmosphere becoming more and more unappealing and threatening, and yet it was like a warm embrace to him, a safe haven.

“No, no, none of those things, although, I suppose that Dipper was close with the monster; although, please don’t consider him as such.” Ford was quick to amend his words, wanting to make a good first proper introduction. He’d heard them mention this monster in particular, and Ford thought that they were long past due for a good introduction. 

Finally, they arrived in a mostly cleared area, and Ford thought that it was the best place to stop. And of course, the moment he stopped, the others did as well, coming to a halt behind him and looking both impatient and intrigued. Ford, not wanting to waste a moment, pulled out a small book from his pocket and opened it, about to read when-

“Emily Dickinson? Are you serious? If you brought us all the way out here just to do slam poetry then-”

“Stanley, please don’t interrupt me.” Perhaps Ford could have been kinder in his request, but it wasn’t like he was on the best terms with his twin at the time. So, he simply cleared his throat and turned to a page he had already marked, beginning slowly, 

“I stepped from plank to plank

  So slow and cautiously;

The stars about my head I felt,

   About my feet the sea-”

“-I knew not but the next

   Would be my final inch,--

This gave me that precarious gait

  Some call experience.”

The group nearly jumped by the sound of the new voice entering unannounced. They turned and saw the young monster come out from behind his hiding place. His eyes glowing brightly, gleefully, as he recited the rest of the poem. The lantern was burning brightly, nearly just as joyful as the monster felt.

“Hello, Stanford.”

Ford couldn’t help the smile that split across his lips.

“Hello, Wirt.”