Chapter Text
“What’re you doing, Ford?” Stan asked. It was a normal day in Gravity Falls—or at least as close to normal as Gravity Falls got. Pale morning sunlight shone through the windows as Stan and Ford sat at the breakfast table. Ford was carefully writing on a piece of paper in neat cursive and Stan was nearby, looking at a magazine. Today was a Saturday, and the twins had been woken up at six o’clock by their Grauntie Mable and told to get ready for an ‘exciting breakfast.’
Meals with Mabel were certainly an adventure, but not necessarily in a good way.
“I’m writing to Dad,” Ford said. “You should too.”
“Write to Dad?” Stan wrinkled his nose. “Why would you do that?”
“Mom said to write a letter every week,” Ford said.
“Yeah, but not to Dad. He doesn’t even want to hear from us,” Stan said.
“Of course, he does!” Ford protested. “He’s just really busy. But if I send him a letter, he can read it whenever he pleases.”
“Which is not at all,” Stan muttered. Maybe his father did have a point with some of the stuff he said, but he was still…Dad. He was too hard on Ford—sometimes, Stan felt like his father was too hard on him, even—and he wasn’t exactly the type to humor anyone.
“Look,” Ford said. “I’ll just write to Dad, and you can write to Mom, alright?”
“Writing?” Stan asked. “Ew. Nah, Mom’ll read your letter anyway.”
“Fine,” Ford said, adding ‘Mom’ to the top line and then passing his pen over to Stan. “Write your name at the bottom.”
“Hold on,” Stan said. “I wanna see what I’m signing.” He grabbed the letter and checked it over:
Dear Dad and Mom,
Hello from Gravity Falls, Oregon! We’re having a great time here, though Grauntie Mabel is a bit out there. She’s having us work in the shop, and even bribes us sometimes for the hard tasks! Other than that, we haven’t been doing much, but on Thursday we met a girl named Emma Sue. She was really interesting.
I hope the Pawn Shop is doing well!
Love,
Stanford Pines
and
“Whoah,” Stan said. “If you write it like that, you sound like you’ve got a crush on her or something!”
Ford slumped over, nearly banging his head on the table. Then, he sat up and crumpled the paper into a ball. “Ugh. That’s the eighth letter I’ve had to throw out! Why does this have to be so hard?”
“It really doesn’t,” Stan said. “Whatever you say, Dad won’t read it and Mom will just be happy she got something from us.” That didn’t seem to cheer Ford up in the slightest, so Stan changed tactics. “How about a syrup race?” He asked, pushing a bottle of Mountie Man Syrup towards Ford and taking Sir Syrup for himself.
“Okay,” Ford perked up a bit, pushing the latest letter aside and taking the bottle of syrup. “But no cheating.”
“Me?” Stan asked. “I would never!”
The two boys tipped the syrup bottles upside down and opened their mouths.
“Go, Sir Syrup!”
“Go, Mountie Man!”
“Go, go!”
“Almost…” Stan said, giving up and tapping the bottom of the bottle. A single drop fell into his mouth. “Yes!” He shouted, immediately beginning to cough. “I won!”
“Cheater,” Ford muttered, picking up a nearby newspaper and flipping through it. “Oh, wow! Check this out, Stan!”
Stan looked at the newspaper in Ford’s hands. There was an advertisement for a human-sized hamster ball. Below it sat an announcement about a monster photo contest, with a picture of a guy next to an obviously-faked monster.
“Human-sized hamster balls?” Stan asked. His eyes widened, and he pictured himself running around town in one. It would be amazing! “Hey Sixer, I’m human-sized!”
“No, no. Stan, this. Look! We see weirder stuff than that every day. Well, some days. Point is, we’ve got real live monsters, right here in Gravity Falls. We could win! Our pictures would get published here. We didn’t get any photos of those gnomes, did we?”
“Nope,” Stan said. “Just memories. And this piece of beard hair.”
“Really?” Ford’s eyes widened. “Hold on a second, I need to get a test tube! We might be able to send the follicle cells into a lab for DNA analysis!”
“Uh…” Stan said. “I understand most of those words? Sorta, kinda?”
Ford jumped up from the table and was about to leave the kitchen when Mabel entered the room. She was wearing a purple sweater and a grin that seemed large enough to fall off her face. “Good morning, sunshines!” Stan groaned. “You two know what day it is?”
“Uh…happy anniversary?” Ford guessed.
“Mazel tov!” Stan said reflexively.
Mabel tapped Ford on the head with a newspaper, who flinched. Stan looked over at his brother, who sent him a look that he was pretty sure was supposed to convey ‘I’m fine.’ He didn’t look hurt, and Mabel very obviously hadn’t meant to harm him. But still. Ford had looked scared for a moment, and Stan didn’t like anyone making his brother scared.
“It’s Family Fun Day, genius!” Mabel said, taking out a carton of glittery milk from the fridge. “We’re going to be having some A+ family bonding!”
“Uh, Great Aunt Mabel?” Ford asked. “Is this gonna be anything like our last family bonding day?”
“Grauntie’s fine!” Mabel said. “And I pinky promise I won’t get anyone arrested this time. Other than myself. And, okay, maybe you. But it was so worth it!”
“I made some friends in the county jail!” Stan said happily.
Ford shuddered at the memory.
“Okay, fine, maybe I haven’t been the most responsible summer caretaker, but I’m still totally the awesome-est!” Mabel said.
“That’s not a word,” Ford muttered.
“But today,” Mabel continued as if she hadn’t heard him, “we’re gonna have some real family fun. Now, who wants to put on some blindfolds and get into my car?”
“Yay!” Stan and Ford shouted, rushing out of the room.
“Wait, what?” Ford asked, a moment too late.
Mabel’s car was a monstrosity. Hot pink and covered with motivational bumper stickers, it seemed determine to permanently blind and nauseate anyone who looked at it. Though thankfully, Mabel hadn’t had the foresight to put a coat of clear paint over her glitter, so it wasn’t actually glittery.
The car also had several dents in it. Now that they were experiencing Mabel’s driving, Ford could see why—she seemed incapable of avoiding bumps in the road, potholes, and even trees.
“Are you wearing a blindfold?” Ford shouted after a particularly nasty turn slammed the twins against the side of the car.
Mabel laughed. “Nope! But with these cataracts and the excess paint on the windshield, I might as well be! What is that, Aoshima?”
Ford had no idea who or what Aoshima was, but he wanted out of this car.
Eventually, the Pines family reached their destination and Mabel gave them permission to remove the blindfolds.
They stood on a beach, right by an unusually blue lake. Ford wanted to take pH and salinity readings, though unfortunately he didn’t have the materials for the experiment.
All around the lake, the townsfolk of Gravity Falls were sitting on boats or the docks, doing their normal summer activities—mostly fishing. A young girl with brown hair and blue eye shadow was holding a pan and calling “Here, fishy fishies! Get into the pan!” Ford caught Stan staring at her and sighed internally.
Meanwhile, a large, blond-haired man held up a camera to take a picture of an old man with a large fish. “Say cheese!” He announced. The camera flashed and the man with the fish fell backwards into the lake. Stan snorted. A pelican came along and chased off the camera man, cawing aggressively.
“Rude,” Ford whispered.
“Uh, is this good?” A little girl asked, holding up a fishing pole with a giant fish on it. She had red hair and sat in a boat with two other red-haired girls and a red-haired woman.
“No way!” Shouted the woman. “I’ll show you how a real woman fishes! We’re Corduroys!” She grabbed a fish straight out of the water, flinging it on the boat’s floor and punching it.
“Mom! Mom! Mom! Mom!” Chanted her children.
The woman leaned back holding up the fish. “Wow,” said the little girl.
“Thanks, or whatever,” said the mom.
“That’s some quality family bonding!” Mabel grinned.
“So, wait, we’re going fishing?” Ford asked.
“I can get behind that,” Stan said.
“Nope!” Mabel announced. “We’ll be knitting lake-themed sweaters!”
“What?” Stan asked.
“Uh,” Ford just said. He really didn’t want to learn how to knit—it sounded like a disaster. “Great Aunt Mabel, why do you wanna bond with us, all of a sudden?” He asked.
“Come on, this is gonna be great!” Mabel promised. “I’ve never had knitting buddies before! The knitting group is swell, but they kicked me out when I glitterfied Tiffany’s sweater. They’ll let me back in if I bring cute children to coo over, though! And we can do family bonding! Yay! Is…this is a yay thing, right, kids? Yay?”
“I think she actually wants to knit with us,” Stan muttered to Ford.
Ford shook his head mutely. He looked at Mabel, who was grinning at them uncertainly. She…actually expected them to be excited over knitting with a bunch of old ladies.
“Hey, I know what’ll cheer you two up!” Mabel announced. From out of a bag, she pulled two sweaters, tossing them to Stan and Ford.
Ford looked at his sweater, which was a neon yellow. It was actually fairly well-made, with a ‘Ford’ knitted into it. At least he hadn’t gotten the bright fuchsia ‘Stan’ sweater. But Ford knew the scratchy material would drive him crazy to no end.
“It’s just gonna be you, me, and these sweaters against a group of crazy old ladies for ten hours!” Mabel said, smiling.
“Ten hours?” Ford asked in horror. How could anyone actually knit for that long?
“I brought lots of yarn!” Mabel told them. Said yarn was purple, pink, and an absurd baby shade of blue.
“There’s got to be a way out of this,” Stan said to Ford, who nodded in agreement. “Tell you what. You distract her, and I’ll yell ‘shark.’” But before Ford could tell him that this was an awful idea, an old woman ran onto the beach. She had long gray hair with a few lingering streaks of black, a round face, bandages on one arm and one leg, and what looked like a scarecrow hat.
“That’s o’er there Crazy Chiu,” Ford heard a man whisper to the woman fishing with him. “She’s went and gone insane. ‘s in her name, y’see?”
“I seen it!” Chiu yelled at the top of her lungs. Her accent sounded vaguely Korean. “I seen it again!” She ran through the crowd, crashing into people and overturning a table, a rack of life jackets, and a boat where two teenage boys seemed to be attempting to row on dry land. “The Gravity Falls Gobblewonker! Come quick, before it escapes away!” She began some strange sort of dance, laughing hysterically.
“She’s lost it,” Stan muttered.
“Hey,” Ford said.
“Well, she has,” Stan protested. “I mean, one second she’s claiming to have seen a monster, and the next she’s doing some happy jig.”
“Noooo!” Chiu shouted. “It’s not a jig; it’s an ancient dance of grave danger!”
Out of the bait shop on the beach ran a man with brown hair and a cap covering his eyes. In his hand, he carried a spray bottle.
“Hey, hey!” He shouted, spraying the old woman with the spray bottle. Ford winced as Candy held up her arms in defense. “Now what did I tell you about scaring my customers? This is your last warning, Candy!”
“But I have found proof this time!” Candy protested.
“Really?” A wide-eyed face stuck out of the door. Moments later, out came a boy with dirty-blond hair, glasses, and several bandaids covering his arms. One had Transformers on it, another had some character from Monsters Inc, and another had Belle from Beauty and the Beast. “Can I see it? Can I, grandma?”
“Get back inside, Fiddleford, son,” the man sighed. “This isn’t…”
“No, no, look!” Candy insisted, pointing to the dock where a boat was moored. “It’s the Gobbledy-Gobb-Gobbelwonker that did it! It had a long neck like a giraffa! And wrinkly skin like, like this lady over here!” She pointed to Mabel.
“Huh?” Mabel asked, taking a finger out of her ear. Ford wrinkled his nose.
“It chewed up my boat to smithereens, and escape-ed over to Scuttlebutt Island! You must believe me!”
“Attention all units,” said the town Sheriff. “We got ourselves a crazy old lady.” Everyone, even Stan and her son-in-law, began laughing and pointing. Well, everyone except Mabel, but it was possible she hadn’t heard. It reminded Ford too much of the bullies back home. But before she could say anything, ‘Fiddleford’ raced out onto the beach and stood in front of Candy.
“Don’t you be talkin’ about my grandma like that!” He said.
“Come on,” sighed Fiddleford’s father, shaking his head in shame. “I’ll deal with her.”
“The Gobble-dy Gobblewonker’s real,” Fiddleford insisted. “She seen it! I tell yah!”
“Son.”
Fiddleford sighed, hanging his head and sitting down on the beach a few feet away. Candy wandered off, muttering to herself in what Ford was pretty sure was Korean. She was followed by a pelican, which occasionally flew a few feet into the air and began trying to eat Candy’s hair.
“Well, that happened!” Mabel said brightly. “Now, time to knit! Put on your sweaters, kids!” She began walking away.
Ford looked at Fiddleford, sitting by himself. He was holding his legs and watching as Candy stumbled around aimlessly.
The boy seemed lonely. Ford was lucky that he at least had Stan, but this kid? He looked like the kind of boy that would be teased mercilessly in school, especially if he went around defending the town’s resident asylum escapee. Ford wished he could do something to help him. And he was starting to get an idea of what might raise Fiddleford’s spirits.
Besides, this town was full of secrets. Ford had already fought gnomes; what was to say that this Gobblewonker wasn’t real? And if they could find it and take a picture…
“Hey, Stan?” Ford asked. “Did you hear what that old woman said?”
“Uh, a bunch of Korean?” Stan held up a hand and leaned in, like he was telling a secret. “I think she was cursing.” He stepped back. “You think she’d teach me?”
“No, the other thing,” Ford said. “About the monster. If we can get a photo of it—Stan, we can split the prize thirty-three point three percent repeated three ways!”
“Uh,” Stan said. “Sorry, Sixer, but I think half of a hundred’s fifty. Call yourself a genius.”
“No,” Ford explained. He pointed at Fiddleford. “I mean, we don’t have a boat or anything, but I bet he can borrow his dad’s.”
“Huh,” Stan said, considering. “Imagine what we could do with all that money!”
“We could pay for—well, we couldn’t pay for college with three hundred thirty-three dollars and thirty-three cents. But I could buy a microscope!”
“No, think about it,” Stan grinned. “We could repair the Stan O’ War!”
Ford considered this. They probably could buy some decent supplies with $666.66. But what then? If they repaired the Stan O’ War, it wouldn’t change anything. Working on the boat was something harmless and fun, a way to pass the days of sweltering summer heat and burning sand full of broken glass. It wasn’t…it wasn’t a plan. Two twelve-almost-thirteen-year-olds couldn’t actually sail around the world.
“Yeah,” Ford agreed. He’d figure it out, if he did win the contest.
“Ford, I am one million percent on board with this!” Stan announced.
“You can’t have a million percent!” Ford protested. This went unheard, because Stan had already gone over to Fiddleford. Ford followed him.
“Hey, nerd,” Stan said. Fiddleford looked up glumly. “My bro and I wanna go monster hunting. Have you got a boat?”
“Really?” Fidds asked, standing up. “Is this a joke or somethin’?”
“Nope,” Ford said. “I’m Ford Pines. This is Stan. We’re future paranormal investigators.” That sounded impressive, right? Ford was pretty sure that sounded impressive.
“We are?” Stan muttered.
“Yep!” Ford said.
“Sure. So, what’d’ya say, nerd?” Stan asked. “Wanna go find us a Gobblewonker?” He held out a hand to shake.
Fidds smiled, spat on his hand, and then shook with Stan.
“Awesome,” Stan said.
Fiddleford held out his hand to Ford, who looked at it with distrust. He didn’t want to shake hands; Fiddleford hadn’t seen his deformity yet, and he wanted to keep it that way. Ford didn’t want Fiddleford to look at him with disgust. Because, after all, they needed to use his boat and he probably wouldn’t want to be working with a six-fingered fr—
“Shake his hand, already, Sixer,” Stan said.
Ford tried to hide his worry and took one of his hands out from his pockets, shaking hands with Fiddleford. The boy met his eyes, grinning, but didn’t say a word about his extra finger.
“Fiddleford Hadron McGucket. Pleased ta meet yah.”
“More than I got,” Stan muttered.
“Kids!” Mabel said. “Oh, you’ve made a new friend. Nice! But we’re going to go knit now, right?”
“Uh, change of plans,” Ford said. “We’re taking Fiddleford’s boat to Scuttlebutt Island, and we’re going to find the Gobblewonker!” He looked at Mabel’s face, watching as it visibly fell.
“Monster hunt!” Stan cheered. Moments later, Ford and Fiddleford joined in. “Monster hunt! Monster hunt!
“Monster hunt!” Crazy Chiu said, joining in the chat. All three children turned to look at her. “Monster…I will go now.” She went away, humming a song to herself.
“Did I hear something about a monster hunt?” Ford turned around to see Boyish Dan in a motorboat. He was wearing a gray shirt, black overalls, and a yellow life jacket, and his red hair was messy. “Monster hunting is manly!”
“Boyish Dan!” Ford said, smiling at the teenager.
“Hey!” He said. “I borrowed this boat from my mom! It’s not very manly, but it’s very fast, which is manly!”
“We’ve already got a boat, though,” Stan said. “Fiddleford has one, right?”
“Uh, actually…” Fiddleford trailed off. “I don’t think my dad would like me goin’ on some monster hunt. I wasn’t plannin’ on tellin’ him or borrowin’ his boat. So, it’d be nice if we could, uh, use your friend’s boat.”
“Alright, alright, calm down a minute,” Mabel said loudly. “Let’s think this through. You could waste your time on some epic monster-finding adventure, or you could spend the day learning how to untangle yarn and poking yourself with knitting needles along with your Grauntie Mabel!”
Ford looked at Stan. Stan looked at Ford.
Fiddleford watched this exchange, a bemused expression on his face.
This was worth it, Ford decided. Sure, Mabel might be upset, but she was nice, right? Too nice. Well, other than when she tapped him on the head with the newspaper, but it hadn’t really hurt. Stan jokingly punched him all the time.
And this was a monster hunt. Ford could take photos. Ford could do research.
And…
And if he earned money, his father would be proud. His father who he knew loved him, he just had to try harder. Dad would be proud of Ford and Stan. Maybe he’d congratulate them, or even say ‘I love you.’
Ford couldn’t give that up just because his Great Aunt wanted him to sew some itchy sweaters with her.
“So, what do you say?” Mabel asked.
The twins were already running towards Dan’s boat.
“Ingrates!” Mabel huffed. “Aw, who needs them! I got a whole bunch of yarn to keep me company. And glitter!” She looked at her knitting bag, and then at the shack where the knitters always sat. Something inside her felt a little bit sad, so she took out her emergency glitter and threw a pinch up in the air.
It settled down on her hair and sweater. Mabel sneezed.
The sun sparkled off the lake as a party of four on the ‘S.S. MAN’ (all capital letters) headed for Scuttlebutt Island. Stan stood at the bow of the boat, one foot on the guard rail as he adjusted his fez.
“Hoist the anchor!” Stan called. He was sailing on a ship, off on a monster hunt that would earn him some amount of money that had a lot of threes and sounded big. Or possibly less, because Dan was here, but still. This was amazing. Gravity Falls was amazing.
Stan turned around and saw Dan pull up a gigantic anchor with only a pinky finger on the rope as Ford watched.
“Raise the flag!” Stan said.
Fiddleford held up a towel. It was purple and had a sun wearing sunglasses. Stan had to admire that sun’s style. It looked super cool. Well, hot. Well…
“We’re gonna find that Gobblewonker!” Fiddleford shouted.
“We’re gonna win that photo contest!” Stan yelled, even louder.
Ford failed to complete the pledge, so Fiddleford poked him in the arm.
“Huh?” Ford asked, looking away from Dan. “Oh, uh…do we have sunscreen? UV rays can cause skin cancer.”
“We’re gonna go get sunscreen!” Fiddleford agreed.
“Yay!” Stan and Dan shouted. The boat made a U-Turn back towards land.
Underneath the water, a shadowy form swam by.
About ten minutes later, Ford was pacing on the deck of the S.S. MAN, briefing his brother, friend, and…Dan…on the mission. Was Dan a friend?
Was that important at the moment?
“Alright,” Ford said. “If we want to win this contest, we have to do it correctly and according to procedure.”
“Please tell me you don’t have a plan,” Stan muttered.
“I’ve got a plan!” Ford announced. “Okay, think. What’s the number one problem with monster hunts?”
“Uh…” Stan tried to think.
“You’re not manly enough?” Dan asked, looking thoughtful. Something in Ford’s chest gave a little jump, but he put it down to nerves. They were about to chase after a real, live monster. And get photographic evidence.
“Sure,” Ford said. “Other than that?”
“If you’re a side character, you’ll be dyin’ within the first five minutes o’ the movie,” Fiddleford volunteered. “Oh, d’yah think I’m a side character? D’yah ever think about stuff like that?”
“Dan’s the side character,” Stan assured him.
“I am?” Dan asked.
“No, no, no,” Ford said. “Neither of you are side characters. We’re all side characters. I don’t know.”
“That’d be a first,” Stan whispered to Fiddleford, who chuckled.
“Point is,” Ford interrupted, “there’s always camera trouble. Say Bigfoot shows up. Uh, Dan, you be Bigfoot?”
Dan struck a pose. “I’m Bigfoot!” He said.
“There he is!” Ford said. “Bigfoot!” He patted his life vest. “Uh oh, no camera.” Out of his vest, he pulled one of the many cameras Fiddleford showed him when they went back to the bait shop for sunscreen. The boy had said to take as many as he wanted, so Ford had calculated the optimal number. “Oh, wait, here’s one! Wait, no film! You see? You see what I’m doing here?” He asked.
“Oh, yeah, you’ve got a point,” Dan said. “Wait, why’re we taking pictures? We can just tell the village of our manly exploits!”
“We need pictures so—”
“Just think about it!” Ford said. “Well, there’s a photo contest and we can split the prize money for, like, college and stuff. But also…proof of the supernatural? The scientific possibilities alone are endless. Obviously, we’d want a DNA sample or a live specimen, but that might not be possible. A picture of its general form would be invaluable for an analysis of its evolutionary origins! If its jawbone or something resembles that of a dinosaur…or maybe it’s more like an amphibian…Is it hairless? Does it have scales? I wonder what stage of evolution its eyes are at—maybe it would provide insight into their development. And I would assume it has to have flippers, but are they more like webbed hands or fins or what? We could figure out how long ago it diverged from its closest lineage! Or perhaps it doesn’t make any evolutionary sense! I don’t know! But a picture—”
Ford stopped. He’d been talking for a…long time. All three of the people on the boat were staring at him. Ford looked down at his shoes. Stan was used to Ford being weird, but he’d just met Fiddleford. And Dan…the thought of cool, teenager-y Dan thinking he was super weird made Ford want to curl into a ball and sleep for a century.
Ford had messed everything up.
“Yah have a point there!” Fiddleford announced. “The way my grandma described the Gobblewonker, it sounded like it had scales. But I dunno about the rest—biology isn’t really my thing. I’m more of an inventor, myself.”
“I’m sorry,” Ford said. “I was just, uh, talking, and then…I got a bit overexcited.”
“Nah, it was fine!” Fiddleford said quickly. “Cool, even. Should hear me talking about electromagnetic fields an’ computermajigs! Uh, if yah want tah.” He scratched the back of his head nervously. “We, uh, could talk about science an’ stuff?”
“Yeah!” Ford said, grinning. Finally, someone who actually wanted to talk about Ford’s ‘nerd things.’ And he’d convince Fiddleford to like biology, eventually. It was a fascinating field, just like pretty much all of science, even if Ford preferred physics. They were interrupted by the caw of a pelican.
“Alright, nerds,” Stan said. “Ford, what was your plan before you started nerding out?”
“Oh, right,” Ford said. “See, I brought eighteen disposable cameras! Two on my ankle, three in my jacket, three for each of you, three extras in this bag, and one strapped to my back! There’s no way we can miss this. Okay, everybody. Let’s test our cameras out!”
Fiddleford took a picture of himself, but was startled by the flash. He screamed and backed into the railing, camera tumbling overboard. “Aww, donkey spittle! Aww, banjo polish! Oh gosh, I’m so sorry, Ford.”
“Hey, I’m here too,” Stan muttered. In Ford’s opinion, Stan was doing a lot of muttering this summer.
“It’s fine!” Ford assured Fiddleford. “This is exactly why you need backup cameras, you see? We still have seventeen!”
“Bird!” Dan yelled, tossing a camera at a flying seagull. The bird—and the camera—fell into the water. Ford watched the lake with concern until the seagull re-emerged, flapped its wings, and flew off.
“Sixteen!” Ford said. “Okay, guys, I repeat; don’t lose your cameras!”
“Wait, lose the cameras?” Dan asked, tossing his remaining two overboard.
“Don’t!” Ford yelled.
“I just threw two away!” Dan announced proudly.
“Fourteen,” Ford said, placing a hand over his face. “Alright, we still have fourteen camera—” He accidentally crushed one with his fist as he gestured. “Thirteen. We have thirteen cameras.”
“So, what’s the plan, Sixer?” Stan asked. “Throw more cameras overboard, or what?”
“No!” Ford screamed.
“Stop shouting,” Stan said.
“Fine,” Ford said. “No. Okay. Stan, you be lookout. Dan, you can work the steering wheel. Fidds, you can be engineer in case, I don’t know, Dan accidentally punches a hole in the boat or something.”
Dan demonstrated just that.
“On it!” Fidds said cheerfully, already duct-taping the side of the boat together.
“I’ll be captain,” Ford announced. After all, he was the one who had come up with the monster-hunting idea.
“What?” Stan asked. “Why do you get to be captain? What about Stan, huh? Stan! Stan! Stan!”
“Aren’t you both Stan?” Dan wondered.
“Huh?” Fiddleford said.
“I’m Stanford, and he’s Stanley. But I’m not Stan,” Ford explained. “I’m Ford. No one calls me Stan. And anyway, I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be captain, Stan.”
“What about co-captain?” Stan asked. “We’re gonna be co-captains on the Stan O’ War, aren’t we? Why’s this any different?”
Well, the Stan O’ War was probably never going to happen. But…
“The Stan O’ War?” Dan said. “What’s that?”
Ford cringed. It was a stupid childish fantasy. If he told it to Dan, the teenager would think it was stupid. Would think he was stupid. Ford’s cheeks flushed in embarrassment. “It’s nothing,” Ford said. “Co-captains don’t exist.”
“They do too!” Stan said. “C’mon, Ford.” He gave his brother a pleading look.
Ford already felt bad for saying the Stan O’ War was nothing, and he couldn’t turn down Stan when he was looking like that. “Okay, fine,” Ford said. “You can be co-captain.” Besides, Stan would probably be an awful lookout, considering that he didn’t have any glasses to wear.
“Can I be associate co-captain?” Dan asked.
“As co-captain, I authorize that request!” Stan agreed.
“I’m fine as the engineer,” Fiddleford said.
“Well, as first co-captain, our number one order of business is to lure the monster out with this!” He gestured to the barrel of fish food that Fiddleford had supplied.
“Permission to dare Fidds to taste some?” Stan asked.
“Uh, no, not granted,” Ford said. That sounded gross. And disgusting. He could see worms in there that were raw, who knew how many germs they could be carrying?
“Permission associate co-granted!” Dan said.
“Permission co-granted,” Stan said. “To myself.”
“I’m not tasting anythin’ that ain’t food,” Fiddleford said.
“It is food!” Stan said. “For fish! C’mon, I dare yah.”
“Yer the one with a fish on yer fez!”
“Well,” Stan said. “How about we both taste some.”
“Only if Ford does it,” Fiddleford suggested.
“I’m not tasting fish food!” Ford protested.
Dan took one hand, scooped up some fish food, and shoved it in his mouth. “I have survived the first trial of many!” He announced. “Your turn!”
Stan shrugged, licked a little bit of the fish food, and wrinkled his nose.
“C’mon, Poindexter and Fiddlenerd. Don’t be a wimp!”
“I’m not a wimp!” Ford insisted.
“Then taste some!” Stan said.
“Nope,” Ford said. “Not subjecting myself to a disgusting—”
“Okay, whatever,” Stan said. “Guess you’re just a chicken.” He held up a hand for a high five with Dan. Ford felt…something…in his gut. It was awful, like he wanted to push Stan away. Ugh. Now he was upset that his brother had friends. Ford looked at Dan. Well, if his brother could do it, he could. Before he could remind himself that this was an awful idea, Ford grabbed a handful of fish food and licked it. Immediately, he spat it out on the deck of the ship—it tasted disgusting and the texture was just the worst. But Dan clapped him on the back and a warm feeling spread throughout Ford.
The three turned and looked at Fiddleford.
“Nope,” said the boy.
“I did it,” Ford said, crossing his arms. “If I did it, you have to do it.”
Fiddleford sighed, licked some fish food of his own, and then shook his head, muttering something about ‘stupid hair.’ Ford wasn’t sure what he meant by that. But Dan had very nice hair.
Ford thanked his brain for the random observation, discarded it, and focused on the matter at hand.
Which was getting a photo of the monster, sending it to scientists, earning money from the photo contest, and making his father proud.
“Traitors!” Mabel said as she watched her two grephews, her underpaid employee, and their new friend sail off on the lake. Hunting for monsters? Absurd! There wasn’t a Gobblewonker. Probably. Maybe. Well, Mabel at least hoped that there wasn’t actually a Gobblewonker. “Fine. I’ll find my own knitting buddies!”
She stalked off to the shack where the knitting club usually was. Outside, she found a young couple. They were both wearing sweaters—rather poorly knitted, in Mabel’s opinion, but it was the effort that counted.
“There’s my new pals!” Mabel decided.
The man—Reginald, if Mabel remembered correctly—looked at a ring in a box. He snapped it shut, turning to face his girlfriend. “Now that we’re alone by the beautiful sea, Rosanna, there’s a burning question which my heart longs to ask you.”
“Oh, Reginald!” Rosanna sighed, visibly tearing up.
It was adorable! Mabel took out the camera she always brought along with her for scrapbookertunities. She snapped a photo, ignoring the way the couple jumped at the flash. “Oh my gosh, you’re getting married! Young love, am I right? You’ll probably break up in a few years, but it’s still so exciting. I remember I used to think I’d get married! You two are the cutest!”
The couple was slowly backing away.
“What?” Mabel asked. “Was I in your face or something? Did I get too loud?” Right. There was still the knitting club, at least.