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I yawned, leaving the attic's bedroom. Mabel had already beaten me out of bed that morning - typical of her to do so. She still has that same enthusiastic energy she always had. Where my sister was more of a morning person, I was more of a… well… not-so morning person.
I passed by the mirror on my way out, only to stop myself and walk backwards to check my own reflection. I lightly tostled my bedhead hair with my fingers. The silver dog tag necklace hanging from my neck caught the sunlight from the window. The light itself filtered through in red from the artificial, stained glass.
I flung on my old, faded blue pine tree hat, pulling up the sleeves of my sweater, exposing my forearms and tattoos.
I remember when I came back to Gravity Falls a few weeks ago and showed them off. Grunkle Ford liked them, but Grunkle Stan seemed more… critical. He adjusted his glasses, squinting.
"What's that? You're not a part of one of those millennial, punk bands now, are ya?"
"He's rebelling." Mabel rebutted with a teasing grin, poking her head out from the doorway.
"With permanent caveman art?" Stan smirked.
"Is it too late to catch the next bus home?" I sulked, a face of annoyance.
Of course I was only bluffing. I always enjoyed coming back every summer, despite my uncle's dry, ego-centric humor.
Every year though, I remain shocked that the Mystery Shack still stands, considering that one apocalyptic summer. Stairs still creaked and whined, and if you weren't careful where you stepped, a loose floorboard would collapse from underneath. The plumbing was just as mediocre as I remember too, leaky faucets and the ceiling of the shop that dripped on you if you stood in just the right spot.
Not to mention the gnome that I could still hear tampering in the walls at night. The lights flickered more than usual and outlets seemed to stop working entirely - all of which I had presumed to be the gnome, gnawing on the electrical wires.
Still, it was nice. Nothing had changed. Everything was how I remembered it. It might've been strange and unconventional, yet it was also welcoming and comforting at the same time. I even recalled the fresh, pine air and thousands of mosquito bites.
Going downstairs, I checked my watch. It was almost nine o'clock. With that knowledge, I headed for the kitchen, hoping for something to eat.
It was so close - I could see it in my sights. The doorway to the kitchen was right in front of the staircase. I anticipated the next step, yet didn't anticipate the fall.
A squeal from a frightened farm animal. I dipped forward, face first.
A sharp, high-pitched laugh erupted, though it was not mine. I didn't even need to lift my head to know who it was. I wasn't even surprised, not that he was even here, nor as he watched me get taken down by my sister's obese pig.
I had to practically pry my face off of the wooden plank of splinters. And as frightened as he was that I had just tripped over him, Waddles didn't move, just simply turned over and lazily snorted. When I looked up, I found my body already halfway in the kitchen.
"That's number three. That pig's got you beat, Pine Tree." Bill's voice boomed.
I sighed, hauling myself back up on my feet, getting lightheaded on the way up.The kitchen had remained the same; everything surprisingly still functioned as it should, even the fridge - which Grunkle Stan said he will keep until the day he dies.
"Eh," He had grumbled, shrugging. "Life's too short to spend money on a new fridge. Besides, this one works just fine!"
He gave the fridge a nice, generous pat. That same moment, he had opened the fridge door, and it broke off of its hinges, falling to the ground with a gigantic thud.
And despite Ford's efforts to try to convince Stan to buy a new fridge, he had just fixed the door with his tools instead. Still, as I reached for the handle, I was sure it would come off its hinges again.
Inside were two cans of Pit Cola, a package of sliced baloney, that hasn't moved since the very first time I came to Gravity Falls, and a carton of brown eggs.
"You can't be here." I sighed, grabbing a can of Pit Cola and cracking it open with the sound of fizz from inside.
"Of course I can!" He echoed, making me flinch in fear of someone overhearing. "I have a physical human form now!"
When I turned around, there he was - sitting where he usually did every morning.
"No, I mean, you really can't be here. Like, really." My eyes transferred from the hall, then back to him.
Bill had his human legs crossed and resting on the table as he was tipped slightly back in his chair. He had a bowl of cereal in his hands, yet didn't appear to be eating it right. He may have had a bowl, but no utensils. Instead, to get the cereal out of the bowl and into his mouth, he used his bare hand.
And when he talked, the milk and cereal fell from his mouth, like a toddler, who had yet to master the art of chewing and swallowing.
"I can do things now, Pine Tree! Human things! Who knew a human body needed this much attention - eating and sleeping." His voice gargled the milk while he talked.
I stared in a bored, silent disdain. He continued to cackle maniacally while nearly choking. I waited for him to compose himself and catch his breath.
"Need a spoon?" I asked flatly.
"I gotta tell ya, kid." He went on, disregarding my offer. "You may have gotten rid of me during Weirdmageddon, but not all of me!"
The truth was, we did defeat Bill. He may be back, but at least he doesn't have enough power to burn the world into ashes or even shrink our brains to turn us into a bunch of mindless goats at will.
"Right." I rolled my eyes, sarcasm noticeable in my tone of voice. "That still doesn't change the fact that you need a spoon." I pointed to his bowl of cereal with the soda in the same hand.
I didn't know why I even wasted my own time trying to reform a former apocalyptic demon. Not like he cared for basic, human rules and morals anyway.
"Spoons are for the hopeless and weak. Besides, I'm immortal!" He boasted. Milk swished from side to side as he made dramatic gestures with his clumsy motor skills. Again, he was a bumbling toddler, unable to control his own limbs.
"You're a human, Bill. You're a mortal." I corrected him. To be fair, it was true. He was just stretching the truth. He may have been immortal before, but now he wasn't. He has his own physical body now, but his demonic magic did not make him immortal, especially when his powers were fading and slowly dying more and more everyday.
"Really?" He said. "Then, how come I can still do this?" His finger rose and twirled in the air. The soda can in my hand slipped from my grasp and floated above my head, dousing me in a cold, wet Pit Cola shower. Bill let out an entertained and proud laugh, tipping his head back in a fit of laughter.
I stood there drenched, watching him with squinted eyes as he enjoyed his own joke, even wiping away a single tear from his eyes.
"If it wasn't funny the first hundred times, it definitely wasn't funny this time."
"Oh, man!" Bill wailed. "You and your family are too easy to taunt, Pine Tree."
I proceeded to take off my hat and squeeze out the excess soda.
"I'm still trying to figure out the humor in it." I said.
If Bill couldn't destroy me, he sure knew the next best thing - making my life miserable in any way he could, no matter how weak or pathetic his attempts were. He might've not had all the power in the universe to do what he really wanted, so instead, he used his failing powers to get some cheap laughs… which was only amusing to him obviously.
Dragging footsteps came closer and closer to the kitchen, coming from the stairs. As the raspy and wet cough of my half-awake uncle came down, he ceased in the doorway. He had bedhead hair and his eyes were still full of sleep.
I froze. Stan turned his head to notice me. For a long and uncomfortable moment, all he did was squint and stare. Then, he raised his eyebrows in recognition and grumbled.
"Hey, kid."
I exhaled, glad Stan hadn't seen the other obvious person who was eating his cereal like an unintelligent chimp. And when I gazed over my shoulder to check, Bill had his face entirely in the bowl, engaging in loud, unapologetic slurping.
My attention was brought suddenly back to Stan as he began to talk casually while looking around effortlessly in the fridge for something edible.
"You know that mysterious, bird-shaped, red mark on my foot? Turns out it is a rash and not from one of those cop ankle bracelets." He chuckled to himself as he settled for the last Pit Cola and turned back towards me.
I stood in front of Bill, hoping desperately he wouldn't notice I was hiding a person behind myself. "So, looks like I owe Ford five bucks." He took a chug of his soda and let out a long sigh. "Anyways, who's your friend?"
Before I could even think up a cover story, Bill's booming voice from behind was undeniably loud and clear. His face rose from the bowl, a fruit loop up his nose.
"Howdy there, Stanley! Say, you haven't changed a bit! Still your hairy, wrinkly, good ol' self, I see."
He stopped mid-drink and his eyes went wide. Then, he spit it out. His soda launched in my direction, too quick for me too even see coming.
Great. Another Pit Cola shower.
From behind me, Bill erupted into another fit of cackling, snorting and banging his fist on the table repeatedly. "Man, this human world is a riot!"