Chapter Text
It’d been a rough couple months for Norman after the events of the Witch’s Curse, after he’d helped Aggie pass; he probably wouldn’t have gotten through it if it weren’t for his friends and family. Immediately following the chaos, the townsfolk were instinctively wary of Norman; an underlying fear of the unknown lurking despite the fact that he’d helped save the town. But Neil, Courtney and Mitch defended him at every turn, and even Alvin, his former childhood bully, stood by him. His parents, while not entirely able to accept the reality of their son’s powers, finally stopped treating him like a broken doll and actually listened to him for once.
Eventually, things in Blithe Hollow calmed down, and Norman was happy with the change of pace.
Now, nearly six years later, Norman was practically spending more time dealing with spirits than he did living people – which, admittedly, got pretty aggravating at times, especially since he was starting his final year of high school – but he didn’t complain much. The work was rewarding, in his mind, and he was able to help a lot more souls move on now that his abilities were accepted by the people of Blithe Hollow. Gone were the suspicious, hateful glares, the whispered words that cut like knives.
Things were finally looking up.
—— —— ——
Tuesday September 18, 2018.
Norman groaned as he flopped down face-first onto his bed, dropping his red Jansport backpack onto the floor as he went. He laid there for a minute, sighing softly into his sheets as he felt his muscles relax. Why did high school have to be so stressful?
He lifted his head when he heard footsteps, glancing over as Neil entered his room. The ginger-haired boy deposited his own backpack and gym bag by the door, then sat down at the desk. He idly began to spin the chair around, getting steadily dizzier with each rotation.
“You gonna do that assignment for Finch’s class?” He asked, not bothered at all by the vertigo.
This was what Norman enjoyed about Neil’s company – he was always so casual about everything. There was never an uncomfortable silence between the two, because for Neil, friendship came easily. Even from the first time they spoke to each other, six years ago, Neil readily accepted his words, no questions asked. You see ghosts? Have to stop a three hundred year old curse? He was totally okay with it. He was a great friend, better than Norman had ever dreamed of having.
“Yeah,” the medium rolled over onto his back and sat up, scuffing his shoes lightly against the wood floor. “I finished it while you were at practice. What about you?”
Neil stopped spinning, looking up at the ceiling with a look of deep concentration on his face. “I dunno… I’m still confused about how you tell if a compound is ionic or molecular.” He shrugged, grinning. “Maybe I’ll ask Salma to help me.”
Norman chuckled good-naturedly, decidedly not mentioning that that was something they had covered in ninth grade science class. “Careful, she might get sick of you if you ask her too many questions,” he teased. “You know how busy she is with all her studying.”
“Bleh, I know better than anyone!” Neil pouted. “It’s only the third week of school – we barely have any homework yet!”
“Well, she is taking more advanced classes than us.” Norman pointed out with a shrug. “Plus, we’ll have to start applying to universities in a couple of months.”
“Yeah… But still! I miss her.”
Norman faked a disgusted look. “Ew, stop right there! I don’t need to hear any mushy details about my two best friends’ relationship.” Neil burst into laughter, and Norman was quick to follow. “No, but seriously, I still can’t believe how well you two go together.”
Neil smiled, cheeks flushed with happiness. “I know – but, you know what they say, opposites attract!”
Norman nodded and got up, kicking his backpack into the corner and out of his way. “Mhm, you two sure prove that theory.” He grabbed his laptop off the desk, opening the old piece of technology – a hand-me-down from Courtney – and logging on before settling back onto the bed with his legs stretched out in front of him. “So, with homework covered, onto more important things – wanna watch a movie?”
The ginger perked up. “Ooh, did you find another good one?”
In response, Norman pressed play and Neil hurried over to sit beside him as the opening titles began.
—— —— ——
Later that evening, after Neil had headed home for the night, Norman and his parents sat down for dinner. Evening meals were an especially quiet affair now that Courtney had moved to Boston with a few of her friends, but the three of them managed alright. His mother served them some sort of casserole while his father grumbled about his day, taxes, and practically everything under the sun. His grandmother’s spirit hollered at him from the living room to shut up, but, of course, he didn’t hear her – and that was one message Norman definitely did not want to relay. Eventually, once Norman’s father had said his piece, his mother turned to talk to her son.
“So, sweetie, how was school today?” She asked with a small smile. She’d asked him this very same question everyday – minus weekends and holidays – since he was four, but that never stopped her from asking again.
“Fine,” Norman said bluntly. “It’s school, not like it’s ever really different.”
His father huffed from his seat to Norman’s left. “And how are your grades? University application deadlines will be coming up soon.”
Norman rolled his eyes, pushing his barely touched dinner around his plate with his fork. “Dad, it’s only the third week of school,” he said slowly, repeating Neil’s words from that afternoon. “We won’t be getting our marks for another two weeks at least, and there are still months left before even Salma would start submitting her applications.”
His father looked quite put out, but when he opened his mouth to reply, his mother swatted his left arm with a hissed, “Perry, leave him alone,” and the subject was dropped. After a few minutes of silence, Norman pushed back his chair and stood up.
“I’m not really hungry.. May I be excused?”
“Yes, you may.” His mother replied, even as his father voiced the opposite. Not wanting to stick around for much longer, Norman thanked her quietly then headed for his room, nodding a silent greeting to his grandmother as he passed by the living room on his way to the stairs.
Once he was safely inside his room, Norman slumped against the door with a sigh. Even if his parents believed him about seeing ghosts, things were still a little tense – mostly between him and his father. His mother had always tried to be supportive, to put herself between her son and her husband, but her thin walls did nothing to keep out sharp words. He would hear them fighting, sometimes, late at night. It wasn’t as bad or as often as it was when he was younger, but sometimes it was enough for Norman to sneak downstairs and out the front door while they argued just down the hall, none the wiser.
They fought about more than just him, too, but he was the most frequent topic. Even when his father couldn’t call him a liar, or an attention-seeker, he still found ways to needle him. Sometimes it was about school, like at dinner, but his father always had something to say about his attitude. Now, Norman would readily admit to having a less than stellar outlook when dealing with his parents, but he felt that his actions were justified.
Call it teenage rebellion or whatever, but, quite frankly, Norman was still a bit pissed at them for not believing him.
But he also felt guilty, because he knew that when he purposefully angered his father, his mother had to deal with his mess. Even now, he could hear his father’s exasperated tone amongst the clanking of dishes, along with his name. When his mother’s voice answered, it was sharp, and Norman felt his heart give a sickening lurch in his chest.
Whenever his mother’s voice took on that tone, it meant things were going to get heated. He hated hearing it, hearing the fighting that came after it – it was always so much worse when his mother fought back. She usually tried to diffuse the situation before it got to that point, but sometimes it just got to be too much. Those arguments left a bitter taste in Norman’s mouth, had his heart racing even though the yelling wasn’t directed at him. Often times, if Norman couldn’t physically escape the house, he’d find himself curled up in the space between his bed and the wall, earbuds in and music blasting, struggling to calm his erratic pulse. Sometimes, when things got to be that bad, his grandmother would come into his room and keep him company. It made him feel like he was just a child again, but he couldn’t deny that her presence was comforting. Just her being there helped to soothe the tight knots in his stomach that threatened to make him puke.
Now, with such an argument brewing downstairs, Norman settled down at his desk, plugging his earbuds into the audio jack of his laptop and putting on a playlist of songs with loud guitar chords and heavy drumbeats. After successfully immersing himself in the music and drowning out his parents, he loaded up an Internet browser and turned his attention to Google.
He did these searches, sometimes, where he would look up ‘paranormal’ things. The results mostly consisted of cliché stereotypes, or fictional characters, but occasionally he would come across some interesting forums that were buried deep within the search results. It was entertaining, at best, reading random strangers’ opinions of things that were out of the ordinary. He wondered, sometimes, if any of those people would actually believe him if he said he was a medium.
He doubted it, but it was a stupid idea anyways.
Tonight was the perfect night for one of these such searches, when Norman’s mind was in desperate need of a distraction that wasn’t mentally tasking. Idly scrolling through page after page of results, without actually looking for anything in particular, was a great way to waste some time when you were practically an insomniac. If nothing else, he’d kill a few hours fucking around on his computer, then maybe he’d go for a walk once his parents headed to their room for the night.
On the sixth page, though, he found something interesting.
The link was titled, “Dipper’s Guide to the Unexplained”, and the brief description the search engine provided claimed that the website was actually for a web show that “unveiled the mysterious creatures and legends” of a small Oregon town, Gravity Falls.
Intrigued, Norman clicked on the link, and that was the start of it all.
—— —— ——
“So, uh, welcome to Dipper’s Guide to the Unexplained, anomaly number eighty-seven: The Thunderbird.”
The somewhat shaky camera footage showed a boy with curly brown hair squashed beneath a blue and white cap. The boy cleared his throat as he lowered the sign he had been holding up, looking steadily at the camera.
“Now, the Thunderbird is a legend of Native American origins. It’s – according to them – a giant bird that can cause storms and create thunderclaps by flapping its wings. Apparently, it can even take on a human form, so we have to be extremely careful – hear that, Mabel?”
“Pssh, why was that directed at me? I’m always careful!” A female voice from off-screen replied.
The boy raised an eyebrow as if he disagreed, but continued nonetheless. “Anyways, just keep an eye out for any giant, colourful birds.”
“Aye aye!”
The feed went black for a moment, and when it returned the camera was facing a vast forest.
“Why is it that every possible creature likes to hide in this forest?”
“Well, it’s gotta have a nest somewhere, right?”
The camera shook as the person holding it trekked through the woodlands, swatting away tree branches with hands that had purple-painted fingernails.
“Wait– Did you hear that?”
Suddenly the camera was turned around to face the boy from earlier, who had stopped walking. “Hear what?”
“I thought I heard a branch snap…”
“Why would a bird need to walk? C'mon, Dippin’-Dots! Common sense!”
“Mab–”
The unmistakable crack of a dry branch splitting was heard, loud enough this time for the camera to pick up.
“See!” The boy hissed.
Another figure then appeared from between the trees beyond the boy’s shoulder – a beautiful woman with short dark hair and a brightly coloured shawl wrapped around her.
“What are you two doing out here?”
“We’re looking for something!” The girl behind the camera explained jovially, and the boy with her groaned as he turned to face the newcomer.
“Oh?” The woman stepped closer. “And what is it that you search for?”
“Sorry, but I don’t think it’s really any of your business,” the boy cut in before his companion could supply her own answer. “We’ve got to get going.”
Just as he turned back around, the woman opened her mouth and let out a near-deafening shriek. The camera fell to the ground, presumably so that the girl could cover her ears.
A pair of dirty sneakers entered the shot, then the camera was lifted again, turned this time to the girl as she was helped to her feet.
“Run, Mabel!”
The footage from that point was heavily blurred, the surroundings unrecognizable as the camera was sped past. The mic picked up the duo’s fast breaths and pounding footfalls as they ran – from what remained unseen.
Further away, the sound of howling winds and thunder were growing closer.
“What now, Dipper!?”
“I’m thinking, just– hang on– just hold this stupid camera!”
Once the camera was back within the girl’s grasp, she managed to keep her hands steady enough to see her partner flipping frantically through a notebook.
“What’s it say??”
“I’m looking! Give me a minu– Found it!” The boy stumbled around a tree, barely looking up from the page. “According to this, the Thunderbird’s greatest enemy was a killer whale – no matter how many times it caught the whale, the whale always escaped. Eventually, it swam so far and so deep out into the ocean that the Thunderbird gave up the hunt.”
“Where the hell are we going to find a whale!? We’re in Oregon!”
“No, Mabel, we don’t need a– Look out!” His hand shot out, pushing the girl out of the way as sharp talons slashed between them. “Just– head for the lake!”
The next time the camera feed came into focus, the boy was climbing out of a golf cart then tearing down an old wooden dock that lead to a lake, the camera and the girl holding it not far behind. The Thunderbird’s angry shrieks were close, closer than before.
“Mabel! Toss me the camera!”
A blur, then the camera was suddenly much closer to the lake.
“Okay, jump in, and swim out into the middle! Stay as low as you can,” the boy called over his shoulder. Now that he was holding the camera, the mic was able to pick up him muttering, “Good thing I bought the waterproof camera,” just before he leapt off the dock and crashed into the lake.
When the lense rose above the water again, it was to triumphant laughter and celebratory cheers. Whoever was holding the camera at this point angled it upwards, catching sight of a large bird with bright feathers flying away.
“We did it!” The camera turned to face the girl – it must be the boy filming still – who was grinning, eyes bright with adrenaline and hair weighed down with water. “Aw yeah, Mystery Twins!”
The boy laughed from behind the camera, and slapped her outstretched hand in a high five.
“Mystery Twins,” he agreed.
—— —— ——
“Dipper’s Guide to the Unexplained, anomaly number one hundred and thirty-one: Imps.”
The customary sign was lowered.
“Yeah, apparently those are real too? I don’t even know. All I know is that Jeff says some imps are bothering the dwarfs, and he wants me to deal with it.” The boy scoffed, taking off his blue and white cap momentarily to run a hand through his hair.
“Honestly, this could all be a ploy to try and kidnap my sister and force her to marry him – again,” he admitted, making a displeased face. “Which is why Mabel’s back at the Shack. But, whatever, I’ll look into it.”
Skip forward a few hours to when the sun was starting to set, and the boy stood before the camera again.
“Nope. Nope, I’m done. Imps are bullshit, I’m calling it. Nice try, Jeff.”
He angrily switched off the camera.
—— —— ——
The camera faced the girl this time, who giggled madly with a pig tucked under her chin.
“Alright, hi guys,” she whispered. “Waddles and I are here to show you to the greatest anomaly of all time – Dipper himself!”
She turned the camera around, then peeked around the corner to get a glimpse of her brother who was sitting at his desk, idly chewing on a pen.
“And here we see a wild Dipper in its natural habitat,” came the girl’s hushed narration. “Hobbies include: reading until his eyes are bloodshot, chewing on pens or pencils, eating like a pig – no offense, Waddles! At least you’re cute about it! – and being generally paranoid.”
On screen, the boy spit out the pen and hurriedly began to write something down.
“Now, you may be wondering, ‘how is this poor unsightly creature an anomaly, oh-wise-Mabel?’ – well, I’ll tell you!”
The camera swung around briefly to capture the girl’s flabbergasted expression before returning to her brother.
“This guy runs on only four hours of sleep!”
She must have spoken too loudly, though, because the boy suddenly spoke up.
“Mabel..?”
“Yes, Dippin’-Dots?”
“What the hell are you doing?”
There was a creak from a nearby floorboard, then suddenly the camera was wrenched out of her hands and turned on her instead. She looked slightly sheepish, but was still smiling brightly.
“Oh, nothing,” the girl dismissed with a wave of her hand. “I was just messing around with your camera.”
“Mhm, right. But why were you filming me?”
“Uhhhh…”
“Alright, whatever you did, I’m deleting it.”
The girl scrambled to her feet with a loud gasp, reaching for the camera. “What? No! Dipper!!” She whined. “It’s a behind the scenes look for your fans!”
“Pfft, what fans? I still don’t know why you wanted me to make this thing in the first place.”
“Just you wait, little bro, you’ll be famous in no time – but you gotta leave this footage! Upload it tonight!”
“Mabel–” the boy groaned, but was interrupted.
“Nuh uh! Don’t want to hear it! I’ll be watching over your shoulder the whole time, mister – no funny business!”
“Urgh… fine.”
“You know you love me.”
—— —— ——
Friday September 21, 2018.
Norman had become rapidly enthralled with the web show, and had spent the better part of his free time for the past two nights watching more and more videos. He’d been skeptical about the authenticity of the videos, at first, but chose to give them the benefit of the doubt.
After all, if they really were editing crazy mythological creatures into their videos, surely they’d have better cameras and footage, right?
Point is, Norman was definitely a fan of the show. In fact, he’d talked to Neil about it so much in the past few days that his ginger friend had actually joked that it sounded like Norman had a crush on the host.
Which was ridiculous, because Norman didn’t have crushes – never had.
Maybe it was that accusation, however lighthearted, that made Norman hesitate every night before closing the webpage. He wanted to talk to Dipper, to tell him about the things that he’d seen. He felt like they could relate, but there was always the chance that this was all a fraud.
Then again, he didn’t have to mention anything about being a medium, did he?
So, that night, Norman didn’t exit the browser after he finished watching more videos, and instead scrolled down to the bottom of the webpage.
The email address left there seemed to mock him.
What the hell is wrong with me? It’s not like he’ll know I’m a medium – I’m just going to tell him about the Witch’s Curse, Norman berated himself mentally. So what if he doesn’t believe me?
In a sudden bout of courage, Norman clicked on the link and started typing.
From: [email protected]Subject: (No Subject)
Sent: 09/21/2018, 11:47 PM
Hey, my name’s Norman, and I figured I’d send in this email to let you know that your web show is pretty cool. I had no idea all those things existed, but hey, this world is a pretty crazy place, right?
Anyways, I was wondering if you’d ever heard of The Witch’s Curse? It used to be just a stupid myth around Blithe Hollow, Massachusetts, but it actually happened – about six years ago, in fact. I know this probably sounds crazy, but it seems like you’re pretty used to craziness, so, yeah. If you look it up, the news articles will write it off as a freak tornado, but don’t be fooled. All of us here know what really happened.
I don’t know why I’m telling you this, really. Thought you might find it interesting? Probably. Maybe.
Look into it, if you want – I could always tell you more, if you’re actually interested. Just email me back if so.
So, uh, I’ll hear from you soon?
Norman cringed as he re-read what he wrote. He was pretty terrible at talking to new people, and apparently that showed even through emails. Wonderful.
This was probably the best he was going to get, unfortunately.
With a sigh, Norman moved his cursor to hover over the send button, but paused before clicking it. He laughed suddenly as an idea came to him, and typed something else into the subject bar.
Subject: Norman’s Guide to the Paranormal
He really shouldn’t have found it that funny.
Sending the email off before he lost his nerve, Norman then logged off and closed his laptop for the night. He spent the next few hours lying awake in bed, wondering if he’d just made a huge mistake.
He’d just have to see if Dipper responded or not.