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Quiet fell once more over Gravity Falls. Stan rushed to Mabel, who was on her hands and knees, coughing. “You all right, kid?”
Mabel nodded weakly.
Nearby, Dipper pulled himself to his feet. He wasn’t physically hurt, but his whole body felt like Jell-O. “Ugh. Mind-control.” He stuck his tongue out and shuddered.
He cast around for his backpack. It was a little way off, and it was open—and empty. Dipper’s eyes shot open. The journal! Where was it? Frantically, he patted around in the tall grass, praying it hadn’t gone far.
“Looking for this?”
At the gravelly voice, Dipper turned around. There was the journal, covered in dirt but otherwise intact.
It was clutched in one of Stan’s massive fists.
“The journal!” cried Dipper. “Thanks, Grunkle Stan!” He reached for it.
Stan didn’t hand it over. Instead, he thrust the open journal before Dipper’s nose. The pages were open to a familiar illustration—a butterfly, and minuscule people around it, cowering.
“Did you summon that thing?” growled Stan.
Dipper felt his skin go suddenly cold. He glanced meekly up at his uncle’s looming face, and he touched his index fingers together. “It was an accident,” he said. “I thought it might be a clue. I wasn’t trying to—whoa!”
Stan grabbed him around the waist, hoisting him into the air and tucking him firmly under one arm.
“Hey! Lemme go!”
“What’d I tell you about this book, huh?” demanded Stan.
Before Dipper knew what was happening, the leather-bound journal struck him with an echoing thwack on his upended rear.
“Ow! Hey!”
“I said leave it alone!” said Stan. “I said don’t go chasing after that stuff!” He whacked Dipper again with the journal, and the boy yelped. “Summoning a mind-controlling butterfly is pretty much the opposite of what I told you to do!”
“Grunkle Stan!” Whack. “Ow! Quit it!” Whack. “Oww! C’mon! L-lemme go!”
Dipper struggled against his uncle’s grasp, flailing his legs through the air and trying desperately to free himself. But his noodly appendages were no match for a man with triceps as thick as Dipper’s waist. He was trapped.
Meanwhile, Stan hadn’t let up. “You coulda been killed!” he cried, dealing Dipper another smack. “Not to mention Soos...” Whack! “Me…” Whack! “Your sister!” Whack! Whack! “What would you do if something happened to her, huh? What if I hadn’t gotten here when I did? Just where do you think you’d be?”
He gave Dipper one last stinging smack before flipping him right-side-up and planting him back on his feet. Dipper stood rigid, staring up at his uncle, shell-shocked and sore.
Stan brandished the journal. “I’ll be keeping this,” he said. “Get in the car.”
“G-grunkle Stan,” gasped Dipper. “You can’t…! I need that!”
“You want a repeat performance?” demanded Stan, brandishing the journal. He loomed over his nephew and pointed with the book through the charred trees to where Mabel and Soos stood, huddled together and gaping. “Get. In. The car.”
Dipper stared, not quite believing what had just happened. At last, he ran his sleeve over his eyes, grabbed his empty backpack, and hurried to the car. Stan followed him, glowering.
The ride home was silent. Stan focused intently on the road. Dipper huddled in the back seat, trying not to squirm, and grimacing every time they hit a bump. Soos and Mabel glanced back and forth from uncle to nephew, but no one dared to speak.
Back at the Shack, Dipper climbed out of the car, to the relief of his aching backside. Stan came around the car to meet him, grabbing his collar in an enormous fist.
He marched Dipper inside and led him to the stairs. “By the way,” he said, “you’re grounded. Get in your room. Now.” He released Dipper with a push up the stairs, and Dipper didn’t argue. He clutched his backpack like a life preserver and hurried up to the attic. A moment later, the door above slammed shut.
Stan sighed. He tucked the journal on top of the fridge and slid it to the back, out of the reach of anyone under five feet tall. He’d find a better spot for it, later. He rubbed his forehead, cracked his back, and then retired to the living room to sink into his armchair.
Soos and Mabel stood just inside the doorway, watching the scene play out. When they were alone, Soos rubbed the back of his neck. “Boy,” he said, “I’ve never seen Mr. Pines so mad before.”
Mabel didn’t say anything.
Soos looked down at her. “Hey, you okay, girl dood?”
“He can’t do that, can he?” she said.
Soos followed her gaze to the living room. “Aw, jeez,” he said. “Mabel, your brother has done some pretty stupid stuff, but… this was, like, probably the stupidest so far. I mean, Mr. Pines gave him lots of warning.”
Mabel nodded, but even as she tried to grit her teeth, her eyes welled with tears.
Soos bent down and held her shoulders. “Oh, man, you’re really upset, huh?” He scratched his head. “You’d better talk to your uncle.”
Mabel turned wide eyes on him. “But…”
“I’ll be right behind you. I won’t let anything bad happen.” Soos smiled. “Okay?”
Mabel pursed her lips. She nodded.
With Soos’s hand on her back, she shuffled into the living room.
Stan was watching TV with an irritated look on his face. He glanced up when they entered, and his eyes softened. “What’s up, pumpkin?”
Mabel inflated her chest and looked up at Soos, who nodded encouragingly.
“Grunkle Stan,” said Mabel, “why’d you do that to Dipper?”
Stan raised his eyebrows. “Aw, sweetheart, don’t worry. I ain’t mad at you. C’mere.”
He reached toward her, but Mabel shrank back, ducking behind Soos’s leg.
Stan frowned. “What gives?”
Soos put a hand on Mabel’s head. “She’s scared of you, dood.”
Stan stared at his niece, surprised. “Mabel, honey, it was just a spanking. Knowing your brother, I bet he gets it all the time, huh?”
But Mabel only glared at him.
Something dawned on Stan, and a tiny trickle of dread wormed its way down his spine. “Wait—haven’t you kids been spanked before?”
“No!” cried Mabel. “Our parents would never hit us! When we do something wrong, they talk to us about it! They don’t assault us like… like barbarians.” She clutched the edge of Soos’s shirt, pulling it to cover her face. Her eyes peered accusingly over the top.
“Ah, jeez louise, your parents don’t spank you?” Stan slapped his forehead. “I guess that explains a lot.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Poor kid. He must be terrified.”
He stood up from his armchair. Mabel cowered behind Soos, who guarded her with an arm. Stan knelt down. “Mabel, I’m sorry. I didn’t know. Your brother scared me to death. I was just trying to get him to listen.”
“You listen with your ears,” mumbled Mabel into Soos’s shirt. “To people’s words. Not their crazy spanking psychopathic meat hooks.”
Stan was at a loss. Times had certainly changed. He hadn’t meant to scare the kids, for Pete’s sake—well, okay… maybe he had. “Mabel, I told your brother not to go looking for stuff in that book. You heard me tell him, didn’tcha? And next thing I know, he’s summoned some kind of mind-controlling butterfly that’s luring the two of you to your deaths.” Stan sighed. “I tried talking to him. He didn’t listen. When I found you two, and when I thought about what could have happened, I just… I had to do something. If your brother ain’t scared of the stuff that’s in that journal, maybe he oughta be scared of me. I would never hurt you kids, I swear.”
Mabel unburied her face and looked at her uncle from under a darkened brow. “But you did hurt him,” she said.
“I gave him a couple swats,” said Stan. “The alternative was getting his head bitten off by that monstrosity. Which woulda hurt more, do you think?”
Mabel didn’t answer. She sniffled. “You were so scary,” she murmured.
“I know. And I’m sorry, Mabel. I am. I’ll go and talk to your brother. Make sure he’s all right.”
Mabel wiped her eyes on her sweater sleeve. She let go of Soos’s shirt.
“C’mere, kid.”
This time, Mabel let her uncle sweep her into a bear hug.
“I would never forgive myself if something happened to you or your brother,” said Stan. “You understand me, Mabel? You kids are the most important thing in the world to me.”
Mabel sighed. “I know. I was mad at Dipper, too. You just… you scared me.”
“I’m so sorry, kiddo.”
“…It’s okay, Grunkle Stan.”
Stan left Mabel with Soos and climbed up the stairs to the attic.
The twins’ bedroom door was shut, but Stan could see the light spilling out from underneath. He knocked. “Dipper?”
When he got no response, Stan turned the knob and slowly cracked the door ajar. Peering in, he saw Dipper curled up on the bed, facing the wall.
“Kid, are you okay?”
Without turning around, Dipper said, “I’m fine.”
Stan came to Dipper’s bed and sat at the foot of it, giving his nephew plenty of space. “Dipper, I’m sorry about what happened. I didn’t realize you hadn’t been spanked before.” Stan shook his head. “Never even occurred to me, actually, the amount of trouble you get yourself in.”
Dipper didn’t respond. He lay motionless on the bed, staring resolutely at the wall.
“Seriously, kid, I wasn’t trying to hurt you. I just wanna make sure you’re okay.”
“I told you, I’m fine,” Dipper muttered. “Leave me alone.”
Stan rubbed his temple. What a mess this was. How was he going to explain it to the kids’ parents? They’d be furious when they found out—and at this rate, the twins were bound to be on the horn tomorrow, begging to come home, where it was safe, away from their deranged lunatic of a great-uncle. Stan heaved a sigh. Just when I thought I had a family again…
“Grunkle Stan?”
Stan looked over. Dipper, still curled up, had turned his head slightly. “I’m sorry I disobeyed you.”
“Ah, Dipper, that’s what kids do,” said Stan. “What’s the point of rules if they don’t get broken?”
Dipper cracked a tiny smile. A monsoon of relief flooded through Stan, and he let out his breath in a whoosh.
“So…” Dipper pushed himself up to sit, hugging his knees, and peered cautiously up at his uncle. “Can I have the journal back?”
“Not a chance,” said Stan. Dipper looked crestfallen. Stan sighed. “Kid, what’s it gonna take to prove that stuff is dangerous? You and your sister almost got killed tonight. Do you realize that? Do you have any idea what might’ve happened if I hadn’t gotten there when I did?”
Dipper looked at his knees. “I guess. I promise to be more careful, but Grunkle Stan, I need that journal. I’m so close! I just have to—”
But Stan was getting to his feet. He folded his arms and looked down at his nephew. “All right, all right, you’re clearly not traumatized. You’re not getting that journal back. I meant what I said—I see you with it again, and there’ll be hell to pay.” He pointed a finger at Dipper’s nose. “And talk to your sister, would you? I think she thinks you’re dead or something.” As Dipper flinched away, Stan felt himself sag. “I… ah, jeez. You are all right, aren’t you? I really wasn’t trying to hurt you, kid. I feel terrible.”
“No, no,” said Dipper. “I’m fine. I actually…” He glanced at the door, and he lowered his voice. “My mom… actually did spank me, one time.”
Stan raised his eyebrows. “Eh?”
“It was just like… a little swat. When I was really little. She probably thinks I don’t remember.” Dipper huddled over his knees. “I chased a ball out into the road—or, I started to. She grabbed me and… spanked me, and yelled never to do that again. It’s, like, the first memory I have.”
Well, whaddaya know, thought Stan. Even Miss Parent of the Year has her breaking point.
“I know she wasn’t trying to hurt me. And…” He hugged his knees closer. “I know you weren’t, either. Not really. I guess I… kind of deserved it.”
Stan sat back down on the bed. He put a hand on Dipper’s shoulders. “Does it still hurt?”
Dipper shrugged. “Nah.” As he shifted on the bed, he winced. “I mean, not that much.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” Stan pulled his nephew into a one-armed hug. “Let’s not go through this again, okay?”
“Sounds fine to me,” said Dipper, and he smiled.
Stan smiled back.
The next morning, after his second cup of coffee, Stan sat at the kitchen table watching the clock. He had less than an hour before the kids were likely to wake up—they rarely stayed in bed past nine.
He couldn’t delay it any longer. With a long, reluctant sigh, he picked up the phone and dialed.
It rang twice before a brisk voice answered. “Pines residence, Peter speaking.”
“Ah… Pete, it’s Stan.”
“Uncle Stan!” The voice on the other end sounded surprised. “How are you? How are the kids?”
“Oh, they’re fine,” said Stan. He picked at the phone cord. “Look, Pete, I gotta tell you something.”
“Yes?”
“Well, it’s just… It’s just that… Well, last night, uh…”
On the other end, Peter waited patiently.
Stan heaved a frustrated sigh. “Mason, uh, got himself into some trouble, and I, uh… I spanked him.”
There was a pause. Then Peter said, “You what? What happened?”
“He ran off into the woods,” said Stan. “At night. He was—uh, chasing after something. Some nonsense. I dunno. Anyway, I’ve told him a million times those woods are dangerous, but he didn’t listen, and when I found him, I… I was just so scared, and frustrated, and I didn’t know what else to do.”
Peter said nothing, so Stan kept talking. “Mabel told me after that you and Kathy don’t hit em, and I just feel rotten. The way they were looking at me—I mean, we talked it out, and I think they’re fine, now. I guess I shoulda asked you, first. When I was growing up, kids got spanked. I didn’t even think about it. I’m… I’m sorry, Pete.”
Another pause. Peter said, “Hold on a moment.”
The line went quiet, and Stan heard the muffled voices that must have been Peter telling his wife what was going on. Stan felt the hairs prickle on the back of his neck. This was it. This was the moment Pete would tell him to put the kids on the next bus home. Good-bye, family.
When Peter came back, his voice was low. “Is Mason okay?”
“I think so,” said Stan. “You oughta talk to him, yourself, I think. But, look, I just whacked him a couple of times with an old book. Uh—long story. But I was just trying to get his attention, you know? I swear I didn’t hurt him.”
There was another pause. Stan buried his face in his free hand. This was killing him.
“We don’t hit our kids,” said Peter, his voice low and serious. “Mason’s curious, and he always has been. It gets him into trouble. But we don’t spank him for it. If he goes too far, we talk about it. Take away privileges. Ground him. I’ve never laid a hand on him in my life, and I don’t ever intend to.”
Here it comes, thought Stan. He grimaced.
Then Peter said, “But…”
Stan raised his eyebrows.
On the other line, Peter let out a long sigh. “But… we live in the suburbs, in a really safe area. The worst trouble he can get into is falling out of a perfectly manicured, growth-stunted sapling of a tree. He’s never in danger. I know it’s different out there. I don’t know what it’s like, but I know he could get hurt. Really hurt.”
Stan could barely believe his ears. He stared at the receiver in his hand.
“Kathy and I know you care about the kids. We know you’re looking out for them. While they’re with you… you’re in charge. And we trust you.”
Stan gaped. “So… if this happens again…”
Peter’s voice got suddenly stern. “No implements of any kind,” he said sharply. “Belts, paddles… uh, books… nothing like that. And only as a last resort.”
Stan nodded vigorously, even though he knew Peter couldn’t see. “Of course.”
“We don’t want our kids to learn that you hit people to make them do what you want,” said Peter. “Do what you have to, but only if it’s really serious. I’m talking life-or-death. Is that clear?”
“Crystal clear, Pete,” said Stan. “I’m sorry I panicked. I shoulda asked you, first.”
“Well, you’re asking, now. Thank you for telling me.” There was another pause on the line. “Can I talk to Mason? Is he up?”
Stan cocked his head toward the ceiling. His old ears caught the barest sound of footsteps upstairs. “Sounds like it. I’ll grab him for you.”
“Thanks. Uncle Stan…” Peter drew a slow breath. “Thanks for watching out for them. Really.”
“Oh, uh, yeah. No problem. Uh, say hi to Kathy.”
Stan left the phone on the kitchen table and went to the stairs. He cupped his hands around his mouth and bellowed, “Kids! Your dad’s on the phone!”
A moment passed, and then the faint footsteps turned into a stampede of frantic twelve-year-olds as the twins raced each other to the kitchen.
Mabel slid on stocking-feet across the linoleum floor with a triumphant, “Ha! The older twin wins!”
But Stan put a hand out. “Ah-ah,” he said. “Dipper, first.”
Mabel’s shoulders sagged, and Dipper vaulted past her. “Ha!” He grabbed up the phone. “Hey, Dad!”
Stan and Mabel couldn’t make out the words on the other end of the receiver, but Dipper’s victorious expression turned quickly to one of bemusement. “Oh,” he said, and he glanced at Stan. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
The indistinct voice chattered over the receiver, and Dipper’s face fell. In a subdued voice, he said, “Well, yeah, but…”
The voice cut him off. Dipper hunched his shoulders, listening with a grimace as his father launched into a stern diatribe. Stan and Mabel exchanged a glance.
Finally, the voice on the other end stopped. Dipper shot a wide-eyed look at Stan, then he dropped his gaze to the kitchen tabletop, looking abashed. In a low voice, he said, “Yeah, we’re clear.” More chattering, and then he said, “I know. I will. I’m sorry.”
He glanced at Mabel, who looked alarmed. “Yeah, she’s here. Sure. Yeah, love you too. See you later. Bye.”
He held the receiver out to his sister. Mabel took it hesitantly. “Hullo?”
Dipper watched anxiously, but as Mabel listened, her expression brightened. “Oh, yeah, summer’s been great! Grunkle Stan is the best. He took us fishing, we went on a road trip to all these amazing sites… We saw the upside-down house! I know! It was awesome!”
Dipper rolled his eyes as Mabel yammered on about the less supernatural aspects of their summer so far. When she finally ran out of stories to tell, she fell silent, listening to something on the other end. “Sure,” she said after a while. She, too, glanced at Stan. “All right. Yeah, I got it.” She smiled at the receiver. “I love you too, Dad! See you in September!”
When she finally hung up, the twins exchanged a glance, and then they looked up at their great-uncle.
Stan crossed his arms. “So,” he said. “Your dad says I can spank youse two.”
Slowly, the kids nodded.
“So no more of that journal nonsense.”
Mabel shook her head fiercely. Dipper looked crushed, but he heaved a sigh. “Yeah. No more… journal nonsense.”
Stan clapped his hands together. “Glad that’s settled. Who wants pancakes?”
Mabel’s hand shot up. “I do! I do!”
Dipper settled into his chair. He’d lost the journal, and the stakes had just gotten higher. As he watched Stan making breakfast, his eyes narrowed. This wasn’t over. He’d find a way to crack this mystery. There had to be a way to get a look at the journal without Stan noticing.
The corner of Dipper’s mouth curled up. Hadn’t Grunkle Stan said something about a photocopier…?