Chapter Text
“Massachusetts?”
“Yes, I have an.. acquaintance, if you will, that lives there."
Dipper's eyebrows furrowed slightly, forehead creased in confusion as he stared at his great-uncle's back. "What sort of acquaintance?”
Ford paused in his work, hands stilling above his latest invention. He slowly let out a breath, turning to face his apprentice. "You have prior experience with the spirits of the deceased, correct, Dipper?”
"Like, ghosts? Well, yeah, but only the Duskertons--”
Ford nodded to himself, dusting his hands off against his slacks. "Yes, yes, right-- the poltergeists from the convenience store," he concluded. "Well, you see, I've been having some trouble with ghosts myself, recently."
"Okay… But what does this have to do with your 'acquaintance’ in Massachusetts?”
"He communes with the spirits that linger within our realm -- he can see them, speak to them, help them move on. It's a very rare trait. His is the only family line I know to possess such a skill, in fact."
"So, what, he's a ghost-whisperer?” Dipper asked, looking intrigued.
"Well, the technical term is 'medium', but, yes, I suppose he is."
"And you're sure this guy can help you? I mean, no offense, but he is on the other side of the country," Dipper pointed out.
Ford waved his hand in dismissal. "I'm sure he'll think of something. He wasn't up to much, the last time I saw him -- the whole town thought he was crazy!”
Dipper grimaced slightly. "Oh."
"Yes, well, never you mind that. Point is, he should be able to help with the ghost problem."
"Yeah… When do you leave?”
He considered it for a moment. "Truthfully, I had hoped to leave tomorrow morning," he raised his voice slightly to continue over Dipper's spluttering. "But I would like to extend an invitation to you, Dipper. I know you have a particular fascination with ghosts."
Dipper flushed lightly. "What, they're cool! I mean, no one really knows what happens after death, so--" Ford cleared his throat softly. "Uh-- um, I mean-- sure. I'd love to go.”
Ford smiled. "Excellent. I'll give you some extra time to pack, of course," he glanced down at his watch. "We'll leave in approximately thirty five hours."
|¿|
Four days later -- three of which were spent driving for excruciatingly long hours, because Ford didn't want to take a plane (though that may have had something to do with the fact that he technically didn’t have an identity of his own anymore, as he wasn't legally considered to be Stanford Pines) -- they arrived in the small town of Blithe Hollow, Massachusetts.
It was surprisingly underwhelming, if Dipper was being honest. Everywhere he looked there were corny, stereotypical witches staring back at him.
Once Ford had pulled into the small parking lot of an equally small motel, Dipper got out of the passenger seat and stretched, revelling in finally being able to move his tense muscles. After a moment his great-uncle got out of his own seat, squinting against the late afternoon sun.
Dipper waited for Ford to say something, but the older man merely took the time to survey the nearby area. He didn't even seem fazed by the tacky decor.
Eventually, Dipper broke the silence. “You're kidding, right?”
Ford blinked down at him. “What do you mean?”
Dipper made a vague gesture at the surrounding buildings. “The witches -- they're everywhere. What's that all about?”
“Ah, well, this town was cursed by a witch in the early 1700s.”
Dipper nearly choked on his next inhalation. “W-What? Cursed?”
Ford nodded, looking up at a billboard that was advertising for the local casino. “Yes, cursed. No one really believes that though, it's merely become a way to attract tourists.”
“Oh. Then…” He almost didn't want to ask. “The curse isn't real?”
Of course, as was typical of Dipper’s luck, Ford quickly shook his head. “No, no, quite the opposite. The curse is indefinitely real.” He ignored Dipper’s quiet groan. “That's why the mediums stay here.”
Dipper immediately perked up. “Why they stay?”
“Well,” Ford circled around to the back of their car, opening the trunk and beginning to unload their luggage. Dipper moved to follow. “The witch who cursed this town is long dead by now, as you no doubt assumed. But, as I understand, her curse kept her alive in a sense.”
“Meaning..?”
“Meaning,” the trunk fell shut with a loud bang, their suitcases resting by Ford's feet. “She became a very restless spirit. She haunts this town, trying every year to bring her curse to fruition.”
Dipper nodded slowly, understanding dawning. “Then, the mediums stay here in Blithe Hollow to stop her.” He grinned, feeling excited. “They're the only ones who can see her as the spirit she is now, so it's their duty to stop her and protect the town.”
Ford smiled. “That's correct.”
“Oh man,” Dipper gushed. “That's so freaking cool! Did your acquaintance tell you all that?”
Ford laughed, passing his nephew some of the suitcases to take to their room. “He did.” He locked the car and picked up their remaining luggage. “After all, he's been dealing with the curse for years now.”
|¿|
Blue eyes narrowed at the man before him, glare sharp but questioning.
“What?”
“I'm telling you! There were two guys here earlier -- and they're looking for you!”
Norman scoffed, turning his gaze back towards the supermarket where his mother was doing her weekly shopping. She'd get worried if he stayed out here much longer.
“Hey!” There was a sudden coldness that enveloped his body, then the ghost was back in front of him. “Listen to me!”
“Look, thanks for trying to be helpful or whatever, but I already told you I'll be fine.” Norman kept his voice low, conscious of the people milling about in front of the store. “People have come looking for me before if they didn't believe the tornado story, and I've avoided them all.”
The ghost crossed his arms angrily, the transparent limbs doing nothing to cover the deep gashes and tire marks across his torso. “Yeah? Well I doubt those other guys knew you talked to ghosts!”
That got Norman's attention. “And these ones did?”
“Yes!” The ghost waved an arm towards a building a little ways down the street. “They were just over there -- staying in the motel, probably -- but I heard them. They were talking about spirits and mediums and the curse--”
“The curse? They knew about the curse?”
“Uh, y-yeah,” Norman's abrupt change of tone must have startled the ghost. “They were talking about some acquaintance of theirs who apparently knows about it.”
Norman chewed on his bottom lip, contemplating. “What do they look like?”
He carefully listened to the ghost’s description, filing the information away for later. An older man, gray-haired with glasses and a long coat. A younger boy, probably about Norman's age, with curly brown hair and a baseball cap.
The older man seemed especially dangerous, if the ghost’s information was right, as he was the one who did the most talking. He was the one who originally knew about the curse, at least. But Norman wasn't about to take any chances with the younger one either. He was obviously here for a reason, and the older one confided in him.
Overall, both of them seemed like bad news.
“Norman?” The medium looked back at the ghost, shaking away his troubling thoughts. “What are you going to do?”
“I… I don't know yet.”