"Ha! I win!" Dipper slapped his last card onto the pile and displayed his empty hands for Mabel to see.

Mabel put down her hand of cards. "I still say that reverse move was illegal," she said.

"I probably would've won anyway," Dipper said smugly.

It was Friday, late in the afternoon. The party room was decorated, the food was sitting in the kitchen ready to be set out just before the party, and Melody was currently hooking up her DJ equipment. Half an hour ago, with the twins under her feet, the housekeeper had suggested they go play a game or something to take their minds off their anxious excitement. So now Mabel and Dipper were on their fourth round of cards, with Dipper on a winning streak.

Dipper gathered up the cards again and started shuffling. His knee, which had a brand new red Band-Aid from when he banged it on the stairs earlier, bounced against the floor with a contained hyperactivity. Mabel knew he was waiting anxiously for the party — not because he was nervous, but because he was waiting for something exciting.

Mabel was just nervous.

She listened to the rustling sounds as Dipper shuffled the cards for a new round for a moment before grabbing her sketchbook and pencil from the floor.

She flipped to her latest sketch and started idly adding to it. She had done most of it on their Ford-ordered rest day, after designing the party invitations. It showed Ford kneeling on the ground of the secret basement, head tilted up as he stared at the huge upside-down triangle thing. 

Looking at the picture made Mabel feel two things: sadness at seeing Ford in pain, and a wild curiosity as to why he was in pain in the first place.

"Hey, Mabes, I'm ready." Dipper was holding out her hand. "You still wanna play?"

Mabel looked up from her sketchbook and shrugged. "I kinda want to play something else. Or get food."

"Melody said she'd make dinner at five-thirty. What time is it?"

"Dunno."

"Mabel?"

She turned around to see Ford walk into the room, and immediately slammed her notebook closed before he could see the picture of him and set it aside. He didn't seem to notice, just yawned behind his hand. There were bags under his eyes, and he moved sluggishly, like he had just woken up but hadn't slept well. Mabel realized she hadn't seen him since breakfast that morning.

"Yeah?" she asked.

"Do you remember reading anything in the Journal about the amulets?"

Mabel's heart sped up when she saw the maroon book tucked under his arm. "No. I didn't know anything about the amulets until Pacifica first attacked me with hers."

Ford sighed. "That's what I thought. I've just read through it again and I didn't find anything."

"You read through it again? So you remember everything?"

The words were out before Mabel could stop them. She immediately shrunk back as Ford's weary gaze fixed on her.

"Somewhat," he said carefully. "There are some pages missing."

Mabel nodded. She'd fingered the ridges of the torn papers many times, wondering what could've been written on the pages that were ripped out.

"But you've seen everything you need to?"

Ford watched her for a moment, then cracked a smile. "I know you want it back," he said.

Mabel flushed. "W-well, yeah, I — I mean — I really like reading it."

Her heart gave an offended thump when it realized she had lied to Ford. She did like reading the Journal, but she really wanted it back to try summoning a ghost. She'd made the decision yesterday, after seeing Gideon. She was sick of other people deciding what she would know and when.

Ford's smile widened, though it didn't take all the fatigue out of his eyes. "Well," he said, "I've read it thoroughly, and it won't help me when I go to see Pacifica. Plus, I probably shouldn't have it out near Gideon anyway. Here." He bent down to hand her the Journal.

She took it, running her fingers over the gilded six-fingered hand, hugging it close to her chest. "W-wait," she realized. "When are you going to see Pacifica?" Dipper had told her about it, but he hadn't said when.

"In about an hour."

Mabel's eyes widened. An hour? With Ford out of the Museum, she'd have free reign to carry out her plan. Her fingers curled tighter around the Journal.

"How long will you be gone?" Dipper asked. "You'll be here for some of the party, right?"

The party. Dipper's party was starting at seven. Mabel wasn't sure what time it was now, but she knew it wasn't six. If Ford left in an hour, she'd still have time to summon the ghost and still be on time for the party, right?

She didn't have any other time. She'd just have to be fast.

"I don't know how long it will take," Ford said. "I have no idea what Pacifica will be like, or if I can help her."

She'd definitely have to be fast.

The Employees Only door opened, and Melody came into the living room. "Hey there, Ford," she said. "Glad to see you awake."

"I haven't been asleep," Ford replied.

Melody gave him a disapproving look, but it only lasted a moment. "Well, I'll make dinner," she said. "Better have a good meal before we stay up all night eating party snacks."

She smiled at Dipper, and he grinned back. "How's your DJ corner?" he asked.

"Ready to rule the night," she replied. She ambled across the entry way to the kitchen, and Dipper jumped to his feet to join her. Mabel stayed in place, thinking.

If Melody was here to make dinner, then it was five-thirty. So Ford was leaving at six-thirty. Which gave her half an hour to summon the ghost. She could deal with that.

She looked down at the Journal. The golden trim glinted in the light.

Okay, Mabel, she told herself. You've got this.

~~~~~

Fast-forward an hour, and Mabel was crouched on the stairs, watching as Ford got ready to leave. She peered through the railing, the Journal secure in her jacket.

Ford pulled his coat on and looked back. Mabel saw him jump as he saw her, but his face stayed composed. "You look like a cat up there," he told her.

Mabel blinked. "Dipper says that too."

Ford chuckled. "Come to see me off?"

"Um. . . yeah. You don't have anything Gideon could steal, do you?"

The laugh on Ford's face softened. "He apologized, Mabel."

She felt a knot of hatred form in the pit of her stomach and send shock waves up through her chest. She forced it down, forced herself to say, "Just. . . don't trust him, Grunkle Ford. Trust no one."

Ford looked at her in surprise. "That's from my Journal."

"Yeah," Mabel said. "I-I mean, maybe trust some people. I trust Dipper. I trust—"

She suddenly couldn't bring herself to say, "I trust you." Because she had trusted Ford, for a good few hours, before he'd betrayed that trust in refusing to tell her about the secret basement.

"—some people," she finished lamely. She hurried to cover up her hesitation. "But not Gideon Northwest. So. . . be careful."

Ford studied her for a moment, and she braced herself. But he didn't say anything for some time. Finally, he smiled slightly. "I will." He put a hand on the doorknob. "You be careful yourself. No raising the dead or anything while I'm gone, alright?"

Mabel blinked.

Well, dang it.

Now she really had to be done before he got home.

"Goodbye," Ford said. He was smiling, so he must have been joking. Still, it was a scarily coincidental joke.

"Bye," Mabel forced out. "Good luck."

The door closed behind him, bathing the entryway in blessed silence. For a moment.

Mabel shot to her feet and ran down the stairs, tearing around the corner into the hallway and throwing the door to the parlor open.

She had half an hour.

~~~~~

"Welcome to the Mystery Museum! Have a glow stick!"

Dipper handed another guest their glow stick and grinned around at the gift shop — the party room — as it filled up. People were showing up, more people than he was expecting. This was going to be awesome.

It was a quarter hour after seven. Melody had warned Dipper that most people would show up fashionably late, but there was still a good crowd forming. A simple but fast song pulsed through the room, the notes soft but the beat strong. The food was all set up, a punch bowl and chips and donuts on the table ready to be devoured. A few people were over at the snacks table (Dipper's pig, Waddles, got underfoot in hopes that he could have some food), but most were chatting on the dancefloor as they swayed to the beat of the music. It was still quiet enough to hear yourself talk.

"Dipper!"

The deep voice bellowed out his name, and Dipper knew who the speaker was before he saw him. "Hey, Greyson!"

Greyson and Candy were standing together, Greyson with a wide smile and Candy with a small one. Her little black eyes darted around the room, looking at all the people as if judging their level of danger. When her eyes met Dipper's, though, she relaxed.

"I'm so glad you guys could make it! Want some glow sticks?" Dipper held out the bundle that was in his hand. More glow stick bracelets dangled from his wrist, and a chain looped into a necklace hung on his neck.

Greyson and Candy both accepted a glow stick. "Who else is coming?" Candy asked, her tone guarded.

"Friends," Dipper said. "Gideon and his lackeys aren't gonna show. Or if they do, we'll take care of them."

Candy smiled, this time genuinely. It was kind of a scary smile.

"I gotta keep greeting people," Dipper said, "but you guys go grab some food or start dancing."

"Is your sister here?" Greyson asked.

"Maybe she could greet people," Candy suggested.

"Nah, that's not really her style," Dipper said. "This is my shebang, so. . . I. . . ." He trailed off and looked around the room, frowning. "Where is Mabel, anyway?"

Greyson and Candy were silent as Dipper searched for his twin. "She's not in here," he finally said. His face fell. Mabel promised she would come, she promised she wouldn't just hide, she promised. . .

She promised she'd wait to summon that ghost until after the party. But Ford was gone.

"Guys, listen, I gotta go," Dipper said. "Will you maybe hand out glow sticks for me until I get back? Otherwise, our DJ Melody has everything under control."

"Um, okay," Candy said. "I guess."

"Thanks guys! I'll be back soon."

He turned and dashed out of the party room, heading through the living room and down the hallway.

Was she up in the attic? In their room? Somewhere else altogether? Maybe she wasn't even summoning the ghost now, maybe Dipper was just jumping to conclusions—

As he rounded the corner to the main hallway, he saw a flash of light from under the parlor door.

He wasn't just jumping to conclusions.

His feet pounded against the shaggy carpeting as he ran down the hallway. Blueish light seeped through the cracks of the parlor door, inviting him to enter; but he slowed down as he heard voices.

"Wh-what do you mean?" That was Mabel.

"I mean, I only died, like, three months ago. Who even are you?"

"I'm, um — listen, are there any other ghosts around here? Older ones?"

"I don't even know where 'here' is."

Dipper opened the door. "Mabel! What are you doing?"

She whirled around to face him, her eyes widening. "D-Dipper! I-I — um — I — what time is it?"

"The party's already started," he said, not bothering to keep the hurt out of his voice. "Mabes, I thought you said—"

"I-I know," she hurried to say. "But I finally got a ghost to appear—"

"Not for long," said the ghost.

Dipper finally took the time to notice the ghost. Except for the fact that he was glowing and floating above the floor, the ghost looked just like a teenage boy. He wore a loose-knit beanie and large square glasses that framed glowing blue eyes.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" the ghost snapped. "I looked like this before it was cool."

"What's with this guy?" Dipper asked Mabel.

Mabel put a hand to her face and moaned. "Whyyyyyyy."

"Why what?"

She picked up the Journal, which had been laying open on the floor, flicked through it, and thrust it towards Dipper. The page was labeled "Dream Hipster," although the sketch depicting an old man with silverware taped to his fingers looked nothing like the bored teenager floating in front of Dipper.

"Well?" the ghost demanded. "What did you summon me for? This is such a waste of my time."

"I already told you," Mabel said, sounding frustrated. "I need information about something that happened thirty years ago."

"I wasn't even around thirty years ago. And I don't come from here. I'm from, like, LA. Way classier."

"So you don't know of any other ghosts that might be able to help me?"

"Other ghosts?" The ghost examined his fingernails. "So not worth my time. And neither are you."

"Fine then!" Mabel shouted. "Just leave! I didn't spend half an hour getting the candles and the spell exactly right just for you to show up and be rude!"

Dipper looked at her in surprise. She put her hands to her head, pushing them into her frazzled hair. It was then Dipper noticed a perfect circle drawn in chalk on the floorboards, with lines crisscrossing in the center and candles placed carefully around the edge. No wonder Mabel was so frustrated. She may have more patience than him, but rarely that much.

"Wow," the ghost said. "Salty. Show more respect for the dead, small one."

Mabel let out another frustrated moan. "Look, just — how do I get rid of all this?"

"Get rid of me?" the ghost asked, this time louder. "Oh, I don't think so. You've already wasted my time. Now you're going to see what happens when people disrespect me."

As the ghost spoke, his voice got lower and more raspy. With a sudden flash of white light, the ghost began to morph. His arms and legs grew spindly. His back hunched over. His hat turned to a fedora.

When the light faded, he looked exactly like the picture in the Journal. The Journal that Dipper then dropped on the floor in shock.

"I haven't been in the land of the living in thirty years!" the ghost cackled. His voice was old and cracked. "Not ever since the man with that book banished me." He gestured toward the Journal. "I was once the most feared dream haunter in Gravity Rises. And now I'll make up for thirty years of nothing!"

A fork shot out from his fingers and hit the wall near Dipper's ear.

"Um," Dipper said. "Run?"

"Run," Mabel agreed.

The twins turned and booked it out of the parlor, the raspy laughter of the Dream Hipster echoing in their ears.

Art by me