Mystery Kids: Beginnings- Part 2

Mystery Kids: Beginnings- Part 2

Here's part two~ Happy reading!

“I saved the world at least two times already, and this is the next mission they give me?”

“I know you’re disappointed darling, but every budding Psychonaut gets sent one of these. Sometimes, even Sasha and I get one when no one else is available,” Milla Vodello lilted in her warm Brazilian accent, and her stoic German companion nodded curtly.

“A simple retrieval mission should be short work for you, Razputin. The location isn’t far from here; it should take you a few days at most. Then you’ll be able to move on to more… intriguing proposals,” Sasha Nein added, handing over the mission file.

“Isn’t there something else I could do? A secret psychic mafia plot maybe, or saving a world leader’s sanity. Anything?”

 “…No,” Sasha replied with a frown, and the small psychic’s shoulders fell.

“Sorry dear, but I know you’ll do a fine job. Now go on, we can’t let that stuff stay in the wrong hands for too long. We’ll keep in touch if you need anything.”

“Yeah yeah…” Razputin sighed, flipping through the file as he headed out to the parking lot. A vivid orange globe of energy sprung up under his feet, and he was off, rolling along. There were certain disadvantages to being the youngest Psychonaut ever, number one being you still weren’t allowed to drive anywhere, or fly the official jet yourself, leaving travel by levitation ball the only option. At least his family’s nomadic circus life had left him with a good sense of direction. It might take him a day or so, but he’d have no trouble reaching the locale from Whispering Rock. Time to see what this retrieval mission was all about.

 --------

“Whoa dude, you look beat. Everything okay?” Soos looked worried, and Dipper groaned.

“Mabel had insomnia, Norman got bad dreams, and I've got a splitting headache,” he replied from where he was draped over the counter in the gift shop, a bag of ice on his forehead.

“Yikes, sorry,” the handyman lowered his voice, going back to his sweeping but trying to do it more gently. “You guys didn’t have some kinda crazy zombie party, did you? Or maybe it‘s some kinda curse.”

“Maybe…” Dipper trailed. The Journal didn’t have much about curses, and reading made the headache worse anyway. If Gideon’s plan had been to give them all sleep disorders, well, it had worked, but that seemed a bit… weak for their enemy’s tastes. It had more or less incapacitated them though, so if that was his real aim… then they were probably in for even more trouble soon. Wincing, he peeled himself from the countertop and headed upstairs, pressing the ice pack to his head. Even if he couldn’t read right now, there were two people who could do it for him. He’d read the mysterious tome front to back, nearly had the contents memorized, but there was a chance he’d missed something, anything that might get this migraine to go away. Then he’d be able to think, and help the others.

Trudging upstairs, he found Norman distracting himself with one of his ghost story collections, and Mabel lay flat on her bed knitting. Presumably she’d been trying to sleep and gave up. She stopped and sat up as her brother approached and pulled the Journal from under his pillow.

“Any better?” she asked wearily, and he shook his head, then winced. That had been a bad idea.

“I was hoping someone could look up anything about curses in here. Soos thought maybe that’s what’s up.”

“But you know it the best,” she countered, “and my eyes have been going all weird. Look how many stitches I dropped!” She held up her needles with what looked like a slowly tapering scarf. “It’s not supposed to do that,” she moaned, “but I’ve gotta keep my mind off how badly I wanna sleep.”

“And I want to do something about that, but I can’t with this crazy headache,” Dipper answered tersely, then felt the book pulled from his hand and spun to see Norman with his nose already buried in it. “Whoa, thanks, but… what’s with the enthusiasm?”

“You need to ask?” he snapped, harsher than usual, but Dipper figured he had a good reason to be ill-tempered today. No one could be expected to be in a good mood after sleeping poorly.

Aside from the sound of pages turning and the clicking of knitting needles, the room was silent, which was a relief for Dipper. He was almost able to ignore the headache now, and slowly he tried piecing events together as he lay on his bed. Everyone had sleepless nights sometimes, but that it had affected them at the same time was suspicious, especially after crossing with a known enemy. Stan had seemed perfectly chipper at breakfast this morning, so somehow he hadn’t been affected by whatever Gideon had done. And it seemed odd that if it was a curse that it had such different effects on each of them, unless of course that was the point. He couldn’t be too sure about that.

A sharp pang interrupted his thoughts, and he realized his ice had melted already. Dragging himself up, he noticed Norman staring into space. He did that sometimes, but usually only if there was a ghost present, and he’d explained there were only a couple animal ghosts at the Mystery Shack, and none in the attic where they slept. So what was he doing?

“Norman?”

He flinched like the name had hit him, then rapidly blinked and rubbed his eyes before apologizing. Dipper shrugged and headed down for his ice refill, wondering what could be up. It’d only be the latest in a long line of things. At least when he came back his friend was reading again, and the ice felt really good against his throbbing skull. Soos visited late that afternoon with popsicles for the three, a welcome distraction from their problems, and relayed that it’d been a pretty slow day at the Shack and he was headed home early, but wanted to check on them before he left. Mabel gave him the ‘insomnia scarf’ as a thank you since he thought it was actually kind of cool, then they bid him farewell for the evening.

All too soon another restless night fell, with only Dipper managing a few snatches of shuteye. For the other two, there was no escaping their afflictions. Mabel snuggled with Waddles and worked on a new sweater to pass the time. Norman lay in a daze between visions, unable to avoid them anymore. He was dragged underground by the living dead, surrounded by taunting classmates, set alight by fearful puritans— an endless procession of horrors only he could see. He was managing to keep it together, but wasn’t sure it’d last. His only hope was that Dipper would feel better soon and be able to figure out what had gone wrong. Trying to keep his mind off the visual static that danced at the edges of his vision, he ran over the previous day’s events again and again, looking for anything he could have missed. Things had definitely gotten weird as soon as Gideon had wanted to talk to him, but there had to be more right? He’d gone into the trailer, put up with the kid’s fashion sense and then—he’d gone on stage. But why did he remember turquoise and dread too?

When the room’s shadows morphed into leering sinister creatures, he knew he wouldn’t be getting his answer—or sleep.

Morning light stole into the attic room at last and came to rest on three exhausted kids. Dipper sat taking stock as he massaged his temples; Mabel appeared to have finally passed out while Norman sat curled in a corner, unresponsive. He himself was still plagued by his headache, but it was now coupled with the sense of being watched-- which normally only accompanied him in the forest. Groaning, he grabbed the leaking ice pack and headed downstairs to fill it again, feeling unwelcome in his own, if only for the summer, home. Stan wasn’t up yet, and only the birds made much noise… he felt like he was trespassing. As quietly as he could, he got the ice and hurriedly tiptoed back upstairs, glad it still helped with the pain. Glancing blearily at the others, he knew it’d up to him to do any mystery-solving today.

Using some of Mabel’s yarn, he tied the ice pack to the bill of his hat and got to work, writing out a timeline of events and anything that seemed unusual. He dozed off from time to time, either a jolt of pain or some shadow of a dream bringing him around again. Hours passed, and he heard Stan moving around downstairs making a coffee, and the crinkle of the morning paper. And whispering… no, just the wind. He was tired that was all, tired and hearing things. Maybe breakfast would help.

“Yikes, you look like you lost a fight. No sleep again, huh?” Stan commented when he entered the kitchen, and he nodded. Stan looked worried for a moment, then went back to his paper. “Uh, I gotta run some errands today. Soos’ll take care of the Shack if you kids are really that out of it.”

“Thanks… I don’t think we’ll be doing anything today. Mabel’s out cold, and Norman… I think he’s petrified or something.”

“Hey, could be a new thing for the Shack-- ‘Fossilized Ghost Whisperer Boy’, hah!”

Dipper ignored his great-uncle’s remark and focused on his cereal. He was more concerned about what he was missing, just like the key to one of the ciphers. And that’s all this was, another mystery thrown at him. Well, he’d solve it, and prove to Gideon there was nothing he could do to bring him down. Finishing his meal, he headed back up determined to find out the truth. Stan finished his paper and headed out, leaving the Shack to the kids until Soos arrived.

Mabel woke with a start. Waddles was gone, her brother’s bed was empty, and she didn’t see Norman. But she knew where each of them was— Dipper was coming up the stairs still rocking that headache, Waddles had made his way outside and was happily rooting around in the grass, and Norman was… hiding, in the corner. She furrowed her brow; she didn’t feel tired anymore at least, and even though she’d always been a people person, she never recalled being able to pinpoint where someone was and how they were feeling.

“Oh Mabel, you’re awake, good. Listen, I—”

“Someone’s at the door,” she interrupted, and the doorbell rang. Dipper stared at her, then they both headed down to investigate. She wanted her hunch to be wrong, but it came as no surprise when the door swung open to reveal Gideon inspecting his nails as though he’d been kept waiting. She glared at him as he pretended to notice the door was finally open, and then feigned shock at their worn appearance.

“Why, y’all look like you haven’t slept in days. And Dipper, that’s an intriguing device you’ve rigged there. Tell me, does it help with your insanity?”

“Whatever you tried Gideon, it didn’t work! You just gave me a bad headache.”

“Aw, look how confident he is,” Gideon cooed, before his expression turned sour. “Listen here you two. Things are going exactly as planned, and soon there won’t be anything you can do to stop me. I’m taking everything-- your minds, your friend, the Shack, and all its secrets. I was just stoppin’ by to see how it was all comin’ along.” He looked them over again, arms folded, and gave a satisfied nod before sauntering off. Mabel raised a fist, but found her brother’s arm barring her and lowered it. He was right; there was no need to cause more trouble, and there were better people to use a punch on.

“Now we know this is his fault,” Dipper said once he‘d gone. “What did he mean, our minds? He can’t make us work for him, he doesn’t have that kind of power. Ugh, now I have to write more things down. And how did you know he was at the door?”

“I just sorta knew,” Mabel shrugged. “It wasn’t just him either, I knew where you and Waddles were, and Norman, and even what you guys were feeling.”

“Whoa, like you were the one with psychic powers. Hey, how am I feeling now?”

“I dunno, I can’t do it anymore,” she shrugged again, and he thought for a while.

“Something Gideon did messed with all our heads, but I don’t think he meant to give you powers. Maybe that means he really doesn’t have control of whatever he’s doing, which means we have a chance. Come on!”

They ran upstairs, and she watched her brother sort through his data and remove all the stuff that relied on Gideon having total control. It wasn’t much, and she knew she wasn’t one for this conspiracy-level thinking, but if their rival had just unwittingly given his whole game away her brother would be the one to figure it out, and she’d be there to help. Together, they laid things out, starting with Norman’s letter and running through everything up to their latest exchange with their rival. Norman could have been hexed at any time he was with Gideon, but that didn’t account for why the twins were suffering and Stan wasn’t. Dipper put that in the ’suspicious’ pile. The amulet was back; that too went into the ’suspicious’ pile. Making Norman take the suit home… also strange, added to the pile. That Gideon was determined to destroy their minds rather than just physically remove them from the Shack with the amulet? Scary.

“Well, the only thing we can investigate right away is that suit, though I can’t see what might be so weird about it,” Dipper sighed, sorting through the slips of paper listing each oddity. “Still, worth a shot, I guess.”

She nodded and hopped up to fetch it. The thing had been hung up in the closet, out of sight and hence out of mind, especially once more pressing matters arose. Tearing it from the hanger, she tossed it on the floor between their beds, and something made a clunking sound. They glanced at each other, then patted through the fabric until Dipper’s hand fell on a hard object tucked into a pocket. Reaching in, he withdrew a rock about the size of his fist, violently purple and glittering in his hand. He looked at it for a moment, then handed it over for her to see. Turning it over in her hands, she admired the color and how it glowed all by itself. It was such a pretty rock, but there was more to it than looks; she felt that sense of extreme empathy coming back, could feel how bad her brother’s migraine was, and… something worse.

Dipper took the rock back when he noticed concern spread on his sister’s face and looked closely at the heavy mineral. Pain jagged through his skull, and for a moment his vision blacked out. He was floating in a void, he was sure of it, but somehow it wasn’t a scary sort of void. There was something here, something important… something good to know. Could he find out what it was?

A flash of red and green. The word ‘goggles’.

Then it was back to pain, and Mabel placed a steadying hand on his shoulder while the stone clattered to the floor. Grabbing the nearest container he saw, Dipper took the rock and stuffed it in one of the jars of fake eyes Stan kept around and jammed the lid back on as fast as he could. Amazingly, his headache seemed to lessen right away, and he sighed with relief. So that’s what Gideon had done-- planted this thing on Norman without him knowing, or maybe hypnotizing him to forget about it, who knew-- and let whatever it was seep into their room. No wonder Stan hadn’t been affected, he was probably out of range. And the person who’d been in contact with it the most…

“Dipper… Norman’s not doing so good,” Mabel said timidly, interrupting her brother’s thoughts.

“Can you feel what’s going on like you did earlier?” Dipper asked quietly, but she shook her head.

“Once you put that rock stuff in the jar I couldn't feel anything.”

“Huh. Okay, uh… but what about before that though?”

“Before that, um,” she trailed nervously, poking her fingers together. “It was kind of a big blob of blech. I… I don’t think he’s really… um… with us anymore,” she explained, and her brother sighed.

“Yikes. Well, only thing we can do is talk to him, right? Find out what’s up…”

“Uh-huh,” she agreed, and together they stood and slowly approached their troubled friend. They exchanged concerned looks, then Dipper began.

“Wanna… come out of your corner there Norman?” he said cautiously, and again his friend flinched.

“…Go away…”

“We’re not going anywhere until you’re better. That’s what friends do,” Mabel answered as cheerfully as she could.

“…Don’t have any friends… better off alone…” he muttered, almost to himself, and the twins looked to each other.

“That’s not true, you've got-- a ton of friends, yeah! There’s me, and Dipper, and that one kid you talked about back home, and Soos, not to mention the ghosts you talk to like, all the time! Yeah!” Mabel laughed nervously, twirling a lock of hair in her fingers. The tone of his voice was the most unsettling thing, and she realized she was afraid-- though whether it was for or because of Norman she couldn’t tell. Which only made her all the more worried.

“…Leave me alone…”

“And… if we don’t leave you alone?” Dipper asked, and she elbowed him in the side for being insensitive. He caught her frantic glare before movement got their attention. Norman was standing, staggering to his feet like one of the zombies from his movies, but there was something even more troubling-- static flickered through his hair and across his clothes.

“Then… I’ll make you…”

Dipper gasped as he realized his friend’s intent and grabbed his sister’s wrist; together, the twins barely dodged the lightning that sizzled over their heads and ducked for the door, shutting it behind them and panting. Mabel wrapped her arms around him, and he realized she was shaking; he was speechless himself, so he only returned the reassuring hug for the time being. He wasn’t even sure how to feel at the moment, but one thing was blindingly clear: Gideon was going to pay.

“Come on Mabel, I don’t think we can help him right now,” he said quietly, standing and heading down the stairs. Mabel took a sad glance back at the door before following, hoping her brother had a plan. Adjusting his cap, he remembered the ice pack and took it off now that his headache was largely gone, then marched out the door, sister close behind wondering just what was on his mind. She had a pretty good guess though, since it was likely she was thinking the same thing.

Hopefully not literally, but the Pines were out for blood.

--------

Razputin, or more simply ‘Raz’ as he preferred, had just arrived in town and could already sense things were amiss. That run-down looking tourist trap he’d passed on the way in was definitely giving off some weird vibes, but he’d investigate later-- now there was a dwarf in a powder-blue suit trying to get his attention down the street. Come to think of it, he had heard this area was known for strange occurrences and sightings. He just hadn’t expected to run into so much so soon.

Rolling closer, he saw it was actually just a well-dressed kid flagging him down, and figured he wanted his autograph or something, or maybe he’d never seen a psychic before. It might be good to make friends with the locals anyway; they’d be able to guide him around town during his investigation—at least, that’s what the agents in True Psychic Tales always did. He let the ball of energy under his feet evaporate and walked over to find out just what this kid wanted.

“Can I help you?”

“I believe you can, yes,” the child replied in a charming drawl, “as a fellow psychic, I could use a friend. Walk with me an’ I’ll tell ya all about it.”

Raz was a little surprised at his claims of being a psychic—again, he hadn't expected strange stuff to happen so soon—but he felt an immediate fellowship as he listened eagerly to his plight. The kid explained how he’d been mocked and derided as a fraud ever since he’d come to town, and now two  other kids had taken something of his and hidden it in that tourist trap he’d passed earlier, the Mystery Shack. Raz was obviously more powerful than him, since he couldn’t even levitate like he did, and he could use someone to back him up when he went to get his stuff.

“Then those fools won’t know what hit ‘em,” he chuckled, and something in his tone made Raz uneasy. Still, this kid could be useful for his mission, and those bad vibes from earlier might be related to too—no sense in ruling it out prematurely, especially with the nature of what he was supposed to be recovering. And on top of all that, he knew all too well about being mocked for who you were. So he didn’t see much harm in following him for now, and maybe he’d lead him straight to what he needed anyway. Two birds with one stone and all that.

The Shack loomed into view, and the sign on the window read “Closed” even though business hours should have started at ten that morning, almost four hours ago. It looked like no one was home, and Raz watched uneasily as the shorter kid forced the door to the gift shop open with his telekinesis and walked right in. Even if he only had telekinesis, couldn’t he defend himself? Something didn’t add up, and he got the feeling he only knew part of the story, or perhaps not even that as he followed the kid further into the house-turned-museum. It smelled like dust and mildewed taxidermy, and the décor was stuck in the 70s, but that was of no concern to the suited kid who searched the common areas furiously before heading upstairs. Raz felt maybe he’d been coerced into a robbery, was the brawn to this kid’s brains, but there was still that sense there was more going on than he realized. Well, he wasn’t about to let it stay that way.

“Okay, what are we really doing here?” he asked, narrowing his eyes as they climbed the stairs to the attic, and the boy chuckled.

“Why, didn't I tell you? There’s somethin’ here that’s rightfully mine, an’ I’m just retrievin’ it,” he replied, opening the door at the top and peeking in.

“I thought you said it was yours. That seems different from ‘rightfully’ yours.”

“Silence!”the kid shrieked, all semblance of amicability gone, and Raz felt himself hurled into the room ahead, tumbling against the foot of a bed. Rubbing the back of his aching head with a groan, he quickly realized there was someone home after all. Getting cautiously to his feet, he saw his ‘friend’ peering around the door and telekinetically shut it on him, then set a heavy-looking travel trunk against it. He needed to figure out what was going on here, and he had a feeling the other person curled in the corner was part of it.

If anything, he was at least the source of the bad aura that filled the house. There was no mistaking it—confusion, fear, anger, sadness—a roiling slew of negative emotions with no mental walls left to contain them. Raz still wasn’t the most experienced, but he knew this couldn’t be natural. Unblocking the door, he snatched his ‘friend’ up with a projected hand and brought him in, certain he had something to do with this other kid’s… affliction.

“What the hell is going on here? Explain yourself, or I’ll…” he thought for a moment, “I’ll light your hair on fire!”

“No! I mean, what makes you think I have anything t’ do with Norman over here?”

Raz raised an eyebrow. “You know his name.”

“So I do… He’s—he’s just another psychic, he’s been havin’ some real bad visions lately, an’ I was just—”

Raz picked up a scrap of blank paper from the floor and set it alight, letting the ashes drift in front of the kid’s face before continuing to glare at him. He seemed shaken, but then he reached to his tie and a burst of blue energy tore through Raz’s projection. Raz shook out his hand—his real one—he’d felt the attack in it, and swore under his breath as the chubby kid fled downstairs and out of range. He’d deal with that weirdo later; for now, he couldn’t let this Norman kid stay like he was. But there were rules against projecting into other kids’ heads, laws to keep unscrupulous individuals from corrupting the innocent. He had to contact HQ.

Sitting down, he pulled his red-lensed goggles over his eyes and focused inward. He was a natural telepath, but long distances were still hard and it was easy to pick up on the wrong person’s brainwaves, especially with emotional chaos in the room. Slowly he managed to tune it out, and the person he sought became clearer, feeling closer with every second until their minds touched.

“Razputin, I was not expecting you. Is something wrong?” Sasha Nein’s voice echoed through his head, and he got the sense he’d interrupted an important experiment.

“Sorry for bothering you, but I’ve got a problem,” he quickly replied, “I think it might have something to do with the mission too, but there’s a kid here who could really use my help. As in mental projection help. Really bad.”

“Troubling, but you know the rules,” came the clipped reply.

“I know, but—just feel this for a moment,” Raz answered, then let some of the chaos flow through him, using his natural telepathy talents to their full extent. Sasha, who was all for emotional control seemed stunned; Raz could almost feel him taking a moment to reorganize his mind. “We can’t just leave him like that, right Sasha?”

“That is drastic, and from a child… Razputin, I am going to consult with Agents Vodello and Cruller. In the meantime, keep this child safe and free from over-stimulation. See if there’s anything in the environment that could be contributing to his psychosis and eliminate it. I’ll contact you when I have more information.”

“Got it. Thanks Sasha,” he said, and felt the stoic psychic’s presence fade. Removing the goggles, he stood once more and looked sadly over at his newly-acquired ward, wondering what could have sent him over the edge. Maybe that other psychic kid had done something, but most kids weren’t that skilled with their powers to manipulate someone into a breakdown like this. The room probably held clues. As discreetly as he could, he began looking around. The first thing he noticed was there were definitely supposed to be three people here—Norman had a sleeping bag, and both the beds looked recently used. One bed was covered in scraps of paper, some organized into a timeline, and put Raz in mind of a certain conspiracy theorist he once knew, while the other had posters of teen stars and stuffed animals around it, suggesting a girl lived here too. Between the beds, there was a weird jar of eyes along with a crumpled suit on the floor. Now that was strange. Glancing over at Norman to make sure he was alright, he walked quietly over to the jar and opened it.

A familiar purple glow greeted him, and his jaw fell. Well, that would explain the psychosis. He quickly snapped the lid back on and stowed the jar in the bag he wore slung across his back, hoping it wouldn’t be missed considering it was up in the attic. At least someone had figured out glass could dampen psitanium’s psychoactive effects, and he was positive now: his mission, the other psychic, and Norman were all connected. The address he was supposed to go to could even be that kid’s house—all the more reason to get over there. If that kid was the one who’d bought a stolen psitanium meteorite on the black market, then there was more where this small chunk came from. But now there was the quandary of leaving to take care of the stolen meteorite, or staying and making sure Norman didn’t hurt anyone—or himself.

“Razputin,” Sasha’s voice was suddenly in his head again, and he focused on his mentor’s presence once more.

“Have you found anything else? The others want more information before we make a decision.”

“Oh man have I learned some stuff. Sasha, someone planted psitanium in here, and I think there might be other kids in trouble now too.”

“Disturbing...” his mentor replied, with enough inflection to show he really was unsettled. “Okay, Cruller trusts you to make the right decisions. I must warn you though, a child’s mind is still forming, and there are consequences if you do too much. Only touch what you absolutely must. Understand?”

 “Yes. How do I get in? Can I just use the psycho-portal?”

“No. That device’s safeguards can’t be altered. You’ll have to go in the old-fashioned way and bypass his natural defenses. It may be useful to try getting his permission first if you can get through to him, but be careful. He may not… react positively.”

“I’m rooting for you dear!” Milla cheered, suddenly in his head too. “We’ll all be in contact if you need help. Now go, save those poor children’s minds!”

“You got it!” Raz replied confidently, and the two agents left him to his work. Carefully, he approached the boy, trying to appear as disarming as he could and not sure it would work. It was hard to focus with so much negative energy in the room, but he had to make an attempt.

“Hey there…” he began. Norman glanced up, and he noticed how utterly done with life he looked.

“Go away.”

“No, listen. I can help you. I’m a psychic, I can go into other people’s heads and sort their mental problems out. I want to do that for you, but you have to let me in,” Raz explained, sitting so he didn’t seem so threatening by talking down at him. Norman narrowed his eyes and seemed to be thinking about what he’d said. The roil of emotions seemed to die for a moment as well, which was a good sign; a rational person was still in there somewhere.

“You’re not… making fun of me are you?”

“Why would I do that?”

“…I’m a freak… everyone knows that…”

“You seem pretty normal to me. I’m a psychic, remember? If anyone would be considered a freak… well, it’d be me,” Raz sighed. And he was born in a circus. He knew plenty of weird people, and Norman wasn’t one of them.

“Do you… talk to ghosts too?” Norman looked up again, something like hope in his voice, but Raz didn’t even know of anyone who talked to ghosts. He knew people who talked to squirrels, birds, fish, even plants—but not ghosts.

“Uh… no. But I think that makes you really cool!” he said quickly, and Norman looked conflicted.

“No one thinks I’m cool… I’m just a freak…” he muttered, putting his face back in his arms, and Raz felt he was losing him.

“I’ll prove that’s not true. Let me go inside your head, and then we’ll show everyone who thinks you’re weird they’re wrong. Deal?”

“Does it… hurt?”

“Nope! In fact, you won’t notice I’m here at all, and you’re gonna feel even better when I‘m done,” he said with a smile, and Norman seemed to think again, shutting his eyes.

“Okay…”

“Awesome. Just try to relax, and I’ll have you back to your old self in no time,” Raz grinned, pulling the goggles on once more, a trick to keep himself focused while in someone else’s psyche. After a moment of concentration, he felt his body seem to drift away, and made for the other mind he sensed in the room, coming against its walls and slipping through like they were nothing. He got the feeling they were only like that because someone had smashed them down ahead of him, but there was no time to dwell on that. A small clearing was melting into view, surrounded by tall, straight, black-barked trees under a yellow-green sky. The ground was dry and cracked, and worn tombstones stuck out at odd angles, their inscriptions only half-legible. Raz could already tell this was going to be interesting.

Mystery Kids: Beginnings- Part 3

Here's the next part! It's a little short compared to some of the others, but hopefully it's a good read regardless.

(Also as the author I'm not so good at this, but if any of you need or can think of some trigger warnings I should tag this as that would be extremely helpful! Thank you!)

Gideon was trying to keep a level head. That psychic kid had turned out to be too smart for his own good. So maybe he couldn’t take the Shack just yet, but things were still in his favor. Stan would be busy all day, and their simpleton handyman was occupied with four flats and a dead battery. He’d check back later and hopefully find one fried psychic and a boy witch ready to do his bidding. Now, he had other things to take care of—two things, in particular.

 -------- 

Raz was taking a breather on one of the trees that had made up the forest. The ground had broken apart a while ago and scattered in all directions, most not horizontal, and hung over a misty green abyss. Climbing into the trees still imbedded in the blocks of earth was the only way ahead, but he tapped into his lifetime of balancing acts and easily scaled and vaulted through the shattered forest. At least he could see what looked like a town ahead, so standing again he leapt onto the next trunk, then the one below, then up to the next one before leaping off and using his levitation ball to float down to solid footing at last. With a couple more jumps across the void, he was on the outskirts.

Maybe he'd accidentally landed in the mind of a mortician, or a crypt keeper. Not a kid who looked about his age… then again, apparently he could talk to ghosts. Maybe death and dealing with it was just Norman’s thing. The buildings were all somber gray rock formed into headstones or stately gothic mausoleums, and what was apparently a theater even had an obelisk marquee. They all seemed to stick out at odd angles, and the dull green grass around them was unkempt. Besides an occasional dull rumble like distant thunder and his own footsteps, there was no sound. It was almost… peaceful. Not what he’d been expecting at all with so much external turmoil. But if there was a town, there were usually people…

A scream rang out from a side alley, and Raz zeroed in on it, running just in time to see something ethereal get stamped out by a swarm of censors— those obnoxious little businessman-looking fellows. At least they always looked that way to him; Sasha had once explained it all depended on his perception of someone else’s thoughts, and any variation he saw was a reflection of the censors’ actual appearance. They were part of a healthy mind, acting as antibodies and helping to keep out thought patterns that didn’t belong. This included him, but he’d never seen them attack other parts of their own environment.

He snuck closer, watching the group mill about aimlessly now that they saw nothing to attack, and realized that with their ragged clothes and exposed brains, they were supposed to be zombies. Despite the fitting resemblance, they should have faded now that their job was done, so why were they still hanging around? A flicker of movement caught his eye, and what he could only describe as a ghost tried to dart across the street. With a resounding chorus of ‘no’, the censors charged, and the spirit shrieked as it was set upon and mercilessly beaten out of existence. Raz almost felt sick; censors were part of a normal psyche, but these ones were… wrong.

His levitation ball popped up under his feet, and gathering speed he bowled through the goons, obliterating several and damaging the rest, which he finished off with a couple of open-handed strikes. Sweeping the street to make sure he’d really gotten them all, he noticed another ghost waving him into one of the gravestone buildings and hurried in before more enemies showed up.

The interior contrasted sharply with the landscape outside. Here, it was brightly lit in theatrical colors, and Raz had to blink to let his eyes adjust. An ethereal green middle-aged aviator woman sporting short black hair indicated a seat while she peeked out the door one last time, then withdrew and bolted it. Raz didn’t want to be impolite even if he was feeling a little pressed for time, so he sat, thinking maybe she could tell him what was going on.

“We’re so glad you’re here,” she said, giving a warm smile as she turned to face him, and he got a fine view of where a tree branch had run her through and still jutted out. He swallowed nervously, trying hard not to stare. These were probably memories of ghosts Norman actually knew.

“Yeah, what’s going on out there?” he asked, trying to focus on the task at hand, and the spirit sighed.

“Madness. We can’t get out, haven’t been able to for about two days now. If you try, you’re…”

“Beaten to… uh, not-death?”

“Yep. But you gave those things such a pummeling! I know you’re our ticket to freedom,” she said confidently, and he felt a little better.

“So, are you guys like… good memories then? ‘Cause most kids don’t have good memories of dead people.”

“You’re a sharp one!” she hooted. “For a long time, we were Norman’s only semblance of friends.”

“Oh geez,” Raz gasped. “What about the friends he has now? He’s gotta have a couple, right?”

“They were some of the first to go,” the aviator replied sadly. “Hadn’t been here as long, easier to kick out, you know? Everything else fell apart real quick after that.”

“Hm. Any idea how it all got started? I mean, Norman wasn’t always like this, was he?”

The aviator shook her head, looking somber. “He was always a sweetheart, but now…”

“I see. Thanks for the info. I promise everything’s gonna be back to normal soon,” he said firmly, standing, and the lady saluted as he headed out before bolting the door behind him. No more censors had shown up so he took a moment to get his bearings. If all these buildings were houses for ghosts…. He chuckled to himself, glad he’d found some humor in a grim situation.

It was a ghost town.

With that bit of levity to keep him going, he started off once more down the cobblestone road, eventually coming to the other side of town. It felt like it should have been bigger, but maybe that was one of the differences between an adult and child mind— adults had a lot more experience to incorporate into their mental worlds, whereas a kid was still growing. At least that meant things would probably be easier—less ground to cover. What lay ahead of him now was a sort of no-man’s land, barren black earth punctuated by broken wrought iron fencing and shattered tombstones. Beyond that, more floating islands, one particularly big one ruled by a sprawling, twisted leafless oak, and off in the distance what looked like a stereotypical haunted house.

Crossing the wasteland, he could make out what looked like a figure under the tree, and upped his pace. It wasn’t a censor, and it wasn’t a ghost either—maybe it was Norman’s mental impression of himself. Small stature, gravity-defying hair—seemed to fit the bill, though he looked more gaunt here than in the real world. He appeared to be contemplating the tree, and didn’t notice Raz approach until he was only a few yards away, almost to where the ground began to break up again.

“Norman!” Raz waved, but the ground shuddered and he froze, instantly cautious.

“Leave me alone.”

“Hey! You agreed to let me in. I’m just here to help!” he retorted, taking a slow step forward with hands outspread. He could see Norman’s mental projection looked just as worn out as his real self, and felt sorry for him.

“…No one can help me…”

“Except for me! Look, this is all in your head, and—” Raz was cut off as the ground vibrated again, and he realized he probably couldn’t have picked a poorer choice of words, even if he had been about to explain this was his element.

“That’s right! Everyone thinks I’m crazy! They don‘t know… they don‘t know what I…”

The ground split under Raz's feet, a livid green light blinding him as it burst through the dry soil. A sepulchral moan rose through the air, and a huge chasm appeared beneath him. He managed to latch onto the edge and started to clamber up, but the dry soil crumbled in his hands, sending him sliding backwards. A mass of rotting arms reached up, bony fingers wreathed in green flame curled around him, pulled him in, the reek of death, choking on dust—then nothing.

When Raz came to, he was in a dark room. Well, he presumed it was a room. The floor felt smooth, and it creaked when he moved, like wood. His head pounded, and he coughed, the stench of decay still in his nose. His energy felt disorganized, though that was nothing a little concentration couldn’t resolve, but it was like he‘d been put through a wringer. Standing, he tried to make out anything in the darkness beyond, and took a step forward.

A spotlight snapped on and suddenly he was on a cheap school stage, the air loaded with jeers and mocking laughter. Cries of ‘freak’ and ‘creep’ and worse obscenities came relentlessly at him from all sides. He tried yelling back, launched his own insults, but the voices only came back louder, more brutal, and he shrank back under the verbal assault. Some were really starting to hurt…. Searching the darkness for anything, he saw the glow of an exit sign and ran for it, the cacophony of voices ringing in his ears. The doors burst open under his hand, and he found himself in a school hallway—filled with school kid zombies.

They all slowly turned to stare at the newcomer, blank yellowed eyes lolling in their sockets, and step by wobbling step, they began making for him. Granted, they all looked like people with bad special effects makeup, but when a nearby one seized his wrist and began crushing it, he knew they meant business. Twisting free, Raz ducked back into the auditorium, but was met with the same wall of put-downs as before. Frowning, he slid back into the hall, once again surrounded by zombies, and went all out on them—a flurry of punches and psi-blasts that would have quickly torn through anything he’d faced so far. He cleared his little area and dusted off his hands proudly, the bits of zombie scattered around the floor slowly dissolving back into the energy they were supposed to be.

But then a huge, groaning mob rounded the corner, attracted by the noise and movement, and more stumbled out from the lockers that lined the walls. Raz swallowed hard, his back to the door. Was there another way through? No, only the crooked, undead-filled hall ahead, and he was out of space. They enclosed him, grabbing at his clothes and face, catching his limbs and suffocating his attempts to move. He grunted as one wrenched his arm painfully, then another latched onto his other shoulder with a vice-like hand, and more were pressing in to get a piece of him. He could feel his energy failing by the second, and knew he wouldn’t last under this siege unless he did something.

Thinking fast, he attacked to scatter the zombies and threw a shield up, forcing the goons to release their hold and giving him a chance to breathe. He held it for a while, doing his best to study the situation and see what he might be able to use. Unable to touch him, the zombies gave up and went back to shuffling down the halls. Now that was interesting…. Dropping the shield, he took a few steps and put it back up. It worked, but at this rate it’d take him forever to get out of here, and he’d eventually get tired of generating the shield—what then? Maybe….

He let the forcefield dissipate and switched to invisibility. One of the zombies who’d been watching him glanced around in confusion, paused… then shrugged and went back to its shambling un-life. He chuckled under his breath, then began running down the hall, dodging the undead kids as best he could before he wore his ability to cloak himself out. There was a room to his right, and he slipped in, expecting another assault on his ears, but the stained and peeling room was mercifully empty of anything but broken desks and chairs—the typical post-apocalyptic look. So this was how it was going to work. Well, he’d done this kind of thing before, and he could do it again.

Raz gradually made his way through the hellish school, dodging zombies and hopping from one dilapidated classroom to the next. The halls were getting narrower, more claustrophobic, and it was taking longer to edge around each hostile. Where he was now, he could see a small offshoot that looked like the way out. At the very least nothing was coming in or out of it, and that seemed promising. Steeling himself one last time, he cloaked himself and darted out of the classroom, edging around one zombie, then another. But a particularly broad and ponderous zombie stumbled into his path just as he made for the last few feet, forcing him to wait. Raz could only hold his breath as the mass of putrefying flesh ambled by, feeling his mind wearing out from staying invisible for too long. He wished he was good at it like some of his fellow psychic summer campers had been; sure, he was something of a prodigy, but that didn’t mean there weren’t things he needed to work on. Finally the path seemed clear, but his invisibility was also at an end.

A cluster of zombies gawked at him, and one raised a limp arm to point at him. It gurgled, and every other stiff in the hall turned to stare, including the large zombie Raz had nearly avoided. A putrid hand connected with his face, interrupting his attempt to put up a shield, and he was slammed against the lockers and allowed to fall to the grimy tile. The zombies laughed—well, gasped, croaked, sobbed—whatever stood in for laughter when you were dead and rotting. Then the rest attacked.

Raz finally crawled into the hall minus a couple layers of his astral energy and feeling drained. If this was anything close to what public schools were like, he was glad he’d never gone to one. He sat for a while limply propped against the wall, panting and trying to give his mind a break before rising again to continue. It was dark, but vacant and a welcome rest even if he had to feel his way along the walls. There was a corner, then another one, a twist, a long straight bit—but it didn’t seem to end. Grumbling, he kept going. At least there wasn’t anything he had to fight down here. All the same, he hoped it wasn’t a dead end either, for all the obvious reasons. He was about to give up and head back when his hand met a pole, and that pole turned into the rail of a ladder. Finally! He took to it eagerly, but again, it seemed to go on forever. No light, no end—what kind of mindscape was this?

His head knocked against a ceiling, and he rubbed it reflexively as he tried to figure out if he’d missed something. It didn’t give when he pushed his hand against it, but it’d sounded like wood when he’d hit it. He gave it an experimental rap, and sure enough, it was wood. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. If zombies were the theme here…

A telekinetic hand burst through the earth, and Raz hoisted himself up through the hole, glad to be breathing fresh air at last. Just as he had suspected, he’d emerged in a graveyard outside of town. Brushing dirt from his jacket, he shook his head, bemused. This Norman kid… what to do with him? Well, besides finish helping him of course. Massaging his twisted arm, he set off again, making for the no-man’s land, the tree, and the house where Norman was almost certainly hiding.

Raz had no patience for the new swarm of censors that had cropped up. They were now in the process of attacking the houses themselves, with varying degrees of success. With a sinking feeling, he realized the aviator lady’s door had been broken in…. He plowed through the main body of censors on his levitation ball and set the rest on fire, watching them scatter in a panic with his arms folded, grimly satisfied. Chances were these memories were only being suppressed and not forgotten outright, but regardless he was going to make sure the rest were safe.

Reaching the no-man’s land, he noted the blackened scar left by the eruption earlier and cautiously inched by it, not wishing to repeat his experience, then ran the rest of the way to the edge. Hopping the gaps, he came to the weathered oak and saw something engraved in the bark. A few phrases had been scratched out, and something else carved in crudely below it: a mandate to Norman telling him to forget he’d ever trusted anyone, that he’d ever had friends, that he was ever anything more than a freak.

“So that’s where all that came from…. Man, now I really want to know how all this happened.” Raz thought aloud. He ran his hands over the gouged-in words, wondering how to get rid of them. The tips of his fingers tingled, detecting a different person’s energy in the words, and he started to piece together what might have happened to Norman to make him like this. Probably with a psitanium-enhanced round of hypnosis, someone else had set the mandate into his subconscious and let the psychoactive mineral do the rest—just like in True Psychic Tales #253. It was insidious and brilliant; if that kid from earlier really was responsible, he was dealing with something even worse than he’d assumed. And if others were in danger, he didn’t have any time to spare.

Sitting on one of the exposed roots, he concentrated. Telepathy was hard enough, but trying to do it from someone else’s mind was especially difficult, and he wasn’t sure he could just summon Cruller’s projection like he had in times past. Besides, Sasha probably had a better idea of what to do about ingrained hypnosis. Tuning out distant thundering, he homed in on his mentor’s presence and managed to establish a connection.

“Razputin, you’re very faint,” the scientist finally responded after what felt like hours. “What’s happening?”

“This kid was hypnotized, and I need to get rid of the suggestion. It’s what made him go crazy.”

“Hmm. That’s not how hypnosis works, it doesn’t alter minds so drastically.”

“Yeah, but psitanium does.”

“True. Does the suggestion look like an object you can destroy? Sometimes that’s how they manifest.”

“It’s carved into a really big tree. I’m pretty sure I shouldn’t destroy that.”

“No, that definitely sounds bad. It will probably be up to him to heal that damage. Do you think you’ve made any progress?”

“Hard to say. I got dragged underground and mauled by a bunch of kid zombies.”

“…Hmm. Well, you may make a breakthrough yet. Keep trying, and remember to be careful. Don‘t do anything rash.”

“Yeah, got it.” Raz answered, and let the connection fade. He’d leave the tree for now then, and focus on what he could do. Sighing, he stood and faced the house looming in the distance. It was time to talk to Norman.

Haha, it's alright, I was just a little confused at first!

And I would but I probably couldn't stick to that either... |D It's mostly just me being lazy and not wanting to do all the html editing, which isn't really hard, just super-time consuming. I'll try to get the next part posted this afternoon though, and it'll be longer than usual. Some art should be coming soon too, so keep an eye out~

Heh, I know it’s not Friday yet, but I missed Tuesday, so here you go! This one’s a bit shorter than usual, I think, but hopefully still good.

Read More

Mystery Kids: Beginnings- Part 8

Continuing on, you're in for plenty more action as things start to wrap up. :3

It took about two seconds for Norman to realize the loud thump that had woken him up wasn’t Mabel falling out of bed again. No, that powder blue suit and the darker form prone on the floor next to it immediately ruled that out. Gideon had gotten in. He wanted to move, shout, anything, but instinct kept him frozen as he watched him plunder Raz’s backpack. The psychic was twisted awkwardly onto his front, not seated like he’d been before, and it wasn’t hard to imagine how he’d come to rest this way. Gideon chuckled to himself as he found what he was looking for, and turned to leave. Doing the only thing he could think of, Norman leapt and raced to the door, arms spread wide in an attempt to prevent Gideon’s passage.

“Outta my way, witch boy!” Gideon snarled, but Norman returned the sneer.

“No! You’ve caused too much trouble to just let you go! And Aggie wasn’t a witch and neither am I,” he said, fuming now.

“I beg to differ. You have power beyond even your own understandin’. With you I could bring this town to its knees and then some! I almost had you too, you don’t think I can do it again?” Gideon replied with a wicked grin, withdrawing both amulet and psitanium from his pockets and advancing on him. Norman shrank against the door, then found his resolve and launched himself at his tormentor. If he was going down, it’d be with a fight, but he never got the chance.

Mabel woke to the commotion just in time to see Norman flung against a wall and a pale blue blur vanish down the stairs with a terrible cackle. Leaping from her bed, she tried to give chase but tripped over the psychic still sprawled on the floor. Norman hurried over to help despite nursing his own bruises, and together they turned Raz over to try and rouse him. Luckily the movement alone seemed enough—he stirred with a groan and fumbled with his goggles before Mabel lent him a hand.

“Ah… ow,” he winced, sitting up and gingerly feeling out the back of his head. “What… what am I doing here?”

“Weren't you helping Dipper with his crazy?” Mabel grinned, and Raz squinted at her.

“Yeah, but I should still be…. Wait, did someone hit me?” He glanced around frowning, and the two exchanged looks before nodding and replying together.

“Gideon.”

“He—okay, not only did he get in, he hit me while I was projecting?” Raz said incredulously, putting a hand to his face in disbelief. “He hit me while—does he have any idea what could’ve happened to me?!”

“That jerkface probably wouldn't even care,” Mabel huffed, “and he got away.”

“With… his stuff. He still wants to use me to hurt people,” Norman added somberly, and received a sympathetic pat from Mabel while Raz scowled.

“Okay. Now he’s gonna wish what could’ve happened did.”

“Is Dipper gonna be okay? It probably wasn’t good for him you got clobbered either, right?” Mabel asked, looking worriedly over to her brother, who was still out cold.

“I’m not sure. I think we were pretty much done though, so he should be alright. I might go back and check later though just to be sure.”

“Hmm… then can I do… this?!” She reached out and began tickling her sibling, eliciting a startled yell as he sat bolt upright, arms flailing to ward off his attacker. Mabel squealed happily and wrapped her brother in one of her infamously tight hugs. He started to protest, complaining about looking uncool in front of his friends, but she let go before he could finish. She leapt to her feet and struck a pose.

“Okay boys! Gideon’s gotta pay! Let’s get that stuff back before he can do more evilly-plotty things with it! Dipper, see if there’s anything in the Book that can help. Raz, you’re in charge of all things psychic-y like helping me find my grappling hook. Norman, uh… summon the ghosts?”

“But I can’t—”

“We’ll figure it out. Move people!”

Despite general exhaustion from their ordeal and the blows more recently dealt by their enemy, with Mabel as cheerleader the four got to work. Rest could come later—they’d already been out of commission long enough. If Gideon was plotting anew they had to be just as cunning, ready for whatever he had in store. Once everything was in order, they charged downstairs and discovered how Gideon had managed to get in—Soos was dozing in front of a TV with the volume turned up. At least nothing more had happened to him.

“Man, I ask him to guard the place and he falls asleep?” Raz sighed, and she elbowed him hard in the side.

“No talking about Soos like that! Come on!”

“Okay, okay! But I’m still gonna talk to him later.”

They left the handyman to his nap; every moment they dawdled was a moment Gideon got to plot. Venturing outside, they couldn’t find any sign of the little pest—at least until Dipper spotted a swath of destruction leading into the forest. Bushes were flattened and trees pushed aside like something much larger had bowled through. No doubt Gideon had used the amulet to force his way in either his haste to escape or as part of a trap. There was no way to tell from here, and knowing his penchant for gloating, even if it was a trap it’d be the easiest way to find him, so down the path of destruction it was.

The trail narrowed the further on they went, and Raz felt a growing sense of déjà vu as the trees closed in and cast the undergrowth in a dull green gloom. Though Dipper’s mindscape was clearly not entirely imagined, he hoped the likelihood of monster encounters was. But their main concern was the trail, and not only did it narrow, it vanished completely once the group entered a small clearing.

“Great. Now what?” Raz asked, folding his arms.

“You’re psychic, can’t you maybe… see where he is right now, or something like that?” Dipper replied, and he shrugged.

“Maybe if I had something of his. I still have to do a lot of training before I can find people just by thinking about them—well, ones I haven’t already made a link to anyway.”

“Then we need a different plan.”

“Dipper, you’re not gonna make one of those crazy-complicated list things again are you?”

“What? No, there’s no time for that. Fan out, there might be tracks we can’t see somewhere. Yell if you see anything suspicious.”

They poked around in the underbrush but turned up nothing. It was like Gideon hadn’t come this way at all, and they’d picked up a false trail instead and gotten lost. The group exchanged uncertain looks before turning to scan the forest anxiously. Maybe this was a trap? It just seemed so… quiet.

Mabel yelled as she was lifted into the air by an unseen force while trees crashed down around the boys. Raz did his best to either bash the heavy boughs away or directly shield his friends while Gideon cackled somewhere nearby, hidden in the thick brush. Sensing his friends were alright for now, the psychic descended on the undergrowth, throwing punches blindly until he was rewarded with a startled cry. But a wall of sheer telekinetic power crashed into him and sent him into the leaf litter, winding him as Gideon made his escape once more. In the newly expanded clearing, Dipper and Norman helped untangle Mabel from the bush she’d fallen into. It’d cushioned the drop when Raz’s punching had rattled Gideon’s hold on her, but not without ensnaring itself in her hair, and together all three worked to free her. They succeeded just as Raz emerged from the forest, and for a moment they regrouped.

“Okay, I don’t think he’s always been this strong,” the psychic panted, still recovering from the attack.

“That doesn't make any sense. How can he be stronger? That rock stuff should be affecting him too right?” Dipper said, and Raz frowned.

“It’s called psitanium, and that’s what you would think, especially since he’s not a real psychic…. But he’s still getting boosted as if he was…”

“Boosted? What?”

“Yeah—psitanium isn't good for regular people, but it actually helps psychics a lot. Maybe that amulet is protecting him from the bad effects and giving him the good.”

“If that’s the case, we better get going.”

No argument there, so they headed off once more down the newly formed path at full speed, hoping to catch up with the monster of a child. This time, it remained clear all the way to a rock outcrop that rose from the valley floor and continued into the mountains that surrounded Gravity Falls. Weaving around weathered boulders that grew in size as they went on, the trail continued into a v-shaped ravine that split the rock face in two. It was in there they found Gideon standing on a ledge some fifteen feet above their heads, waiting for them with both amulet and psitanium at the ready.

“Well, here we are. It seems you’ve cornered me,” he moaned with false disappointment. No one was impressed by his acting.

“Give it up, Gideon! You’re not defenseless, but neither are we!” Dipper yelled, but the fake psychic tutted.

“Dipper Pines, always the confident one. Who said anythin’ about needin’ defenses? I think we can do things amicably, don’t you?”

“For one, you swore vengeance on our whole family. So no, I don’t think we can,” Dipper replied, glaring and folding his arms as their enemy shook his head.

“Look, I don’t know everything that happened between you guys,” Raz cut in, “but you bought stolen goods on the black market, used it to drive three people insane, and assaulted a government agent. Hand the psitanium and amulet over and I promise I won’t beat you into a pulp for that.”

“Government…. When’d I do that?” Gideon asked, genuinely confused before he regained control of the conversation. “Nevermind! I’ll do it as long as I get somethin’ in return, somethin’ I’ve been wantin’ for far too long.”

“The deal was that you don’t get beat up in exchange,” Raz shot, narrowing his eyes as he clenched a fist.

“Can we uh, not beat anyone up?” Norman put forward, and the others looked at him skeptically. He pulled a face, then looked up at Gideon with what seemed to be determination. “What do you want so badly you’d hurt people to get? So badly… you’d make me hurt some of the best friends I’ve ever had just to get it?”

“Why,” Gideon chuckled, “y’all haven’t figured it out yet?”

“I told you I’m not gonna date you again!” Mabel cried, and for a moment their enemy looked sad.

“I know that, darlin’… but there’s more than that! I want power, in all its forms! This amulet, Norman, anything—but especially what secrets the Mystery Shack contains! And I’ll have it too, no matter who stands in my way.”

The twins exchanged looks and burst out laughing. Gideon spluttered orders to know what was so funny while Raz and Norman silently wondered the same. It was Mabel who finally put them out of their misery.

“Oh man, you don’t seriously think there’s some magicky ‘thing of all power’ in there do you?”

“Have you even been in the Shack? It’s got nothing but dust and hoaxes, and maybe one legitimate oddity in the whole building!” Dipper added with a chuckle.

“Lies! I know there’s somethin’ in there, and you’re gonna give it to me!” Gideon shrieked. Raz scoffed and let his arms drop from where they’d been folded on his chest.

“Look, we’re not getting anywhere like this. Just hand the stuff over already!”

“Never!”

“Then you asked for this!” Raz shouted as he charged forward, aiming to vault up the rugged sides of the canyon. Something caught his boot and sent him face-first into the leaf mold before he could even make the first jump though, and then found himself hoisted upside-down by the ankle to Gideon’s side. Once in a telekinetic hold it was very hard to break free, even for a strong psychic like him, but regardless he struggled against the poser’s grip until a blanket of energy restrained him. The pricking sensation at the edges of his mind made a return as Gideon tried to get in once more, to no avail even with a two-pound chunk of psitanium aiding him. At least that would reassure his friends, whose collective worry was quite easy to sense.

“Heh, nice try, but even top-level Psychonauts could get into my head, and that was before I had any training. So you’re not getting in.” He folded his arms and gave the most smug grin he could muster. Gideon’s face burnt red as he howled in rage and flung Raz into the trees above—not that he had any problems with that either. Latching onto a bough, he used his momentum to twist around it and right himself before giving his friends below a wave, which only seemed to infuriate Gideon more.

“Fine! Take your thick-headed circus freak back. I know somethin’ else I can do!” he cried, beady eyes resting on Norman.

A pop rang out, and Gideon’s carefully sculpted pompadour was interrupted by a craftily aimed grappling hook. He practically screeched while he wrestled with the tines now lodged in untold layers of hairspray, any thoughts of wrongdoing postponed by his vanity. Dipper patted his sister on the back; the satisfied grin on her face said it all. Using the distraction, Raz leapt from the tree, landed safely, and vanished before Gideon could react. If he’d been smarter maybe he’d have done it this way in the first place, but no time for second-guessing now. Only a few more steps, and he’d be able to snatch the amulet. Gideon was still struggling with the hook, so if he was quick this would all be over in just a—okay, maybe in a few more seconds. He was forced to wait as his target turned away, almost free now.

“Mabel, why don’t you retract it already?” Dipper urged quietly, and she frowned, hugging the grappling hook a little closer.

“I know he’s an evil jerk and all, but I don’t wanna pull him to his death or anything.”

“I bet Raz can catch him, and besides, if you don’t, Norman’s gonna be toast!”

“Don’t… don’t say it like that,” Norman interjected, giving his friend a withering look. Dipper grimaced—he hadn’t been thinking. There’d be time to apologize later.

Back on the ledge, Raz still hadn't spotted an opening, and his energy was wearing thin. Maybe stealth just wasn’t his thing, but hesitating to do what was right wasn’t either. As Gideon finally rid himself of the hook, Raz dropped his invisibility and lunged for the amulet. His fingers brushed the turquoise stone for an instant before Gideon’s reflexive jump back took it out of reach. For a moment they almost danced, trying to predict the other’s next move and faking his own before Raz lunged in again. His feet were pulled out from under him, and though he caught the edge before he could tumble over, it was not his voice that cried out as Gideon pressed a polished shoe to his fingers, an entirely unpleasant grin spread across his features.

“An’ t’ think I was nearly outwitted. You’ve given me no other recourse but t’ do this!” His gaze shifted to the group, and Raz twisted so see what the situation was. He’d be lying to himself if he’d said he was surprised to see Norman suspended over the twins and looking distressed. Unable to run or fight, it seemed he’d simply given up—his shoulders sagged, arms limp at his sides as he waited for whatever Gideon would inflict on him. Raz did his best to send him some positive wavelengths before turning to deal with the enemy.

But Gideon was in charge, and wasn't about to let that change. Noticing Raz’s determined glare, he picked the psychic up again and pulled both he and Norman over to where he stood, unleashing a wicked chuckle that bounced on the ravine walls and did nothing for anyone’s nerves. As far as he was concerned, the two most dangerous people in the group were in his control, and there was nothing the Pines could do about it. Oh, they’d tried—Mabel’s little grappling hook stunt had certainly been innovative, but he was expecting it now, and he doubted Dipper had anything like that up his sleeve.

“So now that I have your most threatening allies in my thrall… how about we take a look at the Shack, shall we?” he cooed. “Or do ya need more encouragement?”

“Gideon… you know this is wrong,” Norman pleaded, apparently finding the courage to speak. “I don’t know why you want all this, but there’s gotta be a better way than hurting people to get it.”

“When you find it, you tell me, ghost boy,” Gideon snarled, “Now enough o’ that sentimental stuff. Artifacts of ultimate power, now.”

Dipper sighed; after all their efforts they were still at a standoff. Actually, it seemed they’d made things worse—at least earlier Gideon hadn’t had any hostages. That amulet, plus the power it drew from the psitanium, made pretty much anything he thought of impossible. They had to get him with his guard down, but when would that happen? They’d tangled enough times now to know Gideon would be suspicious of anything. The only thing that might pacify him for the time being was tucked into his vest, and while he didn't want to give that up just yet, it might be the only thing that could save them.

Don’t do it.

Raz’s voice echoed in his head, and he gave the psychic a confused look. While he was in Gideon’s hold, he appeared to be meditating, though he opened his eyes long enough to give the Pines a wink that went unnoticed by their enemy. It seemed he had a plan, something Dipper was more than okay with as he was drawing a blank.

Can you distract him? I’ve gotta talk to Norman for a bit.

“Yeah,” Dipper answered, though no one but Raz knew exactly who he was talking to. “Yeah, we’ll take you to the Shack. Come on.”

“Now that’s what I like to hear,” Gideon said with a grin, floating himself down to the ravine floor and strolling over leisurely.

“What are you doing?” Mabel said in a panicked whisper, and her brother gave her a nudge.

“It’s okay, Raz’s got us covered… at least I think he does. Let’s split up.”

She nodded, a spark returning to her eyes. They waited for Gideon to join them, then headed for the entrance—and charged off in opposite directions with a joint laugh, forcing Gideon to choose one to chase.

Watching them disappear into the undergrowth, he muttered insults, not caring if their friends heard him or not. They weren’t really people in his eyes anyway, merely the means to an end—tools. Puffing with rage, he eventually chose to go after Dipper, the one who might actually know something useful. He’d find Mabel and rescue her from these woods once he’d dealt with him.

On the extrasensory side of things, Raz was hard at work. They weren’t as well-developed as his, and still not at full strength, but Norman’s mental walls were impressively tough. Working through them was slow, and he hoped Dipper was good at evasion; otherwise he might not get a chance to put his plan into action. When he did make it through, he barely took a moment to note he was on the far edge of the ghost town and that the scenery was much more cheerful before calling Norman.

“Yeah? Wait, what are you doing here?” the medium answered promptly, appearing just behind Raz’s shoulder. He certainly was attentive, Raz gave him that, but the appearing out of nowhere was… kinda unsettling. Though why that was a surprise knowing his background in horror movies, Raz wasn’t sure.

“Okay, we've gotta work together on this one. I did some investigating, and that amulet’s aura isn’t regular psychic energy. It’s a lot… harsher, I guess is the best way to describe it, especially beefed up on psitanium. It means I can’t do a whole lot when we’re wrapped up in it like this—I can’t even set him on fire,” Raz explained, and Norman gave him a bemused look.

“So… what do I do?”

“Okay, this is gonna be one of those things that sounds like a really bad idea, but I think it’ll work.”

“That’s not encouraging.”

“I know, but hear me out. Psitanium eventually runs out of energy, and guess who’s been using it a lot? Well, I can tap into it too, even though the amulet’s taking most of it right now. I can change that once I’ve got a hold on it, so that’s not really a problem.”

“Well, that’s good. But… there’s more, isn‘t there?”

“Yeah. I can’t use enough of the psitanium’s energy to wear it out on my own, so… I’m gonna need a partner. Don’t worry!” He gave a start, staving off the worry that flashed across Norman’s face. “This isn’t—it won’t be like before. I’m gonna use a trick I learned from my dad, sorta.” He flashed a grin at the medium, who was still staring at him warily.

“What are you even saying?”

“This might sound a little crazy, but I’m gonna siphon off the psitanium energy right? But then, the cool part is that I’m gonna give that energy to you and help you channel it without any of the bad side effects. I could feel it when I got hit; your energy is different from mine—like really different—so it should break through. Got it?”

“Wait, so…. But…. No way! That whole thing is bad! It’s losing control, it’s—” Norman struggled to find the right words, and Raz put a hand on his shoulder. He calmed down a bit, but still looked betrayed. “It’s forgetting who you are… and it hurts. A lot.”

“I know that’s what it was before, and I’d never ask you to go through that again. But otherwise we’re stuck with Gideon, and I don’t think he’s gonna ask.”

Norman thought for a while before giving a small nod, looking to the town. “I think… he’d kill me just to get what he wants out of me. And then it might not even—I’d never want to—”

“Let’s not think about that,” Raz interrupted, “Try to focus on right now. Dipper and Mabel can only keep him busy for so long before it‘s up to us. Think you can do it?”

“Can you promise… I’m not gonna lose myself?” Norman said, looking up and giving the psychic a piercing gaze.

“…Yeah,” he replied, holding out his hand with a smile, and they shook on it. “I didn’t promise this was going be easy though, so bear with me. And look out for censors—I’m gonna have to stay in here, and they‘re not going to like that.”

Norman nodded again, and watched as Raz shut his eyes in concentration before turning to keep an eye on the town. He steeled his nerves for whatever might happen, reasoning with himself that it was this way or something far worse, that he wouldn’t be alone this time and he’d be doing something good. And if these abilities ran in the family… then they were part of him too, just like everything else, and he’d accepted that. There’d be time to truly come to terms with it later, but right now, his friends were what was important.

“Okay, Gideon’s still chasing after the twins—he doesn't suspect anything. Ready?”

“I… I guess so.”

“Don’t worry Norman—when I’m not on missions like this, I help other psychic kids with their powers at a summer camp. I’ll help direct the energy where it needs to go, so you’ll be fine.”

“I really hope you’re right.”

-------- 

Dipper had stopped to catch his breath between the massive roots of a redwood and tried to shake the sense of déjà vu while getting his bearings. Hopefully whatever Raz had planned wouldn’t take much longer—he wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep running. He heart leapt as rustling suddenly came from the bushes nearby, and he ducked behind one of the larger gnarls, squeezing into the smallest shape possible. He’d lost Gideon somewhere a while ago, but without bothering to cover his tracks he was probably easy to follow. As footsteps approached, his only wish was that Mabel had gotten away.

“Hey bro, it’s me.” A hand came down and ruffled his head, and he looked up to see his sister peering over the top of the root, much to his relief.

“Any sign of Gideon? If Raz’s plan had worked I think we’d have seen them by now.”

“Uh-uh,” Mabel replied sadly, and he stroked his chin.

“Then we've gotta find him somehow, but I think I know what we can do to trip him up.”

“I think I know where this is going, and I like it.”

Oh man, there are 50 of you now!! Thank you so much!

So, for old and new followers alike, I have a question, or more accurately a couple ideas I've been kicking around.

First off, I do have fics in the works as I've mentioned before, but most are moving a bit more slowly than I'd hoped-- the longer ones certainly are. However, I do have one shorter fic that though unresolved, I still feel like I could post and you guys would enjoy it! So the question is, would you guys like to read it even if it isn't done? I promise it doesn't cut off anywhere heart-wrenching. ;3

Secondly, I've slowly been working on my headcanons for the kids, and my page on the blog for that is currently empty; I should probably fix that right?

Mystery Kids: Beginnings- Part 4

Here's part four; action and feels (though your mileage may vary) ahead!

“Okay Gideon, we get the whole revenge thing! You didn’t have to get Norman involved!” Dipper shouted, straining against the ropes holding him to the chair. His nemesis chuckled, circling around where he had the twins tied back to back to chairs in his room.

“I know the supernatural when I see it boy, but unlike you I know how to use it. He’s more powerful than anyone knows, even him. I knew he’d be my ticket to the Shack the moment he came to town, and you’d be helpless to stop me then! I jus’ didn’t know y’all would show up at my doorstep and make this all so easy.”

“What did you even do to him, ya weirdo?!” Mabel cried, “It was that weird rock stuff wasn’t it? Wasn’t it?!”

“Now Mabel darlin’, no need to get so worked up,” Gideon said sweetly, turning to face her and patting her cheek. “It was jus’ a bit of findin’ out what made Norman tick, a touch a’ hypnosis, then the rock did the rest.”

“I knew it was hypnosis!” Dipper said under his breath. If he could just wiggle enough and reach his pocket knife… no luck. His arms weren’t that noodle-y. Watching Gideon circle around again, his eyes fell on the amulet. “Where’d you even get one of those again anyway?”

“It wasn’t no internet catalogue, I’ll tell you that! I have my ways, means you couldn’t begin to understand… and now…” Gideon removed his tie and held it in Dipper’s face. “Watch closely.”

He found he couldn’t look away.

-------- 

Raz admitted, Norman was… pretty good at atmosphere. The floor creaked and bucked under his every step in the house, and what light made it through the clouded windows didn’t penetrate very far, scattering in the dust-filled air. The wallpaper was stained and peeling, and it smelled like mildew, and maybe blood. Every so often, there’d be a tapping from the walls or ceiling that seemed to be following him. And it was cold. Temperature usually wasn’t a thing in mental worlds unless fire was involved, but here, it was freezing.

He’d seen plenty of terrifying things in the mental worlds of others, but this…. There was something building, and it wasn‘t doing anything for his nerves. He’d never seen a horror movie in his life, but he was pretty sure he was in one right now. A door slammed upstairs, and he yelped, flattening against the wall. Only silence now.

“I’ve gotta talk to this kid about his mind,” he grumbled, shaking his head. He made for the stairs since the ground floor was pretty obviously empty. The steps gave dangerously under his weight, and the banister wasn’t reassuring either, wobbling when he put his hand on it to steady himself. Cautiously, afraid he’d be sent through rotting wood and into some bottomless pit at any moment, he made his way up, batting aside spider webs that caressed his face. He climbed for a while and knew he was past the second floor by now; the thing about mental worlds was that they rarely obeyed the rules of physics and regularly broke things like conservation of volume. Without any windows, it was getting progressively darker too.

“Ugh, this again,” Raz muttered to himself, and decided to skip the whole walking part. A soft orange glow burst from under his feet and he was off, taking the stairs yards at a time. He should have just done this from the start.

No longer feeling so cautious, he sped upwards, eager to finish things up, but a dull rumble put a damper on his efforts. He stopped to listen as the sound seemed to move through the walls, a shearing noise that scraped along and brought violent shaking with it. He was forced to cling to the bannister, flimsy as it was, to keep from being knocked off his feet as whatever it was moved through and finally dissipated. As frightening as the experience was though, he wasn’t entirely sure that had been a regular feature of the mindscape. Something about the sound was familiar…. Undaunted, he reformed his levitation orb and carried on, his way lit by his own manifested will.

There was a shadow, and something clattered behind him. He froze, trying to comprehend what was happening now…. Had Norman just thrown something at him? It’d take more than that to scare—a book collided with his face, sending him sprawling awkwardly on the steps. He grunted and rubbed at where the spine had connected with his aviator cap, glad he wore the old thing. This was exactly why he’d ditched the official Psychonauts uniform not even halfway into his first mission. It was cool he got to wear the official garb, but it wasn’t nearly as practical—or stylish, so his girlfriend told him.

Glaring up at the top of the stairs, he skipped a few more steps up then ducked, and heard something else whiz overhead and land far below. But after a couple more leaps, it seemed Norman gave up on being a poltergeist, and he climbed the rest of the way without a hitch. The door he found at the top of the stairs was closed, and a soft gray light came through the gap at the bottom. Quietly, Raz turned the handle and pushed the door open, grateful when it didn’t squeal on its hinges—only creaking softly instead.

The room was washed out in the pale light streaming from the windows. A wall of posters in the corner above the bed was the only thing that still seemed to have some color to it, but Raz knew enough about advertising to realize they should have been brighter. Norman was sitting on his bed, facing a window with his back to the door. Even when the floor creaked as the psychic stepped warily into the room, he didn’t move.

“Hey,” Raz said gently, slowly approaching the beleaguered medium. “Everything okay?”

“…No,” Norman replied, an edge to his voice.

“I don’t get it. The stuff that made you lose it has been contained for a while now. You should be feeling better,” Raz wondered aloud, tapping a finger thoughtfully to his chin.

“Why should I feel better? There’s nothing to feel better about.”

“That’s not true, I’m here! You didn’t make it easy, but now I can find out what’s going on and find a way to help.”

“You should just leave. I don’t think you can help… there’s so much… too much wrong,” Norman replied, shoulders sagging. A poster peeled from the wall, and he hurriedly stuck it back, face drawn with concern. They caught each other’s eye for a moment, then the ghost whisperer went back to sulking.

“Man, are you mediums always this moody? ‘Cause that’s what I always hear,” Raz commented, folding his arms in exasperation.

“How would I know? The only other people like me are dead.”

Raz’s exasperation quickly dissipated. “Whoa, sorry. But… you said you talk to ghosts—doesn’t that mean you can still talk to them?”

“They moved on. I can’t contact them after that…. I’m all alone.”

“Oh. Sorry to hear that.”

“It doesn’t matter anyway. Not like anyone ever helped them either.”

“Well, I guess I can’t do anything for them, but I can help you. What’s going on?”

“You’ll just think I’m crazy. Everyone else already does.”

“No way. I’ve seen a ton of people worse than than you, and I’ve helped all of them. Most were a little more cooperative though, so you gotta give me something to work with. What exactly happened to you two days ago?”

“It’s… it’s only been two days?” Norman finally turned to look at him in shock.

“Yeah.”

“Nice to know it only takes me two days to go totally insane,” he sighed, flopping back on the bed. “I guess it’s no wonder considering the people I deal with.”

“Whoa, harsh. But that’s not the real—”

“Everyone should just leave me alone, including you. I can’t take it anymore.”

“It’d be nice to know what’s actually bothering you,” Raz huffed, folding his arms. He wasn’t getting anywhere, and he suspected it was the hypnosis making it hard for Norman to focus on anything but his anger and desire for isolation. There had to be some way to get him out of that mindset. He thought carefully; what could he say to break the hypnosis’ hold?

“Your life can’t be all bad though. What about the ghosts? They seem to like you a lot.”

“Why should that matter? They can’t do anything… actually they just get me in trouble.”

“Okay, uh… what about your family?”

“You’re not getting it!” Norman sprung from the bed, fists clenched. “I have no one! They all hate me, or they’re afraid. What am I supposed to do?” He almost seemed pleading now, even as tension filled the air. But Raz was starting to put things together, and the only way to be sure was to keep talking.

“And you’re one-hundred-percent sure that’s really how they feel about you? Because for a really long time I thought my dad hated—”

“Just go. You don’t have anything helpful to say. I’ll fix my problems by myself.”

“Wait—”

“Leave.”

“No, Norman, you can’t—”

“Go! Or I’ll make you myself,” he snarled, eyes flashing. Hot streaks of electricity burst from the fringes of his clothes and hair, casting the room in an eerie yellow. Raz leapt back and shielded his eyes; lightning was the last thing he’d expected to come from the medium, and definitely meant things were getting out of control despite his efforts. He had to keep things on the right track.

“Hey! Listen to me!”

“No one will listen to me. Why should I listen to them anymore?” Norman retorted.

“Because sometimes they have important stuff to tell you,” Raz answered, but had to duck as a bolt flew over his head.

“Oh, like how I’m a freak? How I’m better off joining my ghost friends?”

“Oh man, people really told you that?”

“You think I’m lying!?” he cried, projection nothing but raging energy now and forcing Raz back against the wall. So much electricity in a small room was bad for his health; he rubbed the back of his hand where a small arc had connected and left it stinging.

“No, I believe you! But you ignored it before—doesn’t that mean it’s not important?”

“I’m not ignoring it any more! I’m— I’m going to show them why they should all just leave me alone!”

“What?! Norman, I’m pretty sure that’s a really bad idea!” Raz shouted over the roar of the lightning as he edged closer to the door. If things got to be too much he’d need to be able to get out fast, but he desperately hoped it wouldn’t come to that. With his natural defenses gone, Norman needed someone else to help deal with his emotions. Fighting was out of the question; if he hurt Norman’s core even more than it already was who knew what damage that would do. Raz knew he wasn’t the greatest mediator—fighting was definitely his strong point, but he wasn’t known for giving up on anyone either. Most importantly, he had a pretty good idea of how to help now.

“And why not?”

“Because I think it’d make your friends really sad—all of them. The ghosts, and the ones you’re staying with right now.”

“But I don’t—” Norman’s projection flickered, and he stared at the psychic in disbelief.

“You do realize you’re not home, right? You‘ve got a sleeping bag out there, and this looks like it‘s your real room. You‘re definitely staying with friends,” he stated, laying out the facts.

“You’re lying!”

“Oh, now I’m the liar, huh? Look—” He gasped as a strike interrupted and hit him square in the chest. Reeling, he slid to the floor, trying to refocus his scattered thoughts. But he’d been hit with worse, and propped himself up against the wall once he‘d caught his breath and turned to face the medium once more. “You may not remember them, but it seems like you’ve been spending some time with them. Isn‘t that important?”

“Then why can’t I remember them? You’re making it up!” He punctuated his accusation with a bolt. Raz winced as it hit his boot, but he had to keep going.

“Norman, someone screwed with your memories and emotions. I don’t know how it’s connected exactly, but somehow, by taking away the memories of your friends, they made you this angry… sad… lighting thing! They want you to be like this!” he panted, staggering to his feet. “I don’t think you want to though. Otherwise you wouldn’t have let me in.”

“I… I don’t know. I just want everyone to see how horrible they are!” he spat, and launched another stream of lightning at him. He managed to dodge most of it, but those first strikes had taken a lot out of him. After a few steps, it was like his legs wouldn’t listen to his commands and simply gave up, leaving him to collapse. He took the rest of the attack as best he could from his spot on the floor, but a pounding in his ears told him he couldn’t last long. When Norman seemed done, he hoisted himself up once more and faced the glowing ball of anger. “So you do that by being horrible back? Doesn‘t that make you just as bad?”

Norman made to reply, but froze. His image wavered, contorting before snapping back, expression turned from rage to fearful confusion. “N-no…” he said, voice barely above a whisper.

“It does, and you know it!” Raz pressed, and the medium recoiled.

“No!” he cried, sending out a small wave of electricity and stunning Raz again. “You don’t understand, everything’s wrong! All of it, and I don’t know why, or how to fix it,” he sobbed, hands at his temples. “I’m not like this, I’m not like her.”

Raz gaped at the sudden change in moods, but at last he‘d made progress—somehow. And now there was a mysterious ‘her’ in the mix, but he figured there’d be time for explanations later, and it meant Norman was remembering something other than the hypnosis’ directive. Maybe now he could finally get to him and put an end to his suffering. Using the wall to pull himself up, he shoved the goggles out of his face. It was hard, like staring at the sun, but he looked Norman in the eyes and smiled. “Don’t worry. I think I definitely know how to help now. Let’s go out to your tree.”

“There’s… there’s something wrong with it. Usually it calms me down when I visit it, but lately it only reminded me of all the bad stuff. I… I wanted to tear it down!” Norman flickered again, projection splitting for an instant, lightning flaring.

“That’s what I’m here to take care of. Come on.” Raz gestured towards the door, then flopped over, legs numb like they’d fallen asleep. Rolling over, he shrugged at Norman, who was looking on in concern.

“I… How bad did I hurt you?”

 “I’ll be fine. If you can get us both to the tree, this’ll all be over really fast.”

“Okay…”

The house trembled, then everything blurred like it was ripped upward. In an instant, Raz was lying on dirt instead of floorboards, and the walls covered in posters had disappeared. The oak twisted over their heads, bare branches swaying ever so slightly in a breeze that had kicked up, and the clouds swirling above were now tinged with maroon streaks.

“Okay, now all you have to do is get rid of the junk that’s written on the tree—the stuff saying you’re a freak that never had friends,” Raz explained, sitting up and giving his troubled friend an encouraging smile.

“B-but… what if it’s true?” Norman wavered, eyes fixed on the tree. The electricity, which had died down since he’d realized something was wrong, began to pick up again. Summoning his strength, Raz stood and leapt in front of the toxic words, landing hard on his stomach against the rough bark. What he did for people sometimes….

“No way,” he coughed. He would turn over, but he was pretty sure his body wouldn’t listen at this point. He couldn’t get any energy back without dropping another astral layer, but that meant he’d have even less presence, which probably wasn’t a good idea even if things were looking better. “If anything… I’m your friend, right? So it’s already not true.”

“Uh…okay… What do I do?”

“I’m… not sure actually. Maybe try remembering what those crossed out things are?”

“I… I’m not sure I can. The tree’s dead…by now…”

“Can’t be. It’s a pretty major part of your psyche. I don’t think you’d be around if it was dead,” Raz replied. “Actually, I think I can still feel a little energy running through it.” He patted the bark gently, nodding.

“Then… I’ll try… but… be ready in case something bad happens.”

Raz was too busy monitoring the tree through his pounding head to catch that last bit. The oak had the slightest of wavelengths, so when a tremor shook the whole thing it was like someone blasting a bullhorn in his ear. He slid unceremoniously from the trunk and landed on the dusty ground with a thud before managing to turn to Norman. “What was that?”

“…Uh oh…”

There was a searing sound, and Raz instantly knew what was happening. Risking the last of his strength and braving electrocution, he leapt forward just as a hellish red portal tore open beneath Norman’s feet and shoved him out of the way. Inhuman claws seized him, digging roughly into his skin and pulled him in, the portal closing far above his head and leaving him in darkness.

The first time this had happened to him, long ago, Raz had really been afraid—the thing had sprung on him when he‘d though he was safe, and he‘d never faced it before. But then the actual fight hadn’t been too hard, and now he was looking forward to blasting this particular problem into oblivion, even with his energy levels so low. Nightmares were demonic-looking, but with the right moves they were easy to beat, and Norman had been plagued by the things long enough.

But something wasn't right.

He wasn't in a den full of fire and brimstone like nightmares usually preferred. There was nothing to shoot at, nothing to hit, and he was pretty sure he couldn’t even move, weakened or not. Peering worriedly into the dark, he could only wait for something to happen. Sniffing, he realized something was happening—the bitter smell of smoke wafted through the air. Holes appeared in the black, burning through like paper over a candle, their edges bright with embers as they spread.

“Let’s burn ‘im!”

Raz found himself standing on concrete steps facing a raging mob. Brandishing everything from the traditional torches and pitchforks to baseball bats, golf clubs and everything in between, they hooted and hollered in a wild frenzy. Some were edging forward, as if they were afraid to get too close…or simply still debating over whether they were really going to go through with whatever they planned.

“Necromancer!”

“You’ll never get away with this!”

“Get ‘em, before they eat us!”

The mob surged, weapons level with his eyes. Raz raised his hands in protest, tried to cry out, but found the words caught in his throat. There was gunfire, and something cracked over his head—a bat maybe, he was too stunned to see. They held back as he fell, then closed in once more. A man pushed a torch into his chest, burning—

The vision faded the same way it had come, the faces of the bloodthirsty civilians bubbling and melting away like old film. He glimpsed the nightmare dying in the darkness beyond, screaming, its serpentine body writhing and livid yellow eyes flickering out, having exhausted the last of its psitanium-granted energy. Blinking, he found himself flat on the ground and thoroughly shaken. He put his hands over his eyes and held them for a while, trying to refocus. That had been more than just a simple nightmare like he’d thought, complete fiction. It was if things that had really happened had gone wrong.

“Is that… have you been dealing with these nightmares the whole time?” he asked quietly, sitting up to see Norman was looking worriedly at him.

“Yeah… Not just at night, either. I saw them during the day too. It was almost all I could see sometimes…. I‘m okay with bad dreams. I watch a lot of scary movies, it happens. Sometimes I think I‘ll use the really good ones and make my own movies.”

“Heh, sounds like a good plan. But these aren’t regular bad dreams. They’re like nightmares and hallucinations had a baby, then that baby hooked up with your memories,” Raz figured with his fingers, “then they got married and had a psycho-mutant baby and put it on steroids. And then someone let that baby rampage through your head. Pretty much sums everything up.” He nodded matter-of-factly, folding his arms.

“It was those things messing with me, huh?”

“Yeah. Enough of those coming at you all the time? No wonder you shut down. And someone wanted that…”

“So it really is because of someone else?”

“Yeah. You can’t think you’re supposed to have these mutant nightmares, right?”

“Maybe…No. I’m not, am I? You took that last one, so I know it’s not just me that can see them. And you say they’re not normal… you saw what I’ve been dealing with. So… I’m… I’m not alone, am I?”

“Yeah, that’s the spirit!”

“You saw… you took it… you…”

The lightning flared, dazzling Raz’s vision. He tried rubbing it away, but found a weight around his neck. Norman was hugging him.

“Ah, um. Okay,” he stammered, and the boy released him.

“Sorry,” Norman said, scratching the back of his head. “It’s just… having a friend helped me break through. I forgot who I was, and you reminded me. Oh!” He turned to face the tree, bark cleansed of the hypnotic suggestion and branches heavy with leaves. “It’s good to have this back,” he said softly, a relieved smile on his face as his fingers traced the edges of the bark.

Raz was surprised by how soft-spoken he was, considering he’d been explosive just moments ago. “Don’t worry about it. If I finally had my mind back, I’d probably want to hug someone too. You think that was the last of the nightmares?”

“I hope so, at least of the mutant-baby kind,” he smirked, and the two laughed. But then Norman’s face fell. “Everything’s foggy though, the last… two days?” He scrunched his face. “I think I might have hurt my other friends. I—” he choked on his words, eyes wide with panic.

“What? What’s wrong? Another nightmare?”

“Sort of,” he croaked. “Only this one’s real. It‘s—it‘s kind of a long story. There‘s no time!”

“You can tell me a little right? Time passes a bit differently in the mental world, so I think we have some,” Raz shrugged. Besides, he wanted to make sure Norman was really all there. Sometimes it could be hard to tell if things were actually solved right away.

“Um, okay… So, I’m related to a girl who cursed my town three hundred years ago. She could talk to the dead too, but no one knew about her other powers until they killed her. I didn’t think I had them too…. I was hoping I didn’t.” He hugged his arms to his chest, looking troubled.

“So that’s who you were talking about…. Except you’re not dead,” Raz pointed out, and Norman managed a small smile.

“No, but I’m pretty sure she cursed the town before she died, not after. She just got really powerful as a ghost. Anyway, um, there’s this kid who lives here in Gravity Falls. He’s rivals with the Mystery Shack, and wants to take it from my friends any way he can.”

“Including using you, huh? I think I met the guy—short, fat kid with a blue suit and fancy hair?”

“That’s him! What was he doing? Did he say anything about Dipper and Mabel?”

“Ugh, I can’t believe I ever felt sorry for him. He tried to get me to take something from here, then threw me at you hoping I’d get zapped. I tried questioning him, but he got away and I decided helping you was more important. I don’t know anything about your friends. Sorry,” he replied, and Norman bit his fingernails.

“He’s probably doing the same thing to them as he did to me… minus the ‘unlocking crazy witch powers’ part. We’ve gotta go find them!”

“Don’t worry, I will,” Raz reassured him, “but I’m pretty sure you’re going to need to rest. Let me jump outta here and we’ll see.”

“Okay. Raz… in case I like, drop dead or something… thanks. For not listening to me and sticking around to sort my problems.”

“I’m a Psychonaut. It’s what I do,” Raz grinned, pulling the goggles back on and letting his projection fade and weightlessness take over. He passed the medium’s mental barriers and felt they were weak, but rebuilding, which was good; then felt the comfort of his own mind and body at last. Blinking, he pulled the goggles back to their usual spot on his forehead and went to check on his new friend. He was still curled up against the wall, but his limbs had relaxed and there were no longer waves of emotion pouring from him. In fact, he was sound asleep.

“Heh, guess I could say ‘rest in peace’,” Raz chuckled to himself, but he really was glad Norman seemed to be free of those nightmares. But now two other kids were being driven insane too, by someone who sounded like he didn’t need any help from psitanium to have his own mental issues. He rushed down the stairs, made sure the door was bolted behind him, and with a leap was off rolling again. He crossed town, trying to avoid too much attention by using the side streets, but the people here didn’t seem to bat an eye even when he crossed their path. Maybe between a kid psychic and a tourist trap hawking oddities both natural and manufactured, nothing surprised them anymore.

“Huh.” Raz had worried he’d miss the house, but that was impossible with that giant billboard in the front yard. And now he knew the kid’s name too—he hadn’t even introduced himself earlier. Of course that was the least of Gideon’s offenses and not what Raz found detestable about him. Stepping up to the entry, he debated whether to charge in or go stealth mode on the monstrous little jerk. But his decision was made for him when the door opened.

“Oh, well imagine meetin’ you here, friend,” Gideon drawled, seeming genuinely surprised.

“Cut the act, Gideon. I know what you bought on the black market two weeks ago, and what you’re using it for,” Raz said, poking an accusing finger into the other boy’s chest. “I know you’ve got Norman’s friends in there. You’re going to hand them over, and the meteorite, and no one has to get hurt.”

“Y’sure you don’t want to chat a bit first? Maybe over a cola or somethin’?”

“No way! That’s not gonna work on me, and neither is your little hypnosis trick!”

“We’ll see about that, boy!” Gideon growled, wrapping chunky fingers around his tie. Raz felt something fold around his head and force him to stare into the amulet’s center as it glowed, the turquoise light filling his vision. It felt like his mind was being wrapped in a towel, and something pricked at the edges of his consciousness. But that was as far as Gideon got.

“Why can’t I break through? It worked on the others!” he cried angrily, his concentration wavering just enough for Raz to shake the amulet’s effects and rip it from him.

“No!” Gideon howled, tackling the psychic and knocking him to the ground. Raz got the wind knocked out of him, but he refused to let go of the tie. Gideon tried to pry it from his fingers, but superior hand strength was one of the many traits of an acrobat and he didn’t have much luck. Raz punched him off with his free hand, and the chubby kid rolled onto his back, only to meet Raz’s harsh gaze staring down at him.

“You’re not even a real psychic, are you?”

Gideon shook his head, cowed, then found himself lifted and set on the roof.

“You can hang out there for a while. I’ve gotta clean up your mess,” Raz said with a scowl, then stuck the amulet in his bag and strolled into the ranch house, ignoring Gideon’s shrill protests and threats. Shutting a blaring TV off, Raz listened for Gideon’s captives, but he felt them before he heard them. It wasn’t the same aura of negative emotions as Norman had given off. Actually, it was hard to say what was going on with them; there seemed to be something like a feedback loop muddling his perception. At least he knew where they were now, and headed down the hall.

Opening the door, he found the room was dark but for a luminous purple glow coming from behind two forms slumped back to back in chairs. He darted in, and barely noted the pair were twins before shoving the psitanium in its container and putting it in his bag as well. But they—Norman had said their names were Dipper and Mabel—weren’t out of danger yet. The effects of that much psitanium would take a while to wear off, and by then the damage could already be done.

“Uh,” he started, as he began pulling off the bindings around their feet, “just so you guys know, I’m a friend. I already helped Norman, he’s fine now. I’m gonna take you back home, and then help you, okay? Dipper? Mabel?”

“She’s in sweater town…” Mabel groaned, her face buried in the collar of her sweater, and he stared for a moment before frowning sadly and continuing to untie them. There was no response from her brother, which was a bit more concerning, but he couldn’t afford to waste time guessing what his problem was. Tossing the ropes to the floor, he gently lifted the two with projected hands and maneuvered through the house. Gideon was still swearing oaths from the roof as he exited.

“You’ll rue the day you crossed me, goggles! I’ll put a curse on your whole family! You‘ll—”

Raz abruptly turned and smiled at him serenely. “My family’s already cursed. Thanks though.”

Gideon’s face fell as if he was disappointed someone had beaten him to the punch. Raz spun on his heel and continued on, secretly burning with rage. The Pines remained curled in his telekinetic hold, unaware of anything around them; their rival’s irate shouting fell on deaf ears.