The sound of distant thunder rippled through the valley; a faraway flash of lightning accompanied the smell of water on the air. He wouldn’t make it. The trees seemed to grow up higher near him, their branches fanning out as if they could protect him from the dirge that was to come. His breath was coming in ragged gasps as he ran, he knew that he would get a cramp from breathing through his mouth, but his paper lungs demanded oxygen. He held his umbrella closed and tight fisted. The tent was too far away.

Another flash, a boom followed it, the storm was getting closer. His legs began to burn from exhaustion, he could run faster than Dipper ever could, but it wasn’t fast enough. A drop of water landed on the back of his neck, burrowing down into his skin. Gritting his teeth, he opened his umbrella. There was no point on running now, he scanned the darkening forest, trees reached up into the clouds, the ground was becoming spotted with dots of water. He noticed a crevasse in one of the trees, surrounded by blackish char, burnt out long ago by some forgotten forest fire.

Rain tapped on his umbrella; wind pushed droplets onto his raincoat. He pulled the bright yellow hood over his head. The boy’s hands where shaking, his muscles became stiff, another flash of lightning. He ran. The tree was maybe a hundred paces from where he was before, but the wind pulled angerly at his hood and umbrella, and the rain began to pour itself more heavily on the earth. He pushed himself into a sprint, the grass and pine needles crinkled under his feet. The tree loomed over him, the crevasse was more visible now, shadows seemed to pour into the crack in the pine tree, the black char absorbing any light that dared try to pierce the threshold.

He placed his free hand on the tree, it looked too narrow to slip inside, but there was no time for that, rain drops flew into his face, and a glob of his skin slipped onto the floor. The boy climbed sideways into the crevasse; the hat he wore under the raincoat butted against the tree. he tore it off, and then tumbled backward into the inside of the tree trunk. It was a thin and tall gap, but wide enough for a child to huddle in a cold heap at the bottom. He wedged his umbrella in the gap. The storm complained noisily outside.

He rested his head against the rough wood, the places where the rain had hit him had just begun to sting. His legs stretched out so his knees bumped against the other side of the trunk, his hands trailed lightly along the dirt. It was almost comfortable, almost. After a few minutes he shifted, and his elbow rubbed up against something. He jerked back in the surprise of finding something not made of tree, then he reached over again, and pulled the heavy book onto his lap. The boy suppose that it was made of tree, just not this tree.

There was this muted feeling of excitement, dulled by the stinging of water wounds and the roaring storm outside, Dipper had found a book in the woods. Now he had as well. He reached into the pocket of his raincoat, wincing as his hand grazed the droplets that still clung to the yellow plastic. He pulled out a thick glowstick, and for a moment struggled to crack it, then it snapped and a dull green light filled the tree trunk. He shook it and it grew brighter. He held the glowstick up to the cover, and grew very very still.

Illuminated in the sickly green light was the face of Bill Cipher. The triangle’s single eye stared at him, and the boy knew that somehow, Bill could see him. The title read, The Book of Bill. This book had been placed in the tree, either to hide it, or so that he would find it, and he wasn’t sure which was worse. He shouldn’t open it. He should leave it here, and forget he ever saw it. But… But… The storm was still raging, it’d be hours until it’d be dry enough to make it back to the tent, and what harm could it do to take a little peak?

The book opened, or he opened it, or both, the pages where black, two white words sat in the center of the page. The boy slammed the book shut.

Heya Quattro

It knew his name, he should toss the book away, but he didn’t, there was a morbid and terrifying curiosity. He held up his glowstick and opened the book again. The first page was the same, so he turned to the next.

Hey hey hey! don’t worry, I’m not going to do anything! I just want someone to talk to. Nice to finally meet you by the way, I have an idea, See, let’s make a deal, you read this book, and I’ll tell you everything you want to know, and hey, I’ll tell you want I want in return a little later, it’s not important right now.

What harm could reading a book do? Quattro thought. He closed his eyes for a moment and listen to the rain outside. Then he turned back to the book, and turned another page.

The sound of the rain outside slowly grew less, and the air grew crisp with that after-rain clearness that is the most evident to those who have lived in a city their entire life, and only now realizing that they had been breathing poison. Quattro did not notice the rain stopping, he wouldn’t be able to leave for several hours yet anyway, and Bill was not going to let him go until he was certain that he would take the book with him. As Quattro balanced the huge book on his lap, and he squinted at the words in the dim light of the glowstick in the hollow tree, he hung onto every word.

So, turns out that those time travel dorks are total losers, I mean, of course you know that Q, but you’d think for a hyper advanced dystopian society they’d be a less of a wet blanket, come on! Time Baby is too attached to the concept of “time” anyway, please, where’s the fun in linearity anyway- I’d rather have tomorrow be yesterday and forever be now- its a never-ending melting pot of excitement! Too bad that that Sixer and his idiot brother couldn’t see that, but I know that you two are smarter than that. It’s just math, a genius plus a delinquent verses two smart guys-

…

stop reading, you need to go now.

Quattro looked up, he pushed his back against the tree, suddenly feeling like he was not alone. He shut the book and tucked it under his arm, he now became aware of the lack of rain, he searched the ground until his fingers brushed up against the brim of his hat, he pulled it on and lifted the hood of his rain coat over his head. He heard someone calling his name, he furrowed his brow, there was no way that he would be that stupid. The boy wrenched the yellow umbrella free, and dim sunlight streamed into the hollow trunk, he held it over his head and stepped out into the forest.

The woods where damp, muddy puddles collected in every possible crevasse, although the rain had stopped, the trees still dripped noisy drops onto his umbrella, the wind had calmed down to a mild breeze, a woodpecker poked it’s head out of its hole and took flight.

“Tracey?” Quattro called experimentally,

“Quattro!” came the instant reply.

Quattro turned toward the sound of the voice, and a moment later a boy his exact height and build appeared from the forest, they were a ways away still, but the matching yellow raincoats made it easy for them to discern the others position. They walked toward each other until they made, they stood face to face. Quattro gave Tracey a quick once over, his yellow boots were covered in mud, his umbrella was still dripping and he had a general appearance of droopiness that implied he had been outside during the rain. Strangely his banjo had been tied to his back.

“What are you doing here? Do you have a death wish! I don’t even need to look up to tell that the storm isn’t over- even if it was its-“ Quattro’s rant was interrupted by the identical boy pulling/tackling him into a hug.

The banjo tied to Tracey’s back swung wildly in the sudden movement. Their umbrellas crashed into each other. The condensation on their matching coats flew wildly in all directions. Then, almost as suddenly as he had been hugged, Quattro was shoved backward, although, he noticed, without much force.

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

“You jerk I thought you were dead!” Tracey shouted, pulling his plastic hood over his ears.

They couldn’t cry, but Quattro could tell that Tracey would’ve been close to it. Quattro adjusted the book of bill under his arm, and grabbed Tracey’s hand with his free one. Once you got used to it, he thought, it was surprisingly easy to guess what someone exactly like you was thinking, although, they weren’t quite as alike as they used to be. He remembered how much miscommunication had been a problem for Dipper, and sometimes was still surprised at how easy talking to Tracey was.

“Why did you come looking for me?” Quattro asked calmly, defusing his anger.

Tracey took a breath, doing the same. “Mudslide.”

Quattro tightened his grip around Tracey’s hand, “How bad?”

“All of it.” Tracey said,

“…”

“…”

“Well.” Quattro looked at Tracey with a forced smile, “At least we didn’t lose… everyone.”

Tracey returned it.

A cloud passed over the sun, causing both to glance upward at the shadowy sky, still heavy with rain. They glanced at each other and seemed to agree that there was time for sentiment later.

“Its too far from the town, the museum would be closed today anyway.” Tracey said,

“Gnomes?” Quattro asked,

“No.”

“You’re right, their probably still mad about last time.”

“Theres…“Quattro began, before stopping.

“It isn’t safe.” Tracey said, guessing his thoughts,

“We aren’t safe here either.” Quattro protested quietly, “The hollow I hid in isn’t big enough for both of us.”

“We can’t go back there.” Tracey said,

“I don’t know if we have a choice Tres.”

The wind rippled through the forest, as if to extenuate his point, bringing with it the undeniable scent of water. The sky was only growing darker again, the rain could fall in hours or minutes, there was no way to tell. They were both in the open, fully vulnerable to anything they couldn’t block with their umbrellas and raincoats. Quattro had a sudden image flash to his mind, almost, too clear to be just a thought, like it was something being placed in his subconscious.

Tracey and him where huddling in the tree hollow too small for them, they couldn’t block it off properly, the wind was blowing it into the hollow, turning the ground to slippery mud that began to melt their ankles, Tracey fell backward into the mud, Quattro tried to pull him forward, but there was nothing to grab onto but a raincoat dripping with white mush.

He shook his head to clear his thoughts, and once more adjusted the book, resting the umbrella against his shoulder.

“We could get on a bus.” Tracey said

“That’s a terrible idea for multiple reasons.” Quattro said,

“I know, I know, we don’t have time!” Tracey said, his voice rising slightly as he kicked at the ground, his boot imprinting on the damp earth.

“We don’t need to go inside, we could hide under the porch, or the gift shop, at least for a while, no one would recognize us if we keep our hoods on, besides, it’s under new management, and its spring?” Quattro said,

“It is.” Tracey said, resigned, he slumped slightly. “Let’s go.”

Quattro nodded and they both looked around the forest for a moment to get their bearings, then they headed off toward the road that ran through the forest. Toward the Mystery Shack. The damp air smelt of pine. Eventually the trees separated and showed an open paved road, still glistening. Tracey grabbed Quattro’s hand and, without either consulting the other, they both broke into a run. The road was slick with rain, and it ran off it in little puddles. They knew the route to the Shack, not that they had been back there since their birthday. It was one of those memories they only had from before they existed. Tracey and Quattro simultaneously noticed that the it seemed to take less time to make it to the Shack than they remembered, and they were almost surprised when they arrived in the clearing so quickly.

The Mystery Shack looked almost as dilapidated as it had before, the cabin was three stories tall, with a highly peaked wooden roof, a sign had been built out of it, reading the name of the attraction, the “S” in Shack still sat laying propped up against the sign, the back porch still had a musty old yellow couch, and the screen door still had a hole in the metal screen from where Soos had cut it when Mabel’s braces had gotten stuck. The smell of formaldehyde still reeked out of the building, it was something that they remembered getting used to, after the first day or so, but now, after they had been away for so long, it was strongly evident. Water dripped from the awning over the porch, and puddles filled the uneven ground of the bright green clearing that the building had been made in, the trees loomed over the Shack, as if in protection.

They both hesitated, as if on cue, but the smell of water on the air, and the ever-present sound of dripping caused Quattro to tug Tracey’s hand and pull him forward, keeping the book under his other arm, they approached the front door, Quattro pushed it open and they slipped inside. there weren’t a lot of tourists, probably because of the rainstorm during the off season. One or two people still lingered about, huddling from the rain, caught in the middle of a road trip, or camping and seeking shelter. The boys didn’t look out of place at all in their heavy rain coats. They hovered next to one of the adults, without saying anything, as if that was their parent.

The giftshop also hadn’t changed much, it was full of display shelves filled with cheaply made but expensively priced nicknacks, snow globes and hats, ones completely identical to Dipper’s, and almost identical to theirs, tall bookshelves held more fragile, or even decorative items, jars of eye balls, human hands, and other pretend oddities. Magazines shared space with a poorly made comic, that seemed surprisingly popular, the cash register was cluttered with decorative junk, more jars of eyes, an… actual cash register, bumper stickers, the like. The floor creaked under muddy footprints.

Melody was at the cash register, and she was unlikely to recognize them, well, less likely. She was naturally heavy set, although not overweight. Her mustard-colored hair was tied tightly back, and she wore a green drippy question mark shirt, the logo of the Mystery Shack. Quattro was surprised at how familiar the Shack felt, almost like coming home, in a way he supposed it was, he had been born here after all, just upstairs. The smell of cheap glue and chemicals was relaxing almost, Tracey seemed to be having the opposite reaction.

The boy gripped Quattro’s hand and led him into the show room, there wasn’t a tour going on currently, and they both momentarily wondered why before concluding that Soos must have changed the tour times, or that it was because it was such a slow day. The show room wasn’t large, but the stage was big enough for one or two people to stand on, attractions lined the walls, but the faded red curtains above the stage were shut. The wooden floorboards creaked under the boys’ steps, the floor here was mostly unmarked by footprints, so the only muddy imprints were their own.

“Are you alright?” Quattro asked,

Tracey pursed his lips. “I can manage.”

“…not what I asked.” Quattro prodded gently.

“No.” Tracey said, slowly almost, his voice was slightly distant, and Quattro knew that he was remembering their birthday.

“Okay.” Quattro said,

The pair sat on the edge of the stage, the rain began to pour again, gently this time, plinking softly against the broken shingles of the Mystery Shack, three stories above them. Quattro pushed back his hood and scanned the ceiling for leaks, there wouldn’t be any, not with that many floors above them, but he still looked. Tracey took his banjo off his back and began to fiddle with the strings, it hadn’t gotten wet, somehow, but the rain had messed with the tension. Quattro set Bill’s book on his lap, and barely had enough time to notice that the cover had changed from a yellow triangle, to two yellow pine trees. He ran a hand across it, unable to find himself surprised. The trees were simple, and they matched the emblems on the hats sold in the giftshop, they dipped into the thick, black leather cover, and they seemed to be made out of yellow glass, but, they weren’t the right texture for glass, almost feeling soft.

He ran his hand along the edge of the book, and was about to open it again, when the wooden floors creaked, and the faint scent of burning hair wafted into the room. Tracey gasped slightly and tried to hide his face in the banjo, Quattro didn’t have a chance, his hood was down, he gripped the book, and forced a smile onto his face.

“Dipper?” The man asked.

At first glance, Quattro thought it was Stan. The man was almost Stan, but… not. He stood straighter, his glasses were different, his hair was less grey and it poofed up more, with sideburns running down the sides of his face. He wore a red turtle neck, with black pants and a beige trench coat. He was also thinner than Stan. Quattro’s second guess was that this man was like Tracey and him, but he lacked the desaturated paleness that the boys had, someone wouldn’t be able to notice unless they knew Dipper, and, as if to prove that the man was built of flesh and blood, he was carrying an open beaker of some green liquid, something that Quattro and Tracey would never risk.

As Quattro realized that the man was not Stan, the man seemed to realize that Quattro was not Dipper. He could almost feel the man’s black eyes noticing the four on his hat, instead of a pine tree, the lean muscle that Quattro had gained from living in the woods for almost his entire life, the way his eyes were, almost a deep grey instead of a brown. Other than the raincoat, he was wearing the same clothes he had been born in, they had grown with him, but Dipper had to have grown out his set by now.

Tracey gripped his banjo and slid off the stage, Quattro followed his example, tucking The Book back under his arm. Tracey took a small, protective step in front of Quattro, which caused Quattro to furrow his brow slightly.

“Don’t be afraid, I’m not going to hurt you.” The man said, setting the beaker on the floor and stepping away. “You two… you are the clones, are you not?”