Alternate Chapter Title: No Triangles were Involved in the Making of the Poor Decisions the Characters Make in this Chapter

Disclaimer: I don't own Gravity Falls.

It was one of those lazy summer evenings. The weather was humid, spreading a sticky, warm feeling across everything. There was not so much as a breath of wind to blow the stagnant air along. Despite the fact that the sun had long since set, the muggy air still lingered. It was almost a relief to be around ghosts, and the chill they spread. They were in the den, sitting in front of the TV.

Stanley and the pig had come to an agreement when it came to his spot. The pig could sleep in there all day as much as Stan cared, but it had to get up the moment he wanted to sit down. Of course, that didn't mean the thing couldn't stare up at him with those creepy pig eyes. Begging to be let up on the chair... Adorably blinking and tilting its head in just the cutest way... Stan shook his head, and tore his eyes away from the kid's pig. He was not letting it sit with him. Luckily, the arrangement worked. He was usually too busy to sit in front of the TV and worsen his eyesight.

Speaking of worsened eyesight, Stanford was too stubborn to turn on a light, and was reading his magazine in near-darkness. Stanley would have bugged him about it (hypocrisy at its finest) but Ford was falling asleep, he wouldn't want to be bothered. However, just because Stan knew that, it didn't mean either of the twins were aware of it.

"You don't just deal with ghosts, right?"

The question was a bit out of nowhere. Stan suspiciously squinted at Dipper, wondering what he was trying to say, and wishing that he would just flat-out state it to them instead of beating around the bush.

"Ghosts are a job, everything else is currently more of a..." Stanford paused, yawning. "Hobby."

Stan snorted at this.

"Speak for yourself."

"What kind of supernatural things to you know how to uh-"

Scripted. Why else would Mabel be talking to them? She wasn't exactly their biggest fan, even if she had apologized.

"Deal with?"

"Yeah." The twins said this simultaneously.

"Plenty. It's not all ghosts and werewolves-"

"There are werewolves here? Are any of them single- ouch! Dipper!"

Definitely scripted. They must have talked about asking these questions beforehand.

"Spells, rituals, curses, divination- Don't give me that look Stanley Pines, unlike Ma I am certified and genuine-

"He mailed in a coupon and a nickel from a comic when we were ten to get the certificate." Stanley said, fake-whispering to the twins.

"Well," he huffed. "It all sort of blurs into one. I bit off a bit more than I could chew when I was younger, but I narrowed things down to ghosts after I found Stanley..."

Stanford fell asleep before he could finish what he was going to say.

"What about you?" Mabel asked, now looking at him. "Were you always putting on funerals for dead people?"

"Nope."

"Have you guys always worked together?"

"Nope."

"Did-"

"Tragic story for tragic story kid." Stan brusquely said. "There won't be a dry eye in the house."

He figured that deal would be enough to prevent them from trying to spill a tragic backstory on him. After all, who wanted to hear about the (most likely equally) tragic past of old men who lived alone in the woods? He wasn't up for all of this fuzzy, emotional, touchy-feely stuff. Especially not at- he glanced at the clock, but stopped that train of thought. It was barely past nine, and still prime time for spilling sad stories that he didn't want to hear.

Well... Perhaps, he could admit to being a little curious. Why were two kids seemingly dead at twelve? Why did he have this annoying, nagging feeling that Shermy had grandchildren, who were twins? Being dangerously curious was Stanford's job, not his. But his mind continued to wander. He wanted to know why they were here.

By this point, the kids had won him over, but Stanley did not plan on admitting that aloud. He would draw things out a little longer before actually giving in and telling them so.

"What?"

Several ghosts, who had been invisible before, kindly vacated the room for them. Stanley seriously doubted that was the case however. Nosy people around here were always interested in any new news to spread through the ghostly grapevine. For every ghost that had just left the room, there were probably three more under the floorboards, listening at keyholes, and hiding behind the couch.

"You're dead at twelve. Something tragic musta' happened."

"We're not dead!"

"Then what are you?"

Dipper ran both hands through his hair, pushing up his hat.

"It's a long story."

"We're older than you. Ours'll be longer."

"We think you might be able to help us."

"Ford's area of expertise, not mine." He replied, gesturing to Stanford.

At the mention of his name, Stanford snored loudly. Or maybe that was because he had been doing so ever since he fell asleep. Whether or not it was the latter or former did not matter, seeing as he was awoken by Stanley saying;

"I guess it would solve that mystery of-"

One would think Stanford had been pretending to sleep the entire time, based upon how quickly his eyes snapped open and he rolled off the couch. He rose to his feet once more and dusted off his front.

"Solved? Which one? Whatever is under the gnomes' hats? Why my soufflés always collapse? How we can catch that Gobblewonker prototype before Dan does?!"

"What these two kids are."

"Not in the top three." He frowned. "But still in the top ten at least. I'll go get the marshmallows."

"The what?"

"We'll head out, away from all the EAVESDROPPERS, here."

Like Stanley had suspected, four more ghosts left the room, vacating from their spot behind the couch. He would have laughed if it wasn't so annoying. The kids were still obviously confused about what was going on, but they were figuring out the ropes. It was like prison, only more- Oh no wait. This was exactly like prison. They were more or less running a prison, and keeping the local ghosts in line.

Something about the thought made Stanley bristle. It caused his hairs to stand on end and his fists to clench. He chose to go find his brother, rather than dwelling on thoughts that made him uncomfortable. Every single cupboard was unlocked by the time he reached the kitchen. There were bags of marshmallows stuffed under one of his arms, and his rolled up magazine in the other. He had one of his note-taking books clamped between his teeth, but that did not seem to be stopping Stanford from chewing on something. Sugar cubes. He could already smell the coffee brewing, ready for their next misadventure... No... That was in the past. Stanford wasn't hunting monsters with a fraction of the intensity he had when they were young.

Stanley filled up their matching mugs with exactly what they needed, and then trooped out to the back yard. Dipper and Mabel curiously followed, all while lighting the way for them. Stanford tried to say something, but his mouth was full.

"Watch for that bottomless pit." Stanley translated.

Dipper raised an eyebrow, and merely floated over the gaping hole of dubious proportions.

The grass on their property was perpetually tall. Stanford had somehow angered the spirit that inhabited their lawn, and it had cursed them by making the grass stay at exactly the same height, no matter how many times they cut it. Not really a problem, since both of them weren't interested in cutting the grass to begin with (read, they were too easily tired out by mowing) and neither wanted to pay some teenager to do it for them.

The tall grass concealed the bottomless pit (at least until it was too late) amongst other things. Rusted parts of abandoned inventions, long since chucked into the back, lay tangled between shoots. There were white-and-brown mushrooms, which took advantage of the damp provided by the grass. Stanley had trained them to grow in patterns after discovering they could be bribed to move with shiny rocks. From the attic window, it was possible to see the message "Stanley is the handsome twin" written. But at ground-level, nothing but green was visible.

They trampled to the edge of the property. It was here the curse started to wear down a little. There was a circular patch of dirt, and dead, blackened grass surrounding it. A few logs were already piled in the center, waiting for them. They were right by the forest that encircled the house. The house was barely visible. The back porch was unlit, and the only light came from the attic. It was a small, triangular patch of gold in the dark of the night.

Within moments, they had a fire going, and were sitting around it. The light would keep most of the unwanted away, (three more who had been following them flew off when the fire began) and the distance from the house made the message clear: they wanted privacy.

He took out a pocket knife, and then broke off branches from a near-by tree. He sharpened one end, and speared a marshmallow on the other. The twins looked at him strangely.

"What? We may as well get some use out of this fire. I've even got gelatin-free ones too."

They shrugged, and started to roast marshmallows as well. Mabel had taken the gelatin-free. (Perhaps it had to do with her pig, and knowing where it came from?) She had quickly torched hers, turning it into a burning, melted mess. The sickly-sweet smell of burnt marshmallows spread through the air. Then, she reached for another, and it met the same sticky fate as the first.

"I always take mine burnt." She announced, taking a bite out of her food.

Mabel didn't seem to mind the temperature (or her braces) as she ate... Mabel... the ghost-like child... was... eating? Stanford was about to point this out, but everyone was just as surprised as him.

"How corporeal are you?"

"I dunno'." She said through her mouthful of food. "I couldn't eat before."

"I think you two should explain how you got to where you are now."

"Right."

They both swallowed hard, and then looked at each other.

"We talked-

"-and we're ok with telling you."

"Well, to start, I guess we should say that I'm Dipper, and this is Mabel Pines."

"P-" Stanford stopped himself, before they could get off topic. "Go on."

"We're twins, and were born in 1999. We're going to be thirteen, right on the last day of summer."

"We're also kinda'-" She squeezed her brother's hand. "Cursed."

There was a loud exhale from Stanley, as if he had been holding his breath the entire time. No one looked at him however. Stanford was focused on listening to their story, all while trying to jot down notes in his book.

"How so?"

"We're getting weaker. We can't touch things, eat. You know, more like... Ghosts. Except sometimes not. Eventually, we will be."

"Do you know when eventually is?"

"The next ecli- ecla-"

"Eclipse."

Instantly, he ran through every possible eclipse that would happen in 2012. He kept track of them all, for research purposes. He found the date almost immediately. Then, Stanford stared up at the sky, where the moon hung above them. It's ghostly white could rival the twin's. It was like a great, large eye. It didn't need to have a pupil or iris to give off the impression. Not when their eyes were glazed over too.

"There's a lunar eclipse. This year, on November 28th."

Why had they bothered to come outside to avoid eavesdropping, when even the sky itself was watching what they did?

"That's so soon." Mabel whispered.

Stanford was amazed with how calm and level his voice seemed to be. It was as if he was not a part of the conversation, like his words and his thoughts were completely detached from the situation, the rather grim situation that seemed to be at hand.

"Do you know what you were cursed with?"

"No. But you know a lot about them, right? If we gave you some details could you...?"

He had done curse-breaking in his youth. Maybe if they gave more details on their situation, he could discover what kind of a curse had been placed upon them, and find a way to reverse the effects, before it was too late. Stanley noticeably perked up at this. He at least looked more miserable than he had when the twins were talking about their imminent deaths.

"I might be able to figure it out, yes."

"It was an accident!" She blurted out. "I pushed him out of the way, and the next thing I knew, I was in the hospital!"

"There was this creepy doctor." He said, filling in for his sister. "He kept saying that he could do something to save her. But everyone else said that once your body goes comatose for too long, you'll either die, or lose everything. Our parents already had the funeral booked, and they kept telling me that I needed to spend less time at the hospital. But the doctor kept on reminding me, every time I visited. He said that only I could get her to wake up, because she saved me. He said that if I..."

His voice died out. He went to staring at the flickering flames. There was a far-away look on his face, as if he was miles from where they were, still sitting in the hospital with his sister. He looked almost unreachable, too far gone for any of them to see, his eyes a focused on only things that he could see. Then, he outstretched his arm to the fire, as if he was going to shake hands with whatever invisible thing was before him. Common sense told him not to touch the flames however, no matter how cursed he was, and so his hand dropped again.

"Everyone kept saying that it wad a miracle, that I was a miracle, and must of had some crazy guardian angel looking out for me. They even got me Waddles as a get-better present!" She laughed a little, and her voice cracked. "But then we both started to fall through things, and some of the time we were invisible. We went back to the hospital, but he told us that was what we got for trying to cheat death."

"Then he gave us those mirrors, and told us not to break them-"

"-we never saw him again-

"-our parents had to deal with the loss of both of us-"

"-so we got sent here-"

"-and here we are."

There was a long silence, as he took every aspect of the story in. They were cursed, but not dead. There was still plenty of time for them to figure things out, too. He would clear his schedule of any projects and focus on this. The fire was starting to calm down, but no one bothered to add more wood. Stanford poked it with his stick. The end crumbled away into embers.

"Thank-you for telling us children. We can work on figuring this out, first thing tomorrow."

They both nodded, and got up from their seats. They vanished into thin air, but Mabel quickly returned, grabbing the bag of marshmallows before making a second exit.

"I'll stay out and watch the fire." Stanley said.

"You could just-"

Douse it. But Stanford figured that his brother wanted some time alone, to think.

"Alright. You want the marshmallows?"

"You want to foot the bill for new dentures after I eat them?"

Stanford took the remainder, not intent on losing money because Stanley got his false teeth stuck together again.

"Hey Sixer?"

"Yes?"

"Didn't Shermy have a kid? A son?"

"I was thinking the exact same thing."

"Should we-?"

"Let's leave it for now."

"G'night."

"Night."