I sat in the room Stanford designated as mine, my stomach full from the burger and french fries that I had from a local diner.

Greasy's Diner was the local 'fine dining' establishment of Gravity Falls—a small logging-themed restaurant with food that was as greasy as the name suggested. It's greasy but delicious all the same.

It reminded me a bit of the trucking diner that I stepped foot in when I first woke up four years ago.

Gravity Falls did not have many food options, there was a small variety of diners (three to be exact, and all of them were in a business war with each other) and all of them served only American food.

There was no source of fast food—even the nearest Starbucks was over an hour away.

Gravity Falls is so small that by the time the local movie theater even got a movie, it was already on VHS.

Stanford had driven us to the diner in his brown Ford, something I just had to make a few stupid jokes about to which the Dr. only rolled his eyes. I noticed the way the townsfolk would stare and point him out.

Apparently, according to Stanford, he was a bit of a recluse when it came to the rest of the town—often choosing to delve into his work rather than form any bonds. Taking me to dinner was a special occasion seeing as he usually cooked all his meals—he dared to tell me it'd been six months since he had actually been out to eat in the town.

When we got back to his home, Stanford let me know that he would be up late working in his lab. I offered to keep him company, but he kindly refused and stated that he did not want me to end up like him... sleep-deprived.

Rather, he encouraged me to retire to my room and read through the journal before getting a good night's sleep.

According to him, once I get through editions one and two of the journal and start joining him in the forest—then sleep would turn into a rare gift.

The joke was on him though because I never sleep.

Literally.

The one thing that I had not told anyone in fear of being sent to either a psych-ward or some crazy government-testing facility was that since I had opened my eyes in that cold rain I did not sleep.

To be fair, I never tried, but that was because I never felt the need to.

I never really got tired—not tired enough in the sense that most people claim to be at least. Mental exhaustion was a real thing, but physical exhaustion was not so much. It's what helped me keep my grades up and my intelligence sharp all these years... I had to find something to do in the middle of the night when everyone except me was sleeping.

I did not tell this to Ford—hell, I did not even mention my amnesia. It appeared that he himself did not even know about it, the school had not told him.

Perhaps after a few weeks of working with him and getting to know him, I would tell him. After all, I wanted answers to my past, and if he could help me then I would certainly not look in the other direction.

And just maybe if I grew to trust him enough I would let him know about my inability to sleep. Once I deemed if he was a mad scientist who would turn me into an experiment or not.

But seeing that butterfly trapped in a jar earlier along with many other live and dangerous creatures in his lab was definitely not alleviating. To be fair though, everything he had trapped was some sort of monster that would probably kill someone if it was out in the forest.

I had long since shifted the couch and tugged out the pullout bed. Surprisingly, the mattress was thicker and more comfortable than I was expecting. I lay on my stomach, feet in the air as I smoked a cigarette and read through the book.

Something inside of me was warning me that Stanford probably would not like the idea of me smoking, so I also decided to not mention that bad little habit of mine to him.

All I had on was a big-holed t-shirt and socks. My underwear was anything but modest—silk and lace tight knickers. Hopefully, Dr. Pines did not walk in otherwise he'd witness the sight of his 'pupil' laying on her stomach, no pants on, smoking a cigarette whilst reading his journal.

My eyes darted over the pages, I did one of the things that I did best and ate the knowledge that Stanford was practically spoon-feeding me.

The entire night consisted of me staying awake, as per usual.

There were only two things that caught my attention. The first one was Stanford finally turning in for the night, his footsteps walking past my door and into his room. He momentarily paused outside of my door, most likely trying to figure out why my lights were still on at such a late hour, but he ended up leaving me alone.

He probably just figured I had passed out with the lights on.

That happened around 2:00 in the morning.

The next odd thing to happen occurred at 3:33 AM in the dot—the record player suddenly switched on. I had been in the middle of page 15, reading up on the 'bad fairy', a beer-bellied magical creature that hexed humans.

Obviously, it freaked me out a bit when the record player suddenly switched on

"Ticking away the moments that make up a dull day
You fritter and waste the hours in an offhand way..."

Pink Floyd was playing, the same song that I had been listening to upon entering Gravity Falls. The song 'Time' was from the album 'Dark Side of the Moon' and while I did love that song and album, this was getting a bit creepy.

Snapping the journal closed, I stood up and wandered over to the record player. Pursing my lips, I quickly turned off the music. How the fuck did Pink Floyd get in there in the first place?

I was positive there were no records in it the last time I checked.

Nevertheless, I took out the record and grabbed the casing it belonged in. Sliding the record in, I hummed curiously while flipping it around.

The familiar 'Dark Side of the Moon' album picture greeted me. A simple white triangle floating in space with a rainbow exploding from behind it.

I stared at the picture for a long second, unable to tear my eyes away from it. And just as I was about to put it back in its place under the record player, it started moving.

My brows furrowed, confusion overtaking me at what the fuck I was seeing.

Was this my first run-in with the supernatural in this weird little town?

The triangle on the album cover started to shake ever-so-slightly—and in the next second, it started flickering from gray to rainbow. As though all of the color was trying to drain from it but could not.

I tilted my head at the weirdness, utter confusion taking hold of me.

"Ain't no way I'm tripping out—I haven't smoked anything other than a cigarette!" I hissed, speaking to myself furiously before forcing my eyes away from the trippy album.

Mentally counting to ten, I closed my eyes and made it a point to get my head straight. And when I opened my eyes, looking back down at the album cover, it was back to normal.

"Fuck's sake..." I mutter, shoving the album in its place under the record player and making my way back to the bed.

I shuffled under the covers, getting warm before turning off the lights and only leaving on a lamp. For the first time ever, I considered trying to force myself to fall asleep.

Alas—I chose to grab the book that piqued my interest earlier.

Ender's Game.

The literature dork in me took hold as I cracked open the book and started reading—my body not craving even an ounce of sleep.

I read for another few hours before eight a.m. finally hit. At that moment, I put the book that I was halfway through away and started my easy morning routine.

AKA: I left the room, took a quick shower, and changed into new clothing for the day.

Stanford was still asleep when I grabbed the first edition of his research journals from my room and made my way to the kitchen. Placing the journal on the table, I snooped through the scientist's refrigerator.

Eventually, as I stole and started cooking eggs, bacon, and toast: Stanford came downstairs groggily.

He was wearing plaid pajamas, a red robes tied over his comfortable clothing as he yawned and rubbed his eyes from under his thick glasses frames. It was odd seeing as he looked so different than he did the previous day, when he was wearing the trenchcoat and smart clothing underneath it.

"Breakfast?" He questioned tiredly, taking a seat at the table.

I turned from the stove where I was pan-frying bacon.

"Uh-huh, I figured a thank you was in order..." I explained, taking the last of the bacon that I cooked and placed it on one of two plates.

Moving to put the hot pan in the sink, I quickly grabbed both plates and walked toward the table. Setting one down in front of Stanford, a nice-looking plate full of bacon, eggs, and toast—I set the other plate down on the seat across from him.

In the next instant, I whirled to grab both cups of orange juice.

"For?" Standford questioned with a suspicious raise of his brows, but took a good bite of the bacon and moaned at the taste.

I tried not to let that noise get to my head.

"Accepting me as your student—I got through about a quarter of the journal last night!" I said happily.

Stanford looked surprised. "That's far for how much information I have crammed into each page. Did you sleep—I saw your light still on when I went to bed last night..."

"Of course!" I lied. "I just fell asleep while reading the journal on accident..."

Stanford slowly nodded, but something in his eyes looked like he did not fully believe me. "Ah, well please make sure that you are still getting a healthy amount of sleep—nothing in my journal is worth hurting your health over..."

"I know, don't worry about me..." I waved him off lightly.

Stanford said nothing for a few moments, simply staring at me through narrowed eyes as he chewed.

"Very well..." He finally said. "Do you have any questions about it?"

"Actually!" My eyes lit up and my mouth was moving faster than I could comprehend, hurling question after question at my young teacher-of-sorts. "Yeah..! The bad fairy, how did you manage to trick him out of hexing you?"

And that at started our two-hour discussion over breakfast of nearly every creature on the pages I had read so far. Stanford looked more than happy to answer them, rambling with each answer he gave.

His brown eyes glimmered, and I got the sense that Stanford (despite the fun that he was having to study such anomalies) had been lonely for a good while. He was incredibly eager to share all his knowledge and answer questions.

Some questions he had never even thought about and therefore did not have an answer to. Those questions he promised that we could find the answer to together.

That Thursday passed quickly, especially when considering that we did not leave the cabin. Near the middle of the day, Stanford went down to his lab to study some carpet experiment he had been working on and left me to watch sitcoms on the television.

Actually, I was supposed to be reading through the journal but I decided to take a break seeing as I would be doing that all night.

I'd asked Stanford if I could accompany him with his 'experimental rug' but he claimed he wanted to make sure it was stabilized before he exposed me to it. When Standford came up from that lab that evening, he found me lying on the couch—the television playing softly in the background—as I read through the journal.

He cooked dinner for us while I sat at the table reading through the passages on Wendigos and Stanford's little run-in with one.

He sat across from me as the chicken baked in the oven, writing his happenings with the 'experimental rug' in his third research journal. As much as I wanted to be snoopy and stand behind his shoulder to see exactly what the rug was capable of, the Wendigo story had me glued to my spot.

Stanford first ran into the creature in his fourth month of living in the town—a massive beast with sharp teeth and arching horns. He described it as looking like it was straight from hell itself.

The thing, of course, attacked Stanford as Wendigos typically ate the flesh of humans. Despite being dragged to its cave and chained up: Stanford was smart. Very smart.

He got out of the chains while the beast was away, and when the Wendigo finally came back—Ford used his lighter and set it on fire. That's how he figured out that Wendigos are incredibly flammable and the best way to kill them was by fire.

It was horrifyingly interesting.

I would not say this out loud as I knew that it would concern Stanford if I heard what I was thinking—but I wanted to find a Wendigo of my own. I wanted to hunt it and kill it.

The thought of setting something on fire stroked something deep inside of me that made me happy. A twisted thought and feeling that I knew not to admit to the world for fear of being locked away with the rest of the crazies.

As I turned the page, I was greeted by an entry of something called a weremaid.

I decided that was a good stopping point for the moment, closing the journal and watching Stanford who was standing and preparing two plates with his back to her. I smirked at this, reaching across the table and plucking edition 3 into my hands.

I read through the entry, eyes widening in shock at what was written.

The Electron Carpet (a.k.a. Experiment 78) is a shag carpet that allows one to switch bodies with others using static electricity. Or that was the goal, at least, Stanford was writing about some complication he was facing.

Such as the static not being strong enough and causing only half of a conscious to switch. He was testing it out on field mice.

I jumped as a plate of chicken and corn was suddenly slammed down in front of me, my head snapping up and my eyes wide as I took in Stanford towering above me.

"Well, aren't you a naughty girl..." He clicked his tongue and I raised a brow at his wording.

I did not stutter, caring little for if he found my actions invading. Instead, I pointed out my thoughts.

"Your carpet is made of polyester alone—you need to add more wool and fur particles to amp up the electrons. I theorize that material will make it powerful enough to fully make the switch of consciousness..." I explained.

Stanford stared down at me with hard eyes before suddenly placing his plate in the spot next to mine and dropping in the chair a second later. His lips quirked up in the corners and he stared at me almost proudly.

"That's exactly what I was thinking while I was cooking..." He smiled happily. "How about tomorrow I let you see the Electron Carpet?"

I grinned wolfishly in reply.

The rest of dinner was spent swapping stories and getting to know each other a little more. Mostly I got to know Stanford as he talked about his time in Gravity Falls. He asked me a few questions about college and fewer about high school and my home life.

When he questioned me about how my parents took the news of me getting this opportunity, I casually took a bite of the chicken and said...

"I'm a foster kid—I don't have parents..." It was not a lie but it certainly was not the full extent of it.

Stanford paused, his mouth hanging open as a piece of chicken was stabbed on his fork. His eyes were wide behind his glasses, the man taken highly off-guard by my unexpected words.

"Oh! I'm sorry! I didn't realize—!" He was stuttering, a bright blush taking over his face as he tried to find the words.

I hid a smile and waved him off.

"It's fine, Dr. Pines! It's always been that way, I don't have parents that I even remember to be sad about!" I explained.

Stanford still looked guilty but did not prod me further. It was obvious that by my words he thought I had simply been in the foster system too long to remember my parents. I did not bother to correct his assumption.

"Well, my parents weren't all that if it helps. Dad was a stern car salesman and my mother was a pathological liar—she claimed to be a psychic which I still don't know if she was being real with or not. And my twin brother whom I used to be closer than anything ruined my chances of getting into the college of my dreams..." Stanford explained, cutting into his chicken a bit harder and taking a more aggressive bite.

I leaned back in my chair, crossing my arms and blowing part of my fringe out of my face.

"Mmm, yeah—Backupsmore University..." I clicked my tongue thinking of the random university that a genius like him graduated from. "That's rough buddy..."

It still does not add up to me how a genius like him who no doubt graduated with the highest GPA of his class was not able to get into any better of a university. Nevertheless, Backsupsmore provided him with everything he needed to be successful in life.

"Rough is an understatement," He grumbled under his breath, obviously still in a bad mood.

The rest of dinner was silent as Stanford steamed in his own anger at the past. And I did not bother even to attempt to pull him out of it, simply enjoying my chicken and basking in how oddly pleasant the feel of someone else's vexation gave me.

Another quality that would probably have me sent to the madhouse.

Stanford went to bed earlier that night, choosing to go into his room rather than back down into the lab.

I was up all night reading through Ender's Game and the journal—finishing over half of it by the time the first rays of sun broke through the heavens. That night, nothing odd happened.

But in the morning, Stanford stared at me suspiciously as we ate cereal and questioned me on how I slept. Multiple times.

There was absolutely no way for him to know that I had not slept though, so I continued to do one of the things that I do best. Lie.

"Oh—I slept wonderfully! I had a dream that I can't remember now but I do remember how nice it was!" I said in mock cheerfulness as Stanford stared at me through narrowed eyes.

He eventually dropped it when I mentioned my excitement over getting to see the Electron Carpet. 

The Electron Carpet was cool to look at, and he showed me what was happening with the mice. Based on the brain activities—it was apparent that only half the consciousness was being transmitted before ultimately disappearing.

That's when we got to work sewing multiple small fibers of wool and fur into the rug. It was making the rug fluffier and more comfortable which was a bonus to the power it admitted by the end of the day.

While it was not ready to test on humans, the mice testing had gone extremely well. Their consciousness had successfully been switched and was only able to be switched back upon the power of the rug.

It was an accomplishment that Stanford rewarded us with by taking us out for dinner. This time, it was to one of the other diners in town—a place called 'Lone Spur Dining'. The menu was very similar to Greasy's, the biggest difference was that their mac n' cheese killed me, brought me to heaven, and then back.

It was the best shit I ever had.

Stanford and I also ended up sharing a lava cake for dessert, both of us speaking less professionally and more friendly as we laughed. The lack of age gap between us was more apparent than ever at that moment: the moment when both of us were in the diner, laughing over our shared lava cake.

That night I finished the first edition of the research journal—my mind swarming with information about gnomes and aliens and unicorns and everything in between.

It was exactly 3:33 AM when I finished, closing the journal and setting it on the end table next to the pullout. A deep breath escaped me, my mind reeling and trying to catch up with everything I just read.

It still seemed just a bit surreal that everything written off as a myth in this world is actually real. But I was handling it better than I should have.

"When you close your eyes and go to sleep
And it's down to the sound of a heartbeat
I can hear the things that you're dreamin' about"

I jumped, eyes searching around the dim room frantically. Only a single lamp lit it up and the curtains were drawn across the window tightly. I never liked to be for my window to remain uncovered in the dark of the night when anything could be lurking.

Especially in a place like this where things of fantasy were real and monsters loiter. Not to mention the cabin was in the middle of the forest, who the fuck knows what is stalking outside these very walls.

My head snapped to the record player where it spun wildly—the tune echoing the room.

That was officially impossible, I knew for a fact that I did not put any record in the player. In fact, I had set the records on the other side of the room last night for fear of this exact thing occurring.

Slowly, I sat up and crawled out of the bed, my eyes set sharply on the record player. My heart pounded frantically and my first thought was that this was a ghost or phantom of sorts.

How funny was that? In the few days I had been in Gravity Falls, my mind had rewired itself to think that ghosts and phantoms were a reasonable explanation.

"I hear the secrets that you keep
When you're talkin' in your sleep"

I did not recognize the song, not until I got to the record player and saw the empty vinyl sitting next to it. Some band called 'The Romantics' was playing—and upon picking up the vinyl and looking at the songs listed in the back, I was willing to bet that it was the song 'Talking in Your Sleep' that was playing.

I did not sleep... and that only made this whole thing creepier.

Once again, the sensation of being watched made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. As though something was right behind me.

Whirling around, my eyes darted around only to see nothing. No dark shadows, no monsters—nothing. Only the dim room that was considered my bedroom while I stayed in this cabin.

I eyed my pullout which was scattered with messy blankets. Seeing as the only time that I spent in this room was during the night when Stanford slept, I did not see any reason to put the bed away.

Through the night, I lay wide awake in bed reading through the journal or some other novel. I was only halfway through Ender's Game.

Swallowing harshly, I stepped away from the record player. I had no doubt that this was a supernatural force messing with me, there was no way it wasn't. Not in Gravity Falls, at least. The only reasonable explanation is that Gravity Falls is weird and whatever was happening right now was weird.

Whatever the fuck this thing was is playing games with me. But I can play games right back.

With that, I did possibly the most unexpected thing—I embraced the oddity and chose to dance to the music. Lighting a cigarette and dancing around the room in nothing but a wife-beater and thong.

I presumed that based on the song, the weird thing haunting me wanted me to... go to sleep?

I had no idea, but something in me told me that its intention had something to do with my odd—or rather nonexistent—sleeping schedule. So, of course, I just had to do the opposite of whatever it desired and danced in the late hours when I should be asleep.

I had never heard the song, but as I spun and inhaled the smoke I found that I actually quite liked it.

A few minutes passed before the song ended and the arm suddenly popped up cutting off any hope of a new song.

I smiled at this before finishing the cigarette, making sure that it was completely out before tossing it into the corner trash.

"Sorry to let you down..." I hummed out loud to nothing in particular, sliding back into the pullout and opening Ender's Game.

Somehow I knew whatever was stalking me was irritated by my lack of reaction—I could feel it.

The rest of the night, I could feel it watching me. While nothing out of the ordinary happened, its presence was dominating and nearly suffocating. I did my best to focus on the novel until the sun finally peaked over the horizon and streamed light into my room.

When 9 a.m. eventually rolled around, I was standing from my bed and putting on new clothing for the day. A t-shirt hung loosely from my body but was tucked tightly into a pair of jeans. I did not bother putting on real shoes, only wearing slippers as I walked into the empty kitchen.

Choosing to start breakfast, I turned on the radio and hummed as I began making pancakes.

I paused when the radio went static and a familiar tune started playing.

"Ticking away the moments that make up a dull day
You fritter and waste the hours in an offhand way,"

It was a different song from the one that was played last night, but it was the same one that was played a few nights ago. 'Time' by Pink Floyd—it was in their album 'Dark Side of the Moon'.

My mind flashed to the picture of their album cover, the triangle. Shaking my thoughts away, I chose to ignore the being that was still no doubt messing with me and enjoyed the song as I cooked flapjacks.

"Kicking around on a piece of ground in your hometown
Waiting for someone or something to show you the way,"

I heard footsteps come down the stairs and groaning as Stanford appeared in the doorway to the kitchen. Smiling at him from over my shoulder, my ponytail flipping, I called out...

"Morning 'Ford..." I said, referring to him by a nickname I'd just decided on. "Hope you're hungry, I'm cooking flapjacks!"

Ford stumbled to the table and sat down—still adorned in his morning robe. He took off his glasses, rubbing his eyes and releasing a loud yawn.

"Ford?" He finally questioned, voice groggy with his exhaustion.

"New nickname, do you care if I call you that?" I flipped a flapjack, the pan sizzling as it landed once more.

There was a short silence at my question before he chose to answer.

"Not at all..." He finally decided on. "Just haven't heard that one before..."

"Well, new things are fun!" I said, grabbing two plates and putting pancakes on each, drizzling either plate with a fair amount of syrup.

Ford watched as I put the plate in front of him, taking a seat across and digging into my own breakfast.

We ate in silence for a few minutes before Ford cleared his throat.

"How'd you sleep last night?" He asked.

I considered telling him about the entity haunting me, but then that would lead to questions about why I had not been asleep. So I chose to lie. Again.

"Good!" I told him happily, not meeting his eyes.

Perhaps that's why I missed the way they narrowed and he pursed his lips suspiciously.

"You're lying..." He finally spoke, and that had me snapping my head up and staring at him in surprise. "Why are you lying? You haven't slept even an ounce since you've been here! It's been days. Are you scared? Having trouble falling asleep? You can't keep lying to me about this, Chuckie, I'm worried now! People can't go this long without—"

I cut Ford's worried rambling off by holding up a hand.

"Ford, you don't need to worry." I said firmly. "I never sleep."