Moist. Dank. These were all words that could, quite accurately, describe the den of sin known as the Mystery Shack.
Its shadow loomed over the entirety of Gravity Falls, plunging it into a cold, bitter darkness. The ugly aberrations that covered the walls of the hallways had become home to spiders, and from the kitchen wafted the smell of burning flesh. But the living room was the worst of all, for that was where the Pines family normally resided.
On the grease-laden arm chair sat two children, deafeningly silent, as was everything else in the room. Adjacent, on an office chair, their great uncle sat, glowering at the floor.
"Grunkle Stan?" Mabel, the girl, said.
"I'm hungry."
The older man stayed as he was, moving only his chapped lips. "Then you can eat my entire ass."
Her eyes, already doelike and innocent, widened a little more. Shocked. Hurt. Her brother, a boy they called Dipper, pulled an arm around her protectively. "Ignore him. I'll go get us some food."
He released her and pushed himself off the plaid piece, gathering his meager possessions from where they lay strewn across the dust-coated floor. "Be back before nightfall or I won't let you back in." He ignored the man as always, and stepped out into the grey.
He tugged a map, worn and wrinkled, free from a pocket in his bag; various shades of blue from being patched together by his sister many times. Unfolding it delicately, lest one of the many white-furred creases finally rip, he looked to it with inquiry about his surroundings.
The town was a claustrophobic place, almost as if locked in time. But just almost. For, as Dipper could now see, one modern amenity had been successful in penatrating the Eldritch dome, having its way with the crumpled folds before leaving, only a small scar and many sleepless nights left to mark it's conquest: A Burger King.
The boy's eyes traced a path from this find back to the Godless chamber in whence he bed. It was near the Tentacle Forest, but as long as he approached by way of the Dam of the Damned, he should be fine.
He tore his eyes from the printed parchment and puffed out his juvenile chest. For his sister. If he found he no longer had the strength to do it for himself, he would find some for her.
And to spite his uncle.
"CSREBSKSKB SQ M WAS OJHL NJ 1JN W KKHOHS8K WAS JJ WAS OK7U US NJ W I SIJ WAS IW84 THY WSJ" Dipper lunged out of the woods at the last possible moment, leading the creature, oh I dare not describe it, to defeatedly and woefully slink away, back into the shadows. He heaved, sharply drawing in the rank air of the clearing, coughing as it collided with the breath trying to escape. He managed onto his feet, still retching. Still shaking. But alive. Still so gloriously, indisputably alive. And now, as he glared across the lifeless patch before, he could see that what would keep him that way.
His assertive stride parted the green mists as he went forward, pushing them back from the eerie streetlight that illuminated both his prize and their glow. His confidence never faltered until he found himself right upon the glass and metal door, palm nearly touching this last obstacle. But he stopped, suddenly overcome with uncertainty. He let his arm lower, as he leant into the translucent substance, as to take a glimpse of the inside. His breath teased mottled panes, internal bubbling hiding it's treasures from the lad. He took a deep, shuddering inhalation. And he entered the restaurant.
It wasn't what he had expected, neither decaying nor dirty. It looked... normal. Almost like those he'd patronaged when he was outside the town's ramparts... how long ago that was......
The boy was shocked out of his mournful longing by the sound of a voice from the counter. "May I help you, sir?" The lips that spun this clear colloquialism rested on the face of a boy near his age, a little darker and a little taller. "Oh, yeah, sorry." Dipper stuttered, before clearing his throat and surveying the options, focusing on the combos, as to secure the most nurishment possible.
Upon making his decision, he confidently announced it to the employee. "I'll have a Number 15, please." The teenager nodded. "Got it." He assured, heading towards the back kitchens, where other employees could be heard mucking about. He returned a short while later, presenting the eagerly waiting child with a steaming paper bag. "Enjoy your meal." "THANK YOU."
The one known as Dipper scurried to the back of the restaurant, planning to eat what he had purchased as his share right there at that moment. Frantically molesting the wrapper out of the way, he closed his eyes and happily took a huge chomp.
And that, my friends, is where it all went wrong.
For he noticed something, something wrong about the burger, about the taste, about the texture. He chewed, quickly, panicking, desperate to force it all down. When he did, he froze in absolute fear, staring down into his hand, unerved but not unsure of what he must do. With trembling fingers, he peeled back the top bun, and confirmed all of his worst fears. His heart rate shot up til twas almost as high and arched as his eyelids, his breathing somehow now much louder, the sharp intake of it he instinctively took no match for the icy hands of dread around his throat. Concern was called to him from the boy at the counter, but it sounded so far away. The world spun, plused, and faded around him, overwhelming his brain with the feeling of static. As he looked on helplessly, the boy's splintered mind undeniably identified its breaker.
The last thing he'd want on his Burger King burger. Someone else's foot fungus.
