literature

Through a Slender Opening, Part 32

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“So you like the new album, then?” Dipper asked hopefully.
The Multibear nodded. “Very much. Thank you for it. I have been trying for some time to hear their new songs on my ‘iPad’, but apparently one must have ‘credit’ to ‘download’ music.”
Norman and Dipper both stared. “You have an iPad?” the former asked.
“Recently, a hiker abandoned it as I was in the woods nearby, foraging.” A moment of searching through his cave later, the Multibear showed it to them. His foreclaw functioned just like a stylus. “It is quite remarkable, all the information that is available over this ‘internet’. The hourly weather forecast, the star charts and ecological data . . . The facilitated communication of ‘electronic mail’ and ‘forums’. For example, I now contribute regularly to several sites about northwestern American forests and wildlife conservation. I also recently discovered a free art site to display my cave paintings, and they seem unexpectedly popular. I have over 5000 ‘hits’ . . . Which, apparently, is a good thing.”
“What site is that?”
“It has the somewhat misleading title of ‘deviantart.com’. My account name is ‘cavebear2’.”
“There was another ‘cavebear’?” Dipper asked in mild disbelief.
“It astounds me as well. Though my inquires lead me to conclude that it actually belongs to a male human who finds beauty in black and white photographs of other unclothed, hairy, overweight male humans.”
Norman, Dipper, and Detoby all sat (or floated) in dumbstruck horror. They each would have preferred to watch their host combo-devour another elk rather than have that image in their heads.
“I am also currently in correspondence with a member of the royal family in a place called ‘Nigeria’,” the Multibear continued in blithe obliviousness. “He believes I am deserving of ‘funds’ from his ‘bank’—something which would give me credit and allow me to download more of BABBA’s songs.”
“Um . . .”
“Though I do find the repeated offers of ‘male enhancement’, cheap medicine from Canada, or knowledge of the secrets to female seduction rather pushy. It seems that, no matter how often I explain to my correspondents that I am sufficiently masculine, require no medicines of any kind, and never want for female companionship during the mating season, the offers continue.”
Dipper and Norman exchanged an extremely awkward glance.
{So . . . I don’t suppose you’d be able to share the secrets to seducing females?}
“What secret could possibly exist? You simply chase away all the other males in your territory. Then the females there will mate with you.”
{Intriguing . . . Lateral thinking . . .}
“And this ‘Angry Birds’ game . . . How would pigs manage to steal a bird’s eggs? The premise baffles me as much as these insistent offers.”
“Sounds like you, um . . . keep busy online, then,” Dipper observed.
“It is useful for those inevitable moments when nothing needs be done immediately. But there is always much for me to do—duties to fulfill, you understand—so I do not have as much time as I would like to explore all its features. But perhaps it is for the best,” the Multibear observed philosophically. “Too much free time melts the brain into pure silliness. How else does one explain the ridiculous actions of the thousands of cats who film and photograph themselves? With nothing else better to do all day, how else are they to pass the time? Though the real question is why they ‘upload’ their humiliation . . .”
Curious, Norman asked, “What duties do you have, exactly? I mean, you are a bear. Don’t bears just do whatever they like?”
“I am a Medium, jumpy child. Surely you know what responsibilities that entails?”
“Er . . . I didn’t know there were any.”
Somewhat dismayed, the Multibear inquired, “Have you never had the guidance of another Medium before?”
“Not really. I guess there was . . . sorta my uncle. But I wasn’t really allowed to talk to him.”
“This . . . troubles me . . .”
“S-sorry,” Norman apologized automatically. “I m-mean, he d-did tell me I had to stop Aggie—she was the vengeful g-ghost of a little girl they hanged as a witch—”
“That poltergeist?” Dipper asked.
The Multibear leaned forward interestedly. “Did you stop her? How?”
“I h-helped her move on.”
Eyeing him with newfound respect, the Multibear nodded his alpha-head. The rest had dozed off now that they were full of elk carcass. “That was very right. That is our role. We maintain the balance between the physical and the spiritual worlds. We bridge the divide between them.”
{Well, that’s something you already do, Bugaboo, by what I hear.}
“Is it?” the Multibear asked interestedly of the Jokergeist.
{Absaposalutely. The NorMedium’s always helping us spooky mooks. Passing on messages, helping us fulfill . . . well, unfulfilled dreams. And I’m willing to bet he’d help the heart-beatin’ cretins reach out to us if he was asked. He’s . . . You’re a good kid, Norman.}
“What’s he saying?” Dipper whispered to his friend, who blushed bashfully.
But before he could stammer out a reply, the Multibear declared, “You must continue to do this. Continue to help both sides. And should you ever encounter or ever even hear of a spirit that endangers the living of humankind, it is your responsibility to stop them. To put them to rest, if you can.”
“Um. Why him?” Dipper ventured. “I mean . . . He is just a kid.”
Norman made a face.
“Well, you are!” Dipper insisted. “So why does it have to be your responsibility?”
“Someone must do this,” the Multibear replied simply.
“But why is Norm that person?”
In a quiet voice, Norman answered, “Because . . . Because I can. That’s it, right? It’s my responsibility because no one else can do it.”
“Indeed, young Medium.” But the Multibear fixed his piercing, yellow gaze on the behatted boy seated beside him. When he spoke, his voice was emphatic, “But he does not have to do it alone. Just as you, Warrior, do not have to fulfill your role alone.”
“My role?” Dipper repeated incredulously. “I don’t have a role.”
“You do. All have a role. Mine is to maintain the balance of predator, prey, and plant—to keep the balance of flesh and spirit among animal kind. Yours . . . You know yours, I think, though perhaps you do not know that you know it, Warrior.”
“Well, that was unhelpfully cryptic. Can’t you just . . . tell me the answer?” Dipper asked.
“It has more meaning if you discover it for yourself.”
Pointing to Norman, Dipper countered, “You just told him!”
“I did not tell him the answer. I confirmed that he was right.”
“Gah! That’s a distinction without a difference!”
“Perhaps.” It was impossible to tell for sure (given his snout), but it looked like the Multibear was smiling to himself. “But I will tell you one thing explicitly. I read the stars and I converse with many spirits—spirits of the wind, spirits of the woods, spirits of the mountains. They tell me much, and sometimes they even tell me about you.”
This was news to Dipper. “Me?”
“Yes. They tell me that you are often far too reckless. You must be more cautious. Both of you,” the Multibear stated fervently. “Beware of the spirits, creatures, beasts, and men you engage. Some are no more dangerous than the average being—dangerous only because they are far too easily frightened, or angered, or hurt into lashing out. But some are malicious and malevolent; they will lash out because they enjoy it. They will seek to inflict harm on others. On you, if you try to stop them. And I judge that you will try to stop such as these,” he concluded with a note of pride.
“Well, yeah. Of course,” Dipper said cavalierly.
“S-sure,” Norman agreed after his friend.
Detoby bit his lip worriedly. Were they not missing the point?
“Beware—not afraid, but aware,” the Multibear advised them. “Do not be reckless.”
And, after so sober and inspirational a speech, one of the non-alpha-heads burped in its sleep. Loudly. Norman and Dipper, both being teenage boys (or rather, boys in general—or rather, males) both began to titter.
“I suppose that means it is time for a digestion nap,” the Multibear observed. “I shall set my new CD to play continuously and sleep late into the afternoon. Because, my duties notwithstanding, you are correct, young Medium: I am a bear.”
{Heh. No one tells a bear where to sleep.}
“Not more than once.”
Dipper rose and stretched. “Glad you enjoy the CD. I’ll bring you the next one, too.”
The Multibear waved two out of eight paws dismissively. “You do not have to do that, Warrior.”
“Well, it’s sorta the least I can do. I did almost kill you,” Dipper pointed out self-deprecatingly.
“Wait. What?” Norman asked.
“Hmm. When you put it like that . . . I will expect a poster, as well.”
“Ha! You got it. See you later!”
Norman rose. “N-nice meeting you.” Then he hurried after his friend.
Detoby bowed low with a flourish of hat, horn, and rubber chicken (as every gentleman should). {Take care, Bugbear.}
“A word first, if I may,” the Multibear said quietly.
{Yessir?}
“I do not know why you have remained on this side of the veil for so long, and I will not inquire. Such is no affair of mine; your duties and goals are your own.”
Taken aback and more than a little nonplussed, the Jokergeist made no reply.
“But I judge that you care about these children—for the Warrior is right; they are but children,” the Multibear stated judiciously. “Yes, the Child of Stars and Earth and the Child of Spirits and Words . . . but children nonetheless.”
{I don’t follow what you mean.}
The alpha-head of the Multibear yawned. Then he asked, “Do you care for their safety?”
{Of course I do.}
“Then I ask you to protect them. Keep them safe. You might think there is but little you can do,” he added, sensing Detoby’s doubt. “But a little can accomplish a lot if it is in the right place.”
{Is there . . . something I should know?} the Jokergeist asked worriedly.
“There is everything that we should know, and nearly nothing that we do know in this world.”
Crossing his arms, Detoby observed, {You sure get a kick out of being cryptic. You’re a cryptkick.}
Shrugging two sets of shoulders, the Multibear declared, “I have no answers, only misgivings. Lately, it feels like something dark is moving in the valley, but I am not sure. If there is . . . Those two will try to seek it out. They may act recklessly, as children often do. You are an adult, so temper their impetuousness with your experience.”
{What experience?} Detoby asked shortly. {I’m a lousy journalist who tells lousy jokes, for crying out loud!}
“A little that can do a lot . . .” The Multibear yawned again. “A little, perhaps, with a big role . . .” He lay down, like a mountain lying down.
{And that’s it? You’re just gonna fall asleep like that and not tell me anything useful?}
“Protect the children . . . What more do you need to know?” he said muzzily.
{Fair enough,} Detoby grumbled discontentedly. {So I shouldn’t let them out of my sight, then? Yeah . . . But I suppose I can always come back if we need help, right?}
The Multibear made no reply other than a sound like “rrrr” which bears make while they sleep.
{Raiding revenuers, what have I got myself into this time?}
****
“Dude, there’s another goth coming down the road,” Soos announced from the window.
Wendy flicked over a page of her magazine. “You’re sure it’s not one of those earlier ones?”
“This one’s different. He’s wearing a cloak that’s, like, an actual cloak and not an old bed sheet. Thing is sweet. Must be a total babe magnet.”
“Think he’ll pay to take Kennedy Jenkins off our hands?”
“I don’t know. I hope so.” Soos shot a pitying glance at the still-bolted collateral closet. “I kinda feel bad for the dude, being abandoned like this.”
“You can only be friends with equals. Kennedy Jenkins doesn’t believe anyone is his/her equal; and that’s why they abandoned her/him,” Wendy said disinterestedly.
And then timidly, the Keeper of the Precepts (the goth in question) entered the Mystery Shack. “Excuse me, but I understand—”
“Samuel Turley!” Wendy exclaimed in mild surprise and equally mild delight.
“Oh. Salutations, Wendy.”
“Haven’t seen you much since my dad’s dance camp. Must be busy, leading a goth revolution.”
“Uh, yes. I am. Thank you for asking. Er . . . Is Her Dark Grace about?” he inquired worriedly.
“You mean Mabel? I think she’s upstairs. You’re not gonna demand to see her too, are you?”
The Keeper of the Precepts blanched. “No! And please don’t tell her I came by! She, um . . . Strictly speaking, she forbade any of us from bothering her. I’m just here to get the . . . the Imposter out of your hair. I heard through the Consortium that there’s a fine to be paid?”
“A two-souvenir minimum,” Soos confirmed.
“Why you doing this, Turley? Kennedy Jenkins is a jerk. Isn’t that why you’re, like, revolting?” Wendy asked pointedly.
“I’m doing this to spare Her Dark Grace further harassment. But also . . . The Imposter was no perfect leader,” the Keeper of the Precepts conceded. “But the Imposter was not a bad leader, either—does not deserve to be forgotten in a closet. All I have is . . . $34.78. Will that be enough money?”
Those must have been magic words, because Stan appeared as they were spoken.
“Gah!” The Keeper of the Precepts jumped back.
“That puts you on the cheap end of enough, kid, but it’ll do. A hat and a snowglobe—thank you, I will keep the change,” Stan said with the smoothness of a professional shyster. “Now, get that punk out of my Shack.”
“Goth, Mister Pines,” Soos corrected him.
“Whatever.” As the collateral closet was unbolted, Stan announced, “You’re free to go, kid. Meaning: get out, ‘cause you’re not free to stay. Here’s your souvenirs.”
The deposed Grand Goth, though hoarse from so much indignation, rose imperiously. “I do not want your knickknacks!”
“Fine. Soos, put these back into the inventory. We’ll sell them a second time. Double profits.”
Taking one look at the Keeper of the Precepts, the deposed Grand Goth sneered, “I do not need the charity of traitors and mutineers. I am the Grand Goth! The faithful will come secure my release!”
“There are none faithful to you. They’ve all either rejoined the Consortium or renounced the Dark Order completely,” he replied with heavy sorrow.
“Because of your disloyalty! Oath-breaker! Poseur-monger!”
“Because you were false! Did you think your hypocrisy would never be exposed?! Did you think you could lead forever?! We all knew the Promised One would come one day, didn’t we?!”
“Heresy! And you spread your heresies across the internet! I have seen the forums!”
“It isn’t heresy! It’s prophecy! If you would just look with eyes unlightened by personal ambition, you would see that for yourself. Come back to us,” the Keeper of the Precepts pleaded. “We have lost so many already . . . And will lose more across the globe, I fear, as the revolution spreads. Come back. I can convince the others to forgive you. Please.”
“Forgive me?! I AM THE GRAND GOTH! IT IS FOR YOU TO BEG MY FORGIVENESS!”
Stan pinched the bridge of his nose. “Not this again. Get them out of here.”
But before anyone could make a move, Mabel entered in on the scene with Candy and Grenda. “What the heck is with all this yelling? Cut it out; I’ve got a freaking headache.”
“YOU! PRETENDER!”
In one fell motion, the deposed Grand Goth drew something from the pocket of the trenchcoat and lunged for Mabel! A thrust against her chest! She stumbled back—a splash of color over her heart!
Grenda caught her as she fell.
“Hambone?!”
“Mabel!” Candy screamed. “NOOOOOOO!”
“Your Dark Grace!”
“Hahaha! VICTORY!” the deposed Grand Goth bawled in triumph! “That sticker is PERMANENT!”
“Your sweater . . . Our hard work . . .” Candy lamented.
Mabel pushed herself back upright. “A ‘My Little Pony’ sticker?” she demanded harshly.
“Yes! Twilight Sparkle! A silly little girl who also plays at deep mysteries and dark knowledge! One who also pretends at eldritch secrets! To mark you forever as a poseur!”
Crossing over to the cash register (where she poured a little of Wendy’s Pitt onto a paper towel), Mabel observed acerbically, “For a hardcore goth, it sounds like you know an awful lot about this glorified Everybody-Get-Along show for preteen girls.”
“I . . . I looked it up online . . .”
Mabel dabbed at the sticker once, twice, and thrice. “I’ll bet you did. Well, if you had spent more time looking up permanent stickers, and less time looking up how to make princess-fairy horse costumes for your cosplaying conventions, you’d know permanent stickers . . .” She pulled it off easily, like a bandaid. “Are not all that permanent.”
“W-what?! But . . . But how?!”
“It’s Mabel-ship that’s really magic, hony,” she shamed her would-be shamer. “I know secrets whispered in the deep darkness. The Abyss and I are on a first name basis (it’s named Phil). Know why? Because I get what gothness really is. Despair is its essence, and I am the only person in this entire town who knows what despair even is.”
“S-stop pretending to be goth! Stop wearing that mocking crap!”
“I’m not pretending. You are. If I were to wear my regular clothes, I would still be more goth than you will ever be. Because I get that gothness isn’t about clothes or how hardcore one looks. Poseurs alone care about others’ perceptions, because they don’t comprehend the utter meaninglessness of them.”
“Stop talking like that! Stop ruining everything I like!”
“Real goths don’t care what other people say or do. Anyone who’s really into anything at all gives exactly zero craps about what anyone else has to say on the matter,” Mabel asserted with vitriol. “I’m not ruining gothness for you. You’ve never known it. But, hey, you can always join the drama club. You’d fit right in; they also like pretending to be things they’re not.”
Silence filled the room. A cold, hard silence.
The deposed Grand Goth stumbled back a step—as if stricken—then numbly staggered away.
“Wow . . .” Wendy mouthed from the register.
Mabel’s gaze settled on the Keeper of the Precepts, who fell to one knee. “Forgive my presence, Your Dark Grace. I only came to try and prevent the Imposter from attempting this kind of harassment.”
“Great job, Skippy. If this is how you well you do all your jobs, it’s little wonder the last person you advised went nutso-bananas.”
He gulped thickly. “As you say. What p-penance can—”
“You can’t seem to obey even the simplest order—i.e. you’re here now, not leaving me alone. Why should I bother giving you another order to fail at?” Mabel demanded icily.
“I’ll . . . I’ll just remove myself from your sight, then,” he murmured humbly.
“Yeah. You do that.”
Soos actually shivered—that’s how cold her tone was.
Once the Keeper of the Precepts had gone, Grenda cleared her throat. “S-so, um, you wanna—”
“No. Whatever you’re about to say, I don’t want to do it,” Mabel cut her off. “I’ve been hinting all day that my head is pounding, that I don’t feel like eating, watching movies, playing games, designing goth outfits for you two, or even hanging out. Now, because no one seems to be picking up on any hints, I am saying it explicitly in front of everyone. I don’t want to be around any of you.”
“W-we were just trying to help,” Candy said quietly.
“I DON’T WANT HELP! I WANNA BE ALONE!”
Everyone but Stan stumbled back, as if they had been driven away by the force of her shriek. Grenda and Candy looked like they might break down and cry. Wendy and Soos were utterly speechless.
Stan laid a hand on his great-niece’s shoulder, and a tremble ran through her small frame. Pressing her hands into her temples, she groaned quietly, “Gah . . . My head . . .”
“Go take some medicine and lay down, Mabel Syrup,” Stan ordered gently. “You’re upset and saying things that aren’t like you. Things you don’t mean.”
“Y-yeah . . . Sorry . . .” And she trudged from the room.
The Multibear teaches us the secret to seducing females.
He also advises the boys (and Detoby) that all have a role to play.
And even the smallest of roles can make all the difference.

The Grand Goth strikes back!
© 2013 - 2024 JKL-FFF
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IAmADragonAndANerd's avatar
HAHAHA! STICKER!!! You had me there!