Books Gravity Falls Journal 1 Novels & Stories

She flailed wildly, the bubbles from her mouth seeming to form my name. Shannon did not notice anything amiss at all. He seemed to assume I was begging him for Gwen’s sake, so he kicked me harshly and laughed. “That’s more like it! Give me the documents and text that old fart right now, saying you want me to take your position!” He was quite hasty, but that was just how I wanted it. I knelt in his direction and wept. “Alright, I’ll hand you the position right now! Just spare the innocent!”

The flickering candlelight cast long shadows across the cramped safe house room as Lena sat curled on the worn couch, Sarah’s journal open once more on her lap. The weight of her sister’s words pressed on her chest, each page peeling back layers of deceit that stretched far beyond what she had imagined.

Because carrying your silence inside me has started to rot. And I won’t let it kill me. There’s a life growing inside me. And it deserves more than this darkness. So I’m choosing light. Even if it burns. Even if it blinds. Even if you never come back. —J I closed the journal and pressed it to my chest. I didn’t feel better. But I felt… emptied. In a good way. Like something poisonous had finally left me. There would be other days when the grief returned. I knew that.

All useless. Then, her fingers stilled as her eyes landed on a brown hardcover journal that lay tucked beneath everything else. “These were all that came with you,” Cassandra said. Swallowing, Mirena reached forward and picked it up. The journal felt heavier than it should have, as if it carried more than just ink and paper. Carefully, she unfastened the lock and opened it. Old pages greeted her with faded handwriting. And then, something slipped out from between the pages, falling onto her lap.

“Maybe it’s one of those books that only appears under certain lighting.” I blinked my eyes rapidly. “… Seriously?” “Try it!” She clapped her hands together while she continued to bounce up and down. At this point I was willing to try anything. I lifted the journal toward one of the overhead lights. Nothing. I turned it sideways. Still nothing. I tilted it every direction imaginable. Nothing changed. “Maybe shake it,” she said as she stared at the journal and shook her body. I stared at Lyra. “You think words are going to fall out?”

"I was planning to." We carefully stepped around the skeleton. I crouched one last time. The journal still rested beneath the skeletal hand. At least... I thought it did. I reached down and picked it up. The instant my fingers touched the leather cover— The world shattered. Pain exploded behind my eyes. Images flooded my mind. Not one. Hundreds. Thousands. Walking. The cave. The lake. The crystals. The waterfall. Turning left. Turning right. Running. Falling. Writing. Always writing.

I brought the journal back to my room, even though I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was crossing an invisible line. My hands were a bit unsteady as I shut the door and sat cross-legged on the bed, the old leather book sitting on my lap like something sacred. The smell of old paper filled the air with a hint of floral, like long-gone lavender. I hesitated for a moment before slowly flipping through the pages again, this time taking my time, letting my eyes trace the delicate handwriting that seemed to overflow with emotion in every sentence.

she softly whispered. His lips trembled as he replied, “More than my life itself.” “Then don’t choose silence,” she urged. “Not for yourself. Not for me.” The ghost’s laughter cut through both of them. “Beautiful lies. She tells you not to choose. But when the gravestone closes, she will be the one erased.” Vincent felt the words twist inside him like sharp blades. The ghost stretched out a smoky hand, and the journal appeared in its grip, with its pages fluttering open like wings. It glowed red as it opened, revealing dozens of names carved in blood within its pages.

A shiver ran down my spine. Retracing my steps, I padded over to the table, which had the item lying on it. It was a book, a really, really old book. Flipping through the pages, I discovered it was a journal, its pages detailing the fall of a great alpha king. My brows scrunched. What the hell is an alpha? However, before I could read further, an unseen force hit me, nearly sweeping me off my feet.

It looks like… a journal. My heart beats faster. I carry it back to the chair and sit, holding the strange book carefully. It feels fragile in my hands, like it might fall apart if I’m not gentle. When I open it, the pages let out a soft crackle. They’re yellowed with age, but still readable. A few pages in, something slips out and lands on my lap. It’s a picture.