Books Gravity Falls Journal 1 Novels & Stories

The world vanished. Gravity ripped away from them as the cable unspooled at terminal velocity. Clara choked on a scream, her face burying into the wet linen of Julian’s shoulder as they plummeted down the sheer, vertical face of the skyscraper. The wind howled in her ears, the lateral force throwing them sideways, smashing Julian’s shoulder hard against the tinted glass panels of the 58th floor, then the 55th. Above them, sparks flew into the night as the operatives fired down the line, their bullets pinging harmlessly off the reinforced steel casing of the winch mechanism sixty feet above.

Then the writing changed. --- Today, Ariana took her first steps. She fell after the third one and looked at me as if the ground had betrayed her. When I laughed, she frowned at me, stood up again, and tried once more. That is who my daughter is. She falls. She rises. --- A tear slipped down my cheek. I wiped it away before it landed on the page. Lyra looked over from the cupboard. "What is it?" I turned the journal towards her. She read the page and smiled through watery eyes.

I squeezed his hand, letting the silence stretch between us, comfortable, heavy, full of everything we still hadn’t said. His apartment welcomed us like a sanctuary. The river glittered gold beyond the glass wall, late sunlight turning the teal-and-gold painting into liquid fire. He helped me settle on the wide leather couch, pillows stacked behind my back, then disappeared into the study and returned with a locked mahogany box the size of a briefcase. The moment he opened it, the air changed. A scent rose, old vellum, ink, ozone, something ancient and metallic that made the hairs on my arms stand up. The journals were thick, bound in dark calfskin that felt warm to the touch, as if they’d b

I roast him for having exactly nine identical black t-shirts, and he fires back by questioning why I need four different types of hairbrushes. But the lighthearted mood takes a genuinely bizarre turn when Aiden unzips his backpack to pull out his school stuff. Out tumbles his advanced calculus textbook, and along with it, an antique leather journal that looks decades old. I lean over, picking up the journal. "What's in the journal? Hidden formulas to solve the universe?" Aiden blinks, a sudden, endearing flush creeping up his neck as he quickly snatches the ancient journal out of my hands. He handles it with a strange mix of reverence and panic.

Another secret, his fascination with how things worked, a natural talent for mechanics he downplayed around everyone but me. "Find anything interesting?" I asked, settling beside him. "Just an article on new combustion engine designs," he said, quickly closing it. "May texted. She's running late but said to start the pasta without her." I nodded, but made no move to get up. Instead, I pulled my backpack closer and withdrew a small leather-bound journal I'd been filling for months now. My heart hammered against my ribs, partly from nervousness, partly from the constant strain of breathing. "..hm, what's that?" Rafael asked, eyeing the journal curiously.

He continued to pull me further away from the hospital until we found a small park just close by. There was a blanket spread out over the grass under a huge tree with a bag on it. "Surprise," he said, "I know it's not much but I can't exactly take you anywhere far from the hospital considering your condition," he said sheepishly as we both sat down. "It's still perfect," I answered. "I really missed the Sun," I smiled. "Anything is seriously better than being stuck in that hospital room." Nick chuckled, "I thought you'd say something like that. Hence I made it even perfect by getting you this," he said and removed the whole Fallen boxset from the bag.

I never paid much attention back then, but I’m sure my mom said it was fascinating and creative, just like gran – full of strange dreamlike fairy stories, crushes on cute boys in the small Irish village of gran’s childhood, complaints about school and bossy adults. But as I open the journal, I’m met with blank, creased pages. I flip through the entire thing, looking for any sign of writing, but all I see is white paper, strangely blotched with ink, and shapes which might have been words at one time but have now faded away. A whiff of ancient salt hits my nose, and it falls into place. Water damage. Gran’s journal has been in water. Probably the sea, by the smell of it.

I voiced out. "And whose fault was that?" she said glaring at me. Your psychotic mind, I mumbled beneath my breath, just then she decided to drop one of her crutches, she tried to make it look like an accident but failed miserably. She's going to be the death of me, mumbled before adding a string of curse words to the statement. I hurried over to her and supported her falling figure by putting my hand around her waist leading her to the nearest table. I ignore how right it felt to place my hand around her waist or how she seemed to fit perfectly in my arms every time I carry her. I went to pick up the fallen crutch and made my way back to her.

It was as if the world outside had disappeared in a blanket of ink. Her body felt heavy, and she decided to sit on the bed. It was pretty soft, and it was nothing like she'd ever been on. She opened the drawer and saw a small, leatherbound journal with the name Dorothy Stein on it. Carefully, she opened the peeling leather covers and read the first entry, which was miraculously legible.

Rain fell heavily as Nickey stepped off the bus, the cold water soaking his worn coat. The bag on his shoulder dragged him sideways, forcing him to lean awkwardly to stay upright. His bag, half open, betrayed him, a journal slipped out and landed in a puddle with a soft splash. Nickey bent down, hands trembling, and picked it up. The damp page that had slipped out clung to his fingers, smudged but still legible. His gaze fell on a sentence that slammed into him.