Reverse Dipper Pines Novels & Stories

“Then we’ll make sure we get to.” Outside, the wind picked up. A howl echoed through the pines—far off, but real. And the scent of ash rolled in with the dark.

The Harlow Inn sat at the end of a quarter-mile gravel drive that wound through old-growth Douglas fir, the trees tall enough to turn the afternoon light green and cathedral-dim even before the clouds had properly settled in. Eli drove it slowly, partly because the rental car's suspension was already complaining about the state of the road, and partly because the inn appeared in stages through the trees and each stage gave him something new to calculate.