At first, I did not know a whole lot of things.

I knew simple things: physical things. Feelings.

Random facts: like what year World War 2 started or various math formulas.

I knew how to write, how to move my body, and how to speak.

I knew how to swim, how to dance, and even how to do a back spring—oddly enough.

But I did not know things like where I was born, how old I was, or even who my parents were.

I didn't know what my favorite dessert was, I couldn't remember the songs I loved or happy Christmas memories.

When I tried to think back on anything from before waking up in that cold rain all I found was a strong wall of nothingness.

In a nutshell, I did not know anything about myself other than that my name is Charlotte Ray—but I go by Chuckie—and one night I just appeared somewhere along State Route 66 outside of Holbrook, Arizona.

A small shithole desert town with a population barely scraping 4,000.

Anything from before waking up in the cold rain on the dusty desert ground was lost. I have no fucking clue how I got there nor from whence I came.

So that in itself was already weird.

Eventually, after the kindness of a few strangers—locals of Holbrook—I was reported to the state.

Another oddity: there was nothing. Absolutely zilch in the system for who I was. No record of a Charlotte Ray who matched my description.

They tried fingerprints, dental records, and other random DNA testing.

Charlotte Ray simply did not exist, according to 'Uncle Sam' at least. There was no matching DNA of anyone either—I had no family.

After countless examinations, the state deemed me to be somewhere between 16-18 years old. There is no reliable way to identify a person's age without a birth certificate, after all. To stay on the safe side, they decided to classify me as sixteen.

It set me up for success because rather than be kicked onto the streets and add to the already crippling homeless population, I was placed in foster care.

Seeing as I knew how to drive, and it felt as though I had known for a while, I had an ebbing suspicion that I was older than the state deemed me. After all, no 16-year-old should know how to drive as well as I do, but then again, at this rate, I'd never know for sure how old I was.

For the two weeks from when I first appeared to when the state performed DNA tests on me, a kind waitress named 'Sharon' whom I had met on my first night allowed me to crash on her couch.

Once the state deemed me to be sixteen years of age: I was shipped off.

In two years and with an extreme case of amnesia, I ventured from the coast of California to the plains of Texas and even as far as the coldest parts of Alaska. I'd even surfed the waves of Hawaii for the short few weeks I was posted there.

Oh yeah—I also knew how to surf.

Cool, right.

Different families took me in under the pretense of the foster system: people I would live with for weeks to months.

But I never stayed anywhere longer then four or five months—not many people were interested in adopting such an old teenager.

When I inevitably turned 18, I was deemed an official adult and rid of the system. I was living in Chicago when my state-given birthday occurred. The same day that I first woke up on the side of the interstate in the cold rain.

Friday: October 13th.

Two years ago and still not even the slightest memory of who I was before or how I ended up on the side of the road.

Through high school (because the country forced me to start as a junior) I was kind of a loner. As angsty as this sounds, I never really fit in, but then again seeing as I was constantly on the move such a thing was hard.

Although, I did rather well in school. My grades were beautiful no matter how many schools I jumped to. And my sob story created a damn good college essay, or at least, the University of Oregon thought so.

While I had a few options on the table—something about the thought of the Oregon Ducks pulled me in. Whether it was the university itself or Oregon, in general, I did not know. All I knew was that the closest I had ever been to living in Oregon was the brief few weeks I'd spent with a family in the state of Washington.

Was it possible to feel drawn to a state?

Apparently, it was for me—oddly enough, I'd always wanted to go to Oregon despite the countless other states I'd lived in during the short two years of my life that I remember.

And so, another two and a half years were spent messing around in Eugene, Oregon.

School was still easy—alarmingly so considering I was double majoring in literature and engineering.

Weird combination, I know, but I was not able to decide if I wanted to go the technological route or the bookish route. So I did both.

And I did not struggle in a single fucking class. So much so, that I managed to chug myself a semester ahead. Even with the college partying.

My scholarship paid for everything school-related and the government gave me a decent stipend each month to live off. I was also exempt from taxes for the next five years or so. Randomly appearing with no indication of who you really are does wonders.

According to the government—I was now 20. Is this true? Who the fuck knows.

Nevertheless, it was probably the fact that I had no family and was suspiciously ahead in all my courses that led me to stand in front of my academic advisor.

The middle-aged man stared at me while tapping his pen boredly.

"Charlotte—"

"Chuckie," I immediately corrected, unable to stop myself from cringing at the usage of my name.

"Chuckie," My advisor sighed as though it was the biggest burden to him, "Your GPA is by far the highest of everyone in your year in the program—only a handful of people are selected to spend a semester as a research assistant, let alone as young as you! I heavily encourage you to take advantage of this opportunity..."

The school wants me to spend a semester abroad to work as a research assistant to someone of their choosing.

It was for my engineering degree—so it'd be for some boring old engineer no doubt. An old guy who'd make me do all the heavy lifting and then take credit for my hard work.

Not to mention that I had no choice in wherever the hell they decided to send me.

"Uhm..." I clicked my tongue. "No thanks—I'm sure another student would love this opportunity though!"

The advisor sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"There are no other students in your year who qualify—it'd go to a master's student next..."

"Perfect! They probably deserve it more than I do!"

I was not an idiot—it would make the program look hella good if a mere sophomore qualified to be a research assistant. They wanted me to take one of those spots.

"Chuckie—everything is paid for! And, we give you a research stipend for it!" He sounded annoyed.

My eye twitched and I was suddenly overcome with the overwhelming urge to pick up one of his pens and stab it clean through his eye. I would not even react as he bled out in front of me.

Quickly, those morbid thoughts were shaken off as I thought about the money aspect of it.

As nice as the extra cash would be, the government already gave me more than enough to live off of.

"Like I said—" I started only to be cut off.

"I'll send you to Dr. Stanford Pines in Gravity Falls..." The advisor bargained acting as though I should jump in the air from excitement.

Gravity Falls was a shithole town that reminded me of a greener version of Holbrook, Arizona. I'd never been, but a few peers I knew had taken day trips to the little town. It was nearly two hours north from here.

I have no clue why that was supposed to excite me.

If anything—that made it worse! Because why the fuck would I want to go to Gravity Falls of all places?

I don't even understand how Gravity Falls is considered 'abroad'.

My mouth turned down, my expression sour. "Is that supposed to impress me—why would I want to go to Gravity Falls for a semester? That's not even out of the state, let alone the country! And who is Stanford Pines?"

The advisor sighed and began explaining this guy—Stanford Pines'—a real genius. Apparently, he graduated with one of the highest GPAs in the country, has several Ph.D.s at an alarmingly young age... but is studying the local hoaxes of Gravity Falls?

Are you kidding me?

This guy is what sounds like a hoax.

As soon as I scoffed, ready to tell off my advisor for even suggesting such a thing, he said something that caught my attention.

"He might be able to help you with your... case..."

I paused.

By 'special case', I knew he meant my amnesia.

I'd been to countless doctors—all of them said the same thing. If my memories were to come back, it would be natural and with time.

So far—four years later and not even a whisper had returned.

I was losing hope that I would ever know.

"And how would an engineer in the woods have an idea as to how to help me...?" I questioned suspiciously.

If this was another ploy then I was actually going to kill this motherfucker.

My advisor leaned forward, folding his hands in front of him. "They say he's good with brain activity—last time he visited the university some say he practically read people's minds. He studied the brain too, he might have chosen to pursue engineer in his research, but he started his journey in biomedical studies... it's worth a shot..."

I pondered on this.

While I highly doubted this 'Stanford Pines' character was actually able to read minds, the thought was intriguing. A scientist so smart that he managed to snag a reputation for being a 'mind reader'?

The advisor caught onto my look of intrigue and jumped at it like a lion would a gazel.

"The school would loan you a car too. Your pick of any fleet vehicle with gas money to be reimbursed..."

I was suspicious because this offer was beginning to sound way too good to be true.

I'd been saving up for a car for years now. And they would just loan me one for a semester?

"What's the catch?" I deadpanned.

"No catch..." My advisor—Kevin—spoke back quickly. "This is the type of opportunity that only master students typically qualify for... the Dean of Students is simply so impressed by your progress despite your situation that we'd like to offer you this sort of opportunity. Of course, we hope this sways you to consider pursuing a master's degree and eventually a PhD with us as well!"

So that was it—they wanted to persuade me to continue my higher education here.

Not a high price considering I was already planning on attending through at least my master's program with the Ducks.

"Where would I even be housed? Is the school posting me in a motel?"

"No, Dr. Pines would house you in his home..."

I could not help but ponder on if it was really appropriate for me to be staying under the same roof as a Dr. who was only in his late 20s. But hey, anything for the school to save a buck.

"Fine, you sold me—when do I leave?"

"Great! You'll finish this semester, and then after summer you'll leave for Gravity Falls on August 7th... and if all goes well then Dr. Pines might even invite you to work with him for another semester!"

I eyed the colorful calendar on the wall: that gave me just over four months before I would be shipped to Gravity Falls for an entire semester.

Nothing a crazy-smart doctorate, a little town, and the wilderness.

Great...

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"Ticking away the moments that make up a dull day
You fritter and waste the hours in an offhand way..."

Pink Floyd sang almost softly—the voice of the rock band drifting through the car I was loaned for a whopping total of five months.

The Camaro that fleet rented to me was black, my first choice of car seeing as I had first-pick. As promised by Kevin—the advisor who convinced me to do this research semester.

Instead of taking classes, working a semester in research with Dr. Pines would give me all the credits that I need.

Unsurprisingly, I ended last semester with flying colors in every course.

The summer was spent working in a record shop and reading more horror novels than my mind could keep up with. If it was not horror then a good fantasy book could be found in my hands—and rarely even a cheesy romance novel.

Preferably cheesy horror-romance, of course.

Working at the record store came with a few benefits, one of which was the extreme discount we got. It's how I was able to gather so many different band cassettes for the Camaro.

I passed yet another 75 mph sign on the interstate—ripping past it at a humble 95 miles per hour. A pricey ticket was no doubt waiting for me should a cop be in the area, but thankfully, this interstate was practically empty. Even with it being the middle of the day.

I'd only passed a handful of cars on this road: Roadkill County was anything but busy.

The pine trees loomed over everything and seemed to stretch on for miles. It was pretty if not a bit eery.

All four windows were open as I drove, a newly burning cigarette hanging from my lips. My body was lazily strewn back into the driver's seat, my right hand dangling from the steering wheel as my left held the cigarette.

Maybe one day I would find the will to quit, but until then I could give zero fucks about the risks of nicotine and tobacco.

Finally, after nearly two hours of driving, there was a break in the trees as the interstate quite literally hit a town.

I flew past a welcoming sign—briefly able to see a kind 'Welcome to Gravity Falls!' in bubbly faded print.

My brows furrowed as the second I passed the welcome sign, the cassette of Pink Floyd suddenly cut out and popped from the cassette player.

The album 'Dark Side of the Moon' was themed with a cool picture—a faded page that was nearly falling off the tape. And yet, the picture of the triangle floating in space with a rainbow pouring from out of it was as visible as ever.

Rolling my eyes—I released one last puff of smoke before tossing the cigarette out of the window. Hopefully, I did not throw it far enough for it to catch fire in the dense trees.

Pushing the cassette back in, music once again flooded the car. Not a second later was I rolling up the windows, slowing my speed as I drove through the town.

Gravity Falls was not what I was expecting.

It was not a shithole like Holbrook, Arizona. Rather, there was something charming and quaint about it. Almost mystical. It certainly made me feel at home, and I'd not even stopped driving yet.

All of the Oregon wilderness was beautiful, but the wilderness surrounding Gravity Falls was otherworldly.

Small postcard-like buildings made up the town. It was nestled at the bottom of looming cliffs and misty mountains. Even I was momentarily taken by the beauty of it all—especially the multitude of waterfalls that ran down the tall cliffs.

I was momentarily startled by a familiar feeling—the same feeling that pulled me toward Oregon when I first graduated high school.

Eyeing the map and confusing directions: it took a good few more minutes until I was suddenly whipping the car off the road and onto a dirt path.

"Holy fuck!" I cursed as the car bumped and shook with the lack of road.

I was forced to slow down lest I want to throw the tire alignment off.

"I swear to God if Kevin gave me the wrong damn directions—" I ate my own words as the dirt path finally led to a good-sized cabin in the woods.

It looked rather homey—but lonely seeing as it was almost isolated from the rest of the town.

A makeshift powerline stood tall in front of the cabin—electrical wiring running through the roof of the home. Immediately, my engineering eye took hold as I admired the work from afar. It was done rather well for something so makeshift.

Near the top of the cabin—most likely leading into an attic—was a large triangle-shaped window.

I tilted my head at it, somehow I felt... watched?

Shaking off the feeling—I pulled next to the only other car in the vicinity. A brown Ford pickup truck.

Cutting the engine off, I took the keys from the ignition and threw open the door. Standing up out of the car, I sighed while stretching and looking around.

The only other noise to greet me was the sounds of birds and the quiet of the forest. I was slightly surprised Dr. Pines had not already come out to greet me—there was no way he didn't hear the loud ass sounds of the Camaro.

After a moment of standing around and realizing no one was coming outside, I closed the door and made my way to the trunk.

I packed light—only a duffel bag and suitcase for the four months I was scheduled to be here.

The school was paying off my apartment lease so everything else that belonged to me was still in the little studio I called my own.

If I really needed to, I could always make a weekend trip back up to Eugene to get anything I needed. After all, two hours was really not that bad of a drive.

The echoing sound of the trunk slamming shut sounded—yet, there was still no sign of anyone.

I was trying to be loud in hopes that Dr. Pines would come outside, but my luck seemed to be running thin. I'd need to go up to his door and knock.

The dirt and grass crunched under my feet away as I approached the cabin.

The feeling of being watched still wilted inside of me. It was impossible to shake so I tried not to think about it. I only hoped that I was not getting the feeling from Dr. Pines watching me from a window or something.

The wooden steps creaked as I made my way up them and onto the porch.

An outside sitting chair and a small end table were the only porch decorations despite the porch curving around the entire home.

I stopped moving outside of the front door. I recognized the wood as oak, decently heavy with another triangle-shaped window. The glass it was made of caused it to be blurry when one looked through it.

There was no doorbell in sight so I was forced to bring up my hand, delivering a fierce and loud knock.

I shuffled in my sand shoes, allowing my gaze to sweep across the eery forest that surrounded the place.

In the next second, the door was flung open, and on the other side stood a rather frazzled-looking man.

Even though I knew that he was going to be young, it still hit hard when I was greeted by a man who barely looked to be thirty. His fluffy brown hair was messy and his glasses enhanced his frantic big brown eyes as they took in my form.

He was wearing a sweater vest—messily untucked from his trousers.

"Who're you?" He managed to get out, whipping his head to either side of me as though making sure I was alone.

I scoffed, raising an unimpressed brow at the youngish man. What the fuck kind of nutcase did I sign up to be with?

Obviously, the only acceptable way to answer was with extreme salt and sass.

"Hey there, Dr. Pines — I'm Chuckie... your friend till the end..." My voice was naturally raspy, but it came out even thicker than usual as I followed it with an obnoxious smile.

Stanford Pines stood in his doorway staring at me gobsmacked.