The rest of the week was stop-and-go traffic. Mabel would work at the Museum during the day, moaning at each new chore and obsessing over possible password ideas while cleaning off displays of fake monsters. Then she and Dipper would be off to rehearsal, the laptop tucked safely in its blankets (there was no way she was leaving it at the theater), and she'd spend the rest of the evening frantically typing in passwords. Then they'd go home, and she'd wait until Dipper was asleep before sneaking the laptop out, muffling the speakers with thick towels, and keep going.

And going. And going.

Finally she'd stop, fall asleep, and dream of triangles and BZZT! sounds. More than once was she awoken by dreams about Bill. He never said anything — she could never be sure if it was him or just her memories of him. But he was always there, a simple yellow triangle in her periphery. She stayed awake for longer each night.

She grew more and more tired as the week went on, and Dipper kept giving her suspicious looks whenever she yawned. But she didn't care. She couldn't stop, not when she was so close.

On Friday night, the laptop started locking her out.

The first time it happened, she went into utter panic. She was trying the names of every townsperson she knew when the password box disappeared and the entire screen flashed red.

TOO MANY FAILED ATTEMPTS: RETRY IN 1:00.

Mabel let out a little scream and pulled at her hair as she watched the timer tick down the seconds at a maddeningly slow pace.

0:20.

0:14.

0:07.

Finally, the laptop let her keep trying. Mabel shakily typed in more passwords, trying to shake the terrifying thought out of her head:

She only had so many tries left.

That night, she got irritated easily, and snapped at Dipper when she thought he was taking too long saying good night to Gabby. When they got home, Mabel could hardly wait to keep trying. A part of her was convinced that if she was fast — if she figured out the password as soon as possible — then it wouldn't matter how many attempts she used in the process. She was running out of time.

Saturday dawn rolled around, late in the winter morning, and Mabel wasn't awake to see it. She'd fallen asleep on the floor, still in her clothes, her head and arms propped up on the bed after shoving the laptop under it. Last night, she'd fallen asleep at the keyboard three times before finally giving up.

"Um, Mabes?"

Mabel shot awake, a line of drool flinging into the air. "Wha — what time — "

"It's almost nine. I have my all-day rehearsal in fifteen minutes, remember? Do you think you wanna, um, stay at home? And get some sleep?"

Mabel blinked rapidly. "N-no. All-day rehearsal is perfect. That's plenty of time. Let's go."

Dipper folded his arms. "Mabel, did you stay up all night on the laptop?"

"So what if I did?" she shot back. "You can't control me."

He sighed. "I think you should get some sleep. What if you get sick, like Ford?"

"I won't!" she said in a tone of utmost offense. "I'm not an old man, Dipper."

Everything he said was an attack. Everything she had was focused on the laptop.

They started getting ready in stony silence. Mabel grabbed her sketchbook from the bedside table and put it in her usual bundle. She'd been getting locked out of the laptop for longer and longer, and she figured she could draw while she waited during those times.

As soon as they got to the theater, she headed down into the basement without wishing Dipper luck. Then she plopped down on the concrete floor and got to work.

She pulled out the laptop and her sketchbook — and then froze. The Journal wasn't there.

She sighed. She must've left it at home. Fine. She'd basically exhausted everything in it, anyway. She could just continue her letter combination sequence. Now, was she at A-A-A-A-B-C-R-T? Or was it A-A-A-A-B-D-R-T?

She started typing

It was the first time she'd been in the basement room during the day. The window with the triangle patterns let the sunlight in, and it danced cheerily in the metal of the surrounding instruments. Mabel found herself refreshed by it and attacked her project with new energy, pausing only when her hunger and need to use the bathroom was so great that she ventured into the world above. She found Dipper, who gave her some pizza Mr. Bartosic had bought for the cast, ate, did her business, and went to disappear into the basement again.

She hurried as fast as she could down the halls on a winding path that involved bumping into walls a lot. She stopped, leaning against a doorjamb, yawning hugely.

"Woah! Bag check for Mabel's eyes."

It was Robbie. It took her eyes a moment to focus on him. "Hi, Robbie," she murmured. "I've gotta. . ."

He blinked. "Gotta what?" he asked when she didn't finish. "Everything okay, Mabel? You look really tired."

"I'm fine." She yawned again, closing her eyes.

When she opened them again, there was a hazy yellow triangle floating around Robbie's head.

Mabel let out a little yell of shock and jumped back.

"Mabes?" Robbie looked really concerned now.

Bill had been in Robbie's mind before, but Robbie didn't remember. That's why the triangle was there, Mabel told herself. You're just remembering. Just hallucinations from a tired mind. She had to crack the password before she fell apart.

"Watch out for yellow triangles," she told Robbie. "In your dreams. Don't approach them."

"Mabel. . . maybe you should sit down."

"I'm fine," she repeated. Then she hurried past him before he could say anything else.

She made it back to the basement with no other incident save for almost tripping and falling down the stairs. When she sat back down in front of the laptop, she felt grounded again. The world stopped spinning. Mabel got back to work.

It took only three tries before the laptop locked her out again. This time for half an hour.

Mabel stared at it for three seconds before sitting back and letting out a frustrated scream. Then she slapped her hand over her mouth and hoped nobody had heard her.

Half an hour. . . maybe she could take a cat nap? That would do her some good. But then what if she didn't wake up? If she let herself sleep, she could very well waste hours upon hours of time.

She yawned and pulled out her sketchbook. She'd just draw for a while. She put a pencil to paper —

But the only thing she could think to draw were triangles.

"No!" she whisper-shouted. "I don't want your help! I'm going to figure it out on my own!"

She put her sketchbook firmly on the floor and blinked back frustrated tears. Fine. Fine. She took off her jacket and bunched it up as a pillow. She'd just lie down for a moment while she waited. She didn't have to sleep, but maybe she could close her eyes. . .

She was awoken half an hour by the BZZT! sound as the laptop went back to the password screen. She felt even more tired than before, but she forced herself to sit up and keep going.

The light from the window was late-afternoon orange, and the excess of warm light gave Mabel a headache. Or maybe the laptop screen was the culprit. Either way, her head was hurting.

She feverishly typed in password after password, abandoning any pattern and just stabbing at eight random letters.

G-R-E-G-J-R-D-H.

BZZT!

S-F-J-K-S-E-K-F.

BZZT!

W-I-J-O-I-H-G-O.

BZZT!

Mabel moaned and closed her eyes.

When she opened them again, she saw yellow triangles everywhere.

In the shadows. In the triangle instruments on the walls. In the rim patterns of the drums. In the window. They all pulsed with a yellow glow as they drifted across the room and came together in front of Mabel's eyes. Soon enough, the tiny triangles were all a part of one big triangle.

And with a flash, that triangle became Bill.

Mabel opened her mouth to yell at him, but he cut her off. "Pine Tree! Thank goodness."

"Wh-what?"

"I need your help. There are ghosts here."

"W-well of course there are."

He floated closer to her. "Please! You have to save me."

"Save you? From the ghosts?"

"They're everywhere. You're good with ghosts, aren't you? I mean, if you got me out of Robbie's head, I'm sure you can take care of these ghosts."

Mabel folded her arms. "You need my help? I thought you were a big bad dream demon who could take care of himself."

"Please, Pine Tree. Only you can help me. There's this one particularly nasty ghost — there's no way to get rid of it without your help."

"I. . . I am pretty great at dealing with ghosts, I guess." It felt good to hear it from someone as powerful as Bill. "But I'm busy. As you can see." She started typing in another password to prove her point.

"I'm sure you could use a break, couldn't you?" Bill asked. "To help out a friend?"

"You're not my friend."

"I could be."

Mabel ignored him, typing in another password.

D-U-M-B-B-I-L-L.

BZZT!

Mabel sighed.

BZZT! went the laptop again. Mabel looked down at the screen.

TOO MANY FAILED ATTEMPTS: INITIATE DATE ERASE IN 5:00.

ONE ENTRY REMAINING.

This time, Mabel didn't care who heard her scream.

"No no no no!" She shook the laptop back and forth. "No — please — don't do this — "

Tears welled up in her eyes, and she continued shaking the laptop as if that would change anything. "NO!"

"Calm down, Pine Tree!" Bill floated even closer. "I'll help. Just agree to help me with the ghost, and I'll tell you the password."

Mabel looked up at him in panic. "I-I — I shouldn't — "

"I'm your only shot, Pine Tree! Imagine Ford's disappointment when you have to tell him you erased everything on the laptop. This laptop is your only chance."

"B-but — "

Bill reached out his hand. "I just need your help getting rid of a ghost. Easy. A small price to pay in order to make Ford proud of you."

Mabel hesitated, her eyes flicking between the laptop screen — 2:36 — and Bill's outstretched hand.

Bill's hand lit up with blue fire. "Success and Ford's approval, or failure and Ford's hatred. What'll it be, kid?"

"Fine!" Mabel grabbed Bill's hand.

The blue fire spread from Bill's hand to hers. It was cold. A shiver went through Mabel's entire body.

The laptop stopped beeping. The timer froze. Mabel breathed out a sigh of relief.

"Help me with the ghost," Bill said, "and then I'll tell you the password."

"Fine," Mabel said. "So where's this big, scary ghost, anyway?"

She tried to pull her hand away from Bill's. He kept it in his firm grip.

Suddenly something felt very, very wrong. "B-Bill? Wh-where's the ghost?"

In that moment, she could've sworn Bill was smiling. He stared at her with his wide, wide eye.

"It's right here," he said.

Then he yanked on her hand.

The world went white, and Mabel was falling. Careening down into nothingness, flipping end-over-end as the world turned upside-down and inside-out and topsy-turvy. She couldn't see anything, couldn't hear anything, could only feel her body being torn apart and thrown away and slammed into invisible walls. She screamed, but heard no sound.

Then she heard something: a huge tearing sound that reverberated around her skull and made it completely unable to think. The sound — it was so awful —

And then it was over. Her vision cleared. She was back in the basement room beneath the stage.

Except now, she was looking down at herself from above.

"Wh-what — !"

She stared down at the Mabel on the ground, laying there lifeless on the floor. She didn't understand. Was it another clone? The shapeshifter? Was she asleep? Why was she floating?

She looked down at herself and screamed.

Her body was transparent.

"What — what's happening — " She tried to touch herself. Her hands went right through her stomach. "What's — what did you do to my body?!"

There was no response.

"Bill?" Her voice became hysterical. "Bill! Bill, where are you? What happened to me?!"

The Mabel on the ground stirred. Stirred, and sat up. Sat up, and opened her eyes.

Opened her yellow, glowing, slitted eyes.

"Tough luck, kid! The ghost was you!"

It was Bill's voice. Bill's voice, coming from Mabel's body. Bill's eyes, set into Mabel's face.

Mabel screamed.

Bill-Mabel waited patiently until she ran out of breath. "You finished, Pine Tree? I'm ready to tell you the password now."

Mabel couldn't think — she couldn't breathe —

Bill-Mabel picked up the laptop and smashed it onto the floor.

"No!" Mabel screeched, diving out of the air for the laptop. But her hands passed through it. She could only watch in horror as Bill-Mabel stomped on it, threw it against the wall, laughed and laughed and laughed.

Only when the laptop was completely and utterly destroyed did Bill-Mabel look up at Mabel and smile sweetly. "The password was Crescent."

Mabel felt dizzy. Her mind was clogged with panic. She couldn't think at all. There was nothing there — nothing but the fear. Nothing but the horror. Nothing but the panic.

"Oh man," Bill-Mabel said, stumbling around the room. "Oh man, it's been so long since I've inhabited a body." He — she? It? — checked his reflection in a nearby piano. "My eyes sure look good on you, Pine Tree. Two eyes, too! This thing's deluxe!" He poked and prodded at Mabel's face, slapping at it and laughing. "Pain is hilarious!"

Mabel felt sick.

Bill-Mabel whirled around. "Babel. Call me Babel. Has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?" He beamed up at Mabel.

"I-I don't understand!" Mabel stammered. "Why are you doing this?"

Babel laughed. "Why do you think? I can't have you continue on your little quest with Ford. Destroying the laptop was easy. Now I just have to get my hands on your Journal!"

He ran back and forth around the room, banging into instruments and sending music stands crashing to the floor. "Plus," he said, "it's fun!" He threw a trumpet on the floor at laughed at the crash. "Look! I can move things!"

"Y-you can't have my Journal!" Mabel yelled. "It's Ford's! You'll never find it!"

Babel turned to her and cocked his head. "Find it? If I recall, you left it at the Museum this morning. It's not hidden anywhere."

Mabel started to retort, but Babel cut her off by banging on piano keys. With Mabel's head.

Mabel was about to yell at him to stop when she realized someone would hear them. Someone would come down and see Babel with his weird eyes and put a stop to this. So she closed her eyes, sent out her hopes, and waited.

Babel banged on the keys for a while, then started smashing Mabel's arm with the piano lid. "Boy, these arms are durable!" When he got bored with that, he threw more instruments on the floor, punched through some drums, and, finally, smashed the window with a triangle, laughing as the glass shards rained down around him.

With each crash, Mabel felt a little more weak.

Finally, finally, someone came stomping down the stairs. "Pines! What on earth are you doing down here!"

It was Mr. Bartosic. Mabel's hopes fell a little — she'd been hoping for Dipper or Robbie. But she had to try anyway.

"Mr. Bartosic!" she yelled. "Please, help! That's not me! I'm right here!"

He gave no sign that he heard her.

"Sorry," Babel said. "Am I not supposed to be down here?"

"You're not supposed to be interrupting the show!" Mr. Bartosic fumed. "We can hear your racket throughout the entire theater!"

Mabel gaped. He wasn't reacting to Babel's eyes or voice at all.

"Sorry," Babel repeated. "I'll leave. I have to go home, anyway."

"Clean up this mess first," Mr. Bartosic ordered. "I want you out of my theater in ten minutes." He turned and stormed back up the stairs.

"Whelp," Babel said, gathering the remains of the laptop and Mabel's sketchbook and shoving them in the shopping bags, "I'd best be headed to the Museum! See ya later!"

"No!" Mabel shouted. "No! I'll stop you! I'll — I'll get there first, and I'll find the Journal, and I'll stop you!"

Babel paused with one foot on the stairs. He turned around slowly.

"You saw that guy. He had no idea anything was different."

"H-he just doesn't know me that well!"

Babel shook his head. "Sorry, kid. You're basically a ghost now. No one will see you. So I ask you." His wide grin split Mabel's face. "How can you stop me. . . if you don't exist?"

And with that, Babel ran up the stairs, laughing uproariously.

And all Mabel could do was stare after him in horror.