Chapter One: By the Pricking of My Thumbs…

Gravity Falls, Oregon – 1981

BUUUURRRRRRRRRPPPPPPPP!

There was nothing as satisfying to Ashlee "Ash" Williams as that long, sweet, and tasty belch after chugging a can of beer.

O.K. Maybe one other thing: cruising in her Oldsmobile Delta 88.

The rural road was hers to command.

The eight-track blaring out the tune of the Bee Gees' "Stayin' Alive."

Alright, so there were other more satisfying things!

It all was the perfect way to begin her spring break away from her cashier job at the S-Mart department store ("Shop Smart. Shop S-Mart."). There was nothing that was going to slow her down.

"What the…! There's a dude in the road!"

Well, there's that.

A pale man wearing a black suit with a matching top hat and a goatee standing right in the path of Ash's Olds; he barely flinched as she stomped down on the break and skidded to a halt, just an inch away from hitting him.

Rolling her driver's side window down, she stuck her head out and yelled, "Yo! What's the matter with you?! I almost killed ya!"

"My apologies, miss," he spoke in a calm, collected English-accented voice.

"What're ya doing out here so late anyway?"

"I was on my way back home – a cabin up the road. Might I so kindly ask you for a lift back?"

"Sure, whatever," Ash obtusely offered. "You caught me in a good mood tonight."

The man strolled his way into Ash's Oldsmobile, sitting right beside her up front – something that made her a little uncomfortable. This cabin of his had better be a short drive from there.

"My name is G.M., by the way."

Ash could care less what it was, yet she managed to keep the conversation civil.

"Ashlee Williams," she introduced. "G.M., eh? Like the motor company?"

"Yes, if you prefer." His voice was so eerily unruffled.

"You know, my ol' baby here is a G.M. brand," she stroked the dashboard.

"Do you read Shakespeare, Miss Williams?"

That was a weird segue.

"I, uh, studied a little bit in high school," she awkwardly replied. "Can't say that I understand a word of Romeo & Juliet though. Ya know? All those confusin' metaphors and junk?"

"I was always fond of Macbeth, particularly Act IV. 'By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes…Open, locks…Whoever knocks…'."

Suddenly, a knock came from the front of Ash's car.

"Darn engine," she griped. "Gotta remember to get that thing checked."

G.M., not missing a beat, continued to reflect on Macbeth: "That scene with the Wayward Sisters was written with such finesse. They knew every detail of the demise Macbeth surely led himself into."

"Uh-huh," Ash muttered, barely paying attention. "Hey, you like Stevie Wonder?"

She switched out the Bee Gees from her eight-track and put in Stevie.

Only it wasn't the wonderful Wonder's voice they heard out of the speakers:

"I can tell that something wicked is coming by the tingling in my thumbs. Doors, open up for whoever is knocking!"

The voice belonged to G.M., the very man sitting beside her.

He spoke in sync with his own voice on the radio.

Again, there was knocking underneath the hood; this time more intense.

It repeated until the hood flew off with flames bursting out from the engine.

"WHAT THE…?!" Ash shrieked with terror, losing total control of her Oldsmobile, while G.M. laughed manically from the passenger seat.

She drove off the road and into the nearest tree, exploding on impact.

And then…she woke up, screaming.

Both her and her Oldsmobile were still in one peace.

It was all a dream – an extremely realistic, poop-inducing dream.

Right away, she started up the engine, only for it to sputter and finally give out on her. "Just great," she scathingly grumbled while stepping out to check under the hood, unintentionally releasing a billow of smoke coming from the fried engine.

To her baffling surprise, it literally burned out – just like in her dream.

Before she could comprehend what might've happened, she heard something in the forest…something that suddenly started chasing after her.

She fled into the woods.

But the pursing spiritual force proved to be much stronger.

It got a hold of her, thrashing her about the woods to the point that she lost consciousness, her body lying inert on the ground… only the fingers of her right hand lightly twitching.

Hours later, Ash recovered from the bizarre attack, her body wracked with pain.

She started back for the main road…and was then stopped…by her own hand!

It had involuntarily grasped onto a tree.

Thinking she might have got it caught in some sap, she tried prying it off; her efforts caused a large chunk of bark to tear off, her hand grasping onto it.

"What is this?!"

It was almost like her hand was possessed – and it really was!

She forced it off the bark and wrestled with it, as it repeatedly slapped her in the face Three Stooges style. After a couple of eye pokes and hair-pulling, she realized something had to be done about it.

Dashing through the woods, she found a cabin.

Didn't that weird guy in her dream say something about a cabin in the woods?

Anyway, she rushed into the tool shed, coming upon a chainsaw.

As insane of an idea it was, she had no other choice but to cut her hand off with the chainsaw. Her blood sprayed everywhere from her face to parts of the shed.

Eventually, she passed out from the extreme pain and blood loss.

Her sentient hand crawled out of the shed in an attempt to escape; unfortunately for it, someone was quick to contain it.

And that someone was the cabin's owner, Ford Pines.