
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/8032141.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Major_Character_Death, Rape/Non-Con,
      Underage
  Category:
      Gen
  Fandom:
      South_Park
  Character:
      Craig_Tucker, Tweek_Tweak, Kyle_Broflovski, Stan_Marsh, Tucker_Family_
      (South_Park), Kenny_McCormick, Eric_Cartman, Tweek_Tweak's_Parents,
      Richard_Tweak, Thomas_(South_Park:_Le_Petit_Tourette), Thomas_Tucker
  Additional Tags:
      ghost_au, Supernatural_-_Freeform, Horror, Suspence, Rape, Attempted
      Rape/Non-Con, Murder, Body_Horror, Implied/Referenced_Suicide, twyle,
      Torture, Alternate_Universe, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Friendship,
      Psychic_Abilities, Visions, Flashbacks
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-09-14 Completed: 2017-03-08 Chapters: 22/22 Words: 102091
****** Oculus ******
by Eerily
Summary
     Tweek has been haunted by the grotesque form of his missing best
     friend since childhood. Perplexed by his vivid visions and growing
     bond with the mangled little ghost boy, he has searched for years to
     find the answer to one question: Who murdered Craig Tucker?
     --I will not be updating this fanfiction here. If yo u want to read
     the whole thing, please read here: https://m.fanfiction.net/s/
     10763837/1/Oculus thank you!
Notes
     This story contains dark themes. If you can't handle things such as
     suicide, the murder of a child, self harm, possible insinuation of
     child abuse in many forms, gore, body horror, vague insinuation of
     sexual abuse, drowning, being buried alive, or obviously ghosts and
     other ghouls, then this story is not for you.
     If you can handle those things, go ahead and read on. However, this
     story only gets more twisted as it unfolds. You've been warned.
***** Prologue *****
"Okay," Craig muttered.
He laid back in Tweek's bed and got comfortable. However, the little blond
shuddering beside him was too uneasy with his bedroom to pay attention to his
friend.
"What is it you needed me here for?" Craig asked. Tweek said it was urgent.
There was something odd about his new house, though he wouldn't say what.
Tweek's eyes shifted to the ceiling before he replied in a whisper, "There's a
man who lives in the attic."
"A man?" Craig asked with squinted eyes. It was hard to see Tweek in the dim
light of the room.
"Yeah. A ghost, I think! At least I hope," Tweek scraped at his scalp with his
fingernails. "Oh, god. A ghost would be so less scary than an actual man! I
want you to see him too, so my mom will believe me! S-she never believes me."
Craig wasn't alarmed. So many odd things came out of Tweek's mouth over the
years. Ghosts seemed tame in comparison to most of his conspiracy theories.
Tweek could sense his friend's disbelief. He grabbed him by the front of his
pajama shirt and whispered urgently, "I-it's true! If I lay in bed and listen
really quiet, I can hear the ceiling creak under his feet."
They laid in silence as if the eerie groaning of hardwood would fill the space
between them. However, much to both of their relief, the sound never comes.
"Ghosts aren't real, you know," Craig said as if he wasn't leery himself.
"They are too!" Tweek persisted. "I've seen lots of them! And this one; he
stands by my bed and talks to me while I try to sleep."
"… Maybe you just dreamed it. Sometimes it's hard to tell them apart. Reality
and dreams, I mean," Craig clarified.
Tweek was silent for a short while as he contemplated his friend's point. Maybe
they were only nightmares or even figments of his imagination. It wouldn't have
been the first time he believed in something that wasn't true, but the man was
so real. He could still recall the first night he heard knocking at the attic
door.
Craig frowned, though Tweek couldn't see it. He leaned forward and slipped an
arm around his frightened friend to nestle close.
"It's okay," Craig assured him, "tonight we'll figure this out."
Tweek didn't say anything back. He just laid there with his forehead pressing
into Craig's collarbone. He was trying to be brave, but he wasn't so strong at
only eleven years old. As time crept on, though, he let himself slip into a
sense of comfort. All talk of ghosts and spirits left their minds as
conversation veered towards school and the people they knew there.
"You like Wendy and you know it," Tweek teased.
"Psh, she's such a know-it-all, though."
"Craig and Wendy sitting in a tree!"
"Don't you even say that stupid rhyme to me. I swear to God."
"K-I-S-S-I-N-G."
Craig playfully clamped his hand on Tweek's mouth. Much to Craig's displeasure,
Tweek knew how to get out of it without so much as lifting a finger.
"Ew!" Craig shouted before wiping his hand on Tweek's arm. "You didn't have to
go and lick me, you little weirdo."
Tweek giggled and held his stomach as he laughed. That laughter stopped when a
noise interrupted their coziness. It was fuzzy and loud like static. It was
alarming.
Ominous.
Craig pulled the covers down to his chin and peered at the television across
the room. The screen flickered with snow, and the room flashed with its eerie
light. Tweek yanked his covers back up over his head. Craig, however, wasn't
spooked so easy. Televisions lose reception all the time. They go fuzzy. They
turn on and off. They make noise. That's just what happens, and just because it
happened in the dark didn't make it any less routine to the braver of the two.
Then again, he didn't know what was coming.
"Oh, come on, Tweek. It's not that scary," Craig said before getting out of
bed.
He walked across the room and pushed the power button. The screen went black.
All the humming seized.
"See?" Craig announced in triumph.
Tweek peeked back out from under his haven of stuffed animals and blankets.
With a small smile, Craig made his way to the bed. He didn't make it back
before being startled rigid. The familiar ring of static hummed from behind
him.
The television yet again flicked back to life.
Craig saw the remote undisturbed on a nearby dresser. Still, he wasn't scared.
Not like Tweek, who was rattled down to his bones. Craig stomped back to the
television and ripped its power cord out of the wall. Tweek settled a little,
and Craig sighed in contentment when he made it back to bed with no more odd
occurrences.
"See," Craig announced. "Your TV is just busted. Wires are probably loose or
something, you know."
Then, cold shivers scraped up both of their spines. Their blood ran cold,
breath caught in their throats, and their stomachs tied up in knots.
The television was on.
Craig shot up straight and stiff. He couldn't believe what he saw. There it
was, clear as day. The white glow still filled the room. The screen still
flickered in scrambling white and black specks.
The cord was still lay unplugged on the floor.
Craig could only stare in bewildered fear and fascination. An odd knocking
accompanied the screen's disturbing glow. Craig's eyes shifted to the ceiling,
where a door to the attic was nestled above the television. The consistent
thumping came from nowhere else. That in itself made Craig's skin crawl.
Tweek threw his arms around Craig and dragged him back into bed.
"Just ignore it," Tweek whispered with a stutter. "Ignore it and be quiet.
It'll leave us alone."
Craig, paralyzed in fear, decided to take Tweek's advice.
They lay huddled close together. They both tried to steady their breath and
keep quiet despite all the noise. It sounded like a single chair dragging
across a hardwood floor. Its non-existent legs scraped against a surface that
simply wasn't there. In that house, there was only carpet.
The static still blared. Knocking still came from the attic door. It grew ever
more violent with each bang. Both of their breaths caught in their throats when
a crash resonated throughout the room. All the other noise stopped. All except
heavy footsteps that creaked the floorboards.
"Tweek," Craig choked out in terror. The steps were coming closer. They came
from across the room, from the corner which harbored the attic.
Tweek clamped his hand over his horrified friend's mouth. If they made so much
as a single noise, it would know they were there. The floor groaned louder as
the shuffling moved closer to the bed.
It stopped at their feet.
Something tugged the fabric at their feet, and then slowly pulled it away from
them. Their small hands shot up and grabbed the blanket. They tried to fight
the specter behind the footboard, but they were no match for its strength.
Craig let out a scream of the likes Tweek had never heard when the comforter
jerked away from them. The fabric collided with the wall, and then it fell to
the floor in a heap.
Confused and with no other direction, they both stared at the blaring
television. The picture flickered and swayed with fuzz. The cord still lay
unplugged nearby. Craig wanted to scream bloody murder for Tweek's mother to
come save them. He could feel someone else in the room as they watched from
somewhere in the shadows. What was worse, though, was noticing the attic door
gaped open.
Their breath was heavy between them. Craig's fingers curled around Tweek's arm
like a vise when they both noticed the dark mass lingering beside the
television. It was darker than dark. As if it absorbed the blackness around it.
Craig let out a strangled whimper of horror. He was too afraid to even scream
anymore. Tweek looked at his friend with a similar expression. He could
practically see the color dripping off of Craig's once self-assured face. He
was paper white, and his mouth gaped open. The boy's wide eyes trained on the
entity invading their space.
On the ghost.
Tweek grew angry.
Usually, Craig was the all-knowing protector. He'd never encountered something
like this. He wasn't haunted every night for the last two weeks like Tweek had
been, and he wasn't used to coming face to face with such horrors. Craig was
afraid, and the black creature looming in the corner was to blame. Tweek glared
into its eyes. They were crimson and glowing like that of a demon. Two orbs
that floated together in a black puddle on the wall.
It had never been so violent and angry before, but neither had Tweek.
"Go away!" He demanded. Craig's stronghold only tightened when he wrapped
himself around Tweek's right arm. Tweek could hear his friend's fear in the
rapid breath in his ear.
The malicious force would not recede.
"What do you want with me?!"
The temperature plummeted. It looked back into Tweek's eyes. Those red orbs
felt like a scorching fire that board holes into his skull. Craig's gasping
breaths stopped.
He saw the attic. It flashed inside Tweek's eyes like an old film.
He recognized the bare, vaulted ceiling made of two by fours and open
insulation. It was dark, though illuminated like it was caught in the beam of a
flashlight. There was no sound or movement.
There was one exception.
A single rope hung from a rafter.
It swung back and forth.
Back and forth.
Tweek's vision flicked like the pattern on the television. It melded in and out
as the pictures switched from the creature's invasive eyes to the swinging
rope.
A child's happy face.
A woman with kind eyes.
The noose.
A man smiling in a living room he recognized.
The man was wearing the same unsettling grin as he swung. As the noose in the
attic caught his fall and his wide, bulging eyes remained locked with Tweek's.
The toothy grin didn't subside. His eyes didn't break away from Tweek's, even
as he was strangling to death.
Convulsing.
Swinging rhythmically.
Craig didn't see the happy people, the rope, or the eerily wide grin of the man
hanging from it. All he saw was Tweek himself, laying back on the bed with wide
eyes and mouth hanging open like a hatch to a cellar.
In tears, Craig shook Tweek. He shook him until their tormentor faded back into
the shadows. He shook him and cried until the television flicked off and the
bedroom door busted open. Tweek's mother rushed inside, and Tweek blinked.
"What's wrong? What's with all the screaming?" She demanded in a panic.
She saw Tweek on his back and Craig cradling him in tears. Horrified, she
bolted for the bed and got down beside him.
"Tweek? Baby, what's wrong?"
"He strung himself up."
She and Craig both exchanged looks of confusion, though Craig's chest was
heaving and his eyes were wide with fear.
"What?" she asked in a worried tone.
"He put a rope around his neck. He hung from it in the attic."
"That's ridiculous! Who told you such terrible stories?!"
Tweek still struggled to catch his breath. The image of that disturbing grin
lingered in his eyes like a bad taste. That ever unsettling, toothy, grin.
It would never fade away.
"No one," Tweek confessed as tears spilled down his cheeks. "He showed me in my
eyes."
"He showed me in my eyes."
***** Shadowman *****
"Tweek, darling," his mother said solemnly. "We need to have a little talk if
that's okay."
Rain pounded against the glass. It set odd patterns across the living room
walls and Tweek's unflinching face. He sat on the seat of the bay window and
peered out at the street. He didn't seem to hear her. He just sat and stared
out that window.
Sat and waited.
She came towards him. Her hands smoothed out her nightgown as she took a seat
on the same cushion. "It's about your little friend."
The gloomy boy perked with interest.
"D-did they find him?" Tweek asked without hesitation. "Did they find where
Craig is?"
Her lips pursed together, and then she, too, directed her gaze to the storm
outside.
"It's been a week now, honey. They still haven't found anything. I'm so sorry,
but I'm not sure they will."
"What do you mean? Of course, they will!" Tweek declared. "They have to!"
She forced a smile on her face and then ran her fingers through her short brown
bob.
"Yes. Yes, of course. But don't you think Craig would be sad if he saw you
sitting here alone all the time?"
Thunder rolled in the distance and lightning cracked across the sky. In that
moment the dark street flashed white. He saw someone. It was only a faint
silhouette in the midst of the wind and rain, but it was there.
Crawling.
He swallowed hard and wiped his eyes.
"I don't know," he admitted.
"Well, how about this. Let's go to bed and leave the window alone for tonight,
then I'll make you a big breakfast in the morning. How does that sound?"
Tweek kept his eyes on the road where he'd seen the silhouette, but he didn't
see it again.
"Okay," he agreed.
She stood, and then he reluctantly stood with her.
He didn't want to go to his room. David, the man in the attic, still liked to
come down at night. It had been a year since he tormented Craig and Tweek
during their sleepover, but he never stopped trying to talk to Tweek.
He was afraid he might find himself listening.
His sock covered feet scuffed against tan carpet as his mother led him up the
stairs and into that very room. She didn't seem to feel the shift in the air
like he did. No one seemed to, though. Without any fuss, he slipped underneath
his comforter.
One of his pillows still smelled like Craig. His bottom lip quivered when he
caught a faint whiff of it.
He could remember his friend's face so vividly. Craig's voice almost seemed to
whisper through the sheets as if he was drifting to sleep. The room sometimes
still felt like it did when he was there, but he wasn't. He didn't understand
why he was gone.
Tweek wanted him back.
Tears pooled in the small boy's blue eyes. He tried not to let them spill over
while his mom was with him. He was twelve, after all. He wasn't a baby anymore.
Though he tried hard, his pillow became wet.
Craig.
He couldn't stop the sorrowful chokes and whines bubbling up from his throat.
He couldn't survive without his best friend. His body went limp when his mother
scooted closer and pulled him into her arms. For an empty few moments, she
listened to her only child cry.
What else could she have done? There wasn't a lie she could say that would calm
her son's fear. There wasn't a promise she could make that would change
anything. Craig was gone for some time now, and the longer he was away the less
likely it was he'd ever come back. Still, she held Tweek. She squeezed him in
her arms and pressed a lingering kiss to his hair. Not every mother was lucky
enough to kiss her son goodnight. She would never take it for granted again.
"Would you feel better if I slept here tonight?" she offered under his cries.
Much to her relief, Tweek nodded. The two settled into the warmth of the small
bed. It brought little comfort for either of them, though it made Tweek feel
better knowing he wasn't alone.
As the night crept onward, the little boy did not sleep. His mother's chest
rose and fell in relaxed rhythm. He listened close to her breaths. Somehow it
helped him feel safe, though it didn't ease his dreadful worry. His best friend
was out there somewhere. Was he alone? Was he cold or hungry?
Those thoughts devoured his mind. He didn't think of anything else until an odd
noise pierced through the quiet.
Tap, tap.
Tweek's head rose from his pillow.
Tap. Tap.
It sounded like knuckles knocking against glass from somewhere across the room.
"Craig?" he whispered hopefully.
He tried not to disturb his mom as he crawled out of the bed, but the moment
his feet touched the floor he ran to the window.
Tap. Tap.
He drew his curtains and looked on the roof. There wasn't anyone on the other
side. There was only a blanket of blackness that fell over his back yard.
Still, he opened the window and stuck his head onto the rainy breeze.
A gust of wind blew into his room strong enough to rustle his curtains. It felt
ice-cold, just like it did when David tried to show him things.
Unnerved, he slammed the window closed and pulled the curtains together.
Tap, tap. Tap, tap.
It was louder and disturbingly persistent. Something was out there.
It wanted inside.
The twelve-year-old darted back to his bed and crawled in close to his mother's
side. He practically buried himself under her back. She stirred and sucked in a
heavy breath, but otherwise didn't wake.
There was as rustling from across his bedroom. Again, the shaken boy turned his
head to the window. The persistent tapping turned into scratching. It was not
the limb of an unruly tree causing a racket like most would assume. It was
solid bone. Hard, bloody tips scraped against the glass as the monstrosity they
belonged to tried to pry open the window.
"Mom," Tweek croaked in apprehension.
In the dark, it was hard to see. Often times he'd notice figures and shadows,
faces and bodies. He always told himself it was just his imagination. They were
all just in his head, David being the exception. This, though, it was more than
the flash of a face or a quiet murmur.
It was opening his window, which, to his horror, he left unlocked.
He grabbed his stuffed turtle off his nightstand and squeezed it tight. From
his toy's back, the room became illuminated by faded green shapes. The breeze
again seeped into his room. Curtains fluttered and swayed, and a twisted figure
made its way inside. His breath caught in his throat when he watched the dark
mass of distorted limbs tumble on the floor, leaving dark streaks of sludge
dripping down his wall. It hissed and choked as it convulsed.
Tweek slammed his eyes closed as he heard it dig its bony fingers into the
carpet. The only thing that horrified him more was its grotesque gurgling
slowly inching closer.
It was dragging itself towards his bed.
It's all in my head, he thought through brimming tears.It's a bad dream. A bad
dream.
His bed frame groaned beneath him and his mother, and a faint grumbling seeped
up through his mattress. It was less like random noise and more like a weeping
child. Less like a monster and more like...
Craig.
Tweek rolled out of bed.
A disgusting trail of bodily fluids and wet earth slathered across his carpet.
He stuck his nose up at the rancid smell. Shivers worked their way up his
spine. The dark streaks did indeed disappear under the edge of his bed. After
much deliberation, he lifted the blankets to peer underneath. He wasn't nearly
as brave as his actions made him seem. If he hadn't been convinced he'd heard
Craig's voice, he'd be sobbing under his blankets instead.
"Craig?" Tweek whispered. "Is that you?"
He pressed the back of his stuffed turtle again, which lit the dark space with
tiny green moons and stars.
He had been right.
Bloody fingertips stripped of their flesh dug into the base of his box spring.
A small form slathered in mud and streaks of dark blood latched to the
underbelly of his bed, hanging there. He could see its multiple bruised, bare
limbs twisted awkwardly around its body as it heaved. The horrid creature was
gasping desperately for breath.
"What happened to you?"
His turtle's green light cast a colorful glow on the bloody mess as it began to
move towards him. All he heard was the grinding and popping of bones as a small
face peeked out from behind its rotting arm. Or, at least, what was left of a
face.
Tweek slapped his hand over his mouth to hide a scream at the terrible sight.
By instinct, he jolted away from the bed and tumbled back to the floor.
Oh, God. Oh, Jesus fucking Christ.
Once he gathered his bearings, he quickly crawled back to the bed and yanked
the skirt back up. His turtle was still lighting the small space, but, to his
alarm, there was nothing there but a few boxes and an old pair of socks.
No gory monster, and no bloody mess on the carpet.
"Craig? Where'd you go?" Tweek gasped with tears in his eyes.
The only evidence that his friend had been there at all was the faint sound of
heavy breathing that lingered around his bed. He searched all night to try to
find the source of it. After all, Craig was there somewhere, and he was
hurting.
Craig was hurting.
===============================================================================
Five years.
Five years two months and seven days ago.
If he thought hard enough, perhaps he could even count down to the very second
it happened.
All those years ago. Those months and days ago, it occurred. His mother asked
him a question that triggered the misery and desperation his life became.
"Have you seen Craig?"
He dug his fingers into his sandwich. It was butter and jelly. Not peanut
butter, but real butter. The yellow kind a normal person would use for things
like toast.
Tweek liked it better.
He looked up at his lunch table. It was empty, aside from him and the
shuddering creature hiding between his legs.
The other kids abandoned him a long time ago. At first, they taunted and
bullied him. He was a prime target, after all. Spewing out his make-believe of
ghosts gave them plenty to work with. He was practically begging to be shoved
in a locker.
However, their mindless torture stopped in middle school.
When their fear began.
They believed he wasn't any normal person. He was something so frightening they
wouldn't dare to say a word to him. They wouldn't risk bumping into him in the
hallway, sitting with him at lunch, or even throwing him a pity greeting.
No one would risk being his friend, let alone his bully.
He was cursed, they said. Cursed.
Tweek believed so, too.
Perhaps he could try to conjure up an argument for his normality, but a point
would be hard to make. The little hands gripping the backs of his legs were
enough in themselves to prove he wasn't normal. As if in agreement, a low and
guttural noise gurgled up from between his knees. If Tweek had to put an image
to it, he thought it sounded like someone choking on blood.
"Thanks for that. If you were just going to make fun of me all day you
should've stayed home," Tweek reasoned before taking a bite out of his
sandwich.
More gurgling followed. It wasn't a pattern of speech. It was just grotesque
sounds. Sounds Tweek had grown used to.
He looked down in his lap to try to catch sight of the creature. However, there
wasn't anything to see. There were only the tips of hard bone scraping against
his pant legs.
He continued to attend to his growling stomach and not think about it.
He was sinking his teeth into bread and jelly when he happened to glance up in
the wrong direction.
Two familiar faces came out of the lunch line. They walked close beside one
another with their trays in hand. One was sporting a rather stylish purple pea
coat. The other had a red jersey tied around his waist, though he belonged to
no team. They were both smiling and happy.
Token and Clyde.
At one time, he would be smiling with delight as he watched those same people
approach his table and plop down beside him. Now, he only looked down at his
lunch bag so he wouldn't have to see them navigate the tables to avoid coming
near his.
It had been some time since he spoke to either of them. They couldn't
understand what he was going through, and he couldn't understand why they
wouldn't help.
They left him abandoned, like everyone else.
The large room was buzzing with conversations. Groups of friends, large and
small alike, enjoyed one another's company. They gossiped and exchanged
secrets. They listened to one another and told jokes. Every table had company
and laughter, all except for his.
"Let's go," he muttered under his breath.
He stood abruptly from his lonely seat. The mangled figure that huddled between
his knees was gone, but not far.
Craig was never far.
No one seemed to notice as he carefully navigated around their tables. No one
noticed when he pushed past the wide double doors to the cafeteria and slipped
into the hall. No one noticed him. No one at all.
He moved quickly through the guts of the building. The halls were barren and
empty. The only sounds he heard were the squeaking of his sneakers and a pair
of barefoot feet mimicking his footsteps.
The lights flickered and cracked as he walked beneath them.
"Stop messing with me, would you," he demanded.
Those same footsteps continued from behind. Tweek didn't stop to look back, and
he paid no mind to the quite murmur of mischievous giggles that echoed through
the hall. Giggles that were not Craig's, though they came from him.
Soon, Tweek found himself at a small emergency door that lead to the field
behind the school. When he stopped and took a hold of the handle, the
disembodied sound of slapping feet came to a halt behind him.
"Why are you so talkative today?" Tweek asked before finally turning around and
gazing back into the empty hall.
There was nothing.
Huffing in exasperation, Tweek shoved open the exit and snuck outside. He
immediately felt a weight lift off of his chest the moment his sneakers landed
on cement. Out there by the loading docks, he was safe from everyone else.
Safe, but cold.
He zipped his green hoodie up to his chin and clutched his paper lunch bag in
his hand. After a few moments of walking along the brick wall of the school, he
spotted who he'd been searching for
A group of four sat in a row against the brick wall. They huddled under the
awning that sheltered another back door. He could faintly hear their music
playing and see the smoke wafting from the ends of their cigarettes. They all
wore dark clothes, and their hair was dyed to match. They reminded him much of
crows huddled together on a telephone line. He wrapped his arms around himself
as he approached, then offered a friendly wave hello.
"Ah. If it isn't Spooks," Michael, the tallest of the four, said. He tightened
his black jacket around his torso before he took another long drag.
Tweek nodded slowly before joining the crows in their line. He sat down where
the awning cut away, which kept a good bit of distance between him and them.
Most definitely, he was an outlier. A canary like himself didn't fit into their
gothic flock, let alone their circle of friends. However, unlike the rest of
the school, they weren't afraid of him. In fact, they embraced his weirdness
with and odd interest no one else bothered to have.
"How's your demon friend today?" Michael asked between puffs of his cigarette.
"D-demon?! Craig's not a demon!" Tweek argued passionately. "He's creepy, but
he's friendly!"
"Okay then," Michael said. "How's Casper?"
Tweek sighed as he again dug through his lunch bag for his half eaten sandwich.
He never knew how to respond when they asked him questions like that. Usually,
he'd just keep Craig and all the other ghouls to himself. Then again, he rarely
talked to the living at all. He could never tell if they were making fun of
him.
Conversations with the Goths were no exception.
"Needy," he replied with a cracking voice.
He knew where the puffing warmth on his neck was coming from, and it wasn't the
breeze. He counted each of Craig's breaths while he chewed on his sandwich.
"It's been a few days since you came to see us," another, very female, voice
noted aloud. Tweek looked past Michael to find who'd spoken, Henrietta.
She was a carbon copy of the others when it came to her style. She wore a black
halter top decorated in lace, along with an unzipped black hoodie. A black pair
of jeans.
Black, black. Black, black. Black.
Tweek couldn't understand what was so great about such a listless color.
"Uh, yeah. We've been eating in the lunch room," he admits.
"Why?" Michael butts in. "The place is crawling with those petty conformists."
Tweek stopped to think for a moment. Why?
"To try to feel normal, I guess," Tweek admitted quietly. "I'm sick of everyone
being scared of me."
He pulled on the strings hanging from the holes in his pants. He still counted
each breath Craig puffed on the back of his neck.
One hundred seventeen. One hundred eighteen. One hundred nineteen.
"There isn't anything 'normal' about you, Spooks," Henrietta replied. She
leaned forward to get a better look at the boy counting to himself. "Stop
trying to blend in with all the maggots infesting this place. It's bad for your
health."
"Yeah," Michael agreed as smoke rolled out of his nostrils. "Who gives two
shits if the conformists don't like you, anyways? As if their thoughts aren't
tainted by this disgusting society."
Pete and Firkle remained quiet, though they nodded their heads in silent
agreement. For the first time in a long time, Tweek felt touched.
Tweek spent the rest of the hour in silence. He ate while listening to their
chatter and weird music, and his jaw synced his chews with the quiet rhythm of
Craig's labored breathing puffing in his ear.
Meanwhile, back in the depths of the school building, Kyle sat at his own lunch
table. It really wasn't much different from any other day that year. He and
Kenny McCormick sat side by side across from Butters Stotch and Eric Cartman.
Like Tweek, few words left his mouth those days. His communication widdled down
to small smiles and few word sentences. He was always too tired to engage
himself in conversations with his friends or bicker with that lard-ass Cartman.
He swirled his fork in spaghetti while listening to the buzz between Cartman
and Kenny. Butters was also too absorbed in reading a copy of that day's
newspaper to pay much mind.
"You know, I never liked that movie much. The acting was shitty and the monster
was cheesy as hell," Eric said with his nose upturned.
"The monster wasn't scary, no, but who cares if the acting was good. The chick
was hot as hell," Kenny said with a small smirk. "I mean damn, you saw that sex
scene, right?"
"Wow, you guys!" Butters exclaimed, interrupting a rare moment in which Eric
and Kenny weren't trying to tear one another's throats out. "There's a story
about the Shadowman in the papers again."
Kenny and Eric both stopped dead conversation. The heavier of the two rolled
his eyes in disinterest.
They weren't surprised by what Butters told them.
Everyone at the table had already heard the story before. In fact, everyone in
South Park had. It was happening for years, after all. Since they were still
kids, even. Every article was the same retelling of the same phenomena they'd
known all their lives.
"Oh, come on, Butters. Shadowman isn't real. He's just some dumb story our
parents told us so we'd shit ourselves so bad we wouldn't sneak out at night,"
Cartman said before taking a bite of his pizza.
"O-oh yeah? Then how do ya explain all the holes?" Butters argued. "They're
huge and they've been showing up forever!"
"God damn it, Butters. Animals. Animals dig up the ground all the freaking
time. You expect everybody to believe they're made by some psycho ghost?"
Kyle huffed to himself as he soaked up the banter.
Shadowman.
They said he was the ghost of a man who'd drown in Stark's Pond. A bitter,
angry man who found someone in bed with his wife when he came home an hour
early. A savage, psychotic man who confronted her about what he'd seen with the
jagged blade of a hunting knife.
After chopping her into pieces, he stuffed heavy, bloody bags into the back of
his truck. He drove to Stark's Pond to do what all psychotic murderers do:
dispose of bodies.
However, his plot failed when said truck veered off of the road and plummeted
into the murky waters. His evidence was indeed disposed of, along with himself,
as they sunk to the muddy bottom.
The story wasn't over. Every night since, he came out of the lake to finish
what he started. The black, eight foot tall, phantom littered the waterline and
woods alike with deep holes to hide the pieces of his dismembered wife.
And, as the story goes, if you caught him in the act, he'd dispose of you, too.
They all had seen hundreds of his holes over the years. Everyone who went to
Stark's did. They even found one big enough for Kenny to lay in, despite the
mud and worms.
However, not one of them ever caught a glimpse of the infamous Shadowman. Not
even Kyle. He definitely sensed presences there. He'd even seen childlike
apparitions, but a Shadowman wasn't among them.
"Well, you know what," Butters said confidently as he held the newspaper out
before him. "Just listen to this, since you don't believe me!"
He held the paper up to his face and read aloud the headline: "Shadowman Caught
on Camera."
Being the rebel he was, Butters turned the large page and skipped ahead to the
very last paragraph.
"Whoa!" He exclaimed before clearing his throat and reading the paper for
everyone to hear. "Here for the first time, local fisherman, Ricky Malkinson,
has caught photographic evidence of Stark's Shadowman! He captured this ghostly
image at around 11:00pm while boating with his son- Oh hamburgers, would you
look at that!"
The whole table shifted close to get a look at the ghost that's haunted their
imaginations since childhood. Even Kyle stood up to follow Kenny around the
table and eyeball the evidence.
It was definitely the shore of Stark's. They recognized the woods well. The
image was clear, mostly. There was just one exception.
Kyle's eyes widened when they took their fill of a black mass in the trees.
That in itself wouldn't have been very impressive to him. What was impressive
was the number of orbs. They were dim, circular lights that seemed to be
retreating through the trees along with the dark specter.
Everyone else continued the conversation as Kyle stared intensely at the small
square on the paper.
"Geez, I guess people are offering money for information and pictures and
stuff," Butters muttered more to himself than his friends.
"Of course they are," Kenny replied as he made his way back to his seat.
"Someone's been ripping up the ground around Stark's forever. The park rangers
are probably sick of having to fill all those holes in."
"Shit. I wonder how much they'd pay for pictures like that," Cartman said while
stroking his chin.
"I don't like that look on your face, Eric," Butters said while folding up the
paper.
"Really, though, just think about it! They're offering money for a picture,
right? Now, think about how much we made if we got video. No, no! If we caught
it!" Cartman was nearly foaming out the mouth with possibilities.
Kenny swallowed hard and played with his lunch. Pizza, which Kyle purchased on
his behalf. Honestly, a ghost hunt in the woods is just the kind of thing he
found fun in. Some things were more important than having fun.
"Sounds great and all," Kenny interrupted before leaning back in his chair.
"But how in the hell are you expecting to find that thing, let alone catch it?
If it turns out Shadowman is real, the last thing you'd want is to catch him
trying to hide body parts."
"Yeah! And you don't even believe in him!" Butters added with a twisted
expression.
"Oh, please. If he is real, he's just some guy in a robe trying to scare
people. If he's not, we'll throw a robe on Butters and film him stumbling
around in the woods."
"H-hey!" Butters protested. "I'm not even tall enough!"
"So," Kenny scoffed, "our options are either playing Scooby-Doo in the woods at
night or staging a hoax. No thanks."
"Oh, come on. Usually, you'd be itching for a little adventure. Especially if
it meant we'd make money. Don't tell me playing babysitter for the Jew turned
you soft."
"He is not my babysitter. I don't need anyone to take care of me," Kyle snapped
before Kenny could get a word in. He crossed his arms and huffed. It gave the
opposite effect of what he was pinning for.
"Prove it," Cartman challenged, eyes narrowing and grin widening. It was hard
to get under Kyle's skin those days. Eric was not about to pass up an
opportunity to push his buttons.
"F-fine!" Kyle hissed. "I'll come on your pissy little adventure."
Kenny furrowed his brows in worry. "The last thing you need is to get caught up
in Cartman's bullshit right now."
"I can make decisions for myself," Kyle mumbled under his breath. He took a big
bite of his lunch as if that would exempt him from having to say anymore.
"Ey, you heard the man, come stain. Ginger wants an adventure. Who am I to deny
him of that?" Eric butt in, obviously more giddy than neither Butters nor Kenny
felt comfortable with.
There was one undeniable truth about their group: If Cartman was excitedly
scheming, something was going to go wrong.
"Great, then," Cartman uttered before ripping open his milk carton. "Meet me
and Butters there tonight. 9pm, sharp. This time tomorrow, we'll be famous."
"Tonight? Dude, it's going to be pouring down rain," Kenny objected.
"Psh, you know we aren't the only ones who thought of this. The promise of
money is all over the papers. If we go in the rain fewer people should show."
He was good at plotting, Kyle had to give him that much. Still… even he
couldn't deny the sinking feeling in his stomach.
***** The Circle *****
His limbs felt chilled like he'd just been shoved into a freezer.
His body felt suspended in a fixed place in time.
He could move and jerk about, but never make contact with anything. He could
open his eyes, but saw only a brownish black gradient of an abyss.
His body was floating in a void. Every part of him yearned for warmth as he
struggled to breathe in. As he kicked and thrashed he heard familiar sounds. It
was a muddy and distorted sloshing.
It was then he realized not only was he floating but also wet.
Panic set in when he finally gasped, only to be met with a throat full of ice
cold water. He moved closer to the bright brown beams of color. Despite this,
he knew he wouldn't make it to the surface conscious.
In that moment he had that terrible revelation a large pair of hands broke
through the shining rays of ripples. His heart leaped out of his chest with
relief.
They grabbed his wrists. He joyously expected to be heaved up out of the dark
pit, but his rejoicing gave way into horrified shock. Those hands tightly wound
themselves around his throat, and then pressed him back down deeper into the
water.
He was so close to the surface. He could see distorted colors dancing in the
chaos of the water. In fact, he could almost make out the face of his attacker.
Almost.
He gasped in a painful mouthful of water, which proved his undoing. His vision
blurred, and his lungs burned like hot iron against his insides.
His body lurched in his sheets. He took in another gasp for air, and,
thankfully, his lungs filled with it.
"Oh, Jesus. Oh, Christ," Tweek cried out.
Ripples of relief waded through his flesh when he realized he was in his room.
However, the happiness didn't last long. Yet again, that same terrible dream
left him awake and shaking in his bed.
Sleep was impossible ever since Craig snuck into the window a week prior. His
dreams were plagued by nightmares. Nightmares that left him so petrified he
tried to avoid sleep all together, not that he got very much of it beforehand.
He'd missed a lot of school because of it. Despite his fear of sleep, he took
to lying in bed for hours on end. Hours on end with no interruptions from
David, the man in the attic, oddly enough.
Maybe David's absence had something to do with the breathing that still
lingered in the air. That heavy, throaty breathing.
He heard it all the time as if Craig was still clawing away at the underbelly
of his bed. However, there was nothing there.
He rubbed his forehead with small hands and took to chanting about how much
pressure it all was. It was the only thing the child could do to spare himself
from violent sobbing.
He'd been crying a lot that week. Usually, his mother would hear and come into
his room. She'd sit with him and sing his favorite lullaby: Twinkle Twinkle
Little Star.
That particular night, though, he was alone. His parents were sleeping soundly
in their room down the hall. He knew for sure no one would hear him, so he let
it come bubbling out.
His eyes became wet; his pillowcase did, too.
The tiny muscle thumping in his chest was breaking. He felt so isolated, and he
still was missing Craig. He tried and tried so hard to find him. He looked
through the closet, under his bed, and even went up in the attic in hopes of
coming across him. However, all he found were a few old pairs of socks and an
oddly spooked David. There was no Craig. Not anywhere, despite the fact that
Tweek could still occasionally hear his labored breathing.
A sob broke out of him.
He pressed his face hard into the fluff of his pillow to conceal his wretched
wailing. It all just hurt so badly. Too badly.
It was then an odd sound cut through his cries. A disembodied murmuring floated
through the room. The faint sound let centipedes loose under Tweek's skin.
It was humming.
Just like the heavy breathing that plagued his bed, it didn't seem to have a
source. It mimicked the tune his mother would sing when she'd caught him
crying, though it most definitely did not sound like her.
It was quivering and small, but shrill like nails scraping against a
chalkboard.
"Twinkle, twinkle, little star."
Voices echoed throughout his room like a children's choir.
"Up above the world so high."
In his fear, the little boy reached down beside his bed to fetch his light up
stuffy turtle. He knew the light wouldn't deter them. It never stopped David's
shadowy figure from standing at the foot of his bed, but it always brought him
the littlest bit of comfort.
He leaned down a little further with tiny fingers outstretched.
Something small and cold brush against his lax hand. However, he didn't have
the chance to pull away. He laid in confused and terrified silence as freezing
cold fingers interlaced with his own and gently squeezed.
"Like a diamond in the sky."
The hand belonged to something beneath his bed.
He pushed fear aside. The boy bit down on his lip as he squeezed back. The skin
was chilled and damp like wet paper. He could easily feel every hard bone
hiding beneath it, though he couldn't find the rhythmic throb of a heartbeat.
There was just cold and quivering meat.
"Craig," Tweek whispered, absolutely sure of who he was touching.
The cold hand trembled, and Tweek squeezed tighter as if he could warm it with
his own.
It was then, from the darkness under his bed, he heard one sentence. It didn't
sound like it was coming from one person, but rather the plethora of young
children who'd been trying to sing him to sleep.
"It's so cold."
Their raspy voices whimpered in unison. Tweek thought that if he listened
carefully enough, he could make out one that sounded particularly familiar.
"You can come up under the blankets," Tweek still offered hopefully, despite
his friend's grotesque form.
"It's so cold," was the only reply he'd gotten in return.
It made him frown deeply.
"How do I make you warm, then?"
Just like that, the fingers he was clutching so tightly to slipped away from
his grasp and disappeared underneath his bed.
===============================================================================
Rain as thick as black oil pounded on their heads. The soles of their shoes
sank deep into the wet ground. Lightning cracked across the black sky and
thunder roared like an ancient behemoth. They knew it'd be raining, but they
hadn't expected such a storm. Still, thanks to Kyle's stubbornness, he and
Kenny made their way towards their rendezvous point: The old bathrooms of
Stark's Pond.
It was a good spot for spying on the pond, Kyle had to give his friends that
much. Though he wished they picked somewhere a little less… rancid to stake out
in. His discomfort was only pushed towards deeper levels when he sensed an
ominous shift in the air. The closer they walked towards the darkened woods the
higher Kyle's hair stood on end.
His slender fingers gently brushed against a yarn bracelet tied around his
wrist.
"Sure you wanna go through with this?" Kenny asked loudly through the sounds of
the storm as they came upon the rickety shack of a bathroom.
Kyle paused a short moment as if he might be reconsidering. Though he ended up
nodding his head with resolve. There was obvious doubt in Kenny's eyes. No
matter how interesting Cartman's newest escapade seemed, he couldn't shake the
feeling that such an adventure wasn't good for Kyle.
Not then, when he was already having such trouble healing.
"Don't worry, Kenny," Kyle assured with the smallest of smiles. "I can handle
it. Besides, when have any of us ever seen Shadowman? We'll probably just dress
up poor Butters and call it a night."
Kenny allowed a small frown to break through. Kyle didn't see it as he pulled
open the door to the bathroom. Well, it looked more like a shed than a
bathroom, both inside and out. The walls were constructed from the tin roof of
an old barn. The wooden frame was just the same, and the plywood floor was
covered in dirt and filth. Luckily, there were at least stalls shielding their
eyes from the horror of the filthy commodes.
The first thing they noticed when they stepped into the shoddy building was
Eric Cartman leaning up against the shack-like structure's wooden frame. He was
fiddling with a rather expensive looking camera and didn't bother to look up at
the pair as they entered.
"Ah, I see you guys decided to show, after all," Eric said. He was trying to
sound uncaring, but Kenny caught the small rise of excitement hidden under his
drawl demeanor. "Good to see you finally found your ballsack, Kyle."
"Yeah, whatever," Kyle responded in a mutter. All the spunk the redhead had at
lunch had yet again vanished.
Eric would just have to pry harder to get a rise out of him, he supposed.
"H-hey, don't mess around with it like that," Butter pleaded as Cartman
mindlessly fiddled with the camera. "If you mess it up- oh, gosh, I'd be
grounded forever."
After Butters and Eric were finished bickering, they set to work. The front
door was propped open with a large rock so they could keep a lookout, though
Butters had to set up the night vision on his father's camera. "He was really
into photography for a while," Butters explained as he scrolled through a menu
on the screen. Though that's all he said before blathering about how scared he
was of being caught with it.
The night wore on as well as the angry storm. The only sound that cut through
its persistent pounding were their own echoing voices. Kyle and Butters lost
interest with the steak out about an hour in. They huddled together in a lump
on the nasty floor to watch Eric and Kenny take turns with the camera. No
Shadowman mysteriously appeared to tear up the wet earth, and Eric's
frustration was steadily growing.
"Well, I guess this isn't going to be as fun as I hoped," he grumbled before
passing the camera to Kenny. Kyle and Butters watched through the beams of
their flashlights as he made his way towards a backpack propped up on a wooden
ledge. With a loud zip, Eric yanked the bag open to proudly reveal his plan B:
a large black trench coat.
"What do you think, Butters? Does it look about your size?" he questioned with
the cock of his brow.
"O-oh, hamburgers," Butters squeaked. "I don't wanna wear that thing! I will
never get ungrounded if my parents find out I'm even out here! I don't wanna
know what they'd do if I stage a hoax!"
"Yeah, yeah, we're all very concerned," Eric sighed while holding the coat
open. "Now get over here."
"Holy fucking shit, there is no way," Kenny blurted.
"What? What is it?" Eric asked, distracted from Butters.
"Holy fucking horse shit!"
Frustrated, Kyle lurched up off the floor and practically jogged to his friend.
Kenny shoved the camera into his chest and pointed out the door.
"Look," he demanded with his eyes wide.
Before the redhead could even glance into the camera Butters and Eric were
gathered around him to stare at the screen. He pointed it back out the door and
slowly scanned the wilderness.
Kyle's mouth dropped open in utter disbelief.
There in the wind and rain stood a man. He was close enough to the outhouse
that Kyle could make out the hood on his head and the long, pointed tool at his
side. Could this really be it? By some stroke of unfathomable fortune did they
really happen upon the demon of Stark's Pond? The thought made his heart rattle
in his chest like rusted nails in a tin can.
"Whoa!" Butters whispered shrilly. He jammed his finger towards the camera's
display as if to rub the image in Eric's face. "See, it's him! I told you he
was real! O-oh, hamburgers, I sure hope he doesn't find us in here."
"Find us?" Cartman said with a proud air of determination that made Kyle feel
beyond uncomfortable. "It's us who found him. You guys ready?"
"Wait, you were fucking serious about catching that thing?" Kyle snapped as
harsh wind scraped against their shelter. "We don't know who this guy is or
what the fuck he's doing out here. You got him on tape, that's enough."
"Well, fine then. I see some of us aren't man enough to see all of this
through," Cartman said with a shrug and a sigh. "Well, for anyone who's still
got a ballsack: The plan is we take off that hood of his. We get his face on
tape, and its KFC every night for the rest of the year."
Kyle believed Eric was overestimating just how much fame and fortune such an
encounter would give them.
"Um, great plan and all, but what if Shadowman really is what people say? Or
even if he's just a big mean guy in a coat? I d-don't wanna get cut up and
buried!" Butters tried to reason. He was still watching the camera intensely.
His hands gripped at the thing even though Kyle still hadn't let go. It was
hard not to eyeball the massive figure hacking away at the ground.
"He's like twice as big as all of us. Not to mention he's got a shovel," Kyle
muttered in agreement.
"Guys, it ran from the guy in the newspaper just 'cause he saw it. We all go
after him, we'll catch him for sure. Trust me."
That image from the newspaper. It flashed through Kyle's mind and left him
feeling woozy. There were orbs littering that image; the tiny souls that were
following Shadowman through the trees. Even if it was a flesh and blood human
being, he feared trying to catch it was a crime that would not go unpunished.
"Listen, we need to just leave-" Kyle didn't have time to finish expressing his
blatant doubt. Eric snatched the camera out of Butters's hand and bolted full
speed out the shack door.
"Eric, wait!" Butters tried to insist, but the chunky teen was already
shuffling across the grass and towards the edge of the woods.
By instinct, Kyle and Kenny both jolted up to go after their idiotic friend.
They ran out into the storm as Butters trailed behind, shouting about how bad
of an idea all this was.
Their flashlights shined through the veil of blackness and rain. Their boots
squished in pockets of mud and cloudy puddles. They could see Cartman's back,
and the looming creature he was running towards.
The massive black figure let out a terrified screech and bolted into the forest
at a nearly inhuman speed.
Cartman's simple plan quickly mushed together into a terrible mess. The woods
were too dark to keep track of everyone. Even their flashlights weren't good in
the violent weather. Kenny ended up in the lead, not even realizing Eric had
already ran out of breath and fallen far behind him and the others. Butters was
beside the nimble blond as Kenny hurled himself over tree branches and shrubs
to keep up with the retreating monster.
Butters; not so nimble.
In his effort to keep up he didn't pay enough attention to where his feet were
stomping. Just like that, he lost his footing. Twigs snapped like firecrackers
and he let out a strangled yell as he went tumbling into a thorn bush.
"God fucking damn it, Butters! Kenny, Kyle, don't let it get away. Go! Go after
it!" Eric shouted urgently. "I'll get Butters!"
Without a second thought, Kenny kept running. Bewildered, Kyle quickly chased
after him.
"Kenny, no!" he tried to reason with a scream.
They weaved around trunks of tall trees as Kenny tried to catch up to the
shadow they could still just barely see retreating into the darkness. However,
Kyle's years in track began to show. He proved agile enough to get right up on
his friends tail. He rammed right into him, sending both of them tumbling
harshly into the dirt.
"Are you fucking crazy?!" Kyle demanded as he stumbled to his feet. "Chasing
the Shadowman through the woods- you've lost your fucking mind! Who knows what
that- that thing really is! For God's sake-"
"Dude, look," Kenny whispered.
Kyle's infuriated gaze shifted up to a tree. It was just like all the others,
really. Thin, tall, and covered in brown bark. However, there was something
rather peculiar that set it apart from the rest.
A nail had been driven right through the chest of a teddy bear, pinning it
against the bark. There were others, as well. Stuffed animals, baby dolls, and
toy trucks alike all laid in a heap at its roots.
"Shit, there is no way that's real," Kenny said as Kyle stepped forward to get
a better look. "That's just… Wow, Sick..."
Something was beckoning him to reach out and touch the impaled teddy bear. He
couldn't resist.
"Kyle don't touch that, holy shit," Kenny shouted before grabbing his friend's
hand and walking him a few steps away from the odd thing. "We were right- this
was a bad idea."
Kyle swallowed hard, but the unsettling feeling in his chest was only made
worse by the faint rumbling of thunder in the distance. The rain couldn't get
to them well through the canopy of leaves above them, but the storm wasn't
letting up.
"We'll come back in the daytime to get a better look, okay? Let's get outta
here," Kenny muttered.
Kyle nodded absentmindedly, but Kenny had to practically drag him away from the
toy-covered tree.
They could see the beams of their friend's flashlights through the curtain of
wood and leaves. They shined theirs back.
The redhead again reached down to fiddle with his bracelet. They walked side by
side back down the path they came from. If the swaying trees and flashes of
lightning weren't enough to put Kyle on edge, the air had dropped so cold he
could feel it seep into his lungs with each breath. His skin was tingling, and
the hairs on the back of his neck stood straight up on end.
"Kenny, do you feel that?" Kyle nearly whimpered.
When Ken didn't answer, Kyle turned towards him.
"Aren't you at least-" he was stopped dead. His flashlight was shining where
Kenny should have been, but all he saw were the trees.
No Kenny.
No anyone.
"Kenny!" Kyle shouted. His heart was suddenly pounding so hard in his chest he
thought it might explode. "Ken, where are you?!"
Leaves crunched under his boots as he tracked back towards the mysterious tree
decorated with toys. He didn't want to go back there, but Kenny couldn't have
just vanished into thin air. He had to be somewhere nearby.
As he tried to track down their path, he realized nothing looked familiar. The
trees and bushes somehow morphed, or he'd wandered onto the wrong trail. He
stood still as he tried to work it out in his head. The panic didn't truly set
in until he realized he could no longer see Eric and Butter's flashlights
through the trees.
"Cartman, Butters!" he screamed as loud as he could. He was hoping his friends
might yell back, but he was only met with a silence so eerie it left his skull
buzzing.
There were no chirping crickets or hooting night owls. Not even the yellowing
leaves rustled in the wind. In fact, the storm seemed to have vanished just as
Kenny had.
The snapping of a single twig cracked through the trees. He shined his
flashlight into the foliage.
"Kenny?" He questioned softly.
There was more rustling. The sound of humming oozed out from between the thin
tree trunks and onto Kyle's path. There seemed to be a chorus chiming a quiet
tune. The sound of feet scuffing against the autumn ground also bounced around
inside his skull. There was only one path that seemed familiar to him, and the
voices were dancing on it.
He reached to his wrist and rubbed his bracelet for comfort. It gave him the
assurance he needed, but his legs still wobbled and his breath became rapid as
he turned off his flashlight.
He didn't want to go without the light helping to guide him forward, but he
didn't want to risk being seen. Stay low. Stay quiet.
He pushed past small trees and prickly bushes as he let his thumping chest
guide him towards the echoing sound. It seemed to be coming from every
direction.
The low branches of a thorn bush grabbed onto his pant leg, digging its sharp
edges through the cloth and into him. He hissed and tried to untangle himself
with a hard yank. He stumbled over the bush and fell face first in the dirt.
Puffing, he wiped his face and gazed up through the tall weeds he'd landed in.
The breath was sucked right out of him.
Through the grass and ivy, he caught a glimpse of feet. Many pairs of small
feet. They were nearly impossible to see through the dark of night, but they
were there.
Bouncing playfully.
The quiet laughter and unsettling tune he'd heard before were all too clear
now.
There were children, and they were holding hands. Up to a dozen, maybe. He was
too scared to count heads.
They were formed into a circle, dancing as they held onto one another. He
quieted his breath the best that he could.
A mass lurched in the center of their circle. It rose from the ground like a
small, black, hill. What was most unsettling was to watch it shutter. An
intense feeling of sorrow enveloped Kyle's being when he watched it try and
fail to take a form.
Through the ambiance of a playground full of happy noise, he heard soft
sobbing.
The children echoed playful laughter back to the dark form's despaired sounds.
It seemed to be trying to join them - trying to play with them.
Their song broke away into mush in Kyle's mind. They shuttered and swayed like
pictures on old film, and the thing in the center of their joyful laughter
finally rose like a black sheet.
Like it was also a child, it swayed with them.
He wanted to run away. Whatever that thing was starting to take shape. It was
very dark but very human. Its head seemed too heavy for it to hold up. Its
movements were slow and lagged like that of a zombie. It stumbled and shook on
its own two feet, and he found himself thankful it was looking away from him.
This was not the Shadowman he and his friends chased through the woods.
He felt in his guts that it was something far worse.
He very slowly got to his feet. His flashlight was still off, though he was
holding it so tightly his knuckles were turning white. His head was filling
with so many pictures. Pictures of faces. Pictures of little boys with light
hair and blue eyes. He stepped back and away from the ghostly figures and their
play.
Much to his horror, he backed into the same thorn bush that tripped him. It
rustled loudly, and Kyle's heart stopped when the children's playful noises
seized.
His eyes shot up towards the figures. The stumbling zombie of a spirit slowly
began to turn its head towards him. A god-awful cracking and snapping resonated
from the thing's unsteady spine. Its body didn't budge, but its head kept
turning.
He faced its grotesque form as he backed quickly away. He didn't want to risk
turning his back to the gurgling monster. And, as its head finally turned to
face him full on, he realized it was indeed just that.
A monster.
Two gaping holes were gouged out of its face where eyes should have been.
Black, tar-like grime oozed from the deformities. Its true horror wasn't
revealed until the children ran away to hide. With pale, mud-streaked legs it
wobbled towards him. Jagged, long teeth protruded from its wide jaws so wildly
it couldn't close its own mouth. Its feet left the ground, but it's many, many,
spider-like arms did not.
He let out a horrified shriek when it came barreling towards him.
He forced his way through bushes and weeds, all the while trying to keep his
feet moving faster than the gurgling beast scrambling for him. The soles of his
shoes slammed into the dirt when he made his way back to the path, but he
didn't stop running. It was screaming from behind him, and he felt tears of
horror brim in his eyes.
"Eric! Kenny!" He screamed desperately.
Kyle shined his light wildly through the trees. He didn't dare to look back. He
knew that twisted, shuttering thing was still coming for him. He could hear its
knees and hands scraping along the dirt.
He fell.
His flashlight flew from his hand and smashed into the ground as he was pulled
back by his ankle. Screaming and flailing, he kicked at the creature that'd
ensnared him. The sharp tips of its fingers felt like needles piercing his
flesh through his jeans.
"Kenny, help me!" He begged as tears streamed down his face. "Please!"
He kicked it and swore in agony as it clawed at him. As it pulled him closer
and closer towards a gaping mouth of sharp teeth.
"Stan!"
The beast let out a pained cry and quickly fell away.
Kyle jumped to his feet and didn't hesitate a moment to run off deeper into the
woods. His cheeks were cold from the breeze chilling his tears. His jeans were
muddy and ripped, and his hands were in the same shape.
All of him was aching down into his core, but he could hear that thing
screaming in the distance. He couldn't stop.
Through the trees that flew by him he saw a yellow light. Without a second
thought, he sped through thorn bushes and poison ivy towards a structure amidst
the trees. It was a house. A single light shined through the back door. He was
only a yard away from salvation when he heard the trees rustling violently.
He didn't stop when he heard the sickening thump of meat and bone slam into the
dirt behind him. He didn't stop when he heard those same hands claw away at the
ground to get to him.
He didn't stop.
Not until his feet banged along the rickety porch, and he threw open the door.
He turned towards the creature only a second to slam the wooden slab in its
face. The beast rammed headfirst into the rotting wood. Kyle grabbed a small
metal knob and forced the rusted lock closed. The creature was not deterred. It
only got more and more angry as it repeatedly rammed the door with its skull.
Kyle took a panicked look around. A kitchen. He was standing in a decaying
kitchen. He pulled out his cellphone. His hands were shaking so badly he could
hardly press the right buttons. Kenny. Kenny. He needed to call Kenny.
Just as he pressed on the familiar name, his screen went black.
"What?!" He nearly screamed to himself. "What? No, no. I charged this!"
Boots thumped against creaking floorboards. They weren't coming from the front
porch where that creature was. It came from somewhere within the house, and it
just kept coming closer.
"Fuck," he muttered. Upon the realization that the light he'd seen was a
candle, he thought it best to hide. That house was surely condemned. Whoever
or… whatever lit that candle wasn't supposed to be there.
The footsteps grew dangerously clear. He quickly scrambled for the counter.
Most of the cabinet doors had fallen off or broken. However, there were a few
just good enough for a hiding place. He squatted down and quickly climbed into
the nasty cupboard.
Kyle tried to slow his breathing and remain silent. Peering through the sliver
of an opening between cabinet door and wood, he watched an odd scene unfold.
The doorknob leading into the kitchen turned and, with a loud creak, came open.
There was a man behind it. He was ridiculously tall, from what Kyle could tell.
His slender body was draped with a pitch black robe. The black was soiled with
mud. The figure's face, however, was too high up for Kyle to see through his
loose door.
It laid a soiled shovel down on the table across the dingy kitchen.
The Shadowman.
While Kyle gawked at the black figure the disturbing monstrosity that chased
him to that house was still heaving itself at the locked door.
"You're so loud," the Shadowman complained in a whisper. It was so quiet, Kyle
almost didn't hear it.
He watched from his hiding place as the black form ghosted across the room.
Without making a sound, Kyle shifted to keep his limited gaze on what was
happening. His breath caught when the Shadowman's black hands slid open the
lock keeping the beast out. It was then the door busted open with a startling
slam. That… thing fell inside. Its wild limbs and distorted face slammed
against the floor, and the Shadowman only sighed.
"Come here," he said, extending his arms out to the warped mass of flesh. Kyle
just couldn't help but think he'd heard that voice before. It was so hauntingly
familiar it scraped shivers up his trembling arms.
Kyle watched wide-eyed as long, pale arms grabbed at the Shadowman's broad
shoulders. The creature hoisted itself up onto his body. Bones cracked and
ground as it wrapped its legs around his torso. While screaming bloody murder,
the horrible beast shuddered up towards the man's face. To help calm the
distressed thing in his arms, the tall, black mystery phantom sang aloud whilst
bouncing his pint-sized monster like a child. "Twinkle, twinkle, little star.
How I wonder what you are."
The majority of said monster's fingers had been stripped of their flesh, and
Kyle watched in horrid fascination as the eyeless beast reached its bones up
towards the cloaked man's face.
"Up above the world so high, like a diamond in the sky."
It's once shrill shrieks were reduced to gentle coos. A face that was plagued
by rows of jagged teeth showed nothing of the sort. Its multiple mangled limbs
were gone, leaving behind only two arms and two legs. However, Kyle could see
part its face through the crack, and its eyes remained gouged out of its head.
"There you go, all better, right?"
The tall figure didn't budge an inch. It just allowed the seemingly blind
creature to knock off his hood and run its muddy hands all over his face. The
tall man's lips had stopped moving, but his odd companion continued his song in
a low, eerie hum.
Kyle tried desperately to get a look at the man's face. He squinted and
carefully lowered himself down, which eventually granted him a sight that left
him rattled with more questions than answers. A crooked nose slathered with
smudges of mud, round, blue eyes, and a familiar mop of unruly blond hair. As
the cloaked man- no, boy, turned away, he said a single thing to his mutilated
friend that left their eavesdropper's mind buzzing.
"Come on, Craig."
Despite Kyle's burning curiosity, he laid low and silent. He dared not leave
even after the odd pair left the kitchen and shut the door behind them. He
stayed, and he waited until he was absolutely sure he would not be caught
leaving. The creaky cabinet door was slowly pushed open before he crawled out
on his hands and knees.
The kitchen floor was covered in dirt and grime. He grimaced as he stood, and
wiped the mess from his hands onto his jeans. The house was decrepit and
falling apart. The wallpaper was peeling away and absolutely everything was
covered in dust.
He walked calmly out the front door and off of the rickety porch. However, the
moment the soles of his shoes hit dirt he ran as fast as he could. He found
that his legs were still shaking, and his breath was heavy and rapid from
everything he'd just been through. Still, he found the strength to jog back
into the orchard of ominously tall pillars of wood. All the while he called out
for his friends, hoping that they would hear him.
He didn't think he had any other chance of rescue. As long as he could avoid
the ring of dancing children, he would be content.
"Kyle!" he heard someone scream, making him scream.
Suddenly he was lifted off the ground and pulled into someone's arms, though he
could only see their orange sleeve in the beam of their flashlight.
"Oh, holy shit, I thought we lost you out here!" Kenny shouted while squeezing
him hard.
"Ah!… no, no, I'm… fine," Kyle whispered with his eyes still wide with fright.
His feet were back on the ground, but Kenny's hands were still on his
shoulders. His friend was not so convinced.
Butters and Eric, who were standing behind him, didn't seem to be either.
"Oh, man, Kyle. You're shaking like a darned leaf," Butters said as he came
quickly to his friend's side. "What happened out there?!"
Kyle shook his head to dismiss the question, though he didn't take another
step. He let himself lean against Kenny, all the while still trembling from
both fear and the nipping cold.
A hand wiped its chilly skin under his nose. Surprised, he looked up. A red
blotch was smudged on Kenny's finger.
"Your nose is bleeding pretty bad. We're gonna take you home, okay?"
Kyle could only wordlessly nod.
Kenny looked over Kyle's head towards Eric who'd been standing a few feet away.
He looked almost guilty, which Kenny felt fit.
He pointed a finger in the chunky teen's direction.
"No more of your schemes," he barked lowly. "Ever."
Eric didn't say anything as the group shifted and began to make their way back
towards the pond. He only grumbled to himself in frustration. Honestly, nothing
had really gone according to plan. He was hoping to get a few laughs in with
Kenny, to see a glimpse of the Kyle he knew before the crash.
Not only did Kyle get lost in the woods (which sparked a screaming match
between himself and Kenny), but the footage they captured was fucking useless.
Despite night vision having been on the video was nothing but a solid black
screen accompanied by broken sounds.
The damn fucking shit camera must have been busted.
At the head of the group, Kyle watched his and Kenny's feet step on yellow and
orange leaves. They were wet and covered in brown sludge thanks to the storm.
Still, the sight somehow helped him slowly recover.
"Kenny?" he whispered carefully.
"Yeah?"
"… what do you remember about Craig Tucker?"
***** Mini-Monster *****
The front door creaked open somberly. Mr. and Mrs. Tweak turned their heads
towards the sound as two people stepped inside their home. One stood nearly as
tall as their grandfather clock, while the other was more comparable to the
height of a stool. The tallest tucked a piece of blond hair behind her hear.
Her other hand was seized by the little girl beside her.
Tweek recognized the people. They were Craig's mom, and his little sister,
Ruby.
"Ah, Laura, I wasn't expecting you so soon," said Mrs. Tweak, or Cindy, as her
friends called her.
Craig's mother nodded as Ruby stared at Tweek. The little boy fidgeted with his
stuffed turtle.
"I'm sorry to drop by with such little notice," the woman by the door said
weakly. "I just-"
"No, no, Laura," Cindy said with the shake of her head. "Our house is your
house. Besides, I figured you'd want to pick it up."
Mrs. Tweak wafted across the room in her long green dress. She came beside
Tweek and lifted a cardboard box off of the couch beside him. She gave the
little boy a subtle yet stern look as if to remind him there would be no talk
of ghosts in Mrs. Tucker's presence. Tweek looked down at his turtle while
playing with the fabric of its shell.
"Maybe we should have the children run along and play while we grownups talk,"
Laura suggested with a smile. Tweek could easily tell it wasn't a real one.
"Oh! Yes, of course," Mrs. Tweak uttered while holding the brown square against
her chest. "Tweek, darling, won't you take Ruby up to your room to play for a
bit?"
Tweek curled up his nose at the suggestion. He liked Ruby, but, like all seven-
year-olds, she could be a bit annoying with her games. Laura patted her little
girl on the back to move her along. After a moment's hesitation, Ruby scuttled
over to the boy on the couch. Realizing there would be no way out of their
awkwardly forced play time, he groaned.
"Okay, let's go," he muttered before pushing himself off the couch. Without
another word, he stomped towards the staircase. Ruby played with one of her
stumpy pigtails but trailed behind the other nonetheless. Laura kept her gaze
locked onto the children as if she was a mother rabbit expecting a hawk.
"Well, now," Tweek's mother said once the children were out of earshot. "This
belongs to you."
She passed the brown box off to Laura, who held it against her chest and stared
at the interlaced flaps at the top. She fingered the edge of one for a moment
before finally opening it. Tweek's father, Richard, took a step closer as she
shifted around in the cardboard.
"It's all we could find. I'm sure there are more clothes in the washroom, but
all the toys and things he left are there," he said.
Laura's bottom lip trembled as she reached her hand into the treasures against
her chest. Toy race cars and pajama shirts seemed to be the only thing the box
held. Her slender fingers found the blue fabric of a night shirt. Red Racer was
written across the front in red font, though it was hard to make out through
her tears.
"Thank you," she offered slowly. Despite her efforts, a small sound of despair
fell through the grieving mother's lips.
Slowly, Cindy stepped towards her friend. She offered all that she could; a
gentle and understanding embrace. Laura gave into the comforting gesture.
Feeling safe among friends, she allowed herself to break down into tremors of
sobs.
As the parents mourned together below them, Tweek and Ruby sat in silence on
his bed. It hadn't been the first time she played in his room. However, their
usual lightheartedness was rudely interrupted by Craig's absence. Neither of
them knew what to say without him there.
Ruby's blue eyes wandered around his room. She didn't hear the heavy breathing
puffing between them. Neither seemed to notice the tall rabbit watching them
from the far corner, either; the one in a fancy blue suit and tie. The one
gawking at the pair with bulging eyes.
"What do you want to play?" The little girl asked while still playing with her
pigtail.
"...I don't care," Tweek admitted softly.
"I brought my Barbies," she said quietly. Without waiting to hear the boy's
opinion, Ruby pulled her little backpack off her shoulders and into her lap.
She rummaged around in her toys, and then laid one before Tweek.
"This is Stacy," Ruby said. "She's my favorite because her hair is red like
mine. You can play with her this time, though."
He picked the tiny doll up from the blanket to investigate as Ruby pulled
another toy out from her backpack.
"And this is Janet," she uttered while running her fingers through the doll's
blond hair. "She's Stacy's big sister. They fight all the time, but they love
each other."
Ruby bumped her doll's face against the one in Tweek's hand. "Muah!"
With a small smile, Tweek gave in. "Okay, what are they going to do?"
"Sister tea party!" Ruby blurted with her arms up over her head. "Stacy is
going to go to Janet's house, which is umm... Over there!"
Tweek backed up to put Janet where Ruby wanted, which was on his pillow.
"Okay, and now, um. oh!" Ruby turned around to fetch the plastic tea set from
her backpack. However, Tweek tilted his head when the little girl stopped in
silent confusion.
"How did you get here?" she questioned aloud before picking up yet another
barbie that appeared on the bed behind her.
"Who?" Tweek asked with Stacy still clamped in his hand.
"Her!" Ruby announced as she presented the blue-eyed baby doll to her
companion. "She was my big brother's favorite. She stays in my closet… I didn't
pack her."
Tweek felt prickles all along his spine. It felt like a cheese grater gnawing
away at his vertebrate. The sudden chill that wafted over his body only
fostered his fear.
"Let's put her back in the backpack," Tweek suggested quickly.
"No, but what if Craig wants to play?"
The knob of his closet door clanked as it jiggled. Ruby and Tweek looked up in
startled silence as the latch clicked. The white door creaked an inch open.
Tweek pressed himself against the wall in fear, but Ruby seemed smitten with
the darkness. She slid down off of the bed and crept towards it.
"Ruby, no," Tweek demanded.
Ruby took an unsure hold of the knob, then leaned into the closet. Tweek was
shaking with anxiousness as he watched the little one slowly lean further and
further inside. She was squinting her eyes, as though she was trying to make
out a face in the blackness. Once she saw it, whatever it was she saw, she let
out the smallest bout of laughter. Her head moved to follow it, and her smile
only grew wider the longer she stared.
"Ruby!" Tweek again spat. However, his worried pleas were met with deaf ears.
Overjoyed by what she was seeing, she practically threw herself into the
closet. The door slowly pulled together behind her, though it left a sliver of
black just wide enough to let the giggling out.
Both sets of giggling.
Tweek threw himself up off of the bed and stumbled to the door. When he went to
grab the handle, it slammed closed. Ruby didn't seem to care, though. She just
kept laughing as Tweek tried to yank open the door. No amount of twisting or
pulling would make it budge. Terrified for Ruby, he scrambled out of his
bedroom door. His feet thumped hard as he ran down the hall to the top of the
stairs. All three of the adults standing in the living room noticed the little
boy at the top stair. He was panting with one finger pointed towards his
bedroom.
"What, darling, what is it?" Cindy asked as she took a step towards him.
Through his heavy breathing, Tweek said, "He shut Ruby in the closet and he
won't open the door."
Cindy and Richard exchanged confused glances, but Laura didn't give the strange
statement a second thought. She went barreling up the stairs and past the
little boy. She was the wounded mother rabbit, and a hawk was swooping in. Her
friends came quickly after her, along with their young son.
Laura shoved her way into Tweek's little bedroom, and then nearly tripped over
her own feet as she raced towards the closet door. Laura grabbed the handle and
pulled with a hard yank. It easily slid open. Inside was little Ruby, hugging a
lump of clothes dangling from their hangers. Laura's brow pinched together in
relief and confusion. Ruby was much too big for being carried around, but she
reached in to pluck up her child anyway. She backed away from the darkness of
the open closet with her only remaining child in her arms.
"Look, mommy!" the girl cried out. She pointed into the sweaters and T-shirts
with a chubby little finger. Her mom glanced towards that direction, but only
for a disinterested second before she turned to leave. One long, trembling arm
slowly slid out from between a pair of shirts. It reached for them, almost
begging for them to come back. Though Ruby poked her head over her mother's
shoulder and happily waved goodbye to the closet, Tweek was sure she couldn't
see what he was seeing.
She surely wouldn't have been wearing such a smile if she saw the jutting,
sharp teeth of the mouth trying to smile back. Tweek took a slow step towards
the eyeless creature inhabiting his closet. It cried out miserably as Laura
disappeared into the hallway, which made Tweek frown.
"I'm sorry... you scared me, or else I wouldn't have told on you."
The arm and the face both sank back into the closet. The white door loudly
slammed behind it. Tweek pressed his fingers reassuringly against the wooden
slab.
"Don't worry, Craig... they'll be back again eventually."
===============================================================================
Steam filled the little bathroom to the brim as hot water poured from the tap.
It fogged the mirrors and Tweek's vision. The tiniest of smiles threatened to
creep across his cheeks at the sight of the invitingly warm tub. He felt so
grimy and gross. Maybe that's because he was always busy with grimy and gross
things. Either way, warm bathwater cured all that, even if it was only
temporary.
He sat down on the toilet and pulled off his socks. Their white fibers were
sullied with dried mud, just like the legs of his pants. Mud and dirt were the
causes of most of his trashed clothing. He supposed, though, that couldn't be
helped much. He tossed the dirty garments to the floor. A sweat-stained T-shirt
and hole plagued pair of jeans added to the smelly pile. God, did he hate
feeling so filthy.
He kicked aside the soiled black cloak on the floor to get to the sink, where
he stared a moment at the person in the mirror. Oh, wasn't he a hot mess. Heavy
blue half circles tugged at the edges of his eyes. His blond hair was sticking
out at impossible angles and caked with, you guessed it: mud. He reached up in
disgust and violently ran his clumsy fingers through the mess. As if that would
help.
His hands shook as he scrubbed his crooked teeth. His chest was tight and his
eyes were watery. It was hard to breathe, though that was nothing new.
Those people in the woods. Their loud voices and quick footsteps echoed in his
mind like his skull was an auditorium. So many people had come looking for him
before, but few had ever caught a glimpse of him. He was too fast. He knew the
woods too well. Still, last night he was too careless. Fuck, what if one of
them saw his face? What if the cops were on their way to his house right that
very moment? They'd been trying to snag him for years! God, how much jail time
could someone get for vandalism?
He was breathing heavily, toothpaste foam lingering around his mouth like
rabies as he struggled to calm his restless heart. He could practically feel
every rapid beat forcing blood through his tight veins.
A giggle.
A quiet, innocent giggle bubbled from behind him. He wiped his mouth of his
rabies and turned around, where he was met with a rather odd sight. Craig was
floating in his bath water. His little puff ball covered head bumped lazily
against the edges of the bathtub. He blew bubbles and giggled at them as they
popped at the surface of the water. The tight wire slicing through Tweek's
heart loosened, though only a little. He stepped towards the tub, and then
knelt down over the edge.
"What are you doing in there?" Tweek questioned gently. "You're gonna get all
waterlogged again."
Craig rebelled with more happy bubbles, and Tweek finally smiled.
"Come on," Tweek said as he reached inside and wrapped his arms around the
boy's mangled body. He carefully pulled the corpse out of the tub, though the
little ghost wasn't so happy about that. He complained with whines as he
reached towards the water.
"I'm sorry. I'd let you play in there, but you'll make my water gross."
Craig only continued to whine, in which Tweek responded: "You're thirteen, not
five."
He sat Craig down on the toilet, and then grabbed a handful of toilet paper.
Craig didn't fuss when Tweek wiped the grimy black tar oozing from his eye-
holes. Tweek did that almost every day, for some weird reason. Craig was never
sure why since it always came back anyway.
"There you go," Tweek uttered under his breath when he deemed the sopping,
bruised skin properly wiped down.
He left Craig to entertain himself on the toilet when he made his way back to
the bath. Craig just stared straight forward into blackness as he kicked his
feet.
Humming contently, Tweek dipped his head back into the warm water. He figured
Craig liked it for more than just fun, seeing as how he stuck like glue to
anything that was warm. Heating vents, fireplaces, the hoods of running cars…
Tweek opened his eyes slightly when he heard a rustling in the wicker hamper
beside the tub. Sweaters.
The little thing took to rooting around in the old laundry. He was leaning over
the edge of the hamper, wiggling his arms as he tried to reach the fabric in
the bottom. His bloody finger bones left messes on everything he clawed at, but
Tweek stopped caring about that a long time ago. The gruesome streaks always
disappeared when Craig did.
Tweek was lathering his hair with shampoo when he heard a thump. Gazing back
over towards the hamper, he only saw a little pair of feet wriggling around at
the top before sliding down with the rest of him.
"Looking for your sweater?" Tweek questioned, though he knew he wouldn't get an
answer back. At least not in the form of words.
A low, contented hum came from the bottom of the wicker basket, along with more
rustling. One disturbingly long arm crept up from the top of the hamper. It
swayed like a bare tree branch in the wind before the shaking fingers at its
end finally collided with drywall. Its stretched muscles bent and flexed to
pull Craig's limp body up out of the laundry basket. The arm wasn't attached to
any of his proper sockets, no. It seemed to be jutting from his spinal cord
instead.
Craig tightly held rainbow colored cloth against his chest as extra limbs
seemed to sprout from him in every direction. With the help of a spare arm or
two, Craig managed to get his head stuck in the colorfully knit cloth.
"You're lucky I'm not scared of spiders," Tweek muttered more to himself than
to his ghostly companion.
Craig's mouth suddenly warped into a disturbing show of long, jagged teeth as
he let out an ear busting screech. Tweek sighed and covered his ears as the
tiny specter's convulsing body slid across the ceiling. His limbs clumped
together in a tangled mess as he heaved himself into the bathroom closet. Tweek
pulled the curtain partially closed, as such a hissy fit from Craig always
equaled an unexpected visitor. Sure enough, a steady knocking came to the
bathroom door.
"Tweek, you in there?" the familiar voice of his father questioned. The door
creaked open only slightly, just enough for his voice to find its way in.
"Yeah, I'm in the bath," Tweek said before sinking deeper into the water.
"Ah! I was wondering if you'd like to have some family time with your mother
and myself today. Help with dinner- watch some T.V.."
"I was actually thinking about going to the Tuckers'," Tweek admitted. He let
his hands glide through the water as he waited for a response.
"Oh, oh, I see," His dad said from the doorway. "Your poor ol' mother and I
will just have to spend time all by ourselves, then."
"Damn it, dad, don't guilt trip me," Tweek complained.
"No, it's fine, really. Just be sure to come visit us when were in the old
folks home. You know, while you're busy taking care of the Tuckers."
"Pfft, whatever. I'll make it up to you guys tomorrow, how's that?"
There was a silence between them, followed by a low hum. Richard was thinking
it over, though Tweek had already gone back to enjoying his bath.
"There is something you could do to make it up to us."
Tweek stopped what he was doing.
"Oh, what's that?" he could hear Craig's bloody fingertips scratching around in
the closet. He was growing incredibly antsy.
"I have to take your mom to the dentist today… around like four," Richard
explained as he tapped his foot against the floor. "Would you mind watching the
shop a little while we're out? Just for a few hours."
"hmm," Tweek chimed as if he had to think it over. "What'll I get for my
trouble?"
"The best son of the year award and my undying gratitude," came the reply.
"Annnnd," Tweek practically sang as he kicked his feet up on the edge of the
tub. "Free coffee and donuts?"
"Pfft, fine, if food is worth so much more than your parent's pride and love."
"Hey, pride and love doesn't feed my caffeine addiction. It's sad, but I don't
make the rules."
By that point, Craig had been throwing a fit. If there was one thing he hated,
it was older men. If there was one thing he hated more, it was older men alone
with Tweek. Loving fathers were hardly an exception. Hearing the spitting from
the closet, Tweek decided to cut conversation short before Craig really threw a
tantrum.
"Anyway," he uttered while wiping his sopping hair back. "You got yourself a
deal."
"Awesome! Tell Laura and Thomas hi for me!" Richard sang before pulling the
bathroom door closed. Tweek only rolled his eyes. Richard loved to con him into
stuff. Especially when it came to the shop.
The low, unpleasant rumbling from Craig lasted long after Richard had left the
room. Tweek was already toweling himself off when the thin closet door slowly
crept open. A little face peered out at him, plagued by jagged rows of snaggled
teeth.
"He's gone, you freak," Tweek said before throwing his towel at the door,
hitting the little ghoul in the face. "I understand being scared of strangers,
but you're scared of people we literally see every day."
Craig receded into the closet, stealing Tweek's towel. Probably to sniff it or
something weird.
With a sigh, Tweek got to work pulling on his clothes. He didn't really have
time for Craig's foolishness. Once clothed, he made the short walk to his
bedroom. The attic door was sealed shut, oddly enough. Usually, David was out
and about at that time of day. Nevertheless, He grabbed his green hoodie off of
his bed post, then he was off. His parents offered goodbyes as he stepped out
of the living room and onto the front stoop. He accidentally banged his head on
one of his mother's wind chimes, as he usually did when he was leaving the
house. It let out an ugly clatter as he walked away towards the sidewalk.
His chest felt tight. The kids in the woods. He knew all of them, considering
he'd seen them nearly every day since he was in preschool. He recognized them
even through the darkness and pouring rain. They were loud, obnoxious, and
always stirring up trouble. Always. If they saw him- if they knew his secret-
the whole town would soon enough. The police would come and send him to Juvie
for all the property damage, he just fucking knew it. Then he would never get
to finish what he started.
When he finally came to the Tuckers' residence his anxiety was only made worse.
He was greeted by an army of lawn gnomes. He glared at the little concrete
creatures as he stepped around them. He was ever so tempted to kick one over,
though that would probably only result in a broken toe. God, how Tweek hated
gnomes.
He made it around the pint-sized army and onto the deck, where he tapped at the
front door with his knuckles. He ran a hand over his aching ribs with a
grimace. Today would be one of those days.
He knocked again, harder that time.
"Oh!," he heard the voice of an older woman utter from somewhere inside the
house, "just a moment, please!"
However, the door come immediately bursting open. Tweek nearly tumbled back
onto the deck.
"Tweek!" A young, redheaded girl greeted excitedly. "Why did you wait so long
to come back over?!"
Tweek smiled weakly and stepped inside.
"I've been busy," he replied. "Where's mom?"
"She's in the kitchen," Ruby said before grabbing Tweek's hand and pulling him
through the living room. He heard tiny feet following after them, accompanied
by overjoyed laughter.
Craig loved being home.
The footsteps warped in front of them. Tweek saw a small, translucent flash of
black as Craig went running into the kitchen to greet his mother. She never
felt it when he ran up to wrap his arms around her, but it never stopped him
from doing it. Laura was sitting at the table, fidgeting with a metal mess of
gears. She looked up from her work and then smiled at the sight of Tweek. She
paid no heed to the bloody little bones tugging at the edge of her dress. She
couldn't feel them, no matter how hard Craig pulled.
"Nice to see you've finally stopped by again," she uttered while pushing her
chair back. A wall clock laid out on the table before her. It was broken down
into bits, but she seemed to know what she was doing when she was piecing it
back together.
"You guys act like I wasn't just here last week," Tweek said as he fidgeted
with his fingers.
He tried not to stare at Craig as he crawled up underneath Laura's chair. It
was always hard to pretend like Craig wasn't there, especially when he was
doing hilariously ridiculous or cute things. Which, to Tweek, was pretty much
always.
...
Tweek Tweak.
Kyle knew that name well.
He was the blond kid in his English class; the one who was always shaking and
twitching. The one who, as far as Kyle knew, didn't have a single friend in the
world. Kyle occasionally spotted him at lunch, sitting alone at the table
farthest away from every other living creature. Kyle always pitied him. He
heard the songs kids used to make up to bully the boy with. He'd seen him
shoved in the hallway and heard the venomous words people spat about him. No
one believed when Tweek told them the things he'd seen. The things that he
believed in. The things about Craig. Not even Kyle remembered what they were.
It was a very long time since Tweek spat shaky rants about a missing little boy
no one else seemed to care about, but he knew the words only stopped because no
one was listening. No one would help.
Kyle wanted to help.
However, the cruel treatment of Tweek Tweak was a terrifying example of what
Kyle's life would become if he dared to tell the truth. If anyone knew Kyle
believed Tweek, because he had seen them too. He feared reaching out to Tweek
would somehow make him like the boy; like the peculiar outcast who lost touch
with reality. So, he watched from a distance as the lonely kid spiraled into
secluded insanity.
Maybe it was fate that brought him to the pond the night they'd encountered the
Shadowman. There was no doubt in Kyle's mind who owned the gruff, familiar
voice he'd heard call out to the little monster. Any uncertainty he had was
wiped away the moment he heard the word Craig. Shadowman was real, and Kyle
would see him again in English class.
"Hey, Kyle," Butters uttered, snapping him out of his mindless trance. "You
okay, there? Why, you really haven't said so much lately."
Kyle offered a reassuring smile, the best one he could muster, before nodding
his head. "I'm fine, just worried about English…"
Well, it wasn't a lie.
A silver bell rang above Kyle and his group of friends as they filed through
the door of the local coffee shop. Butters went there nearly every other day
thanks to how much he loved all their silly pastries. And, if Butters was
there, one could only expect his entourage of friends to be trailing behind
him. It's just how it was.
The goth kids seemed to always have the same idea, seeing as how they lingered
at the booth nearest the counter nearly every time Kyle had been there. They'd
sip on coffee, glance up at him and his friends, and then mutter lowly about
'conformist maggots'. He didn't care much for them in the first place, but they
annoyed him with their unoriginal, condescending insults.
Unfazed by the goths' low chatter, Butters scampered up to the counter. He was
ooing and awing at the assorted treats displayed in glass cases as Eric and
Kenny, of course, drooled right beside him. It was then, as his friends were
making eyes with a pair of iced donuts, Kyle heard something that made him feel
like his head was just dunked in a bucket of ice water. A voice.
A chillingly familiar voice.
"How may I help you?" was all it said, but the gruff sound was embedded in his
memory.
His friends weren't much fazed by the tall blond boy behind the register. He
looked much different since he swapped out his black robe for a green apron,
but without a doubt in Kyle's mind; it was the same voice. It felt like long
nails dragging over his skin as he stared at the person. It was so rare for
Tweek to be the one behind the counter Kyle hadn't even worried about the
possibility. And yet, there he was, clear as day.
"Yeah, can I get two of the cinnamon twists, and, um… two of the iced
brownies?" Butters questioned while pointing at the goods through the glass.
"Oh! And a caramel latte!"
Tweek trembled as his blue eyes scanned over them. He seemed to be overcome
with terror at their presence and couldn't will himself to speak. Instead, he
just jerked his head in a nod. He turned to fetch a collapsed pastry box off of
a rack behind him, though he nearly knocked the whole stack to the floor with a
twitch.
"Dude, isn't that that freakish kid from school?" Eric whispered under his
breath to Kenny. "The one who sees dead people or some shit?"
"Tweek Tweak, his parents own the place," Kenny replied with a nod.
"Surprised they don't have him locked up in a basement or something," Eric said
as the anxious blond worked on mixing Butter's latte.
"Don't be so mean!" Butters scolded just as quietly.
Kyle shivered. The air around him suddenly felt so much colder, and his pulse
quickened when a familiar fear overcame him. There was someone else there. He
couldn't help but notice the gothic group had them in their crosshairs, too.
With black framed eyes, they traced the conformists' every move as they
interacted with the twitching barista. It was as if one wrong word would result
in a freakish voodoo curse.
Tweek finally turned towards them with a box of treats and a steaming latte. He
placed them on the counter, then got to work ringing it up on the register. The
boy grimaced as he clicked on the wrong keys. However, the register somehow
reached an acceptable total. Butters paid with part of his allowance, and
happily accepted the colorful box and his beverage.
"Thank you!" Butters said sincerely. Which, for some reason, earned a small
smile from their peculiar cashier. Eric snagged the box away from Butters
before they could even manage to step aside.
The blue eyes of the barista met with Kyle's before he uttered in that eerily
cracking voice: "And what'll you have?"
Kyle admitted the Shadowman was much less threatening out of uniform, but that
didn't change the fact he knew he was being watched. The goths' glares couldn't
compete with the eyeless face lingering nearby. He couldn't see it, but he damn
sure knew it was there.
"Um, can I just have two vanilla coffees. Two scoops of creamer in both," he
uttered like he wasn't shaking down to his marrow. It was so hard to read the
intentions of those bright blue eyes. They almost seemed hollow.
Wordlessly, Tweek got to work on Kyle's coffee. Two steaming cups were placed
on the counter, and again Tweek fussed with the cash register until it spat out
a total. Kyle passed his cash over to the barista, their fingers brushing as
Tweek clamped his hand on the bills.
Gasping desperately for breath.
Someone was drowning. Murky brown water filled a young pair of lungs. Kyle
almost gasped himself as he felt violently splashing water wet his clothes.
He jerked his hand away, but Tweek didn't seem to pay any mind to that. He
shoved the bills in the register, dropped Kyle's change on the counter, and
then simply said, "Thanks, come again."
Kyle was visibly shaken when his friends whisked him away to the opposite side
of the café. Kenny was staring at him, which didn't really help matters.
Somehow, it was still hard to breathe. Kyle slowly sucked in labored breaths to
calm himself down, but the small vision he stole from Tweek's hand left his
brain waterlogged.
"Wow, that was fucking weird," Cartman uttered as he slid into a booth. Butters
took the seat beside him, and Kyle and Kenny settled in across the table. As
usual.
"Yeah," Kenny agreed as he wrapped his cold hands around his paper coffee cup.
"Tweek's always been like that, though- least 'for as long as I remember.
Really awkward."
"Wait, you know him?" Kyle blurted.
"Tweek? Well… kinda. When I was a kid I spent a lot of time with Craig… uh,
Tucker, you guys know. They kind of came as a package."
Actually… Kyle didn't know that. For some reason, it really bothered him when
he realized there were things about Kenny he was simply never told about.
Especially since Kyle already asked him about Craig, and all Kenny did was
shrug.
"Yeah," Butters said as he pulled apart his doughnut. "Tweek really wasn't so
weird until Craig was gone, though. He was actually really nice. I think he
still is, y-you know, even though he's kind of... um... different."
The lot of them went quiet when they heard a sound from the counter. Tweek was
taking off his apron with one hand, a coffee in the other, as he made his way
towards the goths' table. Henrietta slid aside, and Tweek shakily took a seat
beside her. This was intriguing for some reason.
"Hangs out with the goths. Man, I am not surprised," Eric muttered, and then
reached in Butters's box for a brownie.
Kyle ignored the comment. He leaned forward into the table and asked quiet
enough to where he was sure Tweek wouldn't hear, "Wait, what actually happened
to Craig? They didn't ever find out, did they?"
"Kyle, you have lived here all your life how do you not know about Craig
Tucker?" Cartman asked more loudly than Kyle was comfortable with. "They talked
about him on t.v. for like a fucking year."
"Well... I don't know," Kyle couldn't come up with a good excuse. Honestly, he
tried for the longest time to avoid it all together. It wasn't so hard when bad
things happened to strangers, but Craig wasn't a stranger. He had art class
with him. He saw him every day at school. The idea of a boy he'd known simply
vanishing in the night never sat well with him. Especially after hearing
Tweek's teary rants in class. Then again, Stan was the only one who ever knew
that about Kyle.
He was the only one who knew everything.
"Can't you guys just... kindly fill me in?" Kyle muttered.
"...They said he probably ran away," Kenny decided to explain as he played with
his fingers. "But, like… he didn't just climb out his window in the middle of
the night or anything. He was on his way home from Tweek's house- a five-minute
walk. He just vanished."
Kyle already knew that much. Surely over five years they at least had a lead,
even if it was just something small like a shirt or a shoe.
"And?" he coaxed.
"And… well, that's it. That's the end of the story."
***** Terrible Things *****
"Hey, Kyle!" A voice shouted happily. A pair of red sneakers squeaked to a stop
before him, and Kyle smiled. It was the first day of eighth grade, and he
hadn't seen any of the faces drifting by since the previous school year.
Well, The face grinning back at him was an exception.
He saw it every day of summer break.
"Hey, Stan," he greeted in return. "Ready for school?"
In a voice of pure excitement and elation, Stan blurted: "Fuck no!"
Kyle laughed, and the pair continued down the hallway side by side.
"You know, I have more classes with Cartman than with you this year," Kyle
groaned. "Your first period is Math, right?"
"Yeah," Stan sighed in return. "How about you?"
"Astronomy."
"Isn't that a class for the high schoolers?"
Kyle shrugged. "I guess so, but they let me start early because of my GPA."
"Well look at you, Mr. Honor Roll's moving on up."
"Oh, here's room 112. That's Algebra 1," Kyle interrupted as he pointed at the
white painted numbers over a black doorframe.
"I guess this is my stop then. Have fun learning about space or whatever it is
you do in astronomy," Stan said while walking towards the door. "Oh! Wait a
minute, I almost forgot."
Kyle tilted his head to the side in curiosity as he watched his best friend dig
through his messenger bag. When Stan was through, he held his hand out.
"What is it?" Kyle asked with a dumb smile on his face. He reached his palm out
under Stan's fist. When it opened, a small gift landed in Kyle's hand.
"A present. I have one, too," Stan said as he pulled up his sleeve to showcase
a red and blue bracelet made of weaved yarn. "They're friendship bracelets."
"Did you make them?" Kyle asked as he slipped his onto his wrist. It was weaved
with green and white, Kyle's favorite colors.
"Yeah, my sister taught me last night," Stan said proudly.
"Gay," Kyle snorted.
"Good, you should fucking love them then, you dick," Stan snickered with a
lopsided smirk. "Hey, gotta go. I'll see you and the guys at lunch, yeah?"
"Yeah!"
Kyle never admitted it, but he was always nervous the first day back to school.
His anxiety only grew when he watched the door to room 112 close behind his
best friend's back. Sighing, he joined the stream of student's to look for his
first class alone.
Anxiously, he reached down and rubbed the yarn around his wrist.
===============================================================================
Tweek sat in the back of class. There was no one beside his desk and no one in
front of it. It was almost as if he was being quarantined or exiled for his
abnormality. Banned from the teenage experience. Though, in all honesty, he
didn't appear to mind. He just sat there at his desk taking turns between
jotting down notes and scribbling in a sketch book. Kyle never really noticed
until then. Sure, he always knew Tweek was there, but, like the rest of the
school, he never really bothered to stop and pay attention. Now, it's all he
could think about.
Three English classes had passed since their odd meeting at the coffee shop. In
those three days he and Butters pulled an all-nighter studying, Kenny and Eric
swore not to talk to each other ever again for the fifth time, and another
article appeared in the paper about the Shadowman and his holes. So, in other
words, everything was just as it was before Kyle's terrifying reunion with
Craig Tucker.
Everything except for his dreams.
His once pleasant sleeping had been invaded by vivid visions of murky water and
collapsing lungs. Puss oozing eye sockets and shredded fingertips. He supposed
that's what he got for leeching a vision off of such a spiritually toxic person
as Tweek, but he didn't mean to.
Kyle's tired green eyes slid towards the lonely desk at the back of class.
Tweek was there, as always, with mud-caked boots and a graphite stain on the
outside of his right hand. He bit his chapped lip as he scribbled in that warn
out sketchbook. Kyle only wondered what dark and disturbing things he would
find in the personal drawings of the Shadowman.
He shook his head with a small sigh, and then averted his attention back to the
front of the class. The teacher's soft spoken voice and airy movements didn't
at all help her drowsy student keep his heavy eyes open. His head slowly
drooped down over his notes. The words on his notebook paper all ran together
and faded in and out as he yawned.
"Kyle?… Kyle?"
He stirred at the sound of his name, his eyes cracking back open to discover an
empty classroom. He jolted up from his desk. His cheek was wet and cold from
where he'd managed to drool all over his class work and himself. His teacher,
Mrs. Langly, was looking down at him with a worried expression.
"O-oh," he stammered while wiping at his cheek with his sleeve. "Shoot, I'm so
sorry. What time is it?"
Mrs. Langly's frown melted into a humored quirk of the lips.
"Class only just ended," she assured him calmly.
"Crap, I didn't finish my notes," he spat. The honor roll student was careful
to censor himself even as he was having a miniature meltdown.
"Don't worry, don't worry," Mrs. Langly said while tucking a black hair behind
her ear. "I can give you a copy of the overview when you come in tomorrow. Just
be sure to get a lot of sleep tonight, okay?"
Relieved, Kyle quickly gathered up his belongings and shoved them in his
binder. He supposed being teacher's pet did have its upsides.
"Thank you so much, Mrs. Langly. It won't happen again, I promise."
All she did was offer an understanding nod before returning to her desk. Kyle
squeezed his binder against his chest as he stumbled towards the hall.
Stumbled, because he stepped on something rather thick and nearly went
tumbling. He looked down at the binded stack of papers which were still under
the sole of his shoe. He bent down and lifted the thing up off the floor. It
had a shiny white cover adorned with the words "sketch diary". Under the neat
font was a name sloppily written an underlined in red sharpie.
TWEEK TWEAK
Kyle felt a bubbling in his chest when he realized just what was in his hands.
Tweek's sketchbook. His blood pumped about a thousand times quicker as
excitement tightened in his chest. Mrs. Langly was giving him an odd look as he
gawked at the thing, but didn't bother to question him when he tucked it
against his binder and spilled out into the hall with the rest of the hustling
students. He stopped at his locker, number 153, before switching out his
materials for his next class. All his materials, anyway, aside from a peculiar
sketchbook. He kept it hidden in his binder like contraband.
When he reached his next class, AP Biology, he sat as far away from his group
as their shared table would allow. He wasn't too worried about unwanted
conversation. Wendy Testaburger was assigned the seat beside him. She spent
most of her time absorbed in her school work. Lately, she'd been so absorbed it
was almost frightening. Kyle understood why.
She wouldn't be bothered with trying to speak with him today.
He unzipped his trapper keeper as Wendy exchanged notes with Annie, the third
member of their class-assigned group. When the flap of his binder fell open the
cover of Tweek's sketch book greeted him. His eyes darted around the rows of
students as if he was about to commit a crime.
His fingers pressed against the front cover, and then he carefully flipped it
open to the first page.
Grotesque images of mutilated corpses and depictions of the gory dead? No, that
was a little off the mark.
Instead, Kyle was met face to face with an oddly cartoony depiction of a tiny
boy in a sweater. There were black blotches where eyes should have been, but
otherwise it was just… well… adorable. A happy little line made a smile between
the black eyes, and some pudgy wisps of black made up the hair poking out from
under an earflap hat.
The cute little creature seemed elated by his pretty sweater. Realizing that
almost made Kyle laugh.
He flipped to the next page. Then the next, and then the next. They were all
just pictures of sweaters. Some of them were modeled by the same chunky cartoon
boy on the front page, and others weren't. There was one thing they all had in
common, though: chicken scratched abbreviations and numbers written on the side
of every page. Thanks to how much time Kyle spent with his mother, he knew
exactly what they were.
Knitting patterns.
All the while Kyle was quietly pondering the horrors Tweek was creating on the
blank paper of that book, he was only designing yarn sweaters. Kyle continued
flipping casually though the pages. He observed sweater after colorful sweater,
along with joyous doodles of bouquets and cartoon cats.
As he flipped and flipped his humored smile slowly melted into an uneasy line.
There wasn't a single thing in that book that was going to tell him anything.
The nightmares that had been plaguing him, the twisted being that hunted him
down in the woods, and Tweek himself still remained blurred and confusing
mysteries.
He was so devastated he didn't even hear the teacher greeting the class. He
just went back to the first page and started skimming all over again, as if
maybe he missed something. He came to a nerve-wracking conclusion by the time
he'd again reached the end of Tweek's happy doodles. There was only one way to
end the vivid visions in his dreams.
He had to talk to Tweek.
…
Tweek's boots thumped against warn wood as he paced the room. It was musty and
old, just like the rest of the house he'd dubbed his home away from home.
Not that he wanted to.
There was a large piece of paper tacked over the crumpled, floral wallpaper. A
map of Stark's Pond. It hung there for as long as he inhabited that place. Over
time it's once crisp, white image had been scribbled over and written on in
various types of markers and pens. Big circles and x's, mostly. They marked the
holes he'd dug, and the holes he went back and dug deeper. He stared wide-eyed
as he gnawed at his thumbnail.
What was he missing? He skimmed over the waterfront and the woods, its borders
and landmarks scribbled in like Tweek's x's and o's. Where? Where? WHERE?
It was only about four o' clock. He had all day to figure out his next
excavation site, but all day was not long enough. Weeks and months were not
long enough. Five years was not long enough. Five fucking years digging and he
still hadn't found it. There were so many times he nearly tossed his shovel in
a dumpster. One of those times he ended up wreaking like trash.
His boots changed direction, and he rubbed his sleeve against the dirty glass
of a window. He peered down from the second story at the yard below. Craig was
there, crawling slowly through the grass. Tweek's lip quirked up when he
noticed a small blond head peek around the trunk of a tree. Craig noticed, too,
and quickly scurried along the ground to attempt to jump on the apparition
before it could stumble away.
Despite how much it took out of Tweek to be at the pond, it was always a breath
of fresh air to see Craig get to play with other children. Though he was never
quite sure exactly what it was they played.
Craig, on the other hand, knew every rule of the game. He may have been
completely blind, but he had other means of finding the kids during their many
hide and seek adventures. Usually, he was the one to seek. The game never ended
when he was the one to hide.
Craig's fingers scraped along the bark of a tree before he pounced. He was sure
he'd land on the other boy- he could hear soft breathing nearby. However, his
hands and knees landed painfully against the exposed roots of the tree.
Confused, Craig turned his head as if he could see if he just tried hard
enough. He could hear someone nearby, feel the faint vibrations of feet through
the dirt and roots. They felt like the vibrations he used to feel through the
headboard. He knew what was coming, and that there was no escape.
He lifted his head up, but it was jerked back down when the boy he'd originally
been tracking jumped playfully on his back. A pair of arms wrapped loosely
around his neck, and Craig immediately screamed. Not the howl of joyful play he
usually let out, but a yelp that truly sounded terrified.
The boy was knocked off Craig's back as the gory creature thrashed across the
ground. He realized what he was doing, but was powerless to stop it. Once it
began, it wouldn't stop until it was done with him.
Tweek was still inside, unaware of the ongoing battle Craig was fighting. He
marked on his paper and sighed to himself. It was then heard a raddle at the
window. He lifted his head up from his work and waited a moment until the glass
in the window panes began to vibrate. He heard the collective murmur of
distressed voices and ran to the window. The children were standing in a circle
in the back yard. He watched through the grimy glass with squinted eyes as they
joined hands. A tiny body was in the middle, thrashing across the grass.
Tweek called it a healing circle because that's exactly what it was. The
children would make such a circle under one circumstance: Craig was on the edge
of a mental breakdown.
"Shit," Tweek hissed before turning and running throughout the house. He could
never resist the urge to run to Craig's rescue, even when he knew there was
nothing he could do. He ran out into the yard, nearly tripping over his own
feet as they pumped underneath him.
The children were singing, but their happy sounds were not soothing Craig as
they always had before. Tweek stopped only feet away from their playful circle.
They all slowly span around and around, giggling and cooing. Singing and
playing. Tweek watched with hitched breath as Craig struggled to stand. He was
trying so hard to focus on the children's voices, but the groan of springs
echoed much louder.
They couldn't save him this time.
He felt big hands all over him. Warm, intrusive hands that scraped at his skin
raw with every touch. He felt heavy breath seeping stench into his neck. His
jaw hung open as if he could beg for mercy, but his mouth was full of jagged
teeth. The children's ritual that always saved Craig from reliving his torment
was failing. He couldn't hear their voices anymore. All he felt was the breath
in his ear. All he heard was a low, raspy whisper.
The children all scattered in opposite directions when Craig's panic gave way
to violence. Tweek watched on in horror as little Craig lurched and tried to
escape. Blind, he slammed headfirst into the trunk of a tree. His skull smashed
against the resilient wood, but that disgusting puffing was still heaving into
his flesh.
"It's not real, Craig!" Tweek tried to convince the boy as he fought to escape
an attacker that simply wasn't there.
Craig was crying. Loud. Tweek could hardly stand the sound.
"It's okay!" Tweek said as he quickly rushed to the other's aid. Rather than
reply, Craig jerked back and bashed his head against the bark.
"S-stop!" Tweek demanded as he tried to scoop the boy up in his arms. He was
met with an ear busting screech. It sounded pained, as if each of his touches
were searing Craig's skin. Alarmed, Tweek let Craig fall back onto the ground
where he twisted and kicked at an unseen force.
"MAKE IT STOP," Craig wretched in a voice that didn't belong to him, "I CANT
BREATHE."
"KILL ME."
Tweek couldn't fucking take it anymore. Craig never had an attack that bad, and
Tweek realized he was absolutely powerless. All he could do was stand and watch
as Craig was forced to endure his defilement over again. Tweek fell to his
knees as Craig again rammed his skull against the tree. He had to do something.
He at least had to try.
"Twinkle, Twinkle, little star," Tweek sang through his wavering, cracking
voice. "How I wonder what you are."
The words did nothing to spare Craig from his torment. All they did was meld
miserably with the little ghost's booming pleads for mercy.
"Up above the world so h-high… Like a diamond in the sky."
It didn't help, but Tweek couldn't stop. He just kept mimicking the children's
song.
"When the blazing sun is gone. When the nothing shines upon."
Craig's bone snapping contortions slowed. His neck snapped around with a crack.
Two red, gushing holes stared back at Tweek. A lump formed in the middle of
Tweek's throat at the grotesque sight, but his trembling lips continued on.
"Then you show your little l-light. Twinkle, twinkle, all the night."
Craig's sobbing returned to him as his twisted mess of limbs straightened
themselves out. He scrambled across the ground on his bloody hands and knees,
right into Tweek's open arms. The choked and miserable cries didn't stop, but
Craig's shredded fingers were back to stroking Tweek's face. The usually black,
tar lined insides of Craig's eye sockets were red and meaty. Fleshy strands
hung from the holes as if they'd only just been carved out of his head. Streaks
of fresh blood made lines down his white skin, but it wouldn't stop gushing
from the inside of his legs.
"I'm just gonna wipe you off, is that okay?" Tweek said. He pulled off his
jacket, being careful not to startle the small boy still whimpering near his
face. He bundled up the cloth and gently brought it to Craig's cheeks. The
sobbing stopped when the little boy felt the familiar smelling cloth, though
Tweek was too shaken to smile this time.
Once the gore had been wiped away from Craig's face, Tweek brought the crimson
stained cloth to the boys blood streaked and trembling thighs. The moment the
jacket pressed against his fragile skin the boy broke back out into
heartbreaking sobs. His small hands grabbed Tweek's wrist, and he shook his
head hard- begging for it to stop.
"No, no. I- I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Tweek cried out as he tossed the jacket
aside. His cheeks were streaked wet with tears, though he was too absorbed in
the sound of Craig's screaming to notice. He carefully pulled the broken boy
into his lap, where he loosely held him against his chest and rocked back and
forth.
"We're okay now," Tweek promised while nodding his head.
Craig's tiny fingers clutched onto the front of Tweek's shirt. Fresh blood
again overflowed from where he was most afraid of being touched. It left grisly
streams of red slathered across his legs and dirty white shirt. It spilled all
over Tweek, too, as he held the boy against his chest. He didn't care. He just
stayed there, rocking back and forth while rubbing Craig's back.
"We're okay. We're fine. Nobody can hurt you now."
…
Class had been over for a couple hours by the time Kyle got around to going to
Tweek's house. Or, at least, what he hoped was still Tweek's house. He only
remembered Kenny casually mentioning it once as they drove by in middle school,
so he hoped he wasn't going to end up knocking on a stranger's door.
His sneakers thumped against wood as he stepped up onto a porch. Wind chimes
sang pleasant songs as they were caught in a light breeze. They twinkled over
his head. The house seemed nice enough. The yard was well trimmed and there was
a colorful patio set arranged on the porch. Trim and neat, like most all of the
houses on that block.
He tugged the straps of his backpack. The sketchbook was inside along with a
few other of his personal belongings. He sucked in a steadying breath, and then
walked up to the wooden door. There was a stained glass window nestled into the
oak, though he couldn't see through it. He tapped his knuckles against the
door, then waited with a lump in his throat.
The door came open so soon Kyle jumped. There was a woman on the other side.
Her hair was cut into a short bob, and her blue eyes gazed down pleasantly at
Kyle. He recognized her immediately: Mrs. Tweak, the woman who owns the coffee
shop with her husband.
"Oh!" She said with a small smile. "Kyle, right? The little Broflovski boy.
Always gets two coffees with two scoops of vanilla creamer each. Yes, I
remember."
Kyle could only nod his head politely as he squeezed on the straps of his
backpack. This was indeed Tweek's house.
"So, what can I do for you, young man?"
"Oh, yeah," he uttered rather awkwardly while fidgeting with the edge of his
jacket. "Is Tweek home?"
He dark haired woman behind the door looked down at him with a lost expression.
"Tweek?" She questioned as if maybe she didn't hear him right.
"Um… yeah! I need to talk to him about one of our classes." Kyle didn't like
lying, but if he told her about the sketchbook she'd probably just suggest he
leave it with her. He couldn't lose his only ticket to talking to Tweek. It
would be easier if he had an excuse to start a conversation.
"Oh! He's not home right now. I think he went on a walk," Mrs. Tweak replied
with a nod. "He likes to wander off and have time for himself, you know? I can
take a message for him if you'd like."
"Ah, that's fine. Just tell him I stopped by, I guess," he replied. "Thank
you!"
"Well, of course! Anytime!" she said before the decorated door creaked closed.
Well, there went that idea. Tweek wasn't home, but Kyle wasn't the kind to give
up so easily. He stepped off the Tweak's porch making a mental list of all the
places Tweek might be. Not that he really had any idea. When he stopped to
think about it, he hadn't ever noticed seeing Tweek out and about around town.
Not that he could remember, anyway.
First, he checked the park. Then the grocery store. Then the gas station. Then
the coffee shop. Having no luck, he took an uneasy stroll down one of South
Park's few streets. He was debating with himself whether or not he should
follow it to the end. There was one place left on his mental checklist. He put
it at the bottom for a reason, and that reason was because he did not want to
go back.
Of course while walking the streets he made sure not to peek up at certain
houses. It was easy to get discouraged and want to go home when he'd see
figures watching him from windows. It was just a part of his gift. He saw them
when they wanted to be seen, whether he liked it or not. The only way to avoid
it was well… to not look.
The church came into view as he nervously made his way towards the pond. It
stood beautifully amongst tall green pine trees, though the sidewalk had been
cracking and crumbling over time. The cement was so broken up and uneven he had
to step up and down ajar hunks of sidewalk. The sky was changing colors as the
sun made its sleepy decent into the mountains, and Kyle was quickly
reconsidering. He bit down on his lip when he saw the glistening blue water in
the distance. Air got harder to suck in the closer he got. The power that place
held was overwhelming. He couldn't help but feel like bugs were skittering
around beneath his flesh. He ran his fingernails over his arm for a moment, and
then squeezed his yarn bracelet.
"Okay," he said to himself as he came to the gravel parking lot. "We aren't
going in the woods. So don't be scared. We're just… peeking at the pond, then
we're gonna run back home. Yeah…"
He passed a trash can as he stepped onto the path that lead down to the water's
edge. His eyes scanned the grassy landscape for any sign of life. Much to his
shock, there were people there. In the distance there was a wooden bench
planted along the dirt path. A tall figure was slouched forward on said bench.
As Kyle walked closer he could make out a small pair of bare legs, like someone
was sitting in its lap.
He wasn't sure if it was Tweek, but he figured he'd be able to tell once he was
close enough. A chilly breeze wafted over him from the pond. He shivered as the
water ripple and dance. When he glanced back at the bench, he only saw a blond
person with a black jacket draped over his lap. No bare legs. No little person.
He'd found who he was looking for.
"Hello," Kyle offered quietly, which made the blond jump. He whirled around to
find the redhead there clutching a sketchbook to his chest.
"Sorry! I didn't want to scare you! I just… this is yours."
He held the book out for Tweek to take, but the blond boy just stared dumbly at
it. It was almost as if he was sure it was some kind of trap. Oh, and he was.
"You dropped it in English class, I've been trying to return it all day," Kyle
said with a small, but friendly smile.
Not impressed by Kyle's sweetness, Tweek reached up and snatched the book away.
He set it in his lap, and the two remained quiet as he skimmed through the
sweater-covered pages. Kyle didn't like the implications of it. Still, he
didn't say a word until Tweek made it to the blank pages.
"See, just like you left it," Kyle chimed as if to reaffirm his innocence.
Tweek nodded slightly, and then gazed back up at the other boy. "What else do
you want?"
"Huh?" Kyle muttered.
"You're still standing here, so there must be something else," Tweek snapped
almost bitterly.
Kyle's cheeks tinted an annoyed red at the harshness of Tweek's tone. He was
hoping for a thank you at least, but it was obvious Tweek wasn't the kind of
person who threw out such niceties. He'd spent his entire day looking for that
asshole- for answers! Still, leaving a bad taste in the mouth of the person
keeping them probably wasn't the best way to get them.
"I, um… no," Kyle lied. "No, that's all."
He turned and stiffly took off in the opposite direction. He didn't know what
he expected, really. Such a social recluse surely wasn't going to crack open
and spill out all his secrets just because Kyle returned a book. It was then,
as he was festering in his doubts, he heard the sound of footsteps thumping in
the dirt. Kyle stopped and turned around, where he found Tweek tailing behind
him at a distance.
"What are you doing?" Kyle asked while shaking his head. His exasperation was a
little too obvious.
"…I don't let people walk home alone anymore," Tweek uttered through clenched
teeth. "Not when it's getting dark."
Kyle was awestruck for a moment, but ultimately ended up nodding slowly in
consent. The odd pair walked through the appending night, though Tweek remained
lingering quietly in the background. Kyle had to admit how creepy it was being
followed by the tall, hooded figure. Neither spoke a single word until they'd
already awkwardly shuffled past the lights of the church.
"I hope you don't get mad, but I peeked in your sketchbook," Kyle finally
confessed to break the silence between him and his new shadow. "I liked all
your sweaters, do you actually make them?"
Tweek jerked his head in an awkward nod. He wasn't really used to strangers
trying to start up idle chit chat. Not that Kyle was exactly a stranger, but he
might as well been. Tweek rubbed his aching ribs and let out a shaky sigh. They
were hurting and tight, like his lungs puffed up like balloons.
"I knit sometimes- it's stupid," Tweek finally admitted. Stupid as in it was
something the other kids didn't do. Then again, the other kids didn't have a
shivering little Craig to keep warm, either.
"I don't think it's stupid," Kyle commented. "I used to knit sometimes. My mom
really loves doing it."
Again, Tweek only stiffly nodded. Kyle contemplated a moment how to bring up
all the questions he had. He wasn't exactly sure how to ask them.
"So, why were you hanging around the pond so late at night?" Kyle questioned
while staring at the muck on Tweek's boots. The hooded blond was finally
walking alongside him.
Again, Tweek preferred to reply without words. A stiff shrug was about all he
could muster. He was worn out, tired, and his heart was all withered up and
sad.
"Well, you must be pretty brave to hang out around there by yourself!" Kyle
concluded as the sound of their footsteps shuffled beneath them. "Especially
with the Shadowman."
Suddenly, the streetlamps flickered to life above them, making Kyle jump a
little. They let out a creepy buzzing than hummed through the darkening air.
Tweek would not reply to Kyle. The subject understandably put his already sore
heart in overdrive. As they stepped out from under the safety of a streetlamp
Tweek took in Kyle's form in the darkness. His hands went clammy. Kyle was
there the night fatass and his friends chased him through the woods. Oh,
fucking Jesus. What if it was all a trap? What if this was another fucking
attempt at snatching him?
"You don't talk much, do you?" Kyle asked quietly.
"Everyone's stupid," Tweek suddenly said. "Shadowman this. Shadowman that. It's
all so dumb."
"Well… I guess it'd be a little ridiculous if what they say is true," Kyle said
while tapping his chin with his pointer finger. "Murderous ghosts trying to
hide bodies."
"It'snottrue," Tweek said through a tight jaw. There was no point being subtle.
He already made up his mind that Kyle was about to ambush him. He was so sure
Cartman and the others were hiding around every corner that he flinched each
time they passed the side of a house, expecting to get pounced on.
Kyle shifted his gaze up to the tall teen beside him. After a moment of
consideration, he timidly asked: "Then... what is the truth?"
They both went silent as they walked under streetlights. Tweek was so ready to
start running. He wanted to so badly, but the last time he let someone slip
away into the dark of night alone…
"I don't know," Tweek muttered the lie. They were all going to jump him and
probably beat the shit out of him. Then turn him into the cops and come to his
cell just so they could throw stuff at him from between the bars. Like some
monkey in a zoo. Oh, Jesus. The least he could do was plead his case. "Maybe…
maybe he's a good guy, you know? M-maybe he's trying to do the opposite of what
everyone always says."
"Like what, instead of trying to hide body parts he's trying tofind them?..."
The sentence almost began as a joke, at least until he reached the punch line.
Kyle stopped in his tracks beneath another streetlight, which made Tweek do the
same.
"That's… that's why you're out there digging holes, isn't it?" he asked with
knit brows.
Tweek looked back with wide eyes. His mouth fell open a little as if he wanted
to argue, but none of the petrified words he could think of would push past the
barrier of his lips.
"No one would listen to you about Craig, so you've been going out there all
this time to find him on your own."
Tweek took a step back. His round, blue eyes wavered and flicked as if he was
searching for an escape. He was awestruck. The gears in his head all fell loose
and were rattling around in his brain. Who was this Kyle character? How the
fuck could he figure Tweek out so easily?
"What? Me?" Tweek blurted while stepping out of the buzzing light of the
lamppost they wandered under.
"I haven't told anyone," Kyle promised before slowly nodding his head. "I'm the
only one who saw your face."
Boom, Tweek was fucking right. The one time he was hoping to be wrong.
"Oh, god. Jesus. W-what do you want? I don't have a whole lot for you to take-
what do you w-want with me?!"
"Wow! No, no, I'm not trying to blackmail you!" Kyle said with his arms
shooting up in surrender. "I just… I don't know, I just wanted to talk."
"Why?! Are you bugged? Recording all this for one of those news articles or
something?!" Tweek nearly screamed in a frightened voice. "You can't- you can't
turn me in, you can't! I haven't found him yet!"
"I'm not bugged, and I'm not going to turn you in. I wouldn't spend all day
searching for you just so I could escort you to a police station," Kyle
retorted as he continued on his way home. He tread off the sidewalk and crossed
the street. Perplexed, Tweek wafted after him.
"Then why?" Tweek persisted.
Kyle looked down at his feet. He literally had Tweek right where he wanted him.
All he had to do was spill the beans about his gift. 'Cause I see dead people,
and I wanna know why your precious Craig tried to rip my face off, was a good
way to start. Or, he could go more subtle with a simple: I get psychic visions
when I touch things, and I can't even sleep since you grabbed my hand.
There were a thousand ways he could have said it, but when he was there, side
by side with the legendary Shadowman, he couldn't even open his mouth. He
rubbed his temples and exhaled.
"I guess I was just curious about you."
The suspicious look Tweek gave him was more than enough to prove he didn't
believe Kyle. Not for a moment.
Kyle rubbed his yarn bracelet with his thumb as he saw his house tucked
alongside the others on his sleepy street.
"And I… I never knew anyone who could see them like I can."
"You see dead people, too, yeah sure," Tweek laughed in disbelief. Kyle was
almost shocked at first to hear such utter doubt, at least until he remembered
every 'psychic' he'd ever seen on a T.V. show.
People loved to pretend.
"Craig's eyes are ripped out of his head," Kyle said as he nodded away the
chilling memory.
Tweek gawked at the other with eyes as big as the moon rising overhead, but
that's where that conversation seized. They'd finally reached Kyle's house.
Tweek stood on the sidewalk as Kyle stepped up onto his front stoop. He took in
a heavy breath before turning back to look at the person behind him. Those icy
blue eyes were still locked onto Kyle. The skin around it was pale, giving away
just how chilled to the bone Tweek had become.
Aside from himself, there was no one.
No one in his life who had ever seen Craig. He was both astonished and
terrified.
Kyle nibbled on his bottom lip a moment.
"Maybe… we can meet up again sometime and talk?" he suggested. "You don't have
to be so alone all the time, you know."
Immediately, Tweek shook his head no.
"I don't talk," he nearly hissed. "I don't need friends."
Kyle looked down at his shoes. That was it for tonight. The door closed behind
him, and Tweek was left staring at the pristine, polished wood.
***** Dig Deep *****
There were so many moments in life Tweek wished he could relive.
If he had that second chance, he could have conquered the demons infesting his
torn mind and set everything right again. He always felt that way; since the
moment Craig vanished from the sidewalk. After all, all it would have taken to
spare Craig from his unending misery would have been a few simple words. A show
of concern; a casual suggestion. If only he walked Craig home. If only he
insisted on a sleep over. That was all he had to do.
He didn't know Craig was one sentence away from salvation. So, instead of all
those things he could have done, all he did was say goodbye. A single breath
was all Tweek needed to sacrifice to save Craig's life, but he found out a day
too late.
The only thing that distanced him from Craig's salvation was time. Sadly, Tweek
did not have a time machine. All he had were his words. Words, it seemed,
nobody wanted to hear. Nobody including his best childhood friends, Token and
Clyde.
They had been together for as long as Tweek could recall. It was always the
four of them, including Craig. They were an impenetrable force; an unshakable
alliance of trust and true loyalty. Through hell and high water their four man
show ruled the world with no questions asked. So, naturally, Tweek confided in
his best friends.
He told them about the vivid visions in his dreams, the arrival of their
mangled friend, and how urgent it was for someone to find him. It was painfully
obvious they didn't believe a word Tweek spoke, but they listened . They
listened because they loved him. Despite all the bullies and school councilor
visits he'd accumulated in those few months, they still loved him.
At least that's what he thought until one miserable day in seventh grade.
That morning he was scuttling towards Clyde's locker with his head down. He and
Craig met up with his friends there every day before class started. That didn't
change after Craig's death. Tweek held his books tightly against his chest as
he approached his friends. He could see Clyde's jersey jacket through the
crowd; Token's purple hoodie, too.
However, there was something different about that morning. There was a guy at
Clyde's locker. It was a new kid Tweek barely recognized. The kid's name and
face eventually was lost to time, seeing as how he only went to their school
for a year of junior high.
Anxious, Tweek stood behind Token and waited for the unwelcome intruder to
leave.
"It's this Sunday. I'm pretty much inviting everybody, so feel free to spread
it around," The kid said as he nodded his head.
"We can totally come, yeah!" Clyde replied excitedly to the foreign face.
"Alright, cool!" the other rejoiced. "Oh, but… don't you hang around with that…
psychotic kid? The one who thinks he sees dead people or something? Let's…
kinda forget to tell him about it, alright?"
The look on Tweek's face must have been heartbreaking.
"What? You mean Tweek?" Token asked with his brows furrowed. It almost seemed
like he was going to defend his friend, but another voice chimed in before he
could speak.
"You're kidding me, right? I wouldn't worry. That freak just kinda hangs around
us for some reason. We just haven't had the heart to tell him to leave us
alone, yet."
Tweek could practically feel his heart crush between the teeth of those hurtful
words; Clyde's hurtful words.
"Alright, cool!" said the unnamed boy that, to Tweek, was never worth
remembering. "See you then!"
As the kid walked away, Token gave Clyde a scornful look.
"Oh, come on!" Clyde whined before turning around to close his locker. "It's
not like Tweek's gonna-"
He stopped. A familiar face stared back at him from around Token's arm. The
look Tweek was wearing said it all. Clyde's cheeks drained of color. He'd been
caught, and he knew there was no smoothing it over. Token watched in silent
shock as his friends stared blankly at one another.
Tweek finally broke the perturbed silence with, "Y… you think I'm a freak?"
"Well…" Clyde looked into his locker as he thought about what he should say. "I
mean, maybe freak was a little harsh, but…"
"But what?" Tweek demanded. His round eyes brimmed faintly with bitter water.
Clyde sighed, and then ran a hand through his brown hair. He always did that
right before he was about to come out with something.
"I'm just tired," he admitted while shaking his head. "I'm tired of all the
stuff you say and all the things you do. It's like everything's gotta be so
complicated. It was bearable before, but nobody even wants to sit with us
anymore because all you ever do is make up stuff about Craig."
Tweek shook his head. Hard.
"Wh- but I'm not making it up!"
Finally, all the frustration Clyde had been harboring all that time came
exploding out of him. He truly was so tired, and he just couldn't listen to all
the bullshit anymore.
"Stop lying, Tweek! You don't know what happened to Craig – Nobody does!"
"Y-yes I do!" Tweek insisted, putting a heavy weight on each word he spat out
of his mouth. "He told me! He showed it to me when I was asleep!"
"Do you even listen to yourself? You don't see ghosts, Tweek. They aren't real!
Craig was an actual person -your friend - who fucking disappeared. Do you have
any idea how - how – disrespectful it is to use him as some character for your
little ghost stories?!"
Tweek was so taken aback by what his friend was saying he didn't know how to
respond. His hands were shaking violently and it felt like his heart was a
kettle drum Clyde was beating on. He looked to Token, who was always the peace
maker when things went awry. All Token did was look down at his feet with a
damning expression.
He agreed with Clyde.
"What? n-no! It's not… It's not like that!"
By that point, hallway traffic stopped almost completely. Clyde and Tweek were
so absorbed in their anger and confusion that they didn't notice the silence
hidden under their screaming.
"Sure it's not! Just like that man in the attic, right? You think saying all
these crazy things will make you seem cool? Well, it fucking doesn't! It makes
you look like a freak!"
There it was again; that word that left Tweek's eyes stinging and his mouth
dry. FREAK.
"You think I would use losing Craig as some kind of leverage for a lie? He was
my best friend. I can't run away from him like you can! I can't ever forget him
like you can!" Tweek spat, his face dangerously close to Clyde's.
Suddenly, there was a low rumble of chanting that seeped between the warring
friends. It came from their crowd of peers. 'Fight!' They chimed mindlessly,
'Fight!'
"Shut up! Just shut up! The only thing you ever cared about was being the
center of attention! You even had to go and make what happened to Craig all
about you! You're a leech- a LEECH!
"That's not true!" Tweek protested through budding tears. He fisted the front
of Clyde's jersey jacket in his trembling hands, begging to be believed or
understood. "All I want is somebody to make him stop hurting! Please, Clyde!
Please believe me!"
That was the last straw for Clyde. The chants from the crowd became more and
more bloodthirsty. They wanted a show, and Tweek's fists were clutching the
front of his jacket. He grabbed Tweek's wrists and shoved him away. Harder than
he'd meant to. Tweek stumbled back and painfully rammed his shoulder into a
locker. The sound reverberated through the metal just like Craig's low hissing
reverberated through Tweek's skull.
The students surrounding them let out startled screams as lights above Clyde
flickered and cracked before bursting with an ear shattering pop. For a short
moment everyone was silent with shock, but it wasn't over. Clyde took a step
back in surprise, and every locker in the hallway that hung open was violently
slammed closed by an unseen force. Loose papers flew and the lights went
haywire. Tweek was just as afraid as everyone else who witnessed the violent
outburst. His fear only grew as thick black goo dripped from the ceiling and
onto his shirt. He looked up to a disgusting sight. Craig was latched onto the
ceiling above him.
Tweek realized no one else saw him. Everyone was looking at Tweek with
horrified expressions rather than the ghost hanging above their heads.
That was the day that turned Tweek's life into a solitary hell.
That was the day their fear began.
He wobbled to his feet. As he stood, everyone near him scrambled away. They
were gawking at him as if he was a monster. As if he was a four-eyed, bearded
lady who escaped from the freak show. Tweek was the one who blew the light.
He's the one who slammed all the locker doors, and he did it without so much as
lifting a finger.
"How the hell did you do that?" Clyde finally spat. He was horrified, just like
all the other speechless students eyeballing Tweek. He was so scared that the
tears brimming in the edges of his eyes spilled over.
"It wasn't me!" Tweek screamed as he stumbled back. He didn't try to explain
himself. He was tired of explaining. He was tired of just saying words and not
being heard. They would never listen to him. They would never accept him.
Not even Token and Clyde.
He ran down the hall. The crowd of fearful kids split open right down the
middle as he ran through them. No one wanted to be the one he bumped into. For
all they knew, he could splatter them across their lockers with as much as a
nod of his head.
He was still racing down the locker-lined hallways when the attendance bell
rang. He hardly noticed the sound. He was too petrified by the walls closing in
on him. He felt like he was being asphyxiated.
Clyde. Clyde of all people. 'Betrayed' didn't even begin to describe his
anguish. He didn't have a single soul left to share his pain with. What was he
going to do now? How was he going to sit in his classes without prying
stares?... How could he survive all alone?
These questions were too much for the thirteen year old to take. He ran through
the then-empty halls until he came across a big red sign. It was fixed over the
frame of a metal door, glowing bright with deliverance. EXIT, it read in blocky
letters. Without a second thought he pushed through it. He was met with fresh
air. He breathed it in like an alcoholic sips on a bottle, but his insides
still felt rotten. He staggered across the cement of a sidewalk before tripping
over his own foot. A loud thump reverberated through that fresh air as he
landed, but it didn't hurt. Or it hurt like a bitch and he was too busy
flooding the sidewalk with his tears to care.
His chest heaved as he sat up. Choked sobs fell from his mouth when he saw a
figure standing before him. Wearing nothing but an oversized shirt slathered
with grime, Craig stared down at Tweek. His skin was nearly paper white, save
for the red splotches at his joints.
"This is all your fault!" Tweek screamed. "T-they all think I did that!
They're- They're all scared of us now, Craig! No one is ever gonna listen to
us. Never!"
Craig didn't respond. He just stood there in a fixed place in time. Staring
into nothingness with his eyeless sockets. Tweek ground his teeth together.
"Not even Token and Clyde will help us now," he whimpered. "Why did you have to
go and get killed in the first place, you- you stupid ghost?! Say something!"
Craig's brows wrinkled together. His mouth opened and closed with a pattern of
speech Tweek couldn't hear. Tweek's fingers pressed into cement as he watched
Craig struggle. Finally a tiny noise slipped from between the cracks of Craig's
white lips. It didn't really sound like much of anything. A small, jumbled
murmur was all he could do, but he was trying.
He was trying so hard.
And again, Tweek's heart shattered.
"I'm sorry…" he muttered quietly to the phantom still opening and closing its
lips. He wiped his wet cheeks with the back of his hands. "You were… just
trying to protect me."
Craig's mouth closed.
Token and Clyde may have left him broken and empty just like everyone else, but
at least he still had Craig. Or, at the very least, the shell he left behind.
"Just… don't ever, ever do that again," Tweek ordered as gently as he could
manage.
Craig didn't reply. Not even with a nod. Still, Tweek somehow knew he
understood.
===============================================================================
When Tweek couldn't see Craig, his chest ached.
Tweek walked alone through the streets on his way home from dropping off Kyle.
He couldn't hear Craig's footsteps behind him. He couldn't see his little
figure walking alongside him. He still felt his presence. He was there,
somewhere, though Tweek couldn't see him.
He sucked in a sharp breath, which only caused more tension in his already
aching chest. It wasn't pain he felt, not really. It was more like a heavy
pressure. It was almost as if he grew an extra lung he didn't quite have room
for.
The pressure always came when Craig was away.
When he stepped into the front door of his house he came across a sight he
didn't think much of. His parents sat on the living room couch, sleeping. He
normally didn't come home until the early hours of the morning. By then, his
parents finally gave up waiting for him to come home.
Who could blame them for waiting up, really? They, like every family on the
block, had a deep seeded fear that their child could be the next to vanish.
However, Tweek gave his parents extra reason to be scared for him. He snuck
out, and a lot. Not only did he like to disappear in the midst of the night
without so much as a goodbye, but he'd never tell the truth about where he'd
been.
They'd had many stern talks with him, but no amount of talking could keep the
Shadowman away from Stark's Pond.
Tweek bunched his jacket up against his chest and made his way towards the
stairs. He was careful to be quiet. Though this was a rare night he was at home
when they wanted him to be, he'd rather escape another concerned lecture.
"You're home," he heard a groggy voice greet from behind him. He turned with a
jolt to find his father looking up at him from the couch. His mother, however,
still sat fast asleep beside him.
"Oh… yeah," Tweek uttered a little awkwardly while rigging his jacket in his
hands.
"I mean, you're actually at home by nine," Richard clarified with an air of awe
to his voice.
"Ah, you know," Tweek mumbled to himself. "Decided to roam the streets and sell
all my drugs early today."
Richard rolled his eyes. "Ha ha, very funny."
Tweek seemed to think so, considering his laughter. He waved a lazy hand
goodbye. Before he could put his foot on the first step his father stopped him
with more unwanted conversation.
"Hey, Tweek," Richard uttered while leaning forward. "Do you think it'd be
alright if I had a word with you real quick?"
Tweek quirked his head. He already knew where this was going. He'd had about a
thousand 'interventions' since Craig came back to him a mangled mess. Sometimes
they'd try to get him to talk about it. Other times they'd want to know where
it was he spent all his time at night. Then, on more recent occasions, they'd
ask if he was on drugs.
Which, to be fair, there were nights he skipped the pond and went to
Henrietta's. The goths were gracious with their weed, and Tweek was guilty of
indulging when he was too stressed. That night was different from all the rest,
though. Instead of bombarding Tweek with a web of confusing questions and
concerned allegations, his father calmly stood from his seat and motioned for
Tweek to follow him. With a defeated sigh, Tweek did so.
Richard led him into the kitchen and away from his sleeping mother, where they
could talk without waking her. Richard took a seat at the table and nodded his
head towards the chair across from him.
"Go on, son. This isn't about your late nights out. Sit."
The chair's legs groaned against the floor as Tweek pulled it out and sat down.
He anxiously rubbed his muddy boots together. If it wasn't about his sneaking
out, it could only be about two other things. He didn't feel like talking about
either.
"Now, I know me and your mother talked to you plenty before about what you go
through," Richard began as he tapped his fingers along the top of the table.
Tweek immediately frowned. "But… I felt like you and I should talk. Man to
man."
The kitchen clock ticked a somber tune as Tweek kept his eyes down on the
tabletop. It had bright splotches of yellow running across the wood. They were
reflections of the ceiling lamp that shined above them.
He didn't want to look up because he already knew what kind of face his father
would be wearing.
"I know you're living your own life, and as long as you aren't getting into
trouble I don't mind letting you live it… but maybe- maybe you should focus on
the people in your life. The living people."
Tweek looked up and swallowed hard. Craig had always been a bit of a taboo
subject, considering the very mention of him brought up the question of their
only son's sanity. He was so sure they talked about locking him up in a loony
bin at least once, if not twice daily.
"You don't have friends, you don't talk to me and your mother. It's like this
thing you've got going on is just… well, destroying your life. It has been for
a very long time."
"Dad… I know how much you guys love me," Tweek began slowly. "Trust me. I know,
but we've talked so much over the years I don't know what to say anymore."
"Please, just talk to me," Richard begged from across the table. "I won't judge
you. I won't pick at you. Tweek, I'm your father and I just… I need to help my
son. Please."
The tightness in Tweek's ribs only grew. He couldn't see Craig, but he could
hear angry breath in the shell of his ear.
Craig, chill out. We talked about this.
"You won't believe me. I don't expect anyone to. I just need you to understand
that it isn't going away. Maybe not ever… Yeah, it hurts and all that fun
stuff, but it's a punishment I need to take."
"Punishment?" Richard asked softly. His eyes changed again. They seemed softer,
half-lidded as he gazed at his only child. "Tweek… you don't need punishment.
What happened to Craig is not your fault."
Tweek felt like he'd just swallowed a mouthful of cold water. His bottom lip
quivered without his consent, but he remained emotionless otherwise.
Richard leaned forward over the table. That worried look returned to him.
"You were just a little boy," he said as if he was begging Tweek to believe
him. "There wasn't anything you could have done."
Tweek swallowed down the tension in his throat. He didn't agree. He didn't
believe it. A few simple words were all Tweek needed, and he didn't say them.
He didn't say them.
"Craig is with me now," Tweek uttered with a weak nod. "Whether or not it was
my fault doesn't matter. He needs me."
Tweek rubbed his aching ribs with a grimace. "Can I please go to my room now?"
Richard leaned back in his chair. A huff of breath escaped from his nostrils
before he said, "Okay. Okay. Just… don't forget you can talk to me, okay? About
Craig, about anything. Me and your mother both."
Tweek nodded his head, but didn't do much else but idle in his chair and clutch
his ribs.
"You okay?" Richard asked as he watched Tweek run his hands over his chest with
a pained expression on his face.
"Yeah, just my chest."
"If your ribs are hurting we need to take you back to the doctor," his father
replied.
"Why? So they can tell us nothing's wrong with me again?" Tweek reasoned.
"It'll pass, always does."
There were no more words exchanged as Tweek stood from the table. Again, the
legs of his chair cried out against the floor. He made his way out of the
kitchen and to his room as quickly as he could manage. As he ascended the
staircase, the tension in his chest slowly subsided.
Craig was standing in the middle of the hallway. His head was down. The dirty
earflaps of his blue hat hid the unpleasant view of his distorted face. Tweek
didn't think much of it as his bedroom door slowly creaked open on its own. The
lambent image of the little boy drifted into the open door, and Tweek followed.
Relieved of the pinching in his torso, he gladly kicked off his boots by his
bed. Craig was on the floor. His arms and legs bent and jerked awkwardly as he
crawled underneath the bedframe. Tweek politely waited for the little specter
to settle before crawling into bed himself.
"Goodnight," he muttered as he pulled his thick comforter over his shoulder.
Craig let out a faint growl.
"Eh, don't worry. David's still butthurt since I threw that book at him
yesterday. He'll leave us alone tonight."
With that, Tweek reached up beside his nightstand and flipped the switch. The
big light went out, but the nightlight plugged in across the room left a gentle
glow rather than pitch dark. It almost felt weird laying down in bed and going
to sleep so early, but he was fucking exhausted.
"Bright enough?" Tweek questioned.
Craig replied with silence, which meant yes.
Hours after Tweek finally slipped away into sleep Craig remained alert beneath
him.
What was left of bony fingers dug into the bottom of the boxspring. The boy
laid flat against it, as if gravity was lost on how to deal with him. Heavy
gasps left his sore throat as his gory maw gaped open. His tiny body ached with
every cracking bone and empty vein.
There were many other nooks and crannies for a tiny ghost such as himself to
hide in, but those dark corners and crawlspaces lacked one thing that under the
bed had: Tweek. He could feel the warmth of life seeping down through the
mattress and into his trembling fingers. He could hear every rhythmic thump of
blood being forced through tight veins. He could hear the wisp of every breath
that slipped past lax lips.
He knew the way Tweek's bones ground together when he moved. He knew the clean
smell of his skin and he memorized every bump and hill that made up Tweek's
face. He knew the soft lids that fluttered over his eyes.
Blue, Craig thought.
He thought they were blue, but he couldn't remember. He wondered if his own
eyes were that color.
The hard tips of his mutilated fingers found their way into his eye sockets.
They scraped along the inside of the rotting holes, where he heard his fingers
rub against the hardness of his skull. He cried out softly to himself in
sorrow.
The mattress above him squeaked as Tweek shifted in bed. He made small, sleepy
sounds. Sounds that made Craig's insides quiver. The little monster crawled
along the bottom of the bed before poking out from under the bedspread.
Branchlike arms crept up onto the mattress. They quietly pulled Craig up and
onto the bed.
He pressed his ear against Tweek's chest. He felt the steady rise and fall of a
strong pair of lungs. He heard the heavy thumping of a gentle heart. There was
nowhere safer than Tweek. There was nowhere Craig felt more comfortable.
He ran his fingers over each rib until the bony tips were pressing against the
softness of his stomach. Craig let out a small sound as the ends of his bones
pressed up against the underside of Tweek's ribcage. He was shivering cold, but
Tweek was so warm. Desperate for safety, he allowed his tremulous hands to sink
underneath the cage of bone that made up Tweek's torso. He could feel every
hard piece of it bump along the tops of his fingers as he slid his arms in
deeper. The heavily pumping blood. The comforting sound of Tweek's soft
breathing. They all grew so much clearer.
Tweek didn't feel it as his chest cavity popped and expanded. There wasn't a
pinch when an invisible skull forced itself against the insides of his lungs.
There wasn't pain when a tiny body made a bed of his soft organs, and there
wasn't a scrape when the tips of Craig's sharp fingers caressed his thumping
heart. All there was was a pressure. A dull, tight pressure.
When Tweek couldn't see Craig, his chest ached.
...
It was only a day later an apprehensive teenager found himself standing before
the woods of Stark's Pond.
The trees in themselves were daunting. They were tall, eerie pillars that
obstructed any and all light. The moment he stepped past the tree line a chilly
feeling hit him and an odd fog rolled into his mind. Those woods almost seemed
to be a portal to a different world. A dreadful sad world that devoured any
sense of hope or joy. Still, Kyle stood as strong as his trembling would allow
him.
Wind whistled as he trudged onward through the orchard of death. At least
that's what it felt like to Kyle. The arms of dark trees leaned down to pluck
at him. The soft, wet ground tried to steal his shoes as he walked forward. The
darkness descended upon him like a pillow; harmless until it was being used to
smother him.
He was unnerved by the creaking and stirring throughout the forest, but he
wasn't as afraid as he was the last time he'd found himself there. This time he
knew what he was doing. He knew who was there and where he wanted to go.
Though, he wasn't entirely sure how to get there. He'd been wandering through
the endless loop of wood and dropping leaves. He never seemed to get any
farther, but it was hard to tell the trees apart by the trunks caught in his
flashlight. He tried his best to follow his gift through the eerie darkness.
Sometimes it acted as an internal compass, which guided him towards those long
forgotten.
He didn't stop until he finally reached a particular tree. The only thing
setting it apart from the rest was the bear still pinned against the wood. It
was withered and old looking thanks to the harsh elements, and some type of
green moss turned the Teddy's fluffy foot fibers into a new home. The
irresistible urge to feel it under his fingers washed over him like ice water.
He licked his lips and stepped towards it. Kenny was not there to thwart him
that time.
He knew before he even took hold of it what it was going to do. Tweek was given
visions through his eyes. They were given to Kyle though his hands. And so, the
wet and mossy paw of the teddy squished unpleasantly between Kyle's shaking
fingers.
THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.
A long, thick nail was driven through the chest of a stuffed animal. The same
stuffed animal Kyle was squeezing tightly in his killer grip. The sun was
shining through the trees in long beams, illuminating the back of a blond head.
Kyle was finally able to pry his rigid fingers away, but the image lingered.
It seemed the Shadowman was behind more than just Stark's mysterious holes. The
tree of dolls seemed to Kyle like far less of a mystery. If he spent most of
his nights surrounded by the mischievous spirits of children he'd probably want
to appease them, too.
Which brought him to the reason he was searching for it in the first place.
His backpack slipped off the peaks of his shoulders, and he digged through it
to find a toy of his own. It was something that used to belong to his little
brother, Ike, when he was little. It was a red, stuffed car. It was more like a
pillow, really, but he thought it would do fine.
He kneeled down at the base of the tree. His flashlight brightened the button
eyes of stuffed animals as he set the car down amongst their ranks. He
swallowed hard, and then uttered a small message to whatever entities might be
listening. And he knew they were.
"I brought this for you- to prove I'm not here to hurt anyone," his throat felt
dry as he spoke. "I just want to help Tweek."
Leaves rustled as spirits swayed through the trees. Through the whimsical
sound, he heard the familiar grinding of bones. It was a sickening noise he'd
only ever heard one other time. He shot up and quickly backed away from the
tree.
Something caught in the beam of his flashlight. A small squeak of fear slipped
past his lips when he saw a pale figure peeking at him through the forest.
Well, it would be peeking if it had any eyes. The little spirit let out a low
hiss in warning. The gaping hole of its mouth was just as pitch black as its
eyes, but at least it wasn't crammed with razor-like teeth.
Kyle swallowed hard and backed away.
"Please… d-don't chase me," Kyle begged. "I'm not going to hurt you or Tweek or
any of your little friends. I promise."
When the disembodied hissing did not seize, Kyle felt his chest tighten up. He
never encountered a spirit even comparable to that tiny creature stalking him
in the woods. He didn't know what Craig really was, let alone what he was
capable of.
"Oh! I brought you a present," Kyle uttered in a bit of a panic.
The hissing slowed when Kyle picked the car up from the tree and held it out
with shaking hands. He squeezed it's middle, which played some cheesy theme
song for a show he never watched before.
"Go RedRacer, go!' the toy chimed merrily at the peak of its song. When Kyle
blinked, the mangled form that had been spying on him was standing only a few
feet away. It's rotting face tipped from side to side as it listened to the
melody. Tweek liked to call Craig his puppy when he'd do that, as if the
decaying cavities his skull were doe eyes and pert lips.
Kyle, however, wasn't blinded by unconditional love.
The apparition's angered hissing was replaced by high cooing, but kyle didn't
feel any safer than he did before. On wobbly legs the pintsized monster
staggered forward. Kyle instinctively let out a scream as long limbs exploded
from Craig's back. They snatched the RedRacer plush right out of Kyle's grasp
before bolting back into the darkness of the woods. He shined his light through
the veil of swaying branches and leaves. That same melody chimed over and over
again from somewhere amongst the trees. It echoed distortedly, which made that
happy tune seem a lot less happy to Kyle.
Along with the music came faint laughter. After steadily swallowing a wad of
spit, Kyle followed the noise aimlessly through the thick foliage. The hope was
that Craig would lead him to Tweek. There was really no other way, he but he
wasn't sure if tailing the giggling of a hostile spirit was the best idea he
ever had.
As long as Craig wasn't trying to tear him to shreds he supposed he'd be
alright.
Twigs snapped and rustled beneath his shoes as he tired to keep up with Craig's
noises. He got nervous when the sounds faded away, but they were soon replaced
by something else completely. It was a sharp and heavy noise, like someone
slamming metal into earth. He kicked up leaves as he sprinted towards it. He
came barreling out of the treeline as bis light shined into an opening in the
woods. A horrified shriek immediately followed Kyle's rucus, but it didn't come
from him. It came from the six foot tall, hooded figure wielding a shovel
nearby.
The Shadowman's first instinct was always to run. Being captured was not an
option, and he'd rather be made out a coward than an idiot. So he turned away
from the person who'd just snuck up on him and bolted in the opposite
direction.
"Tweek! No, wait! It's me!" Kyle screamed in desperation. "Kyle! Kyle
Broflovski!"
Tweek did stop, but he was obviously not trusting. He backed away into a bush,
where he had plenty of options for escape if it came to that.
"What the hell are you doing here?" The cloaked figure spat with his shovel
raised in defense.
Kyle's hands shot up as a show of submission, then quickly yelled, "I'm so
sorry, I didn't mean to freak you out like that!"
"Wh-... how did you even find me?" Tweek demanded. He was still partially
hidden in nearby foliage, but Kyle could see him just fine thanks to the moon
and his flashlight.
"Craig led me here," Kyle replied with a nod of his head. "I just… I wanted to
help you."
Tweek slowly dropped his tool to his side and slid out from his hiding place.
He didn't seem to know what to make of what he was hearing.
"… You came to help me?" Tweek said in a voice unsure and suspicious. "And
Craig was the one who brought you here?"
"Well… yeah," Kyle said while fiddling with the grip of his own shovel. It
wasn't nearly as long as the Shadowman's, but it stayed put when he slipped the
handle in his belt. "I brought him a stuffed animal- like the ones you nailed
to the tree in the woods."
"How did you know that was me?"
"The teddy bear showed me."
After hearing such a ridiculous thing fall out of Kyle's mouth Tweek replied,
"You really are just as fucked up as I am, aren't you?"
"Well... maybe not quiteas fucked up."
Tweek didn't care for Kyle's jokes.
"I already told you. I don't need help." In fact, he couldn't stress enough
just how much he didn't want Kyle, or anyone else, to be there.
"You aren't even going to give me a chance?" Kyle asked while pulling his own
tool off of his belt. It dwarfed the Shadowman's trusted metal companion, but
it would work fine nonetheless. "I brought my own shovel if that makes a
difference."
Tweek actually frowned at that. Thankfully, the shadows of his hood hid his
somber expression.
"Give me a single reason why I should give you or anybody else a chance," Tweek
spat bitterly. Kyle could hear a shovel hit the ground again, though he
couldn't see it. His flashlight was too busy scanning though the trees to
illuminate the person before him.
"Well, I don't know about everybody else, but I'm standing right here with a
perfectly good shovel," Kyle replied carefully.
Kyle stood for a moment as Tweek continued to drive the metal tip into the
beginnings of a fresh hole. He didn't say a single word, which sounded more
like an open invitation to Kyle. He came up alongside Tweek with his tool at
his side and sank it down into the fresh earth. He didn't feel like he was
actually accomplishing anything compared to Tweek, who was more than well
versed in hole digging. However, there was only one bit of advice the shadowman
passed on to the rookie:
"Dig deep."
***** The Dog *****
The soothing sound of water bubbled up from between the wooden boards beneath
them. Shadows cast by the setting sun made whimsical shapes along the creek,
and Kyle smiled to himself when one touched the tip of is dangling foot. Since
the bridge was first built along the beaten path of the park, they found a
haven in it. It was a quiet and tranquil place; somewhere for deep
conversations and pondering questions.
It was a place to confide secrets, which was exactly what Kyle had planned.
He reached down and rubbed the green and white yarn tied around his wrist. The
person beside him leaned through the wooden railings to peek down at the water.
They were sitting side by side, both pairs of legs hanging over the edge.
"Stan," Kyle began anxiously. He couldn't quite look over at him. He didn't
want to see the look of doubt he was about to receive. "There's something I
need to talk to you about."
Stan looked over his shoulder. Pieces of his ice-cream sandwich were stuck to
his face. He wiped it off with his sleeve before swallowing his mouthful.
"What? What is it?" he asked with uneasiness sullying his face. When Kyle began
a conversation like that, it usually spelled trouble.
Kyle let out a breath he'd been holding. He stared at his hands as he held onto
his own ice-cream. Sometimes he wished he could just chop them off.
"I have to tell you something, but you have to believe me, okay? No matter how
crazy or weird it sounds. I just need someone to know…"
Stan sat attentively. His brows were raised, and his snack was forgotten in his
hands.
"Well…" Kyle scratched the back of his neck. "… I see things other people don't
see."
"Like what?"
"Like… I don't know what they are for sure. Ghosts?" he nearly blushed in
humiliation having said that.
"You've seen ghosts?" Stan asked with the quirk of his lip. "That's not so bad,
my mom's seen one before. My uncle Jimbo did once, too."
Kyle looked down into the water below them. The river flowed lazily around
rocks and grass as it passed under their bridge. Stan took another small bite
of his ice-cream sandwich. Kyle mimicked him.
"You don't think it's bad because you don't have to live with it," he finally
replied between bites. "They can be… horrible."
"Horrible how?"
"Well… there's this girl! She's in the house behind mine. She always looks at
me through the window, but she doesn't have a face. She just has this big hole
where it should be."
"Whoa," Stan sputtered, almost spewing crumbs all over his shirt. "Wait,
really?"
Kyle's gaze flicked down to the water again as he played with the wrapper of
his ice cream. "Yeah, really," He finally muttered miserably.
"Hey, It's not that I don't believe you! Just, wow," Stan quickly clarified.
"That is pretty scary."
Kyle nodded his head hard. "They all are. Even the ones that look normal. It's
like… I can't even look up sometimes because I know one of them are staring at
me. It's like a curse."
Stan shook his head at hearing that. "I don't think it's a curse."
"You don't?"
"Well… no, think about it. You're seeing people, right? Like… sure the girl in
the window looks scary as hell, but that doesn't make her less of a person. She
was somebody's daughter. Maybe even someone's sister, or mom, or best friend.
She's up there all by herself, and you can see her," Stan said as he slowly
shook his head. "Dude, you could help a lot of people with that one day. I
can't speak for you, but I'd call that a gift before I'd call it a curse."
Kyle looked up at Stan with a wavering look. It was moments like those that
reminded Kyle why they were such close friends. His green eyes went half lidded
as he rested his chin on the railing before him.
"Maybe you're right," Kyle finally said, though it came out garbled because of
how he was sitting. Stan's passionate words got him thinking, but no amount of
passionate speeches could change the fear tingling the back of Kyle's skull.
A gift or a curse, he wasn't sure.
Stan gave a reassuring smile as Kyle bit into his ice-cream. He had plenty of
time to worry about it later.
===============================================================================
Kyle's gaze shifted to the muddy earth they'd been tearing into. Their holes
were both deep, but empty. Just two useless dents bored into the ground that
held nothing more than dirt and air. Earth worms wriggled through the freshly
disturbed soil, but that was all. They had not come across the little boy's
decaying body. Kyle doubted they ever would.
He couldn't keep enough strength to compete with the Shadowman. He'd tried and
tried for hours to keep up. Literally hours. His arms were tired and weak, and
his lungs felt like they were collapsing. A small break wouldn't hurt. He
lowered himself down onto the mud-covered ground to let his legs relax. Tweek,
on the other hand, did not stop. Not for a moment.
Kyle was sure if Tweek didn't have obligations like sleep and school he would
have already hollowed out the earth.
Kyle's legs rested in the grimy hole he dug. It wasn't nearly as deep as
Tweek's, seeing as how Tweek was standing knee deep into the earth. He watched
the black figure toss aside shovelfuls of ick and grime. Kyle just couldn't
imagine doing this every night. How did Tweek keep his grades up? How did he
ever get any sleep or make it to school on time?
The pale skin of Tweek's face could easily be seen in the light of the moon.
The same was said for the brown bandanna that covered his nose and mouth. The
bandanna, Kyle noted, was a new addition to the Shadowman's uniform. Tweek's
eyes stayed sharp and focused. They shifted over every grain of dirt and
squirming worm. The deeper Tweek dug the softer his shovel hit the ground.
"You aren't gonna get much deeper at that rate," Kyle said.
Tweek's eyes shifted from his work to Kyle's face. They rested there for a
moment before muttering, "If your best friend's body could be only a few inches
below you, you wouldn't want to crush his skull with the end of your shovel,
would you?"
There was a dog. It stood upright in the grim darkness of the tree line. The
tails of its fancy blue suit did not move with the wind that gusted around it.
Its bulging black eye did twitch through a monocle. Tweek did not see the dog.
Kyle did not see the dog.
You do not see the dog.
Tweek hoisted his tool onto his shoulder and stared down into the hole below
him. Those hard eyes softened with defeat when he realized yet again there was
no Craig laying curled up beneath his feet. Kyle watched as Shadowman
painstakingly began to fill back in the hole he'd spent so long digging up.
With a grimace, he stood to do the same.
It didn't take nearly as long to repair the damage they'd done, thankfully.
Tweek patted the freshly covered hole with the bottom of his boot before wiping
his forehead and sniffing.
"Well… I guess that's it for tonight," Tweek stood for a moment with his eyes
clamped closed. He seemed almost to be praying, but Kyle caught a meek apology
carried by the breeze. An apology to Craig.
When the six foot figure turned to walk away Kyle was right on his heels. He
didn't allow much distance to separate them in fear of getting lost out there
again.
"We're making a stop, first. Don't feel like walking all the way home after all
that."
Kyle quickly nodded in agreement. The few minutes he spent sitting didn't quite
make up for all the breath he lost shoveling. His arms felt like limp noodles,
and his legs were stiff and achy. He didn't want to walk either.
He trailed behind his odd companion for a short while before he caught the
siding of a house in the beam of his flashlight. It was grimy and chipping
away, and broken reflections shined back at him from busted windows. He
recognized that house immediately. He could still remember the lambent candle
that lead him there.
Tweek sighed in relief as he stepped through the back door. The kitchen looked
just like Kyle remembered it. Old and musty. The cabinets were still falling
apart. Sections were crumbling out of the frame and most of it's doors were
broken off, just like before. There was just one small detail he didn't notice
until right then. They were littered in cobwebs. Cobwebs with nasty looking
spiders on them. It made his skin crawl remembering he'd climbed inside of
those webs in his panic. He was probably covered in creepy crawlies when he
climbed back out.
"What's wrong?" Tweek asked as he pulled his bandana down around his neck. "You
look white."
"N-nothing," He mumbled in response before stepping away from the arachnid
farm. "I just can't believe I crawled in that thing."
Tweek actually laughed, which caught Kyle off guard. "Wait, what?"
Kyle dismissed the conversation with a wave of his hand. Tweek was too lazy and
disinterested to ask again. He let his black cloak slip off his shoulders
before laying it across the decrepit kitchen table. He placed his shovel there,
too, before walking through the kitchen and opening another door. Kyle propped
his own shovel up against the wall. He didn't quite feel right thinking about
placing it beside Tweek's. Anxious, he followed after him.
When he stepped through the doorway he was met with a colonial looking living
room. The couch was old, but fancy. Expensive looking lamps collected dust and
grime on the tops of rotting side tables. The windows were covered in floral
draperies, and there were dirty squares along the walls where pictures used to
be. The centerpiece of the room was a massive fireplace. It was just as ancient
as the rest of the room, but it looked like it'd just burned out. Fresh ashes
and soot lined its bottom along with a few pieces of trash.
"Let's light the fire and sit for a while," Tweek suggested as he moved across
the room.
There was a small collection of twigs and wood loosely thrown into the far
corner. Tweek collected a bundle from it before tossing them into the
fireplace. Using a bottle of lighter fluid from the mantle, he doused the
lumber.
"Isn't there a better way to light it?" Kyle asked with concern when he saw
Tweek pull a matchbox from his pocket.
"Probably," Tweek said before striking the match. The wood burst into a mini
inferno. A bright, orange glow assaulted Kyle's vision and flicked across their
bodies. The eerie shadows of their bodies danced along the flaking wallpaper.
After a few blinks Kyle felt grateful and turned off his flashlight.
Tweek was poking at the fire with a metal rod when Kyle's phone went off. It
was such a loud and intrusive sound they both jumped about ten feet. Kyle
quickly dug in the pocket of his jacket to silence the loud wailing. When he
pulled it out a familiar name displayed across the screen.Kenny.
"Hello?" He questioned into the receiver as Tweek glanced back at him.
"Ky? Hey, where the hell are you?"
"What do you mean?" Kyle asked. "It's like one in the morning you should be in
bed."
"Yeah, so should you," Kenny retorted. "Where are you?"
"Umm, I dunno," Kyle shrugged as innocently as he could manage, as if Kenny
could see that.
"Apparently your mom doesn't, either. She called and said you were spending the
night to help me with my homework, which I thought was kind of funny seeing as
how that's not a thing that happened."
"Well… what did you tell her?" Kyle suddenly asked in the most petrified voice
Kenny had ever heard. If she found out Kyle lied about going to Kenny's so he
could dig up bodies with the Shadowman, he would probably end up grounded. Or
dead. He could also end up dead.
"I told her sorry but you were sleeping, of course," Kenny grumbled more to
himself it seemed. "I don't like lying to your mom, man. It makes me feel
weird."
"Ugh. I'm sorry. I just needed a cover. I do it for you all the time."
"Because I'm a rotten bad boy who likes to roam the streets at night and party.
You don't do either of those things, so fess up. Where are you?"
"Um," Kyle tapped his feet against the dirty rug beneath him. "Wait, what did
you say? I -n't hear yo-."
Tweek watched with a cocked brow as Kyle made static noises into his cell
phone.
"Kyle, don't you dare."
"What was that? Sshhhhhhhkksshh, sorry I can't- you're breaking shh up."
"You little turd don't you hang up on-"
Kyle shoved his phone in his pocket. He and Tweek stared at one another in
silence. The humored look on Tweek's face demanded an explinaion.
Kyle grinned and shrugged. "It was Kenny. He kinda worries a lot, you know…"
Tweek looked back into the fire. Kyle squatted down and scooted closer, raising
both his hands up towards the warmth of the flames.
"… why are you here?" Tweek asked in quiet thought.
"I told you, to help-"
"No, why are you reallyhere?"
Kyle went silent for a short while. Was it really so hard for Tweek to accept
that someone just cared enough to lend him a hand? Then again, that wasn't
Kyle's entire reason for being there, was it?
Kyle's mouth twisted as he patted globs of dirt off of his knees.
"You know, when we were younger I had such a hard time understanding you," Kyle
uttered as he continued to flick blades of grass off his jeans. "I was so
scared of anybody treating me different I kept my gift a secret, and there you
were telling everybody who'd listen about yours. Even though they made fun of
you, you wouldn't deny it or try to take it back."
Tweek just kept on poking at the fire. It was almost like he wasn't listening,
but Kyle knew he was.
"But you never told anyone until Craig came. You weren't doing it for yourself,
you were doing it for him."
"So what? What does that have to do with anything?"
Kyle looked down at his mud-caked shoes. He bit his bottom lip and let out a
low sigh.
"I used to have a friend. Someone who meant everything to me. He always said
that people like you and I had our power because we'd use it to help others…
but I never did. I never tried to help anyone. How could I if I was so scared
of them?" Kyle kept his gaze trained onto the freshly lit fire before him. He
was trying so hard to sound confident, but kept falling short. "I was so
terrified that I looked things up online to keep them away. I tried salt
circles and all different kinds of candles, blessed buckeyes, covered my
mirrors- everything. I spent so long trying to pretend they weren't there I
don't know anything about them. Now that I have someone I want to help my gift
is useless."
Tweek had stopped what he was doing to listen. Kyle caught his attention, but
it was even harder to speak with those eyes burning through him.
"But you… you've spend every moment of every day with one… you have to know
more about it- more about what we are and what we can do… more about them."
Tweek set his poker down on the hardwood floor before exhaling a sigh.
"Listen, Kyle," Tweek muttered. He ran his tongue along the edges of his teeth
as he tried to find a way to gently explain this to him. "If you've made it
this far unscathed, keep doing what you've been doing. You don't want to know
about them. I promise you that much. And as for your friend… well, I don't know
how to help mine, either."
The fire flicked across Kyle's stern face. He shook his head with the same
stubborn resolve that get him into that mess in the first place. "I already
know some. I get visions through my hands when I touch things- sometimes
they're terrible. I've seen their faces and heard their voices- one even chased
me. So don't go treating me like some delicate flower who can't handle this.
I'm fucking not."
Tweek found himself so intrigued he wasn't even startled by Kyle's cursing.
Getting visions just by touching things? Tweek definitely couldn't do that. He
needed his eyes for visions while it seemed like all Kyle needed were his
hands.
Weird, but interesting.
"Well, then, since y-you're so keen on stirring up things." Shit. Tweek's
stutter was rearing its ugly head. "First thing's first. I don't know if you
noticed, but not all of them are nice. Don't go around expecting to 'send them
into the light' or something dumb like that- some of them can touch you. Some
of them can hurt you."
"… I know that," Kyle admitted with the weakest nod. Well, he knew part of
that. His encounter with Craig was so petrifying because he had no idea he
could be physically assaulted. He still bared the wounds around his ankle from
those sharp fingertips, and now Tweek was saying he wasn't the only one with
that power.
Tweek was staring at him dumbly, as if he was waiting for a sentence to be
finished. Sighing weakly, Kyle decided to roll up his dirty pant leg and
showcase his battle scars. There were five little holes in his leg. There was
one for each of that little monster's fingers. Tweek rolled up his nose before
moving closer. He took a hold of Kyle's ankle and stared at the healing wounds
with furrowed brows.
"What did this to you?" He asked, sounding genuinely concerned.
"Well… Craig," Kyle replied timidly. "The first time I saw him he came after me
and dragged me to the ground."
"Wait. He attacked you?" Tweek shot a look of shock into the darkness behind
him. Kyle couldn't help but notice movement amongst the flickering shadows. A
long, dark figure spilt away from the corner. Disembodied booming filled the
room as a tiny pair of feet slammed along the staircase. Craig ran upstairs to
hide.
Tweek frowned. Kyle swallowed hard.
"I don't think he was trying to hurt me. I figured he was just protecting you,
I mean… there were all these kids in a circle around him and-"
"Were they holding hands?"
"…Yeah."
That was explanation enough for Tweek. Kyle stumbled upon Craig in the midst of
an attack. He broke the healing circle. Craig went berserk. It made sense, but
it didn't mean he was any less upset. His Craig trying to hurt someone? It
seemed unthinkable.
"I'm sorry," Tweek uttered as he pulled Kyle's pant leg back down. "He just
kind of has these… fits sometimes, you know? It's like he gets scared and just
goes off the deep end."
"Oh… like a panic disorder?" Kyle asked as he wrapped his arms around his
knees. "If someone drown him in the pond he could have some kind of Post
Traumatic Stress…"
Tweek stared at Kyle for a long moment without as much as a blink.
"It kinda creeps me out how you know things like that," Tweek said.
"I creep you out?" Kyle scoffed. "I'm not the one with a weird little ghost
stalking me."
Tweek knit his brows together, giving Kyle a horrified stare. His eyes shifted
nervously towards the wall to Kyle's back.
"What?… Then who's that?"
Startled, Kyle turned around to try to catch a glimpse of whatever Tweek was
seeing. Unlike Tweek, all he saw was the crumbling floral pattern of wallpaper
in the fire light. He blinked and looked back at his companion as shivers
trickled up his spine.
"Who is who?" Kyle demanded as he went ridged.
Tweek kept his eyes trained onto the wall for a moment before looking back into
the fire.
"Nevermind," was all he said, which only freaked Kyle out even more. So much so
that he moved so his back wouldn't be facing that particular wall.
"How about we go back home," Tweek decided quickly as he stood up. "I just have
to go coax Craig down real quick."
That thought was like a rusted nail being driven into Kyle's head. He was
slowly trying to accompany himself to Craig and his grotesque form. His
terrifying ability to hurt him if only he had the mind. Craig didn't love Kyle
like he loved Tweek, and Kyle didn't have any defense against him.
At least not that he was aware of.
Heavy footsteps snapped him out of his trance. Tweek's boots creaked the stairs
as he ascended into the darkness. Kyle flicked on his flashlight to watch as he
stood up to follow. Looking up towards the second story, he was met with a wall
of pitch black. Not even the beam of his flashlight could cut through it.
Tweek waded easily through the black fog. He wouldn't have been much of a
shadowman if he couldn't. He already knew where Craig was. His boots creaked
the floorboards as he headed towards a particular door. It lead to a bedroom.
Inside was a makeshift table littered with paper coffee cups, a map tacked up
against the wall, and a door. From beyond that door was the quiet sound of
children's sobs. The sound Tweek couldn't handle hearing. He gripped the
handle, but it wouldn't budge.
Tweek leaned against the frame and pressed his forehead into the wood.
"Craig," he uttered quietly.
There was a rustling. One hundred and twenty little fingers scraped along the
walls inside. A low gurgling bubbled out from within, accompanied by the
miserable cries of a guilt-ridden child.
Tweek closed his eyes.
"I know you didn't mean to hurt him," he uttered against the door. "You were
just as scared as he was, I know."
Something pressed up against the other side of the door. A few little stray
hands poked out from the crack underneath, their fingers ready to be caressed
and forgiven. The majority of his limbs, along with Craig himself, remained
locked inside his anguish.
'Go, Red Racer! Go!'chimed from inside. Craig was curled up in the corner while
clutching the stuffed toy against his chest. Hands caressed his shoulders as he
heaved. He didn't even care a few of his arms had wandered away. At least not
until he felt a big pair of fingers rub some of digits wriggling though the gap
in the floor. They quickly latched onto Tweek, and Craig's heaving slowed.
Meanwhile, Kyle was still fidgeting at the bottom of the staircase.
"Are you coming back down?" he demanded for the thousandth time only to be
answered with the pops of the fireplace. Fuck, he felt so uneasy being left in
that room alone.
'Go Red Racer! Go!' suddenly sank down from the darkness, followed by low and
mischievous laughter.
He could feel his muscles tensing in fear. Oh, good god he did not want to go
up there. For all he knew he'd come face to face with an otherworldly creature
hell-bent on devouring his soul. But Tweek was taking so fucking long, and that
creepy feeling was not going away. He anxiously rubbed the yarn around his
wrist.
Against his better judgment, he carefully took his first step onto the
staircase. A screaming figure lurched out of the darkness and plummeted onto
the stairs with a startling slam. His heart fucking exploded. Kyle let out a
terrified scream and instinctively hurtled his flashlight at the wailing
creature.
"Ouch!" he heard someone yelp as the heavy thing bounced off of their shoulder
and went tumbling back down the steps. He had not just encountered an
otherworldly creature hell-bent on devouring his soul. He encountered Tweek,
who was laughing like the fucking idiot he was.
"Wh- Holy shit!What'd you do that for?!" Kyle demanded. His heart was still
thumping so hard he thought he might faint, but Tweek was beyond pleased with
himself. "You scared the piss out of me!"
"Hey, if you wanna keep hanging around me, you better get used to getting
scared," Tweek warned through his humored chuckling.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Tweek replied with a shrug, which made Kyle frown. He couldn't tell if Tweek
was being sincere or just trying to scare him away.
"Well that's enough of that," Tweek said while rubbing his shoulder as if to
make sure it was still in place. At least Kyle got a good whack at him. "Let's
put out the fire and get going."
It was simply a given that Tweek would be walking him home again. Neither said
a word against or for it. They both just walked through the spider covered
kitchen and made their way out together. Tweek grabbed his robe on his way,
though he stuffed it in a backpack that had been sitting under the table. He
didn't want to be spotted leaving the pond with it.
As soon as they stepped onto the porch a chilly breeze swept over them. Kyle
zipped his jacket up to his chin as Tweek stepped off the wooden stoop. The
moon was still dangling high above them, which left plenty of light out in the
clearing. He jogged after Tweek and turned on his flashlight yet again to see
through the creaking trees and rustling leaves.
That's when he noticed something he found particularly disturbing. The back of
Tweek's jacket was… squirming. He shined his flashlight on the disturbing show
as he followed behind at an increasing distance. It was almost like tiny
fingers were sprouting from Tweek's spine and scraping along the fabric. Tweek
noticed the tugging at the cloth, but only put up his hood.
"T-tweek," Kyle whispered when the other didn't stop.
When Tweek finally turned around, Kyle was met with an unsettling sight. A pair
of arms had sprouted from the darkness of his jacket to wrap tightly around his
neck. They looked as though they'd been decaying under someone's porch for a
year, but Tweek didn't seem to mind at all that they were there. Kyle jumped
and stumbled back when a tiny face poked out from inside Tweek's hood. It
wasn't the first time Kyle saw those rotting holes, but they never seized to
frighten him.
"It's just Craig," Tweek muttered as the eyeless face buried itself into his
neck.
Kyle swallowed hard, but hesitantly continued to follow his odd companions
through the woods. The big lump under Tweek's jacket didn't seem to deter him
in the slightest.
Neither spoke as they finally left the pond and came upon the church. A woman
was sitting at the bench as they passed. She smiled and waved, oblivious to the
jacket draped horror clinging to Tweek's back. The hooded teen returned the
gesture, and the woman went back to playing on her phone.
"She can't even see your jacket's lifted up, can she?" Kyle asked under his
breath.
"No."
And again, they were doused in silence. The only conversation being had was
between their footsteps and Craig's garbled noises. It sounded like the little
thing was in so much agony. It remained that way until they yet again found
themselves on the sidewalk in front of Kyle's house. He wasn't really sure how
he was going to explain coming home at… he checked his phone… three o' clock in
the morning to his mom, but he'd figure something out.
"Can I ask you one more question?" Kyle said as he stepped up onto his parent's
front stoop.
Tweek's gaze wavered a moment as he clutched onto the handle of his backpack.
He nodded stiffly. Those grungy, bruised arms were still interlaced around his
neck. Kyle pretended it didn't bother him.
"So… at the house," Kyle uttered while he rang his hands together. "Did you
really see someone behind me, or were you just trying to scare me like on the
stairs?"
Tweek furrowed his brows together before looking down at his feet. "Do you want
me to tell you the truth?"
Kyle immediately nodded.
"I wasn't lying."
"What did it look like?" Kyle asked before Tweek could even finish his
sentence. "Did you see who it was?"
Tweek couldn't help but stare at Kyle dumbly. The last thing he expected was
for Kyle to be excited. Then again, Kyle had his own issues too, and Tweek
wasn't about to pretend to know what they were.
"No. It's face was gone," Tweek replied honestly.
Kyle's expression dropped dramatically before he wrapped himself tighter in his
jacket.
"So… so is Craig always in pain?" Kyle asked quietly. "When people die do they
just… always stay the way they were when it happened?"
Tweek slowly nodded. "Pretty ghosts don't exist- not unless they went in tact.
If you die in a fire your skins gonna always be scorching. It's just… how it
works."
Kyle's eyes slid downward with a deep sorrow Tweek hadn't expected. It almost
made him feel bad, but he wasn't going to lie just to spare Kyle's feelings. If
he really wanted to learn more about them, he better get used to the truth
being ugly. Tweek still felt bad, though, when he looked into Kyle's eyes. It
was visibly obvious how upset he'd become.
Kyle nodded his head with a small smile, but tears were brimming in the corners
of his eyes.
"Well… thank you," he finally muttered, "for talking to me."
With that, Kyle slowly shut the door once again.
…
That day was a dark and confusing time for Kenny and company. They all sat
fidgeting around their table. Not a single bite had been taken of their
breakfasts, (except for Cartman's ) and Kenny was tapping his fingers against
the tabletop. Not a single one of them said anything, but they were all quietly
contemplating over the same empty seat.
Where the hell was Kyle?
Butters finally cleared his throat to bring a voice to all of their concerns.
"Maybe he went to class early- to study or something."
That seemed like as logical of an excuse as any. He did occasionally ditch
breakfast to study in the silence of his first period classroom.
"He wasn't on the bus, though," Kenny muttered more to himself in thought. He
had a little more reason than the others to worry. He was the only one who knew
that Kyle was off doing god knows what the night before. What if he didn't make
it home? What if something terrible happened? No. No, he wouldn't allow himself
to believe he could have lost another friend.
"Maybe he's sick," Cartman offered with feigned disinterest.
"But Kyle never missed a day of school, not since fifth grade," Butters said in
worry. "He wouldn't just forfeit his perfect attendance 'cause he wasn't
feeling well."
The table grew quiet after that. Their minds were running wild with the
terrible things that could have happened. Kenny, however, wasn't going to just
sit and stew in worry. He felt he knew Kyle better than anyone, and there were
a few places he was bound to be hiding. He stood up from his seat. The warm
meal on his plate was completely untouched as he worked his way around the
table.
"Ey, where do you think you're going?" Cartman barked from behind him. Kenny
didn't answer. He didn't want to be chased after.
Kenny had a short list of places Kyle ran away to when he was upset. He hoped
that's all his disappearance meant. It better have been, or else he was calling
in a police squad because god dammit if he lost another friend. That was his
only thinking as he checked himself out in the office and headed outside.
…
Grass swayed in the early morning breeze. The sun was still just beginning to
peek up over the mountain tops and a thin layer of sparkling dew lingered in
the grass. Kenny bit his lower lip when he caught a glimpse of someone's legs
dangling over the edge of the bridge.
Feeling his chest swell up with relief, he ran up the dirt path that lead to
the wooden structure. It was indeed Kyle. Kenny could spot that bright green
ushanka from a mile away. His feet lightly approached. Kyle's arms were propped
up on the bottom half on the wooden railing. His face was buried in them.
Kyle didn't raise his head up when he heard someone else's feet move along the
boards beneath him. He just sat there in relative silence, expecting them to
just pass by without a word. He was wrong. They came to a stop beside him, and
he peeked up over his arm when he felt someone sit down and hang their feet
over the edge like he had been. The moment he caught a glimpse of orange he
knew who it was.
"What are you doing out here on a school day?" Kenny questioned with that wide
smile of his.
Kyle put his face back into his arms to keep Kenny from seeing how wet his
cheeks were. He shrugged.
Kenny's eyes grew softer. The planks below them creaked as Kyle slowly inched
closer. After clearing his throat, he draped his arm over his friend's
shoulders.
"It's not fair," Kyle finally whimpered.
"What's not?"
"That people have to die. Young people who haven't even gotten to live yet."
Kenny's usually wide grin melted into a straight line. He leaned forward
against the railing to watch the current of water swoosh beneath them. He
squeezed Kyle's shoulder.
Unbeknownst to Kyle, Kenny knew more about death than he'd ever venture to
guess. Every answer he ever wanted was sitting right beside him, not that Kenny
would ever tell. Death was a dark and scary place, and all Kenny wanted was to
keep Kyle's mind away from it. To protect him from it.
That was proving harder and harder.
"Kyle," Kenny began gently. "... is this about the ghosts?"
Kyle wiped at his cheeks before he looked up into the morning sky. He didn't
want to lie. Not to Kenny.
He let out a quiet breath before his head rested against the wooden railing.
"Yes."
"Is... is that why you've been asking so much about Craig?" Kenny pondered
aloud.
Kyle closed his eyes tight to keep the brightness of the sun out of them. He
knocked his heel against the bottom of the bridge.
"Yes."
A look crossed Kenny's face that he was glad Kyle didn't see. It was one of
pure horror when he realized the implications of it. They were right. Craig
didn't just run off into the night. He isn't out there living the life of a
hobo somewhere.
He was gone.
They swapped roles. This time it was Kenny wanting to ask all the questions
neither of them had answers to. Instead, he held his tongue before resting his
upper half against the plank before him.
"You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," Kenny promised quietly.
"But did something happen last night?"
"I… I found something out," Kyle admitted as he scratched his nails against the
rail. "That… when someone dies, they stay the way they were the moment it
happened."
This was not news to Kenny. He found that out the first time his brains were
splattered across pavement.
After a shaky sigh, Kyle continued.
"I don't think there are any bright lights that take souls to some better
place- death is like a painful limbo. If you died cause your head was smashed
in it's going to stay smashed in. You'll feel that forever," Kyle shook his
head hard. He wanted to wipe the tears brimming in the edges of his eyes again,
but all that would do was draw more attention to them.
"So… if I ever did get to see him again…" He couldn't hold it back anymore. A
sob spilled out of him. "Would I even get see his face?"
***** No Such Things *****
It had been days since he'd seen the light of the sun. His entire world had
been reduced to only pitch darkness and the filthy mattress underneath him. His
limbs ached from his restraints and his mouth was bone dry. He would do
anything for a cup of water. Anything. By that time, he didn't even bother to
scream for help anymore. He didn't bother to even try to escape. Any previous
attempts only left him laying bound on the floor, and the man didn't like that.
Craig didn't like that, either.
He let his mouth fall slightly open only for cold air to assault his tongue.
Water. He wanted water. He wanted the rope tearing into his flesh to disappear,
the feeling of grass beneath his toes, and to hear the soft spoken words of his
mother. He wanted a lot of things, but learned better than to wish for them.
"Look, do you see?" a voice suddenly said. It came from somewhere inside his
room, though he couldn't pinpoint exactly where. It startled him, but he didn't
jump. He just laid there in the darkness while trying to slow his breathing.
"Yes, I do see," replied another voice.
They were the sounds of children. Craig thought the voices belonged to people
much younger than himself. He whimpered as he struggled to turn towards them.
The rope that trapped him to the headboard dug into his raw wrists. It stung
and burned, but he hadn't heard another voice in so long. He was desperate to
reach out for help.
He doesn't have long, now, another child whispered to the others. What do we
do?
"Hello?" Craig called out again in desperation. "C-can you hear me?"
Did you hear that?Asked a voice.
Yes, he hears us,replied another.
He hears us, a plethora of children chimed in eerie unison. Their voices all
exploded into random, excited chatter.
"Who are you?" Craig muttered through his cracked lips and dry teeth. For the
first time he found himself thankful for the pitch darkness of the room.
Whoever those kids were, he didn't want them to see him. He didn't want anyone
to see him that way.
We laid there like you once, each of us, one at a time,a shuttering voice
explained.
Yes,said another, We are you now, and you are us.
Not unless he dies,argued one.
We will not allow that.
Craig sniffled. The tiny voices seemed to be coming from every direction. One
would echo from across the room while another would whisper right into the
shell of his ear. He would have been petrified if he had the ability to feel.
He shook his head. Surely there was no way any of them could see it, but they
all burst into disorganized and whispered sentences anyway.
"I… I don't want to die," Craig said. His aching head laid down on one of his
arms. It wasn't until then he felt all the grime on his face. "I can't. I-… I
want my mom."
His voice was so horse and raspy even he could barely hear it. Still, all the
voices again exploded into muffled murmuring. It sounded like they were in the
midst of ten different conversations, none of witch Craig had the energy to
eavesdrop on. His lips pressed together and trembled. He really did want his
mom. He wanted to smell her flowery perfume again and see the little grin she'd
get when he hugged her.
He let out a quiet sob.
Oh, no. He's crying.
The scrambled voices slowly pulled together to organize into a soft melody.
Craig recognized the soothing lullaby immediately: Twinkle Twinkle, Little
Star.They were trying to help him in what little ways they could, which was
just comforting enough for Craig's cries to slow into sniffling.
Don't cry,one of the voices said as it broke away from the singing others. We
will help you.
Craig didn't believe them. He tried to get away so many times he'd became
convinced there was no exit. Of course, the man always opened a door to come
in, but he could never find it. Even when he slipped out of his restraints he
just wandered in circles around the room feeling the walls.
It's coming,a voice whispered urgently.
Their song fell entirely apart as the voices again chattered in a frenzy
amongst themselves.
It's coming, they all cried together.
The voices suddenly came to a halt. Craig lifted his head up and stilled his
breathing to try to hear them, but they'd vanished entirely. He was alone
again.
"H-hello?" he called out into the empty room. "Where'd you go?"
The squeaking of rusted metal answered him, which made the boy go silent. When
he heard wood creak beneath heavy shoes he bit down on his lip. He knew what
those sounds meantand who they belonged to, and it wasn't friendly children.
===============================================================================
It was unusually cold that evening. At least according to Richard, Tweek's
father. He walked around the house all day in a light jacket and blue jeans
while obsessively checking the thermostat, which was never below 75 degrees.
Cindy, his wife, told him he was just being difficult. She and Tweek felt
perfectly warm, after all. He insisted there was a chill and proved it with the
goose bumps raising on his arms, but there wasn't much that could be done about
it. He just suffered through his Sunday wrapped in a snuggy.
Tweek didn't go to Stark's that night, at least not right away. He went to his
bedroom around 9pm, the same time as the rest of the family. Cindy fell right
asleep believing her son would be safe at home. For Richard, that night would
prove to be anything but restful.
He still felt chilled even lying in bed under his covers. He shivered himself
to sleep only to wake back up a few hours later because his feet were so cold.
Richard tossed and turned in bed for what felt like an eternity before a very
peculiar sound startled him. He sat upright in bed. The blackness in his room
suddenly felt daunting. It was like trying to see through a thick, black sheet.
If he didn't know any better, he'd say he even felt like he was being watched.
Pfft.
He was a no-nonsense man who didn't believe in the things his son did. Ghosts
were just as responsible for bumps in the night as the Tooth Fairy was for
change under pillows. Still, loud shuffling and gurgling pierced the quiet of
the room. They were disgusting sounds, and they were coming from right outside
his bedroom door. He slipped quietly out of bed and grabbed the golf club he
kept behind his night stand.
The sounds continued, though they were accompanied by quiet muttering and
burbling he couldn't decipher. He slowly approached his door, but didn't want
to alert the intruder of his presence quite yet. Instead, he squatted down in
front of his doorknob and tried to peek out the keyhole. The kitchen light had
been left on, which allowed a dim glow to fill the living room. However, when
he pressed his face up against the lock to peek out, he only saw a cavern of
black. It was like peering into a pool of tar.
He rolled up his nose at the rancid smell that came along with it. It was only
comparable to wet earth and rotting road kill. The odor was so intense it made
his eyes water. He pulled back to blink the water away, then made one last
effort to see out of the hole.
To his confusion, he was met with the sight of his living room. The light in
the kitchen was indeed still on, which allowed him a good view of everything
outside.
Everything, including the small person huddled in a ball in front of the couch.
It was small enough to startle Richard into dropping his golf club. His
intruder was a child? A filthy looking child. It rocked back and forth while
clutching its knees. He heard slow and garbled gurgling sounds, just like the
noises that awoke him from his sleep, though they didn't sound as near. The
child's head tipped back, which revealed the blood caked shirt it was wrapped
in.
In a panic, Richard made for the doorknob. The moment it came open the child
had vanished, but heavy footsteps slammed up the staircase. He anxiously
trotted up the steps after it, following a slimy path of grime it left behind
in its footprints.
It was standing in the middle of the hall, staring into Tweek's open door as it
rocked back and forth on its heels. He could see it clear as day as he stood at
the top of the stairs. It was disturbing, to say the least.
"Um… h-hello," Richard uttered despite his fear. This was a child, afterall. A
pained, wounded, child who most likely snuck into his home to hide. The father
in him wanted to be as gentle as possible. "I'm Richard…"
Its gaze shifted towards him. He sucked in a heavy breath that got snagged in
his throat. It was gawking right at him. Gaping holes were where its eyes
should have been. They were a deathly black. A deep black cavern of tar.
Richard stood paralyzed.
To his horror, he realized what was blocking his keyhole.
The creature's mouth distorted into a twisted hole when it noticed his presence
and wailed. Richard stumbled back, but managed to grab a hold of the railing
rather than tumble down the stairs. The monster ran into Tweek's room, and the
door slammed shut behind it.
Richard instantly bolted for the handle, but the door wouldn't open. The metal
turned under his fingers and he rammed his shoulder into the wood, but
something was pushing it closed from the other side. He banged on it as hard as
he could.
"Tweek! Tweek, open the door!" he demanded in a panic. He had no idea what that
thing was or what it could be doing to his son. The longer he went unanswered
the more petrified he became.
When the door did come open he nearly spilled inside. Tweek was standing there.
He was fully dressed- even had on that gaudy black cloak thing he was privy to.
"What's wrong?" Tweek asked with a worried look. It wasn't often he saw his
father worked up over much of anything, with the exception of coffee. Yet there
he was, heaving so hard sweat was starting to appear on his brow. His father
stepped back into the hallway before running his hands over his face.
He didn't dare tell Tweek what he'd just seen.
"Oh… oh, it's fine I just… I thought I heard something in your room," he lied
the best he could. "Couldn't get the door open."
Tweek gave Richard a weird look, raising one of his brows up high. "You…
thought you heard something. Like what?"
"Ah, it's not- it's not important." The best way to smooth over that situation
was to derail it entirely. So, he uttered in an accusatory tone, "Where do you
think you're going?"
Tweek looked down at his clothes before muttering, "Going on a walk."
For the first time ever Richard was actually glad to be hearing that. His head
was still swimming with confusion and fear. Something was in Tweek's bedroom.
Something really was, and it snuck out in the middle of the night to watch him
sleep through his keyhole.
"Well, um…" Tweek said as he sidestepped his father and wandered out into the
hall. "I guess I'll be going now."
Richard nodded, but followed after as Tweek walked down the stairs. As that
sleeved cloak wafted behind his son's tall frame Richard couldn't help but
second guess everything he'd known. Everything he tried to convince Tweek of
for all of those years.
No, Richard. Ghosts aren't real. You are an adult- you know that.
Then what had he seen?
A cold breeze poured into the living room when Tweek opened the front door. He
turned back to his father before giving him a small nod goodbye. Richard
returned the gesture.
"I'll be back before morning, probably," Tweek said as he played with the red
bandana in his pocket. "D-don't wait up."
He loathed hearing those words. He loathed having no idea where is own son was
going or when he'd be home. His own teenage son. But what else was a father to
do, call the cops? No.
No, he couldn't.
He frowned when the door was shut behind Tweek, and he stood there for a short
while just thinking to himself. He turned to look back into his faintly lit
living room with a knot in his throat.
There are no such things as ghosts, he thought to himself as he ran to his
bedroom.
There are no such things as ghosts,he thought again as he covered his keyhole
with a piece of duct tape.
There are no such things.
…
Karen McCormick was not the only little girl in South Park who had a guardian
angel. Though Karen's came in a purple cape opposed to a robe as black as
death, their purpose was just the same.
Protect the girl.
The Shadowman's boots were as mud streaked as ever when he slipped in through a
plastic frame in the wall. It was a tight squeeze, but he slid in just fine.
All the doors and most of the windows were locked by the time nightfall came,
but they always forgot the same one. It was a rather small, high window
installed in the walk in closet. The old tree outside was all he needed to
scale the house and slip in undetected. He preferred it over the gnome infested
front door, anyway.
He walked through the small room of clothes and stuffed animals, being careful
not to step on any. He opened the closet and stepped out into the bedroom. The
pale, pastel colors of the little room were muddied by the darkness. Despite
that, he still noticed a shifting lump in the bed. A shifting lump that soon
exploded with a young girl. Stuffed animals tumbled onto the floor. She nearly
went tumbling with them as he launched out of bed and ran to the dark figure
that just slipped out from behind her closet door. She pulled the Shadowman
into a tight hug around his middle and remained there until he pressed his
gloved hand against the top of her red hair.
"What's wrong, Ruby?" He quietly asked.
The twelve year old girl looked up at him. He came right away, just like every
other time she'd called him scared in the middle of the night. In fact, she had
no idea the lengths he went to be there. She pressed her face back into the
black cloth and squeezed him even tighter. He almost always showed up in those
robes.
"I… I think there's a ghost in my room," she replied with a quiver in her
voice.
Tweek frowned, and then slowly nodded. "What makes you think that?"
"Something keeps scratching at my window," she uttered in terror. The girl
pulled back to point her finger towards the sounds, "and I think I heard a
voice."
Tweek subtly tipped his head to the side when he realized that situation was a
familiar one. He remembered his own deep seeded fears as a child. He also
remembered how there was no one there to believe him. How he was told to stop
making up stories.
He would believe Ruby. He would explore all her little ghosts, real or
imaginary.
"Okay, go get in bed, and me and Craig will check it out," he replied calmly.
She did just as he asked of her. She let go and ran to her bed. What remained
of her stuffed animals bounced as she jumped in it and pulled her covers back
up over herself. Ruby watched from the warmth of her comforter while the
cloaked figure in the middle of her bedroom turned and ghosted towards the
window. As Tweek approached the draperies he didn't sense any spectral
presence, at least none he hadn't before.
The drapes were pulled open as he peered outside, but there was nothing to be
seen. Nothing but a few long, crooked twigs of a tree scraping along the
window's glass. He opened it before reaching outside to break away the sticks.
Craig tried to help, too. A couple stray little arms reached out into the dark
alongside him, but they weren't much help. Rather than being of any assistance
they just swayed in the breeze making grabby-hands.
Tweek smiled at the boy standing beside him when he finished his job. Craig's
little fingers continued to blindly grab for tree branches about a foot away
from where they even were. Tweek reached out and gathered up the three arms
that slipped outside before pulling them back in and shutting the breeze out.
No more scratchy sounds.
He figured the whispering noises she heard were just the breeze whistling in
through a gap in the windowsill, so he slipped a piece of paper underneath it
to try to fix that problem, too. He turned to the little girl hiding in her
bed.
"No ghosts, just a few tree branches," he uttered before walking towards her.
Craig stiffly waddled after the sound of Tweek's footsteps. He was still making
grabby-hands, though it was at the hood of Tweek's cloak that time.
Ruby sighed loudly in relief before she sat up in bed. It became obvious by the
blush on her cheeks how embarrassed she was, though. She called terrified in
the middle of the night over an unruly tree of all things.
"Sorry for making you come all this way," she muttered while twirling a lock of
her hair.
He shook his head before sitting down at the edge of her bed. He blended so
well into the darkness of her room she could almost mistake him for a ghost.
"It's what I'm here for," Tweek finally replied. Craig's arms curiously crept
around Ruby's bed, feeling her stuffed animals and getting tangled up in her
iron foot board. She didn't notice any of this, and Tweek pretended like he
didn't either.
"… can I have one more favor?" She asked the dark form sitting at the edge of
her mattress.
"Of course," Tweek replied. His scratchy voice pierced through the dark between
them, which was comforting for Ruby.
"Can you stay here until I fall asleep?"
A small smile crept onto Tweek's face, though Ruby couldn't see it from under
his bandana. The figure nodded, and Ruby settled a little better into her
pillow. All was silent for a while. She laid there with her eyes closed and
took comfort in the weight on the foot of her mattress. She didn't have any
reason to be afraid anymore. When Tweek was with her like this she felt
invincible. It was almost like she'd tamed a creature other children went to
bed fearing. Yes, there was the unsettling black form of a person sitting on
her bed, but it was there to keep watch over her.
Tweek and Craig would always watch over her.
Craig...
She looked down at her fingers as she played with them in thought. "Hey,
Tweek?"
After moments passed with no answer, she decided to continue.
"Can I ask you about my brother?"
Tweek blinked at the request. It hadn't been the first time she asked that. In
fact, they talked about Craig quite a lot. The things he did when he was alive.
The way he talked, the way he played, how much he loved her. Despite that, she
was careful to never talk about after he went away. Understandably, the subject
was just as taboo in the Tucker household as it was in the Tweak's. Ruby was
brought up knowing better than to say something to make her mom cry or her
father get upset. That tense feeling spilled over to Tweek. Sometimes shed
eavesdrop on those conversations between himself and her mother, but she'd
never ask herself.
"I still don't remember a whole lot about him," she admitted weakly while
shaking her head. Her pigtails were let down for bed, so her long hair swayed
with the gesture. "I know his face and a few times we'd played together, but I
can't remember him like everyone else can. I just remember when he went away."
Tweek turned away to look at the shadows dancing along the wall from the tree
outside.
"Well you were only seven," Tweek replied. "It's natural you wouldn't remember
much from when you were little."
"I guess so," she replied. "But… it doesn't feel right. It's like there's a
piece of me missing."
Tweek knew that feeling all too well.
"I just wish I could see him like you can," she admitted after letting out a
thick breath she'd been holding. "I want to see him again and talk to him.
Maybe he could tell me why he went away."
After a long silence, she finally asked, "Can't… can't you tell me?… About what
happened to my brother?"
Ruby had no idea what terrible thing she just asked for. While Tweek loved
Craig very much, even in the ghostly form he takes now, he would never want
Ruby to see him. He wanted her to remember his face like it was in pictures. He
wanted her to remember who he was before he was left torn apart and
traumatized. The Craig she wanted to see again was dead. Dead in the most
terrible ways. He could never explain that to a child. Never.
So he didn't say anything.
"Please?" Ruby quietly begged.
Tweek sighed. Luckily, though, if there was one thing he learned from his
parents it was how to dance around sensitive subjects.
"I don't know what happened, not for sure. Just that someone took him away,"
even that much was hard to confess. "But he's with me now, and I'm taking good
care of him."
Ruby nodded her head. She believed him. Unlike most everyone else, she always
believed him.
"You're gonna find him, right?… The person who took my brother?"
"Of course," Tweek assured calmly. "Well... I'm trying my best. I've been
trying for a long, long time."
"I know. I know you'll do it," Ruby commented before she sank back down under
neath her fluffy comforter. "You're a superhero, after all. Bad guys don't
stand a chance."
"A superhero?" Tweek asked with a bit of shock in his voice.
"Yeah. You always come to protect me, and you're looking for bad guys," she
replied while she rolled over onto her pillow. "That sounds like a superhero to
me."
Tweek was floored. He was so used to being called a murderous ghost he never
thought anyone could think any differently of him. The demon of Stark's, some
even went as far to call him.
The Shadowman, a super hero? Well… he never thought of it that way.
Tweek couldn't resist cracking another small smile under his bandana. He did
that a lot around Ruby.
"Yeah, I guess it kinda does, doesn't it?"
The little girl had already fallen fast asleep in a mound of blankets and
Beanie Babies. His eyes went half lidded as his gloved hand reached out to
gently pat her shoulder.
"I'll find him," he muttered. "I promise you."
…
For the next few days Kyle's mind was occupied only with Shadowman, his creepy
little house in the woods, and the tortured little boy attached to him. The
foggy mystery their very existence embodied puzzled and intrigued him more than
anything ever had before. The nightmares Kyle still received in his dreams
didn't help matters. He'd gotten barely any sleep and even less homework done
than he'd like to admit to any of his teachers. He was losing his grip on
things. Perfect little Mr. Top-in-class was slipping.
Even as he sat in lunch with his friends peering curiously in his direction,
all he could do was stare into space and wonder.
Tweek said in death spirits were stuck in the moment they died. If that really
was true, what would explain Craig's grotesque appearance? Why did he swap
sopping wet skin and lungs full of water for gaping eye holes and a dozen extra
hands? It just didn't make any sense to him. Then again, most things about
Craig didn't. Why were the children in the woods so attached to him? What
exactly made him so much stronger than the average ghost?
Who drown him, and why?
It was all too complicated. It was a mystery packed on top of a thousand
others, but he was determined to solve them. That tangled web was proving hard
to unravel. He'd read every article and watched every news broadcast about
Craig and his disappearance, but all he discovered was a big heap of nothing.
There wasn't even a single suspect to work with.
He looked up towards a table across the room. Tweek was sitting there alone.
His sketchbook was out in front of him. His pencil scribbled along the paper as
his lunch sat forgotten off to the side. He was probably doodling another
cartoon Craig in a sweater. Kyle couldn't imagine what it must've felt like to
be Tweek in all that mess.
"He looks lonely, doesn't he?" Butters asked, which snapped Kyle out of his
trance. "He sits there by himself all the time. I think it's kind of sad."
Kyle nodded in agreement, but another member of their group wasn't quite as
kind. Eric poked his head up to see who they were talking about, and the moment
he recognized the table he scoffed.
"If he wasn't such a freak of nature people would probably sit with him," Eric
dropped mindlessly.
"Hey, don't talk about him like that," Kyle snapped with his arms crossing.
"Just because someone sits by themselves doesn't mean something's wrong with
them."
"Oh, dude. I know for a fact something's wrong with him. Okay, so this one
time- in middle school - I was just going about my own business in the hall.
You know, like usual," Eric sputtered.
Kyle rolled his eyes. This was far from the first time he'd heard that
exaggerated tale. He already knew where it was going before Cartman could even
begin.
"It was a fine, usual day. Then I heard Tweek screaming. Dude he was freaking
out on Clyde- freaking OUT! It looked like he was about to punch him! So Clyde
pushed him away, 'cause Tweek grabbed his shirt. Then, BOOM! All the lights
blew out! All the lockers went flying open- it's was like something off of
Carrie!"
"Oh, come on," Kyle said while shaking his head and heaving an annoyed sigh.
"Don't believe me? Like half of our class was in the hallway when it happened.
Oh, oh. Kenny was there, too! Tell 'em, Kenny!"
"One light blew out and a couple lockers slammed closed," Kenny corrected as he
rested his chin in his hand. "It was scary but it wasn't like you make it out
to be."
"Ey! Don't undermine me! It was right the way I told it!"
For some reason Kyle was starting to get defensive. Eric didn't have any idea
of the terrible pain Tweek went through every day. Not that Kyle fully
understood it yet, either, but God dammit he deserved respect. The again,
Cartman wasn't just unwittingly insulting Kyle's new 'mentor', but also
everything Kyle himself was.
Everything he was just gaining to courage to truly embrace.
"Even if that did all happen, who cares?" Kyle finally retorted before tossing
his sandwich down onto his speckled tray. "Just because someone can do things
you don't understand doesn't make them a freak."
Cartman raised his hands in startled defense. "Wow, chill out. I just told a
story. It's no reason to get all pissy."
This only proved to further anger Kyle. He stood up from his chair, which let
out a loud whine against the tile floor. His tray was snatched up off the table
and into his hands before blurting, "Tweek isn't dangerous, and I'm gonna prove
it."
Everyone watched in baffled silence as Kyle made off towards the lonely table
across the lunch room.
"Wow!" Kenny shouted before running after him. "Wow, Ky, think and out what
you're doin'. Just because Tweek won't Darth Vader choke you doesn't mean he
wants you hanging around his table- the guys a grouch."
"I know he's a grouch," Kyle quickly replied. "But he's not what everybody
says. He's not some psychotic freak."
"And how are you so sure?" Kenny asked with a raised brow.
"We're friends!… kind of," he muttered in anxious reply.
"Since when?"
Kyle didn't say anything as he walked past tables packed with other students.
Some casually watched him go, while others didn't seem to pay any mind at all.
At least not until his tray hit the top of Tweek's table, and the twitchy blond
jumped with a strangled sound. He looked up from a sketchbook laid out in front
of him. He was in the relaxing process of designing another sweater when the
sharp sound snapped him back into reality. His eyes were wide and petrified as
he looked up at the person standing from across the table top.
Tweek blinked and anxiously licked his lips.
"Kyle? What are you doing?" He questioned.
"I'm sitting with you… Sorry, Kenny followed me."
Tweek's eyes slid up Kenny's form. He flipped his sketch book closed and set
his pencil down on top of it. Straightening his jacket, he leaned forward to
pick his sandwich back up from his bag. Kyle standing at the edge of the table
almost didn't feel real. It was his middle school years since anyone just
popped in for a table visit, so he was a bit spooked by the break in routine.
"Listen, thanks, but you can't sit here."
Kyle's face visibly fell.
"Well… why not?" Kyle grew a bit sad at Tweek's rejection. He hadn't expected
to get brushed off quite so quickly, not after all they'd talked about in the
woods that night.
Tweek's eyes slowly scanned the room to note all of the people silently
watching. He knew those stares all too well.
"It's not good for you. If you sit with me, they'll treat you like me," Tweek
replied as his then trembling fingers replaced his sandwich with a coffee
thermos. He was so anxious he just kept putting down and picking up different
things to give the illusion of being busy, but he did take a huge gulp from the
bright and colorful container.
"I don't care how they treat me," Kyle replied, which took Tweek off guard.
"You shouldn't be confined to this table alone just because they can't
understand you."
Tweek blinked. He really didn't expect anything less from his new little leech.
Tweek could fuss and argue all he wanted to, but Kyle always seemed to get his
way. Just like out in the woods. He was a pest who didn't take no for an
answer, though he was slowly becoming a welcomed annoyance. He was comparable
to one of those really ugly dogs that slowly started looking less and less ugly
the longer he stared at it.
"Um… alright," was all he could blurt in response.
***** Book of the Dead *****
To say Tweek felt uncomfortable staying at the Tucker's house was the
understatement of eternity.
He'd always be left there on the weekends his parents worked. Once upon a time
he looked forward to those baby sitting days. Laura would take him and the
Tucker siblings out to the park, cook them big meals, and when the night time
came he and Craig would secretly stay up for hours while everyone else slept.
They were fun days. Happy days.
But they weren't so happy without Craig.
His parents dropped him off that weekend just like any other. He tried to beg
to stay home, but they wouldn't allow their then twelve year old to fend for
himself. He tried to beg to go to Token's or Clyde's instead, but there was no
getting out of it.
Every visit to the Tuckers' became a knife in his already gaping wounds. He
could feel the tip of the blade dig in every time Laura answered the door
instead of her son. It only stabbed in deeper when shouting siblings and the
usually blaring stereo were replaced with forced conversation and silence.
Then, as he'd pass by a door marked Craig's Room in blue marker, he'd feel the
metal graze his heart.
He always clutched onto his stuffy turtle when he passed by it- as he took in
the shiny padlock and it's metallic base bolted into the wood. Why exactly Mr.
and Mrs. Tucker locked up Craig's door, Tweek wasn't sure. All he was sure of
was the nasty look Craig's dad, Thomas, would give him if he was caught staring
at it.
Thomas didn't like Tweek.
It was obvious just by the way the man stared at him from across the kitchen
table. It was meal time, but the family ritual felt just as robotic and empty
as everything else did. They each took their assigned seats and tried not to
stare too long at the one left empty.
It was always the same.
Laura was already passing out plates when an odd creature took the seat beside
Tweek. He hadn't even seen the shuttering thing come in. He just blinked, and
Craig was there. It made him jump, but no one cared enough to take a note of
it.
"Can you make another one?" Tweek asked as Laura placed his sloppy-Joe before
him.
She cocked her brow at hearing that. Tweek Tweak asking for a second helping
before he'd even started? The boy pecked at his food like a bird, especially
lately.
"You must be really hungry asking for two sandwiches," she answered before
standing up straight.
"Oh, it's not for me," Tweek said in a matter-of-fact tone. "It's for him."
He pointed to the chair beside him, which, of course, was empty. Thomas gave
the child a confused look from across the table. A mouthful of ground beef sat
idle between his teeth, and his sandwich was held aloft in his big hands.
"Oh, I see, I see," Laura replied after a moment of consideration. Imaginary
friends weren't unusual. They they were almost necessary for little boys who's
real best friends vanished off the face of the planet. Laura thought she
understood a situation she knew nothing about, so pressed forward. "Is he your
friend?"
"Yes! My best friend, even if he's kind of floppy now," Tweek announced as he
watched Craig plop off the seat beside him.
"Oh, that's... wonderful. May I ask his name?"
Tweek's face suddenly fell. Blue eyes shifted anxiously as he tried not to
stare at the eyeless figure that laid motionless in the floor beside him.
"I'm not allowed to tell you," he answered.
All that did, though, was peek Laura's interest. She turned from the kitchen
table to walk back to the counter and make another sloppy-Joe for their
invisible fifth dinner guest. She spooned the meat with a careful motion onto a
hamburger bun. If Tweek's 'friend' wasn't going to eat it, someone else would,
anyways.
"Can I know what he looks like?" she asked as she turned back to the table with
plate in hand. "It's rude to have a guest for dinner and not even know that
much."
Tweek rubbed the sauce off his lips, and Laura placed the sandwich on the table
above a very startled and confused Craig. His head peeked up over the wooden
edge as if he could stare at the meaty bun, despite not having any eyeballs.
"I…" Tweek froze up. Well… should he? His parents said he wasn't allowed to
tell them he saw Craig. They never said he wasn't allowed to describe him.
"He's kinda…"
He glanced back over at Craig to try to find a word to fit him. A weird crack
came from the dead boy's neck when he leaned forward. His maw came wide open,
and greenish, yellow puss dripped onto his untouched meal.
"Gross," Tweek finished with his nose scrunched up. That was a pretty good way
to end his sentence.
Thomas watched him from across the table. The man's sandwich was abandoned on
his paper plate as he wiped his hands on a napkin.
"And what makes him gross?" Laura asked after she took a seat.
Tweek felt like he'd become a spectacle. The whole family stared at him over
their meals. Even little Ruby's eyes shifted between him and the empty chair
beside him.
"Um… my mom says it's not polite to say," Tweek grumbled.
"That's fine, sweetie," Laura said. She leaned forward to rest her cheek on her
hand. "You can still tell me, polite or not."
Well… in that case.
"I think it's 'cause the big man hurt him!" Tweek blathered, "He was okay
before that happened, so…"
"The big man?" Laura asked. "He hurt your friend?"
"Yeah. He pushed him under the water until he couldn't breathe anymore."
Where the hell did that come from? Now she was really worried. There were only
two situations she knew of where little kids said such terrible things: They
watched too many horror movies, or they were being abused.
Tweek was too scared for horror movies.
Her husband seemed just as at a loss with what their tiny guest was telling
them, but he didn't take it nearly as well. The table vibrated when his
bouncing knee would knock into it, which Laura ignored.
"Why would the big man do something like that?" she asked.
"So my friend couldn't tell anyone," Tweek whimpered. By that time he'd
forgotten all about his meal and his promise to his parents. Instead, he rung
his hands together while the corpse beside him jerked and heaved.
"That's not a very nice thing to do," Laura commented with a frown on her face.
"What wasn't he supposed to tell?"
Craig tipped his cavernous maw back with a squeal. One of his rickety little
hands tried to reach up and cover Tweek's mouth, but the boy knocked it away.
"I don't want to talk about Craig anymore," he said.
The table fell into silence as he picked up his lunch and shoved it into his
mouth. The remaining Tuckers were shell shocked, with the exception of little
Ruby, who didn't know what was happening.
"What did you say?" Laura asked as if she hadn't heard him.
A scream was still pouring out of the bloody mouth beside him, so Tweek said
nothing. It was hard to hear her voice over the obnoxious sound, anyway. That
was another good word to describe Craig: Obnoxious.
Tweek chewed his sandwich and thought of other words to describe Craig as the
Tuckers left their food untouched. Laura looked at Thomas. He continued with
his meal to avoid the topic.
The whole rest of Tweek's visit was that way. The grown ups were even more
silent than usual and the stares they'd give him as they walked through the
living room made him nervous. Especially when he'd realized what he did. DON'T
EVER MENTION CRAIG IN FRONT OF THE TUCKERS, his parents reminded him before
every visit. He suspected they'd rather him not mention Craig to anyone at all.
Yet, there he was, ringing his hands together again. He'd said something bad,
and the Tuckers' weren't speaking to him because they were angry. He was sure
of that. Even the colorful cartoons flicking across the television couldn't
distract him from it. What if Craig's mom and dad told on him?
He couldn't imagine the trouble he'd be in if his parents found out. Each tick
of the wall clock was another second closer to his inevitable doom. That was
his thinking when Mr. Tucker's heavy footsteps stopped beside the couch.
Without even so much as a glance in Tweek's direction, the man uttered, "C'mon.
Parents are here."
Oh, no.
He swallowed down spit that collected in the back of his throat, and Craig
crawled on the ceiling above him as he moved across the room.
"Bye, Tweek!" Ruby said with an ecstatic wave. He would have bid farewell just
as happily if he wasn't about to be beheaded. God, would he end up crawling up
walls and puking black stuff like Craig?
Tweek followed Thomas through the kitchen at a distance. He was just as scared
of the man as he was of his punishment. Thomas was never mean, no. He never had
been, but a lot of things changed after Craig left.
Thomas's hand landed on the door knob, but he did not open it. Instead, he
turned to face the little boy. Tweek clutched his stuffy turtle, just as he
always did. His eyes were big and he was gnawing on his bottom lip.
After a short moment Thomas muttered, "don't say anything like that again."
This took Tweek by surprise. Thomas was a quiet fellow. Someone who was always
there, just passively watching the world go by around him. He never interfered
unless Laura prompted him to. Until that day, anyway.
"Like what?" Tweek asked with a quiver, though he was pretty sure he knew what.
Thomas narrowed his eyes.
"Don't go telling your ghost stories. Especially not around here."
Tweek swallowed and took a small step back. Thomas's voice was even lower than
usual, which did make him sound mean. If Craig's dad was that mad, he could
only imagine how angry his parents would be.
With his eyes still locked onto the boy, he pulled the side door open. Tweek
ran onto the grass as fast as he could, but slowed when he saw his parents'
green grand prix idling in the drive. Oh, god. They were gonna skin him. Skin
him and leave him out in the woods for the bugs to eat, like the meaty man by
the train tracks. He steadied his breath and tugged hard on the leg of his
stuffy turtle for support. Then, he took baby steps towards the car.
The driver's side window rolled down, revealing the woman behind the wheel.
"So," his mother said. Tweek closed his eyes and prepared himself to be yelled
at. "Did you have a good time at the Tuckers?"
He opened them again.
"Um... yes?"
"Ah, that's good honey. See, it wasn't the end of the world, now was it?"
With a startled blink, he rubbed the aching in his chest. Mrs. and Mr. Tucker
didn't tell.
===============================================================================
Kyle's eyes cracked open to the sunlight pouring into his room in beams. He
slowly sat up and rubbed at his sleepies, then slipped out of his bed. Today
was different than the rest. Usually on a Saturday morning he'd be sleeping in
before spending the rest of his lazy day in front of the television with
homework in his lap. Not that Saturday. He had other plans.
He was pulling a pair of pants on when he gazed out his window. He noticed his
neighbor was doing the same, though she probably had trouble seeing without
face. The living neighbors had long since abandoned their home. They left it to
chip and whither away, much like Tweek's house out in the woods. There was,
however, one occupant who was left behind.
That faceless girl at the window.
He stumbled across the room with his pants half on to close the blinds, then
finished preparing himself. He didn't need to bring much, except for his
questions. He was only going a couple blocks away. He stuffed his feet into his
favorite sneakers, and then they hit the sidewalk.
As he tracked across town alongside the rising sun, he tried his best to keep
his head straight and his eyes from wandering. There was no guarantee he'd look
up to catch mutilated faces peering at him, but there was also no guarantee he
wouldn't.
The sun was still just barely peeking over mountaintops when the familiar bell
rang over Kyle's head. There was no one in the shop. Even the counter was
abandoned. The only exception was the shadow in the booth farthest from the
door. Kyle swallowed down his spit and rubbed his hands together as he
approached. The figure was hard at work on something, and Kyle knew what it
was.
A metal hook rubbed against cloth as it kept to its diligent work. Thick
strings ran over fingers and air pushed in a relaxed rhythm from lungs. This,
for Tweek, was the most relaxing therapy. The strings weaved together at the
tip of a hook and his fingers. This left the beginnings of a new yarn sweater
in their wake. Of course, the tiny hands hiding under his chair crept up to
touch it. Their shaking appendages left messes, but it was Craig's sweater
anyway. He could do whatever he wanted with it.
"Tweek?" Someone uttered from nearby. Tweek jumped and let out a tiny, startled
sound. Limbs unfurled from underneath his booth to either comfort or protect
the Shadowman, but Kyle wasn't sure which.
"Oh, sorry," Kyle said for the thousandth time. "I didn't mean to scare you."
Tweek waved it away before gesturing for the other to sit across from him. Kyle
waddled around the table, smoothed down the front of his green sweater, and
slid into the booth. He kept his feet tucked up under his seat to avoid the
tiny demon hiding nearby. This was indeed an odd arrangement, but Tweek wanted
him there. At least, that's what he said the day before during English class.
"Come to the coffee shop if you want to talk to me so bad," he said. "Tomorrow
morning."
Well, there Kyle was. Sitting in a rather uncomfortable booth and watching
Tweek crochet. He was content with that. This was the first time they'd
encountered each other because Tweek wanted to. Despite that, Tweek's hands
were shaking. Shaking terribly.
"You know, you're a lot different when you aren't at Stark's," Kyle commented
over the table.
"O-oh?" Tweek stuttered as he completed another yarn row. "Why's that?"
"Well," Kyle began before sitting forward. "You're so calculated and focused
out there. It's kind of hard to believe you're the same person watching you
fidget."
It was kind of weird that Kyle noticed those kind of things, but everything
about Kyle was weird.
"That's cause the pond is different. I trust it," Tweek admitted with his eyes
narrowing slightly.
"You trust the one place that hurts you most?" Kyle asked. Tweek had to stop
crocheting a moment. That question took a lot of brain power to even make sense
of.
"I didn't ask you to come here to drill me about my personal preferences,"
Tweek grumbled.
"Then why did you?"
Tweek set his sweater on the table and ran his hands together.
"I have something for you."
Kyle cocked a brow. A gift was the last thing he'd expected. Then again, he
wasn't sure what to expect at all when it came to Tweek.
"Yeah? What is it?"
Tweek reached down for the tote bag sitting on the floor beside his seat. It
was stuffed with yarn, knitting needles, crochet hooks, and other crafts. Out
from the bag, though, came something much less inviting. It was a composition
book. The kind they often used in their classes to keep track of notes in.
There was something more sinister about the one in Tweek's hand.
Tweek set it on the table and slid it forward. With weary hands, Kyle reached
across the table and pulled the book before him. There was nothing written on
the blank lines of the front cover to indicate just what he had. There was only
a gaudy white and black pattern straining his eyes. Confused, he opened to the
first page. It read:
KINDS
1. Shadowpeople
2. The ones who live under the stairs
3. Craigs
4. The animal people
5. Crying babies and why they're evil
6. Mangles
7. Oculus
The odd list continued for the next two pages before breaking away into the
actual content. A table of contents perhaps? The first page was about
shadowpeople, which Kyle found ironic. The header was scribbled in with black
pen, followed with an unsettling example; a pen drawing of a black silhouette
with inked red eyes. It was grinning. He flipped the page, where he found a
description and how dangerous they are, among other things.
"Wow... is this all for real?" Kyle asked as his bare palm ran over the paper.
There were many pictures in that book, each followed by invaluable information
he only wished he had in his hands sooner.
Tweek nodded. "I started it so I wouldn't forget things. So they couldn't sneak
up on me. It's far from finished, but I have a new one now."
"So... this is mine?" Kyle pondered.
"If you want it."
"Of course I want it," Kyle replied as he flipped back to the first page. His
eyes scanned over the crude table of contents as if each numbered bullet held a
secret. "Though... I don't really understand why you're doing this."
Tweek wouldn't admit that maybe he was the smallest bit worried about Kyle. If
that prick decided to go headfirst into something and wound up getting hurt
again, well… Tweek would feel at least a little responsible. Besides, Tweek
knew his life wasn't guaranteed. If he joined Craig too soon, at least Kyle
wouldn't be left completely alone and empty handed.
Tweek went back to his sweater as Kyle mulled over the ink stained pages. He
was in awe by the vast number of "kinds" Tweek had documented in that book.
From small orbs to massive creatures Kyle never heard of before. Every entry
seemed to be missing scraps of information. Kyle looked up to the person across
from him, and then allowed his feet to touch the floor. A tiny, stray hand
twisted around his ankle the moment sole hit linoleum. It made him jump, but he
didn't yank away as it wrapped around his pant leg like a vine.
"I haven't seen barely any of these things," he muttered with a cough. "Did you
actually come across all of them? How did you find out so much?"
Tweek's fingers kept working as if he were a loom rather than a person. He
would only stop to occasionally look past Kyle. Like he was sizing up an
invisible person standing behind him. "I haven't seen them all. Not yet. And,
well… Craig isn't my only friend."
That was somewhat ominous, but Kyle believed it. Tweek embraced his abilities a
long time ago. It only make sense that he'd built relationships with some of
the dead. It only make sense that they would tell him things. It didn't make it
any less creepy.
Kyle jumped when the bell above the coffee shop door rang. A flock of black
clad teens slithered their way in, stopping to take notice of him. Tweek nodded
his head and gave an unenthusiastic wave to the Gothic gaggle. They all nodded
their heads in the same beat before creeping over to the counter. Henrietta
pounded the service bell with her fishnet covered fist. Kyle wrinkled up his
nose, and he suddenly realized he preferred the icy cold grip around his leg
over the Goths sneers any day.
"Ignore them," Tweek uttered as he returned to the project in his lap. "They
seem intimidating, but they aren't different than anyone else."
Kyle nodded and tried not to stare as they placed their order to Tweek's mother
and took their usual seats across the shop. Kyle flipped though a couple more
pages of his new encyclopedia before pushing it aside. He would have set it in
his lap, but he was scared Craig might get curious and snatch it.
"So, how have you been holding up?" Kyle pondered. "Find anything?"
"Found anything? If I had I wouldn't b-be sitting here wasting my time on you,
now would I? "
Ah. There he was. The snippy asshole Kyle knew.
"Hm. I suppose not," Kyle replied without missing a beat. He then cleared his
throat. "Is there anyway you could, um… make him let go of me?"
Kyle shuffled his shoe against the hard floor beneath them, but Craig's stray
arm wouldn't untangle itself from his ankle. It felt more like the grip of a
boa than a dead boy's fingers. Tweek looked at Kyle for a moment before he
finally understood what was being asked of him.
He sat his sweater back onto the table before discreetly tapping on his knees.
Craigs head cocked up at the familiar sound, and soon his hands found a better
use or themselves than tormenting Kyle. They slid across the floor and felt for
Tweek's knees. They gripped the edge of the table and pushed the dead boy up
into his companion's lap.
Kyle got an eyeful of the twitching mess of limbs feeling all over Tweek. The
rotting caverns in Craig's face were forever unsettling. He could hardly stare
into them without his hair turning white. Tweek leaned forward into his pint
sized companion. The tiny monster hummed and encased the other's middle in it's
arms. The contented murmur only deepened the look of sadness on Tweek's face.
"We all die. Every one of us. Doesn't matter if you're innocent. Doesn't matter
if you're a child. The maggots still get you," Tweek said with a small scoff.
"It's hardly fair, is it?"
"No," Kyle agreed with a far off look in his eyes, "it isn't."
"Yeah, you'd understand, wouldn't you?" Tweek asked. For the first time he
didn't sound sarcastic or mean spirited. He seemed to truly understand the
lackluster look in his newest companion's expression. This made Kyle look away.
He didn't like being read so easily.
"For life to end before it even begins," Tweek uttered. Despite the audience of
Goths, Tweek set his palm atop Craig's dingy hat. The creature let out a
bubbly, distorted purr, but it didn't seem to make Tweek feel any better. "Then
to get stuck like this."
Kyle's eyes went half lidded in thought. "Maybe… maybe some things are like the
movies. Maybe if we figured out how he died he could move on and all that."
"If that's the case it'd be the only thing movies got right."
"Yeah." Kyle managed a small quirk of his lip. "But why else would he be
showing us things? Like him drowning? He's giving us pieces of the puzzle for a
reason."
Tweek's gaze shifted out the window and onto main street. The week day morning
rush was nonexistent on weekends. Only few cars passed by, and even fewer
crossed paths with the shop on foot. None of them came in.
"That'd make sense," Tweek agreed as Craig's hands plucked at the buttons on
his shirt. "But nothing's ever that easy."
"Tweek, honey," A light voice called from the counter. Both boys jumped at the
unexpected voice, and glanced towards it with wide eyes. "Would you be a dear
and help me clean in the stock room when you've finished with your little
friend?"
With a slow sigh, Tweek began to pack up his yarn. His mother smiled wide
before saying, "Oh, thank you, sweetie."
"Yeah, yeah," Tweek muttered. Kyle blinked, and Craig was gone. Spindly arms
and grizzly face, gone with a flutter of his eyelid. Tweek heaved his tote bag
over his shoulder and stood.
"Well," he uttered. "See ya later, I guess."
Kyle nodded in reply. Tweek's gaze shifted to the invisible man behind Kyle
once again. After he took a good, long eyeful, he turned to walk away. Kyle
slowly turned to peek behind him. Nothing. There was nothing there. Why was
Tweek so persistent to stare at the walls behind him? Surely he wasn't really
seeing something. If he was, Kyle would see it too… right?
That uneasy feeling returned to him, so he snatched up his things. The bell
rang over his head just moments before he took off down the sidewalk. Then it
rang again. He snapped his head back to see a group dressed in black had
stepped out behind him. No matter how much he disliked the Goths, it was a
relief seeing flesh and blood.
He clutched his new book a little tighter and headed for home. He walked along
a long stretch of sidewalk, and then his sneakers veered him left. The flock's
black combat boots did the same. He walked across Main Street and headed
towards suburbia. So did they. He contemplated taking off into a sprint. Surely
they wouldn't chase after him, but his curiosity was yet again getting the
better of him. And so he slowed with the hope they would just walk past and
leave him in peace.
And they did.
The flock split apart down the middle and reformed ahead of him. A small
chuckle slipped past his lips. He'd been hanging out with Tweek too much. He
was catching his paranoia. It was then, as he was humoring himself with relief,
they stopped in his way.
"Um…" he muttered when all four turned to face him. He took a step to the side,
but the youngest goth blocked him from circling around. He was trapped in a
standoff.
"Can… I help you?" Kyle asked. He clutched his new book tightly to his chest.
He didn't know what they were after, but that book was something he planned to
guard with his life.
"What are you doing hanging around Spooks?" asked the tallest of them. It was a
boy Kyle remembered as Michael. At least he thought so.
"Spooks?" Kyle questioned with a brow raised. "You mean Tweek?"
Michael nodded his head.
"Oh… he's a friend of mine, that's all."
"I doubt it. Spooks doesn't hang around with your type."
His type? What did that mean?
"Well… not at first, no. But we are friends! He's the one who invited me to the
shop-"
"Listen here, you peppy little shit," the smallest, Firkle, barked. "We don't
know what you're up to, but Spooks is one of us. You hurt him, and we'll make
you wish you were never fucking born."
Kyle blinked. It made sense now. Tweek sitting with them at the shop. Their
angry, leery stares. They were watching after him. Protecting him from the kind
of people who isolated him. The jocks. The do-gooders. People like Kyle.
"I'm not going to hurt him," Kyle assured as he clutched the book. If he held
it any tighter it would be busting into his ribcage. "He's my friend."
"Sure, your friend," Henrietta snickered as if he didn't know the meaning of
the word.
"Just know we're watching," Pete said before jerking his head to flip his red-
streaked hair. And, with that, the flock broke off of his path.
...
The next few days for Kyle were like a swift blur. He didn't do much of his
homework. He didn't spend his dinners with his family, and his group of friends
were short a member. He spent all that time alone. Alone in his room reading a
book.
That day was no different. His family was conveniently out that night. He
didn't even remember why or where they had gone. He was ecstatic just to hear
they'd be leaving him in peace. He sat up shop on the kitchen table. Tweek's
composition book open on one side, his folder of notes open on the other. The
honor roll student in him was taking over. He got out his pen and again began
to read.
Oculus read the title.
He swallowed hard before running his hand over the scribbled text. The word me
had been written all along the margins and blank spaces of the paper, adding
just an extra touch of fucking creepy.
A rarity. They're flesh and blood people born with connections to the other
side. Clairvoyants is what the living call them. The dead call them the Oculus.
Most Oculus are born. Others are made later in life, most often through trauma,
though this is even less common. The child Oculus is at risk of possession or
"accidental" deaths, usually caused by Shadowpeople. The teenage Oculus isn't
as likely to have these problems with spirits, but their suicide risk is high.
Kyle copied everything that seemed wildly important into his notebook, being
sure to expand on it if he could. This entry was more important than all the
others.
This entry was about him.
Oculus see the world differently because of their eyes.
Kyle reached up and let the tip of his fingers brush along his eyelid.
I wonder if it'd go away if I ripped them out.
Kyle frowned.
"Or if I cut my hands off," he muttered in reply.
A sound startled Kyle out of his reading. It was loud, sudden, and booming.
Someone was knocking on the front door. Kyle stood up from the kitchen chair
and shuffled across the floor. He timidly poked his head into the living room,
where he watched the door vibrate against someone's fist. With a gulp, he
willed himself to slink to the door and peek out the peep hole. There was a
tall, black figure on his doorstep. He unhooked the chain and pulled the door
open. The cold wafted in along with the black shadow. It stood out like a muddy
stain as it leaned against the living room wall to catch its breath.
"Kyle," said the figure as it heaved through its teeth. Tweek doubled over
against the door frame. He was gripping his chest, trying his best to steady
his breathing.
"Holy shit, are you okay?" Kyle asked.
"Yeah," he heaved. "I... I need your help."
That was shocking.
"Why? What's wrong?"
"I was out in the woods," Tweek replied as he slipped into the living room. "I
found something. Finally, I found something."
Kyle blinked, and then closed the door to ward away the darkness outside it.
"Found something? Found what, exactly?"
Tweek slipped his backpack off his shoulders. The zipper snagged and he fought
with it before yanking it open. From it, Tweek eased out a plastic grocery
sack. It was white, tattered, and caked with dirt. Globs of the mess cascaded
down onto the Broflovski's living room carpet. Kyle stepped forward to get a
better look at the plastic bundle, and Tweek clutched it in his gloved hands.
"What is that?" Kyle asked.
"You get visions, right? When you touch things?" he blurted. "I need you to
tell me who this belonged to- what happened, I need to know."
"I… I want to help you! But I can't control it. It just kind of happens
whenever it wants to."
"Okay, okay, but I need you to try. Here, just- just-"
Tweek's nails scraped along the plastic bag until they ripped a fresh hole in
it. The bag stretched open, and a weird stench wafted from it. The smell was
earthy and damp. He stripped the plastic away from the cloth it had been
protecting. It was a T-shirt. Kyle thought it might have been green, but it was
so slathered in muck and dark blotches he could hardly tell.
"Wow, shit," Kyle sputtered. "Is that blood?!"
Kyle stepped closer to get a better look. Tweek pulled it open by its
shoulders, which showcased just how drenched it had been in body fluids. At
least that's what the crusty brown blotches appeared to be.
Tweek's usually callous behavior shifted. His blue eyes became watery and his
lips twisted into a disgusted and anguished sneer.
"L-look how little it is," he commented as he struggled to keep the ragged
cloth on display.
Kyle felt his heart melt away. Tweek. The cold, calculating Shadowman. He was
standing there before Kyle, holding back tears as he clutched the bloody little
cloth. Whoever it belonged to, they were only a child.
Kyle wanted to help. He wanted to reach out and take the shirt between his
fingers. Receive a vision that could tell them everything. However, he had
become so accustomed to trying to avoid those things he wasn't sure if he
should.
Usually his visions were accidents. He'd pick up a pot only to hear a
conversation his mother had while she was holding it. He'd lean against a
barrel to see a child was once hiding for their lives inside it. He'd grab a
friend's back pack to discover their uncle loved them in a way no man should
love a nephew.
He did not want those visions. He did not want to know the stories his hands
told him.
But Craig.
This could help Craig, and that's what he was trying to strive for. Ky nibbled
hard on his lip in consideration. He was always begging Tweek to accept his
help, he couldn't get cold feet now.
The very tips of his fingers pressed into the cloth. Yes. It was teeming with
visions. Kyle could literally feel them pulsing through his finger bones. With
eyes slammed closed and an unsure inhale, he tightly gripped it in his fist.
His breath became more rapid, and when his eyes twitched open there was no
pupil or iris to be seen. Only a white sheen and the red veins of the back of
his eyes. His mouth fell slightly open, though he didn't let out even a squeak.
Fresh tears leaked out from behind Ky's rolled eyes. They spilled down his face
as his jaw quivered open. Voices spilled out in murmurs though he never moved
his lips. It was like an orphanage inside his mouth. Children spoke over the
rows of desks that were his teeth, and their sounds seeped out of the window
that was his mouth. The fist clutching the cloth began shaking like a tuning
fork, and a trickle of blood ran down from his nostril.
He wasn't lying or trying to pull Tweek's leg. He and his abilities were all
too real to the then panicking Shadowman. To him, it looked more like a seizure
than a vision.
He tightened his grip on the tattered cloth, and with a hard, swift yank, he
tore it away from Kyle's killer grip. Ky blinked, and his pupils returned to
him. His hands were still shaking. He didn't bother to try and wipe the blood
from his nose.
"Holy fuck, are you okay?" Tweek asked. "What did you see?"
Kyle let out a choked gasp before covering his mouth and shaking his head. He
couldn't. He wouldn't say it. He turned and walked to the couch, where he sat
on the very edge of a cushion. He used his sleeve to wipe away the bloody mess
he felt gushing from his nose. Tweek watched all the while, both curious and
concerned.
"Did you see him? Did you see Craig?" he coaxed.
Kyle took a long, steadying inhale before jerking his head 'no'. Tweek couldn't
hide the disappointment on his face.
"Then what was it?" he asked.
"What do you know about the boys in the woods?"
Tweek's eyebrows raised.
"The blond ones who play with Craig. Do you know anything about them?" Kyle
continued. He stuffed his hands between his knees to keep them from trembling.
Tweek swallowed. No. No, actually. He didn't know anything about them. They
never tried to talk to him, and he never bothered enough to wonder about them.
They were just dead kids Craig liked to play with. That was all.
"No," Tweek admitted. "Nothing. Why? What did you see?"
"One of them," Kyle said.
***** Tar is Thicker *****
Kyle would hate to admit how easily he fell asleep that night. He should have
been so overwhelmed with emotion that sleep was impossible. He should have been
up worrying about Stan.
The words he spat in his best friend's face were venomous and nasty. He should
have been mourning the taste of them on his tongue. He should have been, but he
wasn't. Despite the fact that only hours earlier his throat had ached from how
much he'd been screaming; he fell easily into sleep.
His dreams were even peaceful that night, but peaceful was not what he felt
when he awoke from them. He felt a kick in his chest. As if an old boot jammed
right into his ribs, he sucked in heavy breaths. His hands frantically grabbed
at his sheets as if to make sure they were real. His room was filled with such
darkness he was still blind when he opened his eyes. Despite this. Despite the
darkness and the tears blurring his groggy vision, he saw someone standing at
the edge of his bed.
The form stood completely still as it looked down at him. His skin shivered.
The thought that this figure could be something otherworldly terrified him at
first, but that fear subsided when he realized who it was.
"Stan?" He croaked out in a whisper. Tears collected in the corners of his
eyes, but a smile spread across his face. "God. I'm so glad you came back."
Kyle closed his eyes and sucked in a steadying breath.
"I was so worried," Kyle muttered. "You know I didn't mean anything I said,
right?"
Stan didn't reply.
"I mean… I do think you need to get help, but… I shouldn't have said all the
awful things I did."
The figure stood up straight and swayed out of his view. He blinked, and then
sat up to follow it.
"Stan?" He questioned, louder that time.
There was no one with him. Confused, he stumbled out of bed and looked around
his room.
Only then did he notice there were bright lights shining in from his window.
They flashed blue and red, and were accompanied by an alarmingly loud screech
of a siren. How had he not heard it before?
He wasn't relieved anymore. Now, he was terrified.
He forced his shaking legs to move, and the world melted and crashed down as he
ran through it. It felt like the hallway walls were shaking. Like the living
room rafters above him were caving in. The commotion outside only worsened his
vertigo. There were people screaming. People crying. That one distant siren was
the only steady sound.
His parents were standing by the front door. His little brother Ike stood
behind them, trying to get a better view of the chaos outside.
"What's going on?" Kyle demanded breathlessly. His head was buzzing with agony.
His chest felt hollow, but caving in.
His mother and father turned back to him. Their faces looked just as clueless
as his own.
"Not sure," his dad replied. "Just woke up a few minutes ago to all this. I
think something happened down by the tracks."
Kyle pushed his way past them and stumbled out into the front yard. The grass
felt wet under his bare feet. The cool feeling only added to the chill running
up his spine.
There was more than just one cop car. There were three- four, maybe. The
commotion lead down the street, where a crowd of onlookers managed to gather.
His mom yelled for him to stay on the lawn, but he was already running down the
sidewalk.
Families watched from their porches as Kyle went running, still in his pajamas,
towards the mess of cops and civilians.
He wasn't prepared for what he would find beyond it.
Amidst the crying people and rushing EMTs there was a car. It was hard to
recognize at first considering the train twisted and crushed it like a tin can.
Once he spotted the black pin stripes amidst the scratched, red paint, though,
there was no denying what he was seeing.
"No!" cracked out of his throat. He found himself running. His bare feet
slammed against asphalt. Words tore from his throat in a shrill scream, words
he didn't realize were even coming from him.
The yellow police line felt like a rip in reality. Everything beyond it was a
terrible nightmare, but he couldn't stop himself from fisting it in his hand.
"Cartman! Cartman, get him! Get Kyle!" Someone shouted. Kyle barely even
recognized his own name, let alone the arms that were suddenly encasing him.
His fist tightened on the tape, but the pathetic strip of plastic snapped and
fell miserably to the pavement as Kyle was dragged away.
He kicked and struggled as he was lifted off the ground. His voice cracked and
rasped in a nearly inhuman tone as he fought to be let free. As he fought to
make it to that warped mess of a truck and his friend who'd been inside of it.
"Don't let him see this!" ordered the same voice. It was closer now, close
enough for the tattered orange parka to register in Kyle's frantic mind.
"What the fuck do you want me to do?" Cartman spat as he struggled not to let
Kyle any closer to the carnage.
"Get him inside! Get him the fuck inside!"
Cartman obliged, trying his best to drag his flailing friend away.
"Let me go!" Kyle cried in desperation. "I have to get to him! Please!"
"I'm so sorry," Kenny said through the tightness in his jaw.
"No!" Kyle choked out as the twisted metal and crying neighbors got farther and
farther away. As he got farther and farther away. Kyle beat his fists on Eric's
shoulders, but he was too warn to struggle from the tight grip. With all the
air left in his heaving lungs, he let out one more shrill scream.
"Stan!"
===============================================================================
They remained in silence as Kyle sat on the edge of his mother's couch. Tweek
was waiting for him to talk. Kyle knew that. He was waiting to hear about the
things Kyle saw behind his eyes. He didn't want to tell him, though. He didn't
ever want to tell anyone. The pictures were still flashing in his brain. The
screams. The heavy breath.
It sunk into his flesh and left him feeling filthy.
His green eyes lifted up to meet with Tweek's. Tweek frowned at the water in
them. Had this been a mistake?
"Are you okay?" Tweek asked.
Kyle rubbed his hands together before his gaze flicked back down to the floor.
"No."
"What did you see?" Tweek pushed.
This time he wasn't pushing Kyle for Craig's sake. He was asking because he was
getting worried.
"I can't…," was all Kyle would say.
He leaned forward and ran his fingers through his hair. His chest felt so
heavy. His stomach was twisting and churning, leaving him feeling sick.
"I… I'm gonna-"
He gagged before jolting out of his seat and taking off through the kitchen.
Tweek worriedly hurried after him as he threw open the bathroom door. Kyle
didn't even make it to the toilet before his lunch gushed out of his throat and
into his mouth. He slammed his hands against the porcelain of the sink and
heaved. Discolored ooze and bile spilled out of him like a broken sewer pipe.
Tweek took a startled step forward to pull back Kyle's flaming red mop.
His nose turned up at the sharp smell of stomach acid.
Vomit didn't faze him anymore. Witnessing Kyle so shaken did.
Whatever Tweek made him see, it must have been disgusting.
When his stomach was empty and his throat was too sore to gag, he finally
turned on the tap to wash his face. Tweek let his hair fall back into place,
and Kyle stood straight. Rigid and gasping.
"I… I'm sorry," Tweek apologized as he took a step away. "I shouldn't have made
you-…"
Kyle shook his head. This wasn't going to be another thing for Tweek to be
guilt-ridden about.
"It was my decision," Kyle whispered.
Tweek looked around the bathroom to distract himself from the stone weighing
down his chest. There were little fish painted on blue walls, and a yellow
rubber duck was perched on the edge of the bathtub. A toilet was nearby. A tiny
person sat atop it. It was a familiar little figure that was clawing at the
insides of his eye sockets.
"Craig, don't do that," Tweek hissed before leaving Kyle's side.
His knees sank into the fluffy blue rug adorning the toilet. Craig let out a
whine when Tweek captured his bruised wrists and pulled them away from his
face.
"Don't dig at your eyes," Tweek clarified, though he sounded sad more than he
did angry.
Kyle frowned when Tweek undid his bandana to use as a handkerchief. Craig was
back to making distressed sounds when the cloth wiped away at the blood that
gushed from his sockets.
"Is he okay?" Kyle pondered.
Tweek's lips were tight, but he shrugged in response.
"He picks at the insides on his eyes sometimes."
"Why?"
"I don't know. He starts to cry if he does it too long, so I try to stop him
when I see him doing it."
Kyle didn't say anything else. He just watched as Tweek held Craig's hands
against his chest. Their pointed tips would be ripping at the inside of his
head otherwise, but Craig didn't seem too happy with the arrangement. He made
gurgling whines. With each one Tweek's face twisted a little more with despair.
"I'm sorry," he choked out. Kyle couldn't tell if he was speaking to him or
Craig. Tweek's mouth became a wobbling line, and he looked at Craig's hands as
he squeezed them.
The heaviness of his breath gave him away. Tweek was close to tears. He was so
sure he was about to take a step closer to ending all this pain. That little
bundle was supposed to be a key to unlocking a truth he'd been clawing towards
for years.
That shirt could have very well been his last chance. Not only did it have
nothing to do with Craig, but it made Kyle so scared he threw up.
He was quickly losing faith in himself.
"I'm sorry," he repeated, his head falling forward against Craig's grimy white
shirt.
Multiple pairs of hands reached out to rub his back. Pet his hair. Wipe his
eyes. The ones attached to the little creature's shoulders escaped from Tweek's
grip. They slid around his neck and patted him on the head.
Craig was smiling wide. Kyle wasn't though. His face had morphed into a frown.
"What's wrong?" he gained the courage to ask.
"Winter's coming," Tweek spat.
"So?"
"So? I only have a month left before the ground gets hard and I can't dig
anymore. Another fucking year. Another year. Nothing. I have nothing!"
Tweek squeezed Craig a little tighter, which the little ghost didn't mind. He
just kept patting and smiling as his wriggling arms investigated Kyle's shower
curtains and toilet paper rolls. They seemed to have minds of their own most
times.
A peculiar hand seemed very interested in Kyle. It wobbled away from the body
it was attached to so it could grab a hold of his pajama shirt. It looked
smaller than the ones Craig was raking through Tweek's wild hair. Muchsmaller.
There was something else about it that left Kyle's stomach churning again.
Something that made his head buzz and his eyes go foggy. Afraid of another
vision invading his mind, he jerked away from the hand.
"I don't know if it will help, but I'll tell you," Kyle whispered.
"Tell me what?" Tweek whimpered. "About the shirt?"
Kyle nodded. His eyes fogged over and he bit hard on his bottom lip.
"You don't have to."
"I want to."
A quivering breath fell out of Tweek's mouth. He nodded, his head nudging
Craig's chilly ribs as he did.
"There was a… boy," Kyle muttered from his tight jaw. "Not Craig; he was blond.
But…"
Tweek sluggishly pulled his face away from Craig to gaze up at Kyle, who was
fidgeting with his pajama sleeve.
"He was in a room. I think the walls were made of…stone?" Kyle scrunched up his
nose a little, and then wrapped his arms around himself. "Someone was… hurting
him."
What that sentence insinuated made Tweek's jaw tighten with rage. Hurting him?
He wanted to ask what Kyle meant, but he already knew. He knew. He could see it
in the venerable, defiled look on Kyle's face. It was the same quiet pain Craig
died in.
Tweek shivered. His face was still a little damp, but he dared not move to wipe
it away. He felt the smallest twitch could send Kyle back to the sink. He was
looking green.
"It wasn't Craig," Kyle felt he needed to repeat, "but he's dead."
"How do you know?"
"I saw it happen. He was cut into pieces while he… he was still alive." Kyle
choked a little on those words.
Tweek swallowed a wad of spit that was building in the back of his throat, but
regretted it. Now his mouth felt so dry his tongue was sticking to his teeth.
Kyle was in worse shape. He scratched at his arm through his sleeve to try and
kill the tiny spiders trickling through his flesh. There was long silence
between each bit of information he gave, like he had to prepare himself to
speak of such evil.
"He got put in a red duffle bag. There were stones in the bottom and- and
somebody threw him in the water."
"The water at Stark's?"
"I don't know. Most likely."
"Thomas," said a small, echoing voice followed by a quiet chortle.
Tweek jerked in surprise and gawked at Craig, who was kicking his feet and
smiling.
"Did you say that?" Tweek asked in shock. Craig was a spirit of few words, and
when he did speak it was hard to decipher. His voice was an echoing chorus of
many. That time, though, he spoke with only one. One clear and childlike voice.
"That was Thomas,"Craig replied, still grinning.
"Who is Thomas?" Tweek questioned as gently as he could.
Craig's voices reunited into a chorus to chime one eerily low reply.
"One of us,"spilled from his clumsy and stiff lips.
Kyle and Tweek looked at one another with wide, confused eyes.
"What is he talking about?" Tweek asked, as if Kyle somehow had an answer.
The Shadowman was at a loss for words, so Kyle took a small step forward. He
rubbed his sweating hands against his pajama pants and swallowed hard.
"Craig?" he called nervously.
The boy's neck cracked and snapped when he turned to face the voice speaking to
him. Kyle held his breath for a moment as he took in the gaping caverns of
black where eyes should have been. They were oozing again. Black grime tricked
down Craig's cheeks as his jerking head tilted from side to side.
"Craig, how many are there? How many are with you?"
Tweek's brows furrowed at the question, but Craig's smile grew wider.
"Six,"came Kyle's shuttering answer.
"Wait," Tweek breathed. "Six? What's that mean?"
"I think that… Craig is more than one spirit."
"That isn't possible."
"Why not?" Kyle argued. "I mean, you said if one person dies a certain way then
they remain that way forever, right? Well… Well what if a lot of people die the
same way?"
They both turned their attention back to the little boy sitting on the toilet.
His feet were still kicking and a smile was still lingering on his chapped
lips.
He was humming, happy as could be.
"I'm not sure," Tweek admitted. "But I know who I can ask."
…
Tweek threw his backpack on the ground and let out a heavy huff. He rubbed his
forehead and squinted his eyes into the dark of his room. Perfect, just like he
wanted it. Craig followed behind at an unsure pace as his companion slipped off
his black over coat and tossed the messy thing onto his bed. Craig let out a
low whine when Tweek slicked his hair back with his hand and made his way to
the far corner of his room. The corner which harbored the attic.
Tweek almost thought he could hear Craig cry out for him to stop. It was always
that way. If there was one person Craig hated more than anything it was the man
in the attic. Though Tweek couldn't say that he blamed him.
"Stay here" Tweek demanded. He pointed his finger at Craig to show he was
serious, though it wasn't angry or forceful. More protective and calm. Craig
shook his head. Jagged teeth protruded from the hole of his mouth. He wasn't
one to be arguedwith. Then again, neither was Tweek.
He reached up for the cord to the attic door and yanked it down with a strong
heave. Craig's jagged lined mouth gaped open to let out a crude scream. It was
more like a plea, really, but one Tweek couldn't afford to humor that night. He
ran up the stairs as quickly as he could, and the ladder slammed behind him
before he even had a chance to see Craig sprinting for it at the bottom. A loud
bang sounded through the attic as Craig slammed into the door. He tried and
tried to pull it open, but, just like every other time, he couldn't get it to
budge. Tweek sat down on the door and patted the folded bars of steel beneath
him.
"I'm sorry," he muttered quietly to the crying boy beneath him. He squinted
again, trying to ignore Craig as his eyes shifted through dusty boxes and
shadows. There was something out of place amongst the spider webs and forgotten
furniture. It swung slowly from side to side. It was darker than dark, almost
seeming to have absorbed any trace of blackness around it.
Like a puddle on the wall.
"Hello, David," Tweek greeted the swinging man in the shadows.
"Hello," came the immediate reply. The sound of rope grinding and creaking
filled the space around him as the mass swung closer to him. It swung right
into his face. Two red orbs paired together in a black mess. "It's been a
while."
Tweek swallowed hard, and then nodded.
"Hm, I thought you didn't need me anymore."
"Cut the shit, you know why I don't come up here."
"Ah, yes. The little cretin below you."
The sound of Craig's head smashing against wood didn't seize as the two
exchanged awkward conversation.
"Don't call him that," Tweek growled. "There's a reason he acts like this when
I come up here."
"And why's that?"
"Well, you've tried to kill me multiple times."
"I would never."
"There was the time you tried to make me bite down on an electrical cord when I
was a kid. Then that time you tried to get me to jump out the window…" Tweek
replied. "Why are you such a prick?"
A small bout of laughter bubbled out of David like gas through tar. "I can't
help it, I like kids."
Tweek pressed his lips together.
"You didn't come here just to gripe, though, right?"
Tweek gripped the bars below him tighter as he listened to Craig's crying down
below. Slowly, he nodded his head.
"Yeah. I needed to ask you a couple more questions. Just once more."
"Hm. You say that every time."
Tweek couldn't help but crack the smallest smile at that, but it quickly melted
away when he heard Craig's bones scraping along the ceiling below him. "This
time isn't any different then."
"Well… what would you like to ask?"
Tweek swallowed hard before playing with his fingers.
"What is he?"
"Pardon?"
"Craig. What is he?"
The rope around David's neck strained when the dark spirit let out hardy
laughter. Tweek didn't much appreciate it, especially not while he was up in
the attic. No matter how much he'd seen over the years, he still couldn't shake
the weird chill he got up his spine when David's laughter echoed off the
skeletal, wooden walls.
"Now you're asking the right questions," is all David said.
"Then answer it. What is he?"
"I'd like to joke and call him an orphanage, but that would be insensitive."
"You knew? You knew about the other boys all this time?" Tweek growled, his
hands molding into frustrated fists.
"Of course. It's not hard to tell when a cluster is nearby, after all."
Tweek blinked at the suddenness of the response. The black silhouette of his
limp figure wasn't a pretty thing to stare at, but the rage in him wouldn't
allow him to look away.
"He's a cluster?"
"Yes. That's dangerous shit, boy," David rasped. "Evil shit."
"That's it? That's all you're gonna tell me?"
"Well," David said, his red, bulging eyes twitching. "That's all you asked."
Tweek ground his teeth together. This was another reason he hated talking to
David. He was a fucking asshole. Frustrated, he decided to move on to the next
question he'd been harboring.
"You always said there's no way to change someone's death, right?" Tweek began.
"Like how you're gonna gag on that rope for the rest of eternity … that can't
be right. Isn't there some way to stop it?"
"Stop it?"
"Yes! If I can't find Craig's body or… or the person who causedthis shit. Isn't
there at least some way I could save him from all this?…"
"Save him?" David's laughter was unquenchable. "You want to save the boy?"
"What the fuck is so funny about that?" Tweek demanded.
"It's astounding to me. So astounding. You're so concerned with rewriting his
death, just like he's so concerned with rewriting yours."
Tweek lost his breath for a moment, but quickly regained it. David was trying
to scare him. He would do that sometimes. However, Tweek prided himself on
being pretty good at weeding out the false from the truth. At least when it
came to David. He was all too easy to see through.
"Stop toying with me and answer my question," Tweek grumbled under his breath.
"How do I help him- I'm being serious."
The rope again began to creak as the swinging black mass turned towards him. A
large, toothy grin got so close to Tweek's face he could feel the stench of
death wafting off of a breath that wasn't there. "Yes, and so am I."
Tweek doubled back at the solemn tone of David's words, but if there's one
thing Craig's death taught him it was how to hold his ground.
"There's not a damn thing you can do to help that abomination- just like there
ain't a damn thing they can do to help you."
His eyebrows knit together as he too leaned back against the blackened face and
distorted grin.
"I don't believe you," Tweek hissed through clenched teeth.
"That's fine," David said. The beams of the exposed ceiling groaned as his body
swayed from side to side. "It wouldn't change a damn thing even if you did."
Tweek jolted as Craig again slammed against the door below him. He was getting
more and more angry. So much so Tweek could hear the panic attack about to
happen, but what could he do? David was the only one who knew anything about
anything.
"Besides, damn brat," David scoffed from across the room, shrouded in his
shadows as he always was. "If there was a way to help a spirit move on from the
tragedy of death, do you think I'd still be here? If there was a way to escape
the last place I'd be is still fucking here- my only company the likes of you."
Tweek believed that much. Honestly, he did. He closed his eyes and let his
hands run across the wood beneath him. It was rotten under his fingers, and the
metal bars of the folded latter were cold and harsh against his fingertips. He
closed his eyes and suppressed a frown. If that was all true, why was Tweek
even trying? There was no way he could believe all those years- all those holes
he dug- were worth nothing. Craig was not suffering in vein. Tweek couldn't
allow himself to believe that.
"Maybe... not even you know everything," Tweek tried to reason. He shook his
head, and then opened his eyes to stare at the monster hanging from the ceiling
across the room.
"There has to be a way. Maybe giving up hope is the reason you're still hanging
there." Tweek almost flinched at his own words. That sounded way too much like
something Kyle would say.
"Believe what you want," David uttered as his form melted into the blackness
behind him, leaving nothing behind but empty space. "But you'll see. Sooner
than later, you'll see."
When Tweek came down from the attic he felt like he could kick a wall in. He
always had a sudden burst of anger every time he spoke to David. It was like
they fed off of one another, and the only energy they had was negative. That
day, though, he had a real reason. He was so sick and tired. David had to be
lying. In some ways Tweek supposed what David had to say made some kind of
sense, but that didn't help at all to quench his unfathomable rage. Craig. Was
there really no way to undo this?
He was so busy storming around his room in circles he hardly noticed the little
person trailing after him. Craig seemed concerned, letting out quiet little
mumbles that sounded like questions Tweek didn't hear the words to. He stopped,
and hands immediately grabbed onto his cloths. All he wanted to do was protect
Craig. To help him.
Tiny, bleeding fingers wrapped tightly around his much bigger ones.
Speaking to David wasn't a mistake he would make again.
***** David's Goodbye *****
The car was shaky to say the least. The axis must have needed to be realigned,
but he didn't care. He didn't care about anything. Not anymore. The day was
still only beginning to meld into mid-day. He didn't want to wait till his
family was home to return. He didn't want them to get in the way or have the
opportunity to stop him. He came to a stop in the driveway, and then stammered
out of his car. He took his work hat off of his head and hung it on the hanger
by the door. He left his boots there too, along with the jacket of his uniform.
He wanted to be comfortable. After all, comfort is key. He grinned to himself
when he felt his toes squish against the carpet under them. Ah, the house was
so quiet and relaxing when he was there by himself. Then again, things always
seemed to be better when he was by himself.
He walked towards the kitchen and stopped in front of the spare closet. There
were all sorts of things stored away in there. Brooms, dust pans, rope, spare
pots, batteries, rope, rope, ro-
He smiled a calm smile before reaching into the closet and retrieving what he
was after. Ah, yes, his new necklace would fit him perfectly- just like tailor
made shoes.
He turned to head towards the living room. It was a living room familiar to
you. You've been there plenty of times by now, though you haven't realized it
yet. He smiled again and headed up the staircase. It was carpeted, and the
railing fit perfectly under his palms. Perfect. Rope.
He came into the hallway, again, somewhere you've been. It was lined with
pictures of different people and the walls weren't the same color, but the
house was still the same.
He pushed open the door to his daughter's bedroom. Ah. This is the room you're
most familiar with. You where there when this story began, in fact. How did you
make it so far in the past? Are you perhaps a time traveler, traversing through
time and dimensions as you please? Perhaps you yourself have been indulging in
visions. Do you touch their hands while they sleep?
How rude.
Nonetheless, Crayon portraits and tiny horses surrounded him and you in a
childlike wonderland. The walls were pink, then. Sun-kissed strawberry skies.
He ran his rough fingers over the soothing color as he made his way across the
room. The tips of his digits felt horsehair and bows left on a white dresser.
He smiled at them, but it soon wavered into a frown.
"I hope you forgive me," the man uttered.
Despite all your power to see what everyone else cannot, you're confused now.
Who is this oddly familiar man in this oddly familiar room?
A rabbit stood in the corner, though it wasn't made of stuffing and fabric. It
stood six feet tall. A fancy blue suit fit snugly around its thick, human
ribcage. Its bulging eyes twitched as they followed his movements across the
room. He couldn't see it, just like it cannot seeyou. It was there waiting for
him. As it had been since the day he was born.
When he reached up to yank hard on a cord dangling from the ceiling, the rabbit
smiled around its buck teeth. You cringed at its ugly face, but remain wordless
as you always have.
He held the rope tightly in his fist and kicked off his shoes when he reached
the top. The attic was dark and cold, but the rabbit was waiting for him there,
too. Where the light stopped and the darkness began is where it hid. Its big
hands were clasped behind its back.
The sound of a chairs legs scarping against the wooden floor was such beautiful
music to its long ears. The groan of rope being knotted against the rafters was
the verse, the chair's back slamming against the floor was the bridge, and
strangled gagging was the chorus. After that, there was only silence.
Silence filled with the craeking of straining rope. It remained that way until
a pria of bulging eyes lazily slid towards a urfry face. The rope was tugging
painfully tight around his windpipe. All the air had left his lungs, hiwch flet
htme burning nad painfully empty. He tried to gasp, but the thick cord only
crushed his throat.
Ybame fi heter swa a ayw ot sopt82 lal htsi goany wteke oudlc ovme no. Yameb ew
ouldc vahe tsoepdp eltlngi hist tsory eforbe it tsretda. Heter si on ohp3 own.
Htis tosry aws lerdya vore. &*)
"Tsk," murmured the rabbit as he stepped out of the dark. "How eager humans are
to seal their suffering."
Het nam agspde.
"What? This is what you wanted, isn't it?" The rabbit uttered. "Or did you
believe death would be the end of your pain?"
The hanging man's popping eyes watered &&& dripped with sadness ^^** fear. He
could hear the house come lavie with voices beneath him. The familiar ~~~ of
playing children and his olvre. He didn't think he would have to face those
voices again.
"You can pass on unburdened if you wish," The rabbit chimed. "But, isn't there
something you'd rather have?"
"I can let you remain here, David. If you've unfinished business. All I ask is
one thing in return."
kkjdh 879 67 0 iouhwkjh dkshj iauh Ybame fi heter swa a ayw ot sopt82 lal htsi
[̲̅u̲̅][̲̅h̲̅][̲̅ ̲̅][̲̅t̲̅][̲̅o̲̅][̲̅ ̲̅ goany wteke oudlc ovme no. Yameb ew
ouldc vahe tsoepdp eltlngi hist tsory eforbe it tsretda. Heter si on ohp3 own.
Htis tosry aws lerdya vore. &*) wteke oudlc ovme no. Yameb ew ouldc ȝ ԳƙՏՄɧ ԵԾ
ȝʍՅȝՌȝԺ vahe tsoepdp eltlngi. ȝ ԳƙՏՄɧ ԵԾ ȝʍՅȝՌȝԺ \ /█ █▀ █▄▀ █▓ . ▄▀▀ █▄▀ █▀
█\/█ █▄█ . ██ ▄
\ /█ █▀ █▄▀ █▓ . ▄▀▀ █▄▀ █▀ █\/█ █▄█ . ██ ▄\ /█ █▀ █▄▀ █▓ . ▄▀▀ █▄▀ █▀ █\/█ █▄█
. ██ ▄
You strain your eyes in hopes of understanding more, but nothing else comes.
You may have the odd power to read their minds and meld in and out of their
reality, but you don't have more power than I. Not here in these pages, anyway.
I hope that doesn't scare you.
===============================================================================
It had been days since Tweek showed up with that awful plastic sack. They'd
spoken a couple times since then, but it was obvious Tweek had a lot on his
mind and didn't want to be bothered. His space was hard to respect, though.
Kyle's nightmares had been getting worse. When he slept he could still hear
that shrill screaming. He tried to bring it up to Tweek at lunch, but he
stopped eating in the cafeteria. He tried to bring it up when they ran into one
another between classes, but Tweek waved him away.
All he wanted was someone to lean on. Well, maybe not any someone. Maybe he
just wanted Tweek. That was a weird thought. It was true, though. Even when
they were slumming it in the woods past midnight, Kyle felt safe and assured
when the Shadowman was watching over him.
He hoped he could intercept him before their next class. He wished lunch wasn't
passing so slowly. It didn't help that Butters was tapping a pencil against the
edge of his tray. It was one of the very few things that could truly annoy the
fuck out of Kyle. He leaned forward and rubbed his forehead with his thumb and
index finger before groaning loudly in protest.
Butters looked over to him before blinking innocently.
"Oh, I'm sorry, Kyle. Didn't mean to bother you," Butter's said before putting
his pencil back down on the table beside him. "Have you been alright lately?
Well, you're kinda grouchy."
"Yeah, what the hell's wrong with you?" Eric demanded with eyes narrowing. Had
he kept his mouth shut, maybe Kyle wouldn't have been spitting with rage.
"Nothing. I just haven't been sleeping well, damn," Kyle snapped. He waved away
the notion with the back of his hand. "Don't worry about it."
"I can worry about whatever I damn well please," Eric growled, but his face
changed when he realized what he'd just said. "Well, I'm not worried. You
getting pissy like this just usually leads to some pretty crazy shit."
"But nothing's wrong. I'm just tired, like I already said."
Kenny was sitting across from Kyle, a deep frown forming across his face. Kyle
couldn't lie. Not to him. Kenny saw through him too easily.
"You know you can talk to us if something is wrong," Kenny uttered under the
noise of the cafeteria. "Well, at least me."
This much was true. Kenny was always there for him. It felt so wrong to try to
push him away. He bit his bottom lip, but didn't say anything as Kenny's eyes
grew heavier and heavier from across the table. Of course he wanted to give
them answers. He wanted to tell them everything, but how could he? Not only did
he promise Tweek he'd never tell anyone his Shadowmansecret, but he didn't ever
want to tell anyone what that shirt showed him again.
That's what was truly wrong. He could handle all Tweek's weirdness and Craig's
tragic history. It took a toll, but not one Kyle couldn't pay. It was seeing it
that left him so fucked up. Watching that boy, Thomas, being torn apart but
having no way to make it stop. The crimson spilling. The begging and pleading.
To watch a child die. And in such a tragic and disgusting way.
"This isn't like you," Kenny said when he registered the despaired look on
Kyle's face.
Kyle pulled his text book from his backpack and set it before him. He flipped
his book open to a random page and pretended to read, as if that would ward off
his friend's barrage of hard questions. Instead, a hand slammed down on the
paper before him and dragged it out of his hands. Kenny. He didn't look as
angry as his hand seemed, he just wore a low frown and high eyebrows.
"Ky," Kenny muttered with that all knowing look. The kind that made Kyle feel
small like a child.
"Ken," Kyle retorted, looking as if he could pounce at any moment. He was so
fed up. He shook his head hard. "Listen, I just can't do this right now, okay.
I'm not doing bad so don't worry, I'm just focusing on school and graduation
and college and all that stuff. Yeah, it's stressful, but that's all. Can't a
guy just have a little time on his own?"
Kenny frowned deeply. He didn't believe him, which frustrated Kyle even more.
"It's okay, Ky. I just -"
"No, you know what? It's not okay. I'm so sick and tired of always being
treated like I'm so damn fragile all the time. Sure, I'm fucked up after what
happened to Stan. All of us are, but that doesn't mean I'm completely incapable
of taking care of my own damn self. Mind your own fucking business."
Kenny looked shocked by Kyle's sudden outburst. His blue eyes widened and his
brows furrowed with hurt. The group all sat quiet as Kyle's angry gaze wavered
with regret. That twisting feeling in Kyle's stomach squeezed tighter when
Kenny jolted up from his chair and stormed into the hallway, leaving his class
folders and half eaten lunch behind.
"H-hey! Kenny, wait!" Butters tried to call out, but Kenny wasn't having it. He
didn't even look back as he disappeared into the hall, and Kyle just shifted
his gaze down to his plate to stab at his food with a fork.
He didn't mean to make Kenny angry. For God's sake he only wanted to be left to
stew in his misery alone.
"You're a fucking dickweed, you know that," Eric uttered from across the table.
"Excuse me?" Kyle sputtered.
"You don't want us to treat you like a kid, fine, I'll tell you the cold hard
truth-"
"Eric, no," Butters scolded, but it didn't stop his friend.
"Kenny's been spending all this fucking time making sure you're alright and
you're gonna repay him by treating him like shit?"
Kyle blinked, then felt his mouth go dry as Cartman seethed from across the
table.
"I'm not treating anybody like shit I'm just sick of-"
"Of what? Your friends giving enough of a damn to look out for you? Of fucking
course we were all in shambles after what happened to Stan, but the only
reasonyou're even fucking glued enough together to function is because we took
care of you."
Kyle looked down at his tray and shook his head, though he wasn't sure why.
There was a little piece inside him shriveling to a pulp when he realized
Cartman of all people might have been right. Not only that, but… Kyle was the
one in the wrong. He shook his head again. There was nothing wrong with wanting
to be independent. There was nothing wrong with keeping his friends far away
from the mess he'd gotten himself into. At least that's what he kept telling
himself.
"And Kenny? He's the guy who stayed at your damn house for two weeks because
you couldn't even get out of your fucking bed without him-"
"Shut up," Kyle growled. His cheeks were tinting pink and his fist was curling
around the edge of the table.
"No! HE PRACTICALLY FUCKING SPOON FED YOU! Everything always has to stop for
Kyle, right? Nothing matters expect what Kyle wants. If Kyle's okay. What about
Kenny? Have you ever once stopped to think about how it affected him to see
Stan splattered on the fucking pavement, then have to be the one to piece you
back together!?"
Kyle's mouth opened like he wanted to curse back, but he was floored. Did he
ever stop to ask if Kenny was okay? Ken was his best friend in the whole world.
It'd be despicably selfish of him if he didn't!
Then… why hadn't he?
Kyle felt like he was going to throw up again.
"Ken's gonna be awful sore if he hears you're hollerin' at Kyle!" Butters
warned when he saw Ky's face losing its color. A cruel smirk spread across
Cartman's lips. It was clear by his satisfied look he couldn't care less about
Butters' warning. He wanted to say this for a long time.
"I'm only saying what Kenny should have said a long time ago. Kyle doesn't give
a shit about anybody anymore."
"SHUT UP!" Kyle screamed, nearly throwing his tray as he jolted up in his
chair. Butters slid back as Kyle shook his head and fumed. There were so many
things he wished he could say, but his hands were shaking too hard and he knew
he couldn't argue. It was all true.
The night they first encountered the Shadowman flashed before his eyes. The
fear on Kenny's face when he thought they'd lost him. The relief when he
scooped Kyle up against him. Every sweet, selfless thing Kenny ever did for
Kyle flooded his eyes with bitter water.
He was a piece of shit friend.
"Ky…" Butters muttered before standing from his seat as if he were about to
console him. Butters wasn't the only pair of eyes on him, however. Every person
in the cafeteria was gawking at him over their lunches. His face flushed deeper
as he assaulted his tears with the sleeve of his shirt. He could hear the faint
murmur of whispers closing in from every direction.
Butters couldn't take another step before Kyle haphazardly snatched his book up
from the table. He power walked to the doors with his head down. How could he
face Kenny again after hearing that? How could he make up for the misery this
last year has caused? How could he get the blue eyes of that dying boy out of
his head?
Soon he found himself wandering alone in the hallways. His face was still red
and wet, but he long since gave up wiping it dry. He just wanted to see Tweek.
He knew better, though. The Shadowman's grief was more than Kyle could fix.
He'd just find some way to make that worse, too.
He somehow found himself sitting in a bathroom stall. His legs were curled up
against his chest, which was heaving. He wanted to feel something. Grief,
sorrow, regret, but Kenny's sandy hair and bright blue eyes blurred in his head
until they belonged to someone else completely. Someone who's shrieking and
pleading melded together with the gush of busted veins and heavy breathing.
The vision Tweek subjected him to was stained inside his eyes.
It was then, when his trickle of tears became a waterfall, the warmth of
someone's hand brush the flood away. When his bloodshot eyes scanned the tiny
stall there was no one to be seen, but he knew he wasn't alone. Somehow, he
knew.
…
The last few days for Tweek had been lonely ones. He closed himself off from
everyone in an attempt to clear his head and figure this whole mess out. So
far, he was doing the opposite. When he wasn't at the pond frantically getting
in his digging before the snow came he was sitting on his bed staring into the
television.
The TV was on but he wasn't watching. Instead he was staring blankly as his
mind was consumed by all things Craig. Where he truly was. What was truly
happening. Craig didn't help much himself. He stood across the room beside the
television. Perhaps he sensed Tweek's unease. Maybe that's what he got down on
all fours and slinked across the room until his finger bones scarped against
Tweek's feet. He seemed to think he'd done something wrong. Maybe Tweek had
been so distant because of him? That thought made a low sound of sadness bubble
up from the bottom of Craig's throat.
Tweek gazed down at the creature, and then patted his knees to show its okay to
come up into his lap. And he did. Little hands gripped at Tweek's knees and
pulled a limp body up onto the other's lap. Craig curled up there, and Tweek
let his arms fall down onto either side of the mud streaked boy.
"I feel bad," Tweek muttered quietly. The flickering of the light shined onto
them both as Tweek rubbed Craig's back. He sat his chin down onto the top of
Craig's head and sighed. "For making Kyle upset like that last time we saw him.
I feel guilty for making him touch that shirt. Is that stupid?"
Craig let out little grumbles.
"He's been nothing but nice to us. I don't see how. I'm such a dick."
Craig jerked awkwardly. He fell from Tweek's grasp and perched on the edge of
the mattress. He was on guard. Tweek knew why. He could hear David upstairs,
too.
"Mm," Tweek fumbled as he reached around his bed for Craig. "It's okay. David
hasn't bothered us since I last talked to him. I wouldn't worry about it
tonight."
Craig, however, didn't seem so convinced. He remained static on the side of
Tweek's bed, head cocked up towards the ceiling like there was something to see
in the white wall above them. Tweek leaned to the side to wrap one of his arms
around the boy and scoop him back into bed. Tweek held Craig from behind,
squeezing the child in reassurance. This didn't make the growling subside in
the least.
"I promise, Craig. There's nothing to-"
CRASH.
Tweek nearly jumped out of his skin at the ruckus happening above them. He
blinked, and tried not to seem like he was cowering when he heard nails
scratching along wood, as if someone was desperately grabbing for the floor as
they were dragged away. Craig's growling only proved more intense as the sounds
continued. His bubbly sleepy sounds were traded in for the demeanor of a junk
yard dog. Jagged teeth and all.
Tweek slowly sat up in bed, his ears open wide. It sounded almost like a fight
was happening above them, which didn't make sense. No one was in the attic, no
one but David, but it'd be hard for him to make all that noise on his own.
Tweek made a move to throw his legs over the edge of the bed, but Craig
grappled with him a short moment to try and keep him where he was.
"I'll be fine," Tweek tried to assure him. "I'm just going to check on David."
He rolled out of bed despite Craig's noisy protests, and then made his way
towards the attic door. He grabbed the string, and immediately noticed
something different when it fell open. There was an odd odor to the air. It
smelled a lot less like a musty attic and much more like ammonia- like piss.
Tweek curled up his nose at the smell. It only made the odd sounds that much
creepier to him. Among the clawing and struggling Tweek also heard another
sound. It was loud and pleading- a voice. One he recognized. David?
He hoisted himself up onto the ladder and climbed as quickly as he could. Craig
was screaming at the bottom. The room was as pitch black as always, but he
could make out no swinging form as per usual. He stumbled to his feet and felt
around the air for the switch to flick on the attic light. He caught the string
in his fingers and yanked down, flooding the room with a buzzing, flickering
light.
Tweek's mouth went dry when he caught sight of something that most definitely
was not David. It was a man in a nice button up suit. He was rather tall, which
was evident with how his fuzzy ears brushed along the rafters above them. The
man adjusted a monocle with his free paw, and the other wrung tightly around a
flailing body's neck.
David.
Tweek was frozen with his mouth slack as the strange man's pink nose twitched
at his smell. His mouth went dry as said stranger ran a paw through the messy,
bloodied fur of his maw. Tweek's heart pounded on his rib cage like an angry
lion, though he felt no bravery. The rabbit man tightened the rope around
David's neck, and then yanked the black form across the floor like a rag doll.
David let out a gasping yawl of agony.
His frantic eyes, bulging from his skull as always, landed on Tweek's shaking
form. He seemed to be trying to say something, but no words fell out of his
blue lips.
"L-let him go!" Tweek finally spat with his fists curling.
The rabbit's eyes glimmered in the yellow attic light, then a human smile
curled around it's buck teeth.
"His time is up, Mr. Shadowman," Said the rabbit over the sound of David's
gargled pleads. "Don't worry. Soon, yours will be too. We'll be back for you…
bothof you."
A pair of cold hands grabbed Tweek around his ankles, which finally made him
let out a blood curdling scream as he was ripped from the edge of the floor and
pulled down the latter. He smacked his chin against one of the metal bars
before crashing into the floor below. A collection of arms shot up like snakes
and slammed the attic closed so hard dust fell from the ceiling. Tweek felt a
sharp pain when he pressed his tongue against the roof of his mouth, and a
metallic taste came to him.
Blood. He could taste it in the cracks between his teeth. He rose up and
dizzily stared at the ceiling. It almost seemed to be spinning. He spotted
Craig in the streams of colors. He stood beneath the closed door, staring up
blankly. What? What was that thing?
Footsteps creaked the ceiling above them, and then everything fell silent.
Tweek jumped up from the floor despite the buzzing bouncing around in his head
and snatched Craig up. He backed away, holding the other close to his chest and
huffing.
Did that abomination just take David? How? Where to? It didn't make sense.
Had it been lingering in his house all along?
Could it take Craig, too?
He carried Craig with him out of his room and out of his house. Into the yard
and into the shed. He only sat down the other to collect a few wood planks and
an old set of nails that had long since began to orange with rust. He turned
with these things in hand, and Craig's bare feet slapped behind the creaking of
Tweek's heavy boots. He came back into his room, brought his desk chair to the
attic door, and Craig curled himself up in a ball on the floor as he watched
Tweek nail the boards against the ceiling.
When the hammer finally hit the carpet he'd sealed the attic with wood and
iron. Craig didn't make a sound as Tweek again picked him up. Craig latched
onto his front, and he felt the trembling of Tweek's heart as he picked his
backpack up off the floor and headed back out the door.
David's warnings screamed in Tweek's head like sirens.
"There's not a damn thing you can do to help that abomination- just like there
ain't a damn thing they can do to help you."
He was lying. He had to be.
"It's astounding to me. So astounding. You're so concerned with rewriting his
death, just like he's so concerned with rewriting yours."
Or maybe it was a warning.
***** All Good Things *****
His shovel dragged behind him as he trudged through the woods. The Shadowman
was fresh back then; he was still only twelve. His hands were scarless - mostly
- and his hopes were still high. He believed in a lot of things; a lot of
things he no longer does.
His feet kicked up old leaves as he tried to pick a place to dig. The fall was
slowly becoming winter, and he knew that searching would be a useless prospect
if the ground was frozen too solid for his shovel to pierce through. He had to
find Craig soon. There were still footprints from the first search parties that
found nothing. Tweek stomped over them in anger. Those people left. They gave
up and they left. Not Tweek.
Not the Shadowman.
He wasn't alone, though. There was another with him, as there always was. A
tiny figure in a clumsily made yellow sweater. It was fashioned from an old
yarn roll that once belonged to Tweek's grandmother. His hands weren't nearly
as skilled in the beginning, so the poor thing looked more knotted in places
than it did kitted. Nonetheless, Craig still loved it. He was humming oddly as
he shuttered after his determined companion.
"You know this would be easier if you'd help me out," Tweek's, much higher,
voice complained softly to his friend. "If anything looks familiar or whate-"
He was stopped dead mid-sentence when the ground decided it couldn't hold him.
He let out a strangled yell as he fell through the forest floor and into a
cavern below. A screech accompanied his own. It was the terrified cry of his
little monster. Tweek coughed as he cracked his eyes open. Everything around
him was completely pitch black, with the exception of the two white dots
peering down from the hole above him.
He grabbed at his pained ribs. Thankfully he didn't fall on his head.
He sat up and coughed again, jumping when he realized Craig was sitting beside
him.
"S-shit, holy fuck," Tweek shouted at the faint sight of Craig's meaty face
holes. "Warn a guy, will you?"
Craig chirped, Tweek whimpered.
"W-where are we? Holy Jesus, we didn't fall into a mole people hole did we?" He
cried in terrified confusion. "DO YOU THINK THEY'LL EAT US CRAIG?"
The apparition only garbled in response, and Tweek finally got the bright idea
to pull his phone out of his pocket. He opened the broken flip phone, and its
flash brightened the tunnel like a flash light.
"Oh shit," Tweek uttered as he panned his light around them. Cement. They were
in a fucking cement tunnel in the ground. That didn't make much sense. It was
huge, and appeared untouched for decades by anything except for the families of
rats that scurried about with alarmed squeaks.
"Craig?" Tweek questioned, earning a hum of a response. "Do you know what way
to go?"
The little spirit was facing one way, but started moving the other, seeming to
slide backwards and flicker in and out like a candle flame.
"Well okay, this way then," he muttered with shifting eyes.
Something felt so wrong about that place. His hair was all standing on end and
his mouth felt dry. The farther they drifted down the tunnel the worse Tweek
felt. His stomach was churning, and the odd things they'd see along the way
didn't help. A cot accompanied by a pile of dusty beer bottles, as if someone
had once squatted there. Old gurneys and scalpels that Tweek would occasionally
step on. He couldn't help but feel like there was always something just out of
the reach of his phone's light. Craig seemed just as shaken. His arms would
jerk and his head as well, like there was some sort of interruption and he was
a glitching hologram.
Continuing on seemed like suicide.
However, they really didn't have any choice. There was no way they could go
back all that way- he knew they couldn't climb out. At least Tweek couldn't.
The only way to go was forward. He frowned as they came upon an end to their
tunnel. It was a door. A big metal one. It had a rater hefty looking lock, but
it was ajar.
Tweek felt like his lungs were made of lead when he gripped the cold handle.
There was something on the other side. What exactly that something was, he
didn't know, but he was hoping it'd leave them alone long enough to make their
escape.
"Okay… h-here we go- Jesus Christ," he grumbled as he pulled the door open with
a metallic whine. He shined his light inside, but saw nothing except an old
room and a cot.
Craig began a low and angry rumble. That didn't at all help Tweek's mood. He
gritted his teeth and shook his head. From across the room he could see another
door. There was no promise it would give him salvation, but it was really the
only hope he had. He huffed in a show of feigned confidence before stepping in.
Craig wanted to remain outside, but couldn't resist following Tweek into the
odd feeling room. To the left was a long metal table. Cork boards lined with
pictures and documents littered the wall above it. Odd medical instruments laid
strewn about the tabletop and floor. What was most unsettling, though, was the
cot in the center of the room. It was a metal gurney, covered delicately with a
white sheet. Tweek took a step back when he realized it appeared there was a
person beneath it. The white cloth rose and fell with slow, unsteady breaths,
and he could make out gasping under Craig's persistent growl.
Tweek pressed his hand into Craig's hair to quiet him, and then slowly
attempted to reach the next door without being noticed. The figure under the
sheet didn't seem disturbed until Tweek's boot slammed into a scalpel, sending
it sliding across the floor where it clinked against the wall with a loud ring.
He jerked his head back to the cot, where the cloth was swaying with
irritation. His mouth went dry. His hands began to tremble. The figure beneath
rose from its torpor state. The white sheet fell from its shuttering, slender
shoulders and into its lap. He bit down hard on his tongue when Craig let out a
small and unsure sounding cry.
The bulbous head swayed under it's on weight. This gave Tweek a good view of
the dozens of mutilated faces it bared. He stumbled back as the creature warped
and rumbled. A plethora of new arms burst from its back and rose its limp
carcass off the operating table. It jerked and twisted in a way that was
familiar to Tweek. As it's dozens upon dozens of arms sprawled out across the
floor, it let out a booming screech from its snaggle toothed mouths.
Tweek realized all too well why it seemed so familiar.
It was like Craig.
Tweek stumbled back when an arm launched at him like an arrow. It missed, but
just barely as he turned and ran towards the door. His boots squeaked against
old linoleum as he tried his best to outrun the spider like arms shooting at
him. There were so many he had to launch himself over a few lying in wait on
the floor. The door. It was so close, but he would never reach it with all
those limbs tangling up in his way.
They warped and pumped like breathing creatures before another shot up from
this floor. This one didn't miss. It caught him in the thigh like the blade of
a knife. He cried out and fell to the floor with a pained thump. The arm
covered in his blood seemed to be searching for him, along with all the others.
He crawled on his hands and knees towards the nearest cover he had; an old
table that had been left on its side. Craig had already beaten him there. He
was curled tightly in a ball, too afraid to move.
Loud shuffling came from the darkness on the other side of the tabletop. The
creature's arms launched all around the room, busting beakers and tossing
things over. Tweek squeezed Craig close to him as he tried to steady his
breathing. The door was just about ten feet away from them. The arms were too
busy searching for him to guard it. He could stand up and make a break for it,
but the lumbering monster behind them was too fucking fast.
A hand slammed against the back of their table, forcing them to slide across
the floor as it pushed. Tweek bit his tongue and squeezed Craig to try and keep
him from screaming.
"We have to run for it," he whispered. It wasn't going to work. He was going to
get shredded on the way out- if he got out at all.
It was too late, anyway. A stray set of fingers squeezed around Tweek's ankle,
and it wasn't one of Craig's. The table behind them launched into the air and
smashed against the ceiling, sending shattered pieces of wood raining down onto
Tweek as he struggled to stand up. The icy grip ensnaring his leg jerked back
hard, and Tweek again smashed into the hard tile below. Dozens of hands
squeezed his legs so hard they were nearly being crushed as he was dragged back
through the wooden debris.
"Craig run!" Tweek demanded as the eyeless spirit reached for him with small,
weak arms of his own.
Craig was dragged along the floor with him, his extra limbs refusing to let go
even as Tweek was lifted from the floor. The tiny grip was broken when the much
stronger monster hurled Tweek against the hard wall. He cried out as his ribs
cracked against the force. He fell onto the tables that lined the walls, and
then his limp form crashed back down onto the floor.
"You won't hurt us again!" spilled from the beasts gaping, large mouths. "You
won't hurt me!"
Those words shattered Tweek worse than its powerful blows. It wasn't angry, it
was afraid. That fear had so consumed it that whoever it had been in life was
gone completely.
Tweek lifted his arms to shield his face as another scalpel wielding fist bared
down on him. The blade sunk deep into his forearm, causing another pained cry.
Both the beast and struggling child were distracted by Craig's form in the
discarded light of his cell phone, which had been abandoned on the floor.
Sobbing spilled out of the small boy, a sound that for some reason Tweek's
attacker couldn't handle.
The beast turned its head towards the sound, gaping wide eyes locking onto the
boy before letting out a cry of its own. The fist gripping the scalpel in
Tweek's arm released him to cover the monster's ears. It screamed as it sank to
the floor. It's plethora of branch-like limbs cocooned the miserable creature.
Tweek stumbled to his feet and ran, grabbing Craig by his arm and scrambling
for the door.
He slammed it behind them as hard as he could. His heart pounded with violence
in his chest as he heard fists banging on the other side. He had no light, so
Craig held his hand to guide him forward as he limped. Craig led him around
tables and up a stair case, where the faintest hint of light was gleaming.
Tweek struggled up the steps and into a hallway. It was lit faintly by the moon
through busted windows, which made Tweek feel better knowing at least they were
above ground. Craig didn't let go of his hand as he fell back and slid down the
wall.
He could still hear faint screaming from downstairs, which made him want to get
up and keep moving, but his legs felt like limp noodles and his clothes were
even warmer. When he looked at his and Craig's interlinked hands he lost his
breath. His fingers were doused in blood. In a panic, he looked down at the
pain in his stomach. A glint glittered back from the handle of the scalpel that
had been driven into his gut.
This time, Tweek was the one crying. His shaking hands wrapped around the wound
as he choked on his own spit. What kind of demon would do something so
terrible? Craig's hands were bigger than his back then.
They curled over his own and squeezed.
===============================================================================
Tweek hadn't been going to school. In all fairness, he hadn't been going home,
either. He was in the woods; the only place that mattered to him. Digging for
Craig; the only thing he knew to do.
David and the rabbit man left him shaken. Afraid. If what they were saying was
true he would be gone soon. He would be suffering some terrible fate, and Craig
would have no chance at being found. Being saved.
This was unacceptable.
So he dug. He dug without thinking; without covering the holes he made. He dug
through the night and even risked littering the dirt with holes during the day.
Somehow, though, he knew it was no use.
He was daydreaming of possibilities on Saturday morning. The broken tile of the
kitchen floor was his pillow, and Craig's cold touch was his blanket. His bones
ached to the core and his stomach begged for food. His hair was greasy and
matted and his tongue was dry and thirsty. Still, he couldn't think of himself.
Craig laid his head on the peak of Tweek's shoulder. He wanted to cry, but he
knew he shouldn't. Instead, he wrapped a shaking arm over Tweek's ribs and
squeezed. The silence scraped on the inside of Craig's skull.
Tweek deserved better.
He deserved better than the dirty floor he was laying on and the agony in his
soul. He deserved friends and happiness and a life filled with good things.
Craig tried to be a good thing.
He tried.
Tweek's shaking hand moved over the tiny one clutching at his chest. He
squeezed it against the warmth of his heart. Even now, at the end of his rope,
all Tweek cared about was that tiny creature. The very thing that put him in
that terrible place to begin with.
A knock came to the decaying door only feet away from Tweek's sullied boots. He
didn't bother to get up off of the floor. He knew who it was, and he knew it
was a mistake to've let them in in the first place.
The knocking came again, though, and when Tweek still didn't answer the door
creaked open.
"Tweek?" the familiar voice questioned.
"Tweek!"
Heavy footsteps rushed to his side. Craig didn't hiss or spit when a hand
reached around him to lay on Tweek's forehead. He just raised up his heavy head
and stared at the intruder with empty sockets.
Tweek squinted up through morning's gray light. He caught a hint of fire.
Kyle's unruly mop of hair peeked out from under his green hat.
"Tweek… are you okay?"
"You shouldn't be here."
Kyle's concerned expression morphed into one of aggravation and annoyance.
"I came to check on you, you ass," Kyle huffed. "Since you've been ignoring me
for days on end. Then you upright disappear off the face of the earth."
Tweek wanted to frown, but his lips were chapped and his muscles were working
against him.
"C'mon," Kyle uttered as he slipped an arm under Tweek's head, "get up off the
floor."
Tweek lifted his aching body against Kyle with a groan.
"There we go."
Kyle pushed up, lifting Tweek away from the filthy kitchen tiles he'd been
sleeping on. Craig wanted to help, too. His hands still lingered on Tweek, and
he let out a heaving sound when his friend was lifted. Kyle smiled a little at
the mud streaked apparition.
Once Tweek was on his feet he decided he'd rather lean against the dilapidated
counter than Kyle.
"I mean it," Tweek finally muttered. "You really shouldn't be here."
"Well somebody needs to be," Kyle retorted as his brows furrowed. "You… well,
you look like a mess. For god's sake I found you laying on the floor."
That last bit made Tweek cringe with embarrassment.
"How long have you been out here?" Kyle pushed.
"Couple days."
"When's the last time you ate?"
"Um, couple days."
"God damn it. I figured as much."
Kyle jerks his backpack off of the floor, drops it on the counter, and rifles
through it. He didn't bother to ask why Tweek didn't want him there, and Tweek
didn't want to tell him.
"I brought you something," Kyle said before shoving a paper bag into Tweek's
chest. It still felt faintly warm at the bottom. Upon opening it Tweek
discovered a bologna sandwich, a bag of chips, and a gray thermos. Part of him
wanted to toss it back at Kyle and tell him to get out, but the smell of the
sandwich made his stomach churn and growl for it. He ripped his bandanna off
his face. His tongue still throbbed against the roof of his mouth. It was
stinging and painful, but his hunger was stronger.
Tweek tore through the bread and meat ravenously. His fingers shook as he
squeezed the food between them, and he tasted a little dirt when he stuffed the
last bit of it into his mouth. It was from his hands, which were still sullied
by last night's digging.
He was working on the chips when Kyle finally spoke up again.
"When you didn't show up for school I knew where you'd be."
Tweek wanted to congratulate him on his superior intellect, but was too busy
shoving chips in his mouth to use it for sarcasm.
"I was getting really worried about you," Kyle then admitted, which caused
Tweek to bite his finger.
Worried? Kyle was worried about him? His first instinct was to laugh, but he
didn't, because he knew Kyle wasn't like everyone else. Kyle was honest. He
said it because he meant it.
That urge to laugh became a painful bubbling in Tweek's chest.
"I'm not upset," Kyle added as if he had to explain himself. "I just want to
know what's up with you. I mean, I know winter's coming and times are
desperate, but you always come back home for school."
God, Kyle was making him feel… well. What was that feeling? His chest was…
heavy? His heart was sore. His eyes were… wet…
Or at least they would be if he didn't still the restlessness writhing under
his flesh.
"I'm just trying to find him," Tweek replied through gritted teeth. "Just like
always."
Kyle didn't seem to believe that answer, but he let the sleeping dog lie.
"Well… I really hate to say this, but I don't think you're ever going to find
him this way. No matter how many holes you dig..."
"Then what the hell would you suggest?" Tweek spat more venomously than he'd
intended.
"Um, I- uh," Kyle fidgeted with the strap of a backpack that hung from his
shoulders. "I did some research."
The redhead pursed his lips together and looked up at Tweek.
"Obviously we're missing a lot. All we know is Craig was drown in Stark's and
probably killed by the same guy responsible for the blond boys, but I think
that might be how we can figure this out."
"I'm listening," Tweek growled as he rubbed the crust out of his eyelashes.
"Craig, well… he's the out-liar. He isn't anything like the other boys, so if
we find out why-"
"It could lead us to him?"
"Or at least closer."
"Fine, then. Let's do this."
...
There were pictures and notes tacked to the wall where Tweek's map used to be.
He and Kyle each took and edge, and, with one hard yank, Tweek's five years of
digging were reduced to a crumbled heap of paper on the floor. It ached to see
his map so shredded and out of place, but there was a picture of Craig where it
once hung. It was the one his parents chose for his posters; Kyle tacked it up
along with the faces of other boys.
Seeing Craig's face again, the way it was before; his big blue eyes and wide
smile… it filled Tweek with fire.
"Okay, so I searched for any blond boy I could that's went missing in recent
decades. I found about eighteen, but only six are still missing. Convenient,
right?" Kyle uttered as he scanned the board. "But it's surprising just how
much you can'tfind on the Internet. I just know they were all around Park
County, and they were taken when they were walking to or from home by
themselves."
"That's it, isn't it? That's all we know," Tweek uttered.
"Well, not exactly. We know the other boys had… more morbid deaths, while Craig
was drown. That must count for something."
"Hm," was the only reply.
Tweek was leaned back against the wall across the room. He scratched at the
stubble on his chin. Maybe it was to distract from his unease. His eyes were
distant, and his lips were pushed together into an uncomfortable line.
"…If you don't shave soon, you'll be growing a beard," Kyle noted in spite of
the gloom, though a hopeful smile tugged at his sad expression.
Tweek ran his palm over his cheek.
"Yeah, I got there once before. I look weird with facial hair."
"No, I like it," Kyle admits, perhaps a bit too eagerly. "Makes you look…"
Kyle took in Tweek's appearance. Beneath the dirt on his face Tweek hid high
cheeks and a sharp jawline. His eyes were intense and dark despite their bright
blue color, and all his time with his shovel left him solid and strong. Kyle
made a few hand gestures Tweek didn't know what to make of.
"Well…" Kyle pushed his lips together as his cheeks tinted a slight pinkish,
"Nice."
Tweek chuckled. His eyes fell to the floor, an almost bashful smile on his
face.
"Thank you."
He really was quite charming when he wasn't busy being an asshole, but Kyle
already knew that.
Perhaps right then wasn't the best time for idle conversation. They had
information on the wall and a dire situation to deal with, but Kyle was
suddenly filled with so many questions. In all the time they've spent together,
they've never really just… talked.
Kyle turned his head back to the wall of missing faces. Craig's picture stared
down at him with happy eyes. Kyle wondered how long it had been since Tweek
truly talked to anyone at all.
"Can I ask you something?" he pondered.
There was a silence for a short moment before Tweek answered with, "what is
it?"
"When's the last time you remember laughing? I mean… reallylaughing."
There was another silence, though it was much longer than the last.
"Maybe… the last night I spent with Craig. I don't even remember why now, but
we were pelting each other with pillows, and he fell off the bed."
Tweek's small grin widened.
"It wasn't even that funny… I guess it was just easier back then," Tweek's gaze
shifted back to Kyle, "How about you?"
Kyle twiddled his thumbs a moment in thought. It was an easier question to ask
than it was to answer.
"Probably a year or so ago… when Stan was still-" his breath caught in his
throat. He wound his hands tightly together to suppress the urge to wipe at his
eyes. It had been a year, but he still spilled over every time. He had to
change the subject to calm the storm in his chest.
"Maybe- Maybe we should try to laugh again," he suggested. "You know, before we
dive too far back into this sad pit."
Laugh again? Tweek wasn't even sure if he could. He could manage a lackluster
chuckle from time to time, usually caused by Craig's antics, but that was about
it.
How did someone even make another person laugh?
Craig had the answer.
He was stuck to the wall behind Tweek. All his arms unfurled as he floated
there. He yanked on his friend's collar, but when the boy turned around Craig
had shifted like a shadow beneath the nearby table.
"What the hell?" Tweek nearly squealed as Kyle pelted him in the arm with a
pillow. "Dude, where'd you even get that?"
Kyle laughed, the pillow gripped in his fists like a vise. "Craig gave it to
me."
He wanted to ask how the hell they managed that one so quickly, but Kyle hit
him again. Tweek made a grab for Kyle's weapon, but just barely missed.
"Now I'm going to take it from you."
"Nope!"
Kyle dodged when Tweek threw himself at him. Tweek ended up tumbling into the
wall, which gave Kyle plenty time to escape. His wet shoes slid across the
floor as he threw open the door to the hall.
"You can't have a pillow fight with only one pillow!" Tweek screamed, right on
his heels.
"I do what I want!" Kyle shouted in return as he ran down the stairs.
"Now you sound like Cartman!"
"Wow! Wow, rude!"
Kyle stopped in a corner of the living room. There was no escape. Tweek loomed
onto him. A sly smirk cracked onto the blond's face, and his hands were open
and ready to snatch away Kyle's only defense. Kyle managed to hit him in the
face with fluff before they both went down. Their hands grappled for the
fabric, but Tweek was winning. He had Kyle pinned against himself and the
floor. His grip was stronger, and with the laughter of a comic book villain,
Tweek raised the pillow high above his head in victory.
"Now who does as he wants?!" Tweek hollered. "Any last words, Kyle
Broflovski?!"
Kyle's eyes were trained intensely on the ceiling, and then he was the one
laughing.
"Only two!" he bellowed. "Get him!"
The coveted pillow was suddenly missing from Tweek's hands. When he looked up,
he was met with a truly terrifying sight. Craig, perched above them, pillow in
hand and a smile on his face.
"You are such a traitor!" Tweek cried as Craig lowered himself from the
ceiling. "You're on my side, remember?"
Craig pulled the pillow back behind his shoulder.
"Craig," Tweek warned with his arms ready to shield himself. "Don't you even d-
"
The pillow came crashing down onto him.
"What did I say?" Tweek managed to pluck Craig from the air, but he couldn't
subdue the arms pelting him.
Echoing sounds of their laughter sang through the barren walls of that house.
Kyle and Craig had Tweek cornered, which resulted in a forfeit. It wasn't long
before they laid on the floor, too out of breath to keep struggling. It felt so
unfathomably liberating to lay there. Their uncontrollable laughter felt like
the most rebellious thing Tweek had ever been a part of. To look in the face of
so much anguish, and then make the choice to be happy, if even for tonight… it
was the strongest he'd ever felt.
And the most guilty.
...
It was a few hours later when the house again fell silent and their pain
returned to them. They picked up where they left off, staring at that cursed
wall and muttering possibilities back and forth. They said the same things over
and over again. What was different, what was the same. The answers they needed
were just on the tips of their tongues, but they couldn't quite reach them.
"Okay," Kyle sighed as he ran a hand through his unruly hair. "Let's go over it
one more time."
Tweek nodded in an effort to fight away a yawn.
"Well," Kyle huffs. "Craig's appearance is obviously what sets him apart. He
looks nothing like the others, he wasn't killed like the others. He practically
has nothing in common except where he was killed."
"And how he was taken," Tweek said in a tired, drawl tone.
"What?"
"You said the other boys were taken when they walked alone."
"Oh yeah, that too."
Tweek's face changed from blank to horrified. His mouth fell open and his eyes
widened. Kyle was afraid it was something he was seeing, so he jerked around to
make sure there wasn't some twisted figure hiding in his shadow. There was, of
course, though that hadn't mattered.
Kyle couldn't see him, and Tweek had grown used to his face.
"What is it?" Kyle demanded as Tweek covered his mouth and leaned back against
the grimy wall.
Tweek shook his head and ground his teeth together. "I… I don't want to do this
anymore."
"What?" Kyle growled. "Why are you so spooked?"
"It doesn't matter," Tweek mumbled before turning and leaving the room. The
door slammed behind him, but Kyle followed ruthlessly.
"Oh, no, you can't get rid of me that easy!" he shouted as he followed Tweek
down the creaking stairs and into the kitchen. Tweek snatched his shovel off
the tabletop and kept walking right out the back door. Of course Kyle was on
his heels. Tweek didn't seem to notice the rain as he stormed into the woods.
Kyle stood and watched with furrowed brows as Tweek drove the end of his shovel
into the dirt.
"Tweek, we talked about this," Kyle hollered, though he was more confused than
anything.
Tweek just kept digging. His shovel slammed violently into the mudding dirt,
and he let out angered groans as he tossed shovelfuls over his shoulder.
When it swung back again, Kyle fisted it in his hand. Tweek jerked it forward,
but Kyle's grip was strong.
"Let go, Kyle!"
"No! Dude, what the fuck? What's the matter with you?"
They struggled over it, pulling and yelling.
"Just talk to me!" Kyle begged with a pathetic crack in his voice.
"Leave. Me. Alone!" Tweek jerked the shovel so hard it ripped from Kyle's
hands, leaving splinters and stinging behind.
Tweek stepped back. His heavy boots sank in mud as Kyle looked down at his
reddening palms. Tweek's lips parted as if they'd wanted to smirk in victory,
but his shovel felt too heavy to lift now.
Kyle stayed silent as he tried to rub the stinging out of his fingers. Water
dripped down his cheeks. Maybe he could have blamed it on the rain, but Tweek
saw the puffy redness in his eyes.
"Kyle, I…" Tweek tried to begin. Water splashed onto his pants when his shovel
dropped to the ground.
"Tweek…" Kyle said again. He approached more cautiously this time.
"Just tell me what's wrong."
"…It's me."
There was silence.
"What?"
"Use that big brain of yours Kyle!" Tweek shouted. He was finally facing the
other, because he was talking more with his hands than his words. "He picked up
little boys with blond hair and blue eyes who were on the fucking streets
alone.
"W-who do you know who looks like that? Who's house was he leaving?"
He gestured to himself, hands collapsing into his chest.
"It was… me. It was supposed to be me."
The only sound between them was the patter of rain in the leaves. Kyle's brows
scrunched together. He shook his head as if to say that couldn't be true.
"It makes sense, right?" Tweek asked. He was smiling, but his lips trembled.
"Doesn't it?"
It did. Everything seemed to just fall into place. Craig had died in Tweek's
place- he had to've! And now here was Kyle.
Tweek remembered David and the rabbit. What they had said.
This path would lead to Tweek 's death.
Kyle took another step closer. The rain beat down harder than before, and it
felt freezing cold against his skin. He wrapped those aching hands around the
loose front of Tweek's jacket.
"Tweek?"
If Kyle stayed …
"What?"
He could die, too.
"We don't know for sure. There's still so much we're missing. If I could just
get another vision than maybe-"
"No! No more visions. Just go home, Kyle."
"What?"
Tweek turned out of Kyle's grasp. He left his shovel in the mud as he walked
back towards the house. Running away was all Tweek knew how to do. Even his
digging felt like another way to hide. Kyle, however, was still just as much as
a spitfire as the day they met.
"Let me help you!"
"I can't anymore! I'm… sorry," Tweek muttered clumsily. His face flushed a
little at the confession.
"For what?" Kyle cried out. He was soaked by then.
"Everything," Tweek replied. "For being a raging asshole and for getting you
caught up in all this!"
Ky couldn't find the words he needed to reply. Water was in his eyes and his
heart was too far up his throat.
"I'm going to be more honest with you than I've ever been with anyone," he
continued, "I… I don't know how much longer I have left."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It doesn't matter- I just need you to listen to me."
"Okay…"
There's a silence unlike any they'd ever shared before.
"This whole town felt like traitors," he continued before gnawing on his bottom
lip. "My parents didn't believe me, our friends all abandoned us, and no one
wanted us. I spent every night for the last five years out here alone, and not
one person ever came looking for me. No one.
"Except for you."
Kyle swallowed at the intensity both in Tweek's words and on his face.
"I can't let you get hurt anymore."
***** And He Was Gone *****
He had Gym every morning, first thing. Tweek wasn't as enthusiastic about the
class as many of his classmates were. Though he loved physical activity, he
hated people. The last thing he wanted to do was strip down in front of a room
full of them, so he would hide fully clothed in the showers until the tardy
bell rang. Then, when he was sure the locker room would be devoid of all those
nasty, sweaty bodies, he would make his way inside to change himself. He did
this after Gym, too.
This plan worked well for him all year. Sure, he had detention every lunch
period for all of his tardy slips, but he didn't mind. It meant sitting by
himself in the computer lab, which was an added bonus.
That day didn't go according to plan.
It was a Monday, which meant he was already physically sore and mentally
wrecked from all the digging he'd been doing the weekend prior. Mondays were
not good days.
He was hiding in the furthest corner of the locker room after class when he
heard shuffling and voices echo off of the lockers. He figured they didn't
notice he was there, so he hurriedly ripped off his shorts and yanked his jeans
out of the locker hanging open before him. He stuffed his legs in each hole as
he pondered a way to slip out unnoticed.
"Don't touch me, you fucking jock conformists!" He heard someone hiss. The
voice was high pitched and small, but vicious. He curled up his nose.
"Don't fucking talk shit, then!" shouted another voice, which was much deeper.
Tweek didn't recognize either of them, and considered using this distraction to
slip away. As the commotion escalated, he found himself more intrigued. Tweek
peered around the cover of the locker row to get a view.
There was a boy on the other side. His hair was jet black; short in the back,
long in the front. Everything about him was dark. From the black on his shoes
to the eyeliner on his lids.
A goth kid, and a little one at that.
What disturbed Tweek more was the three much larger kids that had the black
speck of a boy cornered. He spoke with venom and anger, but the wild look in
his eyes was like a rabbit being hunted.
"Maybe we should teach this fag a lesson."
One of the bigger guys took a hold of the kid's shoulder and slammed him hard
back into the locker. The goth choked out a breathless gasp at the blow, but
stood defiantly.
Craig was not so composed. He was spitting and screaming, terrified, but angry.
Tweek couldn't stand the fear on Craig's face. This was an unwelcome annoyance,
but if something was scaring his tiny shadow he was sure as hell going to stop
it.
This little goth was no older than ten. Probably only four years younger than
Tweek was at the time. What was he even doing in the high school locker room,
anyway?
"Hey," Tweek growled, stepping out from his hiding place to interrupt whatever
the hell was going on.
The three boys turned around. Two of them were much bigger than he was.
Upperclassmen, he assumed, but one was much shorter. Chubbier. He was wearing a
red jersey and a dumbass expression.
Clyde.
Tweek immediately felt a rolling in his gut that made him want to throw up, but
all he could manage was an oddly twisted grin.
What an interesting turn of events.
"What the hell do you want?" Asked the biggest one. Tweek didn't know his name,
and he didn't care to. Dumbass Number Onewould have to suffice, and his equally
as large buddy was Dumbass Number Two.
"For you to shut the hell up. All your bitching over here is pissing me off,"
Tweek spat. He tugged hard on the collar of his too-big button up shirt and
twitched into a small convulsion. The more angry or frustrated he became, the
harder it was to control his body.
The goth boy was still pressed up against the lockers, but an odd look of
relief washed over his face. This, for some reason, pumped Tweek up even more.
"Dude, who do you think you are?" The biggest kid demanded, stepping forward.
"Wow, hold on," Clyde cried out. "That's Tweek man, he's-"
The look on his face was one of pure terror, and Tweek's grin spread like
butter.
"Oh," Said Dumbass Number Two. He stood beside the biggest boy, and Tweek
couldn't help but notice they bore a striking resemblance in body type. "That
freak who talks to himself."
"No, dead people. He says he talks to dead people," corrected Dumbass Number
One. The boy let out an irritatingly loud bout of laughter. "What are you going
to do? Sick your little ghosts on me?"
Tweek assumed that was supposed to be a taunt, though it was a terribly
childish one. For some reason, he couldn't shake the shit-eating grin he was
wearing. That seemed to frustrate the boys more than anything.
"Craig isn't why you should be afraid of me," Tweek glowered. He slipped his
bag off his shoulders and threw it to the ground beside him. Then, his fists
raised. Why he was so eager to fight, he wasn't really sure. The idea of
slamming his fists into something sounded like a good way to release all his
pent up energy. There was also the idea of saving this boy. The goth boy who
was still staring at him with wide, surprised eyes. For some reason, that
ignited a flame in him. One that raged and burned with more hatred than he'd
allowed himself to feel in a long time.
"Ohhh, he wants to fight," said Number Two. "Go on Fosse, kick his ass!"
The bigger of the two lugged forward, raising his fists as well. Tweek shot a
look at the boy cowering behind them. One that was ordering him to slip away
while they were distracted. The boy did so, albeit with hesitation.
Number One, who Tweek assumed was Fosse, charged at him with fists swinging.
This guy may have been big, but he didn't strike with tact. Tweek ducked
beneath him, and sent his clutched fist rocketing into Fosse's jaw.
The boy seemed shocked, and stumbled back while holding his face. Clyde almost
looked like he was about to laugh, but Tweek shot him a glare so cold he was
silenced completely.
"Why you little," Fosse spat with his lips curled in a snarl. It seemed Tweek
bruised his ego better than he did his face, because he came charging back for
more.
Tweek was slender, but all his work in the woods gave him a solid chest and a
hard punch. He jumped away from the ogre's fist and planted his own into the
side of his head.
Fosse screamed in fury, and his accomplice decided to play dirty. The sharp end
of an elbow crashed into Tweek's ribs, catching him of guard. A gasp slipped
out of him, and he stumbled back. This was a mistake, as he found himself
pinned against the locker behind him. Dumbass Number Two had him by the arms.
"Clyde!" Tweek's captor barked. "Hold 'em!"
Hesitantly, he did as he was ordered.
"Good job, Bill," Fosse said. Tweek struggled with teeth bared and fists
clutched to escape, but Dumbass Number Two (aka Bill, Tweek assumed), was too
strong and Clyde was twisting his arm in a way that made it pop when he pulled
on it. He could see Craig crawling down a locker behind Fosse, teeth bared and
arms stretched everywhere. The little creature seemed terrified. So much so
that he was frozen against the lockers. His tiny fingers convulsed in tremors
and his limbs locked up in fear. He was too terrified of the other boys. Their
sheer size alone made them comparable to grown men, and in the face of such a
threat Craig was frozen.
This was a heartbreaking relief for Tweek.
Fosse came towards Tweek wearing a smile. One that said he was going to make
Tweek pay for making a total idiot of himself in front of his friends, though
he didn't need Tweek's help to do that.
He cracked his knuckles as he came closer. Tweek felt like a fly tangled in a
spiderweb. The harder he struggled to escape, the tighter their grips were.
"Craig," Tweek's crazed grin returned to him. "It's going to be okay."
When Fosse got close enough to draw back his arm, Tweek kicked both his legs up
off the floor and slammed them into his opponent's stomach. Fosse went tumbling
back, and Tweek burst out into hysterical laugher.
Laughter that was quickly cut off by sharp knuckles crashing into his face.
Fosse hadn't recovered, but Bill hit him hard enough to leave him dazed.
There was another blow. One to his chest that left him screaming curses, and
another to his jaw that left his tongue bleeding. He looked to his left through
a swelling eye to see Clyde still holding him down. There was a look on his
face though. His mouth was twisted into a horrified line and his eyes were wet.
"Don't look so fucking concerned," Tweek choked after another blow to his
stomach. "You're getting off on this."
Clyde didn't have the opportunity to respond, because someone else had joined
them. A lot of someones.
Fosse whipped around when a long nail tapped him on the shoulder. The sound of
a spray bottle filled Tweek's ears, followed by Fosse's agonized screaming. He
dodged away, holding his face and eyes. He wiped at them frantically, and the
girl who had been standing behind him was smiling- a red can in her black clad
grip.
She was heavy set, her plump lips painted with darkness and a wild look in her
eyes that didn't set right on her composed face.
Bill looked like he was about to throw a fist at her, but someone quickly
stepped to her defense. Someone who held a shiny switchblade they'd pulled from
their pocket.
"Touch her and I spill your maggot infested guts, got it?" said the boy
wielding the short blade. His hair was black, too, but curly.
The boys surrounding Tweek quickly realized they were now outnumbered. Four
darkly dressed kids had slipped in behind them, and with Tweek quickly
regaining himself, they would be up against five.
Bill and Clyde released their grip on Tweek, ran to Fosse, and made a break for
it as Fosse spat curses and taunts no one cared enough to listen to.
Tweek tried to take a step forward, but ended up falling back against the
lockers and sliding to the floor. He held his ribs and heaved. He could taste
the crimson in his mouth and feel the swelling of his tongue. God, he really
bit it good.
The light dimmed behind his puffy eyes. He opened them to find someone standing
over him. The boy. The little goth boy. His hand was extended to Tweek, a
silent offer of help. Tweek reached out his own, and the boy helped him stammer
to his aching feet.
Craig was clinging to his back now. The tiny thing was shaking so hard it was
rattling Tweek's bones.
He finally gazed around to realize he was surrounded by people. Four people.
The tiny goth still holding his hand, a slightly taller goth with red dyed into
his hair, an even taller goth that was still clutching to his switchblade, and
the girl.
"You… brought help?" Tweek uttered around his swollen tongue.
The tiniest goth nodded, but the girl is the one who spoke up.
"You're some tough shit, aren't you?" she remarked. The black paint on her lips
stuck a little when she spoke. It was probably because of how hard her grin was
pressing them together. "We watched you beat the hell out of that guy."
"I think I'm the one who got beat the hell out of."
The girl's brown eyes slid up and down him before letting out a little laugh.
"Sure did, didn't you?" she cooed.
She was odd. Tweek decided he liked her.
"You won't have to worry about that anymore, though," she promised as she
crossed her fishnet covered arms. "You're one of us, now."
===============================================================================
"Kyle, I'm not so sure about this," Tweek admits with his eyes downcast. Their
backs were pressed up against the siding of a house, their bodies cloaked in
black like robbers. It wouldn't be the first time Tweek snuck into that house,
but never before did he have such intentions.
"I still think it's a bad idea," Tweek added.
"Listen," Kyle let out a huff. Despite the strong will in his voice, he was
just as anxious. "It doesn't matter. This is the only way."
This is the only way.
You'll never find him if you don't let me do this.
Just this once more, then I'll never ask about it again.
Those were the words Kyle convinced him with. Still, though, he hated the
thought of Kyle suffering. He especially hated it if he was the cause. Now,
there they were, shaking and anxious, shrouded in darkness. Lying in wait for
one last desperate chance.
Tweek's pocket let out a buzzing sound, so he reached inside to extract his
phone. The waiting was over.
"She says they're asleep," he muttered. "It's now or never."
Kyle nodded, and followed Tweek to a tree. It was ridiculously tall, like most
every tree in town. It's long, thick branches sprouted in wild directions. One
particularly hardy one reached for a window on the second floor.
"You aren't gonna tell me that's our way in," Kyle muttered.
Tweek didn't even take the time to reply. He gripped onto lower limbs, and
hoisted himself up without a problem. Soundlessly, Tweek's shadow snaked
through leaves and twigs until he was perched on the thickest branch.
Seems Kyle couldn't Match the Shadowman on anything when it came to physical
capability.
"Jesus Christ," He grumbled as he stepped forward and tried to emulate Tweek.
He was embarrassed to make such a fool of himself. He struggled even pulling
himself onto the first branch.
"You need help?" Tweek teased from above him, a lopsided grin on his face.
Kyle grabbed for swaying branches in the darkness, silently celebrating when he
finally hoisted himself up. Admittedly, he was heaving for breath and all out
of balance by the time he clawed his way up to Tweek.
It took longer to climb the fucking tree than it would to find what they
needed.
"You got some leaves in your hair," Tweek snorted. He was already crouched and
on his way to the window. The mighty branch groaned softly under the weight of
him.
"Better than the mud you're always covered in," Kyle retorted.
"Touché."
Kyle waited until Tweek was safely inside before attempting the same. After a
few extra minutes and a couple near death experiences, Tweek had his arms
around Kyle and was pulling him safely inside.
"Dear god, was there no better way?" Kyle complained.
"Nope, Craig's parents sleep on the bottom floor. I'd rather risk falling out
of a tree than waking up Thomas."
"Is the guy that much of a prick?" Kyle pondered while pulling stray leaves out
of his wild hair.
"Yes."
"Wonderful."
Kyle peeked around the closet they'd climbed into. It was too dark to take in
much of anything, so he took a hold of Tweek's sleeve and let him lead the way.
The next room they enter is a bedroom. A child's bedroom, which is evident
considering the small girl standing at her window waiting for them.
"Hey, Rube," Tweek greets. She runs to him, and then throws her arms around his
middle in a tight hug. He pats the top of her head with a chuckle.
"It's nice to see you, too. Did you get it?"
Ruby stepped back and fished around inside her pajama shirt. From the front
pocket, she pulled out a key.
"Of course. Ruby Tucker always keeps her promises," she reminded him with a
small bow. "I'm just glad to help! What else am I gonna do?"
"Oh, um," Tweek stood for a moment, fiddling with the key was he tried to think
of a way to politely tell her it'd be best if she kept her distance. He didn't
want her to be there if Kyle were to go all white-eyed again.
"How about she be the lookout," Kyle offered.
"The look out?" Ruby asked. He folded her arms together, a bit of a skeptical
look on her face.
"Yeah! It's only like, one of the most important jobs, right Tweek?"
Tweek stared blankly for a minute, and Kyle had to keep himself from laughing
when Tweek's face visibly changed from'what are you talking about' to 'oh god
you're a genius'.
"I don't know," Tweek said, playing along. "That's kind of important-"
"I can do it!" Ruby chipped in.
Tweek rubbed the back of his neck as if he was mulling his choices over in his
head.
"Well, alright. I need you to watch from your bedroom, if anybody starts
stirring downstairs, I need you to text me and tell us to get out of there,
alright?"
"Alright!" Ruby agreed while clasping her hands together.
"Otherwise, we'll be back," Tweek said. He patted her head with a gloved hand,
and then Kyle and Tweek wandered out into the hallway.
They were headed for the very next door down the hall. The white one with a
padlock bolted into its trim. Tweek approached it slowly, gripping the key in
his hand. He thought this should be easy. Just drop in, get what they needed,
then leave. He didn't expect to feel so choked up and... afraid.
"You okay?" Kyle asked.
"Yeah," Tweek lied as he rubbed his sweating hands, key and all, against his
jeans.
"Now or never, I guess..."
He gripped the padlock and shoved the key inside. It was a perfect fit, and it
turned smoothly before popping open. Kyle and Tweek took a moment to peer at
one another.
"Listen, Tweek. If you can't go in there it's okay-"
"No," Tweek assured his friend. "I have to."
Kyle squeezed Tweek's shoulder in assurance as Tweek took a firm hold of the
handle. It squeaked when it was turned, probably a bi-product of how long it's
gone untouched. The door was equally as whiny. It was almost nerve wracking the
noise it made.
Craig's parent's slept in the room right below them. Tweek was sure the Tuckers
would come barreling up the staircase with bats in their hands any moment.
Luckily, however, there were no screams of concern after the door was left
gaping open.
There was only silence.
With one steadying breath, Tweek took a step inside. He was hit with weird
waves of feeling he hadn't expected. The baby blue walls were the same as they
were in his faded memories. Little glow in the dark stars were still pasted
onto the ceiling, though some had fallen onto the floor.
It wasn't the familiarity of the room that was tearing him up, though. It was
just how untouched everything had been. It's all just as it was the last time
Tweek had been there as a child. Craig's bed was still messy and unmade, left
as it was when Craig threw off his covers and prepared for his last day. His
little space-themed pajamas were still strewn across his floor, and a model
plane was left abandoned mid construction atop his white dresser.
He was filled with the oddest urge to touch everything he saw. To feel what
little pieces of Craig still existed in their world. The toys he played with,
the bed he slept in, the walls he surrounded himself with. Kyle followed meekly
behind his freind as Tweek wandered deeper into the room. Above the desk
harboring Craig's unfinished airplane was a cork board and on that cork board
were tacked pictures and papers. Kyle's eyes scanned over them.
They were of kids he recognized from school, though their faces were much
younger. Token Black, Clyde Donovan, Craig himself, and Tweek. This was the
wall of a little boy who loved his friends.
"He always had a camera with him," Tweek uttered as if he'd just remembered. "I
wouldn't be surprised if all his drawers are filled with pictures."
"What else did he like to do?" Kyle asked.
"Well..." Tweek moved across the room, away from Kyle and towards the bed.
Someone decided to take up residence there since Kyle last glanced at it. A
small, grimy body was pressed into the blue covers. Craig. Or at least what he
had become.
"He liked to sneak out on the roof at night and tell me about stars."
The convulsing boy making a home out of his bed sheets did not at all resemble
who he'd been in life. Kyle couldn't help but marvel at how strong of a person
Tweek really was. To be able to look at that mutilated apparition with a smile-
it took courage.
Nonetheless, Tweek cleared his throat. "We have to stay on track. We don't have
much time."
"Oh, right," Kyle uttered. His eyes scanned the room as Tweek watched.
"So how do you know what to touch?" Tweek pondered.
"I dunno," Kyle admitted. "Sometimes I get urges to touch things, other times
it happens on accident."
"So are you just going to walk around his room in a circle and run your hands
over everything?"
Kyle snorted, then whispered, "If all else fails."
About fifteen minutes later, Tweek was about sure all else was indeed failing.
Kyle would touch something, his eyes would roll back, and he'd stand motionless
for a moment, only to blink, shake his head, and then go onto some other thing.
It was the oddest process of elimination Tweek ever saw, but Kyle was focused.
He was also in awe.
Typically, things only talked to him when they had sad stories to tell. Craig's
room only wanted to talk about things that made him happy. Each voice that
graced his ears and image that settled in his eyes were full of groggy good
mornings and late night conversations between cherished friends.
This room was a kind one.
He finally made it to the foot of Craig's bed. The one his restless spirit was
still laying in. Kyle ignored him as he ran his fingertips over the wood of the
footboard, and then across the fabric of a blue jacket that had been hanging
from it.
"Tweek?" Kyle heard a voice ask. "It's too cold outside. Take this."
Kyle squeezed the fabric a little tighter, but nothing else came of it.
Honestly, though, the more and more he would touch Craig's things the more and
more he heard about Tweek. It appeared Craig loved him just as much in life as
he still did in death.
Kyle backed away when a few of Craig's curious hands reached for him. Craig was
in a playful mood, but Kyle didn't have time for it.
Kyle's fingers lead him across the room, where they longed to stroke the top of
Craig's dresser and fumble around in a basket nearby. It was blue and wicker,
deep enough to Craig to stuff at least six inches of misplaced things into. His
fingers fiddled and searched until the tips scraped against something slick and
small.
Craig was still on his bed, but he wasn't alone. Kyle could see him there,
cheeks pink and eyes bright blue. There was another person beside him. They
were holding one another as Craig sniffled into his companion's chest. A hand
found the back of Craig's hat and squeezed him close.
On the bed at their feet was a shoebox. It was taped closed with writing
scrawled across the top. Kyle couldn't get a good view of the words, but he did
hear voices. He couldn't shift towards them. He only stared blankly at that
little box as they spoke around him.
"I don't know what I did wrong," A tiny voice whimpered, choking around tears
and saliva.
"You didn't do anything wrong," the other voice assured him. "He was getting
old."
"He was only f-four," Craig managed to blurt, though crying came immediately
after. "He had another year, at least!"
The sound of a hand gently patting the crying boy's back met Kyle's nonexistent
ears.
"We can't always control these things,"The other voice whispered."Sometimes
things... well, they die. And it's nobody's fault. I mean, maybe he only had
four years, but they were a great four years, and it was because you loved him.
You gave him a good life."
There was more crying. It was heavy and wet, but Kyle still couldn't turn his
head. Just the box. The tiny coffin for a tiny creature.
"It's okay,"his friend weakly assured him through his grieving."You can cry all
you need to."
And Craig did. It felt like an endless loop of sniffles and choked whines
before anyone spoke again.
"Are you ready? We'll do it together," the voice asked.
There was a pause before Craig replied with a miserable, "Yeah... I guess so."
There was a creaking and shifting in the bed. A small pair of hands laid
themselves down on the box. Kyle could see knees, too. Clad in cushy spaceship
fabric.
"Oh... c-can I say something dumb?" Craig ponders, his hands shaking on the
cardboard lid.
"Yeah, of course."
"I... I wish I could have told him how much he meant to me, you know? I wish he
could have understood,"A hand leaves the box, Kyle guesses to wipe away the
wetness on his face. "So, I just want to tell you that someday... When we-"
Craig chokes up again. A trebling sob breaks out of him as he continues on,
"When we're old, and if- if I go like Stripe, I want you to know that what time
I had was great because- cause-"
Kyle presses his lips tightly together, his own eyes budding with wetness.
"Becauseyou were thereand-"
That was it, that's all Craig said before his friend pulled him into a tight
embrace. He could see the person's face now, and he wasn't at all surprised to
find a blue eyed boy with light colored hair. Tweek was there, as he was every
day before and every day since.
Kyle took a step back when the color of his eyes returned to him. Tweek was
right beside him, which almost caused Kyle to jump out of his skin. Those hard,
blue eyes were scanning him expectantly, but Kyle only pressed his lips
together and shook his head. Whatever he managed to touch in that little bowl
wasn't what beckoned him to it in the first place. There was something else
there, lingering in the bottom, waiting to tell him its secrets.
Craig must have known this, because he'd shifted on the bed until he was
leaning over the footboard, glowering at Kyle with those gross sockets. A mess
of puss and congealed blood dripped from the face. It oozed out of his nose and
mouth, which left a dreadful mess on the floor and on his sheets.
They were both staring at him. Waiting.
He trembled away the prickle in his spine to take another step forward. And
again, his hand dove into the collection of coins and old bracelets. Finally,
at the bottom, his hand was met with a thick plastic square. When he pulled on
it, the yellow and black item surfaced from the junk that concealed it. A
camera. An old camera.
He turned it over in his hands.
"What are you doing?" he heard a deep, angry voice bark. It startled him so
much that he jerked around with his heart racing. He was so sure Craig's father
would be seething in the doorway, but the voice was coming from Kyle's hands.
Not his ears.
"W-I was- Nothing! I just wanted to get my camera and-"
"And what's that? On the floor behind you?"
Kyle felt the oddest breathlessness he ever experienced. Like a fist held onto
each of his lungs and squeezed.
"It's- I don't know. It was in the wall and I just-"
Kyle knew this was Craig's voice. It was distorted with horror.
"Did you look inside?" the man demanded.
Kyle couldn't see the scene like he did in other visions. Just images that
flashed in his eyes. Images that went away when he blinked. A closet door he
didn't recognize. The silhouette of a large man standing before a bright light.
Kyle felt so small.
"N-no," Craig's tiny voice squeaked, but he was lying.
"Then why are you so shook up?" Suddenly, this man sounded more amused than
angry.
There was a white photo album with a brown smudge stained on one of its
corners. There were pictures inside. They were of other boys who all looked the
same, but they weren't any kind of pictures a child should have seen. Let alone
been the subjects of.
Craig was afraid of them.
Kyle was, too.
"How about this, we'll call it a secret," the man said, still lighthearted and
somewhat pleased by this turn of events, "Remember, though. There are
punishments for tattle tales in this house. There are for nosy little boys,
too."
Craig's breath was rapid and his insides were twisting into painful, nasty
knots. He slid back farther into the closet as if he could hide himself, but he
was just as helpless as all the others.
Kyle's hands were shaking so badly the camera slipped from his grasp and
thudded against the carpet beneath him. Was that it? Was that their answer?
"Kyle?" Tweek's voice pondered in worry. "What did you see?"
"It's someone we know!" Kyle choked out in a rushed breath. "It's someone Craig
knows! He found something he shouldn't have- in a closet, it was an album! but
he got caught!"
"By who, Kyle?" Tweek demanded.
"I... I didn't see his face, but I think-"
Kyle didn't have a chance to finish. Tweek's phone started ringing. Vibration
after vibration left his heart pounding and his eyes darting around the room.
"Oh, fuck," Tweek growled. "That must be Ruby. Thomas is coming- you have to
get out of here."
"Tweek, wait! I think-"
"You have to go Kyle- now!"
Tweek shoved him towards Craig's bed and demanded he hide there until it was
safe enough to climb out Craig's window.
"There's a roof beneath it. You can climb down the column just fine from
there."
"But Tweek!" Kyle spat in anger and frustration as he found himself shoved
under the bedframe.
"We'll talk about it in the woods!" Tweek hissed.
They both went silent as thy heard the creaking of door nearby. Tweek stood up
ridged and straight, his muscles tightening and his lungs seizing up.
Thankfully, the man that appeared in the doorway didn't run in swinging a bat
like Tweek feared, but the angry daggers in his eyes were somehow much worse.
"What the fuck!" Kyle heard a voice scream in rage. "What the fuck do you think
you're doing?!"
Tweek didn't reply. Kyle could see his boots from his hiding place. They stood
defiant against the barrage of curses.
"What? What's happening?" Another voice asked. It was female, but much older
than Ruby.
"It's that fucking Tweak kid, what did I tell you? What did I say?" The man
then turned his rage towards Tweek, who was inching backwards. "Do you want to
go to jail tonight? I told you not to ever come back here again!"
"Calm down, Thomas," His wife demanded. "You didn't even ask what's going on!"
"That doesn't matter, Lora! H-he! He broke into our house! I'm calling the
fucking police."
There were heavy footsteps leading out of the room, but lighter ones quickly
followed.
"No, Thomas!" Lora pleaded. They stormed into the hallway, where their
screaming sounded only like muffled noise to Kyle. He was about to scoot closer
to the commotion, but Craig curiously hung over the side of his mattress to
peer at Kyle underneath.
Tweek's boots didn't move as the warring couple fought outside. He patiently
awaited his fate, but he took another step back when the loud footsteps stomped
back into the room.
There was deep, heavy breathing of a furious man.
"I don't know why the hell you feed yourself fucked up fantasies, and I don't
know why you chose my family to terrorize," Thomas snarled, his voice guttural.
"But I swear to God if you even as much as speak to any of us again I'm hauling
your ass to jail."
"Thomas," Tweek finally spoke, his voice careful and soft. "I know you don't
believe me, but please just listen this once. I swear to you all I've ever
tried to do is help."
The quivering desperation in Tweek's voice was enough to break Kyle's heart.
This is one of only two times he'd heard Tweek speak with such sincerity. It
was his last trembling plea to be understood.
"Help? How the fuck do you think breaking into my son's room in the middle of
the damn night classifies as help?" Thomas bellowed. "All you've done since day
fucking one is upset my wife and fill my daughter's head with your crackpot
delusions!"
"But Craig is-!"
"Craig is dead!" Thomas interrupted. "My son has been gone for five years, boy.
He is not ever coming back, so stop shoving your nose where it doesn't fucking
belong."
Kyle could almost see the frustration on Tweek's face, though he doesn't bother
replying.
"Never come back here again, do you understand me? Stay out of my house, away
from my family, and don't you ever speak of my son again! I won't hesitate to
throw your ass in jail next time you show your face around here."
Kyle wanted to crawl out from under the bed and absolve Tweek of all the blame.
This was Kyle'sidea. An Idea Tweek tried to talk him out of. He knew better,
though. It would only make the situation a million times worse.
"Fine," Tweek growled. "But just so you know, you'rethe one who should still be
looking for him, not me.
You're a shitty fucking excuse for a father."
"Get out. Now."
And Tweek did. His boots shuffled across the star speckled carpet and out the
door. Craig whimpered at being left behind. His bones warped and cracked as he
crawled in Tweek's direction, leaving Kyle hiding alone under the bed.
Thomas still stood by the door. Kyle could see his wide feet sinking into a
RedRacerrug. He seemed to be contemplating, but soon followed the others.
Craig's light flicked off, and the door shut tightly closed. Metal rubbed
together until Kyle heard a loud click.
It was again locked closed, and Kyle felt safe enough to climb out from his
hiding place and make a break for the window.
He had to get to Tweek as soon as he could.
"We'll talk about it in the woods,"he'd said. But when?
Kyle climbed onto the black shingled roof, shut the window behind him with a
frustrated groan, and then attempted to follow Tweek's instruction to climb
onto the porch below.
He promptly fell off of the roof.
Thankfully, thick bushes caught his fall. It still hurt more than movies led
him to believe. He'd lost his breath on impact, and thorns ripped at him as he
struggled to roll out of the mess. Once freed from the greedy claws of the
Tuckers shrubbery, he wandered quickly off the property and into a neighbor's
yard. Darkness was the perfect cover, so he sat against the side of the house
and pulled thorny twigs out of his black sweater.
He had a suspect, now.
The trouble was, he'd just put Tweek face to face with him.
***** That Sinking Feeling *****
The room was cold. Like always. Craig shivered and tried to roll over, but he
ached so badly it left him wincing. The mattress creaked beneath him. His arms
ached and stung. His only relief was they were no longer bound above his head.
He took the opportunity to slowly stretch them out. His muscles burned and
ached with every movement. It was like a thousand hot needles pricking
underneath his skin. He hissed quietly, but that quickly came to a stop when
the bare body beside him let out a sound and shifted.
His breath caught in his throat and he held it there.
That repulsive body was still breathing heavy. There was a big, chaffed hand
invading the bruised flesh of Craig's belly. He could smell the man's musk and
taste the salt forced onto his tongue. The boy's face twisted in abhorrence of
the memory, but it hurt too bad to keep it that way.
Little boy? Little boy, can you hear me?
Craig tipped his head. It bumped against the hard wood of the headboard behind
him but he didn't even so much as flinch.
"Were saving you," a voice said.
Craig slowly shook his head. Didn't they realize they had to be quiet? One yelp
and Craig's unwelcomed visitor would hurt him all over again.
"Go away," Craig whispered under his horse breath. "Please."
"Don't you want to live?" Asked the voice.
"Yes, don't you?" whispered another.
He heard the sound of creaking somewhere above him. It almost made him cry at
first. It was the familiar sound of that damned door, but he shivered to think
he shouldn't be afraid of it. The person who usually shoved it open was
sleeping beside him.
He heaved a little, and then slowly nodded his head to the voices.
He felt hands run across his toes, which made him flinch a little. The fingers
were small and wet, but he didn't have enough mind to think too much about
that.
"Come, sn moιιoɟ."
A similar small pair of cold hands found the underside of his ribcage. The pure
chill from them edged his shaking form up. The intrusive hand slid down his
belly and onto the bed. It felt refreshing to be free of the touch.
His legs hung down over the side of the mattress. His back ached and his legs
felt like noodles. He opened his mouth to whisper, but nothing came out.
"͓̠̙̆̿̃ͮ̑ͥ͟Ş̲̘̗͐̐͑̊͋ͤ̋h͙̎͌hͮ́,̓ͩͮ̄͏̮ͅ"͙͚̘̤̻́͗̀ One voice murmured in the shell
of his ear.
"̜̖D̦o͏̙͙̘̟ ̵̫͇n͉̞͓o̤̺̠̺ṭ͉͇ ͖̠͇̥̞̪́s̮̬͚̥͓̺ͅp̲̠e͙̭̱͓͓̜̝a̸͍̜͔k҉̯̮̞̟͚.͕̻̗́"҉͈̤͕̺̳ͅ
He obliged, and let the flock of cold hands help him stand from the bed. At
first, this proved to be a difficult task. Standing on his feet again for the
first time in a long time, he stumbled and tripped. He caught his fall with his
elbows, and they cracked against the stone floor. Bloody and stinging, he let
out a sharp whimper. The man in bed behind him didn't stir, but he contemplated
crawling back up onto the mattress before his captor punished him.
"It's okay," One edged on quickly. "Stand, stand, go."
Shakily, he tried. Their voices lead him around the empty room until his
quivering fingers found wood. His palms reached out to touch the splintered
edge of a staircase. He swallowed hard, but the voices urging him on didn't
give him a moment's rest. On his hands and knees he painstakingly crawled up
one step after another.
"There you go," a voice uttered triumphantly. "That's it-ḋὄᾗ'ҭ ṩҭὄῥ!"
He kept climbing upwards until his bruised palms found the soft plush of
carpet. The air around him somehow smelled so different. It was fresh and
earthy, and he could hear the branches of trees creaking and the tweeting of
birds. He sucked in a thick breath, and then coughed.
"No, no, don't stop now," said one voice.
"Yes, you have to get up and go," said another.
The hands returned to him, grabbing a hold of his chaffed wrists and pulling
him out of the hole he'd been in. Despite all the things he could hear and
smell the night was still just as black around him as it had ever been.
The voices lead him stumbling out of a front door.
He stood on wobbling legs, then smiled to himself. The grass between his toes.
The humming songs of forest creatures. It was all so real. He heard them all
around. He decided to listen to the voices, though, and began to trudge onward
with their hands guiding his way. He only just felt trees pass by him when he
heard a booming crash resonate from behind.
"Oh no," Said a voice. "Is that-?"
"Yes," Cried another voice. "sᴉ ʇᴉ!"
"Ŗ̮͍͚̯̮ͥͣ̑ͫ͋ͩ͢ͅͅU͓͍̪̬ͫ͛̚N͍͊̽̓ͪ͌̓ͭͫ!" they all screamed together, shoving Craig
forward so hard he stumbled and fell into a tree. The sound of wood slamming
together boomed from behind him, along with a chorus of angry screaming
children.
Oh, god. He'd been found out. He knew he should have just got back into bed
when he had the chance.
"Craig!" a deep voice snarled. He heard his name echo through the trees, but
his legs shook too badly to carry him forward. Should he go back and beg for
forgiveness? The punishment might not be as painful, but the thought of being
punished again at all…
He fell to the leaf covered forest floor and crawled away as quickly as he
could. Bushes tugged at him and thorns prickled into the palms of his hands,
but he didn't stop. He choked out a whimper when the humming of the forest
animals were silenced with one loud, infuriated scream.
He was no longer free.
Gritting his teeth, he continued on under the thorns and into the woods. He
didn't have to get up and run on his useless legs if he could hide. The
darkness in itself should have been enough to protect him, but he dragged
himself under a bush for good measure.
Twigs snapped all around as a pair of boots stomped through the underbrush. At
first they were far away, but as seconds turned into gut churning minutes, they
got closer and closer.
The crunching had stopped so nearby he thought the man could be standing over
him. He held his breath to silence his panting. He would have squeezed his eyes
closed, too, if he had any to begin with.
A sharp pain flooded him. The spiked bottoms of those boots slammed down onto
his hand with a crack. The dryness in his throat couldn't hold back the booming
scream that poured out of his mouth. He pulled back and rolled over under the
brush, clutching his hand to his chest.
Those big hands came rolling in right after him. They grabbed at his shirt and
dragged him across the leaves and thorns. He kept screaming, as if someone just
might hear him.
"Help!" he screamed wildly to the night. "Help me! I've been!-"
The screaming continued even after a hand found its way overtop his mouth. It
wasn't his own, he realized. It was the chorus. It was the others. They were so
absurdly loud he thought it would burst his eardrums right out of his skull.
The man, however, was not disturbed by them. Craig wondered if he could hear
them at all. He lifted Craig up off the ground, and the grass was no longer
between his toes. When he tasted the familiar, brackish flavor of flesh against
his dry teeth, only one thought crossed his mind.
He could not go again without feeling the grass. He opened his mouth as wide as
he could, and bit down hard on the skin. His teeth pierced flesh and sank down
into meat, and another scream joined in with all the others.
He did again feel the grass, but only after his ribs cracked and splintered
against the trunk of a tree. He'd been slammed into it so hard he couldn't
breathe. He fell to the ground in shock at the feeling of his brain rattling
around inside his skull. Then, a strong grip grabbed him around his ankles. He
tried to kick, but there was no strength left in him. He could only roll onto
his side and try to shake off the painfully tight fist he was in the mercy of.
"Stop!" A voice screamed as Craig was dragged across the ground. It came from
his mouth, though not from his lungs. He'd never felt such a thing.
"No, no. N̘̤̩̒ͫ͟͟O̸͉̱̟̱ͩ̾̽ͧ̓ͬ !"
He was again in the air, and then heaved up over a broad shoulder. His breath
was gone, and the grass was gone. He still couldn't even see it. He couldn't at
all.
Craig nearly found himself back on the ground when his attacker bent over. The
sound of the door banged, and Craig shivered. He could feel the musty air wash
over him before he was even forced back down into that room. Wood creaked
beneath boots, and children screamed like monsters in the black behind them.
Their cold hands gripped at Craig. They grabbed at his clothes and his
shoulders, His arms and his feet. They latched onto him as if they could rip
him away from that room. Away from that man. Away from the inevitable fate none
of them could escape.
He heaved out a breath when he was thrown onto the stone floor. He cried out,
tears pricking his eyes, as his aching ribs hit the creaking mattress.
This time he didn't have the energy to fight anymore. He just laid there with
his breath low and shallow. Dark. All he could see was dark.
"Please," he heard himself plead around the blood in his mouth. "Don't hurt me
again."
The man was quiet. Usually, that gruff, nasty voice wouldn't shut up. All Craig
wanted since his stay there was for the man to take what he wanted then leave
him alone. Now, though, the silence was scaring him.
"I'm sorry," Craig pleaded. His face wet red and twisted. His little ribcage
shuttered and quaked with tears that couldn't spill from is eyes. "I won't run
away again just please don't-"
He was cut out off when hands again found him. This time they weren't small and
cold. There weren't a dozen of them trying to save him from a monster. They
were the paws of the monster itself. They were around his throat. The strong,
hard grip squeezed tighter and tighter until Craig's neck was cracking in the
fist and he couldn't suck in air.
"You're becoming more trouble than you're worth…" the man growled.
Craig tried to beg, but his mouth only gaped open soundlessly.
"Aw. You poor, pretty thing," he chuckled. He chuckled. As if he liked seeing
Craig this way. A chapped pair of lips pressed against the boy's tight bottom
one, and terror gripped him again. The boy gritted his teeth and clawed at the
hand strangling him. He struggled just enough to take in one, dry gasp that
burned his throat like cinders.
"How could you do this to me?" he growled.
The breathless question fell out of his mouth, and the man stilled. The painful
grip loosened until Craig could again breathe.
"You aren't like they were, you know," said the man. "I can't hurt you. Not
really."
That was an odd thing to say, considering this man had done nothing but hurt
him since the day he found that album. He didn't bother to even try to breathe
anymore.
Maybe if he held his breath long enough he'd fall asleep and he wouldn't ever
have to wake back up.
Maybe he'd dream about Tweek. He'd dream about being there laying with Tweek
and nothing else would ever have to be real.
Tweek…
The man grabbed him by the ribs and yanked him up. Craig was filed with a last
wind. He sucked in a thick and heavy breath before letting out a high pitched
cry. He kicked his legs against a broad chest. He dug his nails into flesh and
snapped his jaws at the arms heaving him back up.
F͔͘r̳͖͍̥͝ͅo̕m ̡̰̠̙̭͎t͉h̴̗e̗͝ ͍͉̝̯̱d̰a̹̼̪͕̖͎ṟ̲͇͎͖̯ͅk̳̜̼̪̞e͍͈͙̜̯̪͎s̷͖̲̠͚͇̖t
̤͇̘̤c͙̘̪̱̼̯o͉̭̥̩r̷̗̙̪̭͕̪ṇe̲r̛ ̠͇͖̻̜̬o̞̘͔͇͉̕f͔̠͖̥̤̯ ̻͕̗̱͍͙͜t̰͔̭͈̪h̷͚̠̤̫ͅe̜̣̱͓̪̜
͙̲̞̩̠͟c̞̬̠͙͇̗͟h̗͎̠̦a͍̣͎̝̣m̻͎̞̲͍̕b̥̝͕e̸̺̞̱r̷̤,̶͍̣͉ ̮͢a̸͙̗̱
̻̝͕̟͎̹̦d̠̘̤̤̣o͙͉͍͓̠g̨̥̫̮͉̤
͎̳͉̗͕̠w̪̫̫͓̝a͔̥t̰͕c҉̜͇̮͇͈̲͔h͔̮̜̳̣͚̣͟e̡̹d̝̦͇͓̜̦ͅ.͖̻̤̝̫̥ ̘̯͜A̱͍ͅ
ta̟̱̤̣̗̺̥͞l̩̰̭ͅͅḷ͝ ̙d̢ọ̘̬̺g̤͙̞̮̥̖ in̸̝͇̘̘̮̣̜ ̭̬̳̱͖̟͉̕a͚̪̳̣͉̦ͅ
̢̝͓̠ͅb̢͎l̠͉͔̮͈a͈̖͞c̯̜̙̣k̩̖̰͈͔ su̖͕͖͓̲͢i͓͔̝͚͔͍t̥ ̗͕͓̣̰ w̢ḫ̥̱o̢
̸̠̪̯͓̞w̠̖̳̤̝̘o̸̞ṟ̖e̦ ̷͔̱͍̞̗͔͓a ̳ s̭ͅo̭̜͚̟͝l͕̝e̤̠̘̻̲̘̜m̴̯n̸̘͉̲̗̟̖̟,̲͉ ̗
s͖̲͙͙̜a̜͚̪͚̞̺d̯͕̩ ̧̲̘̠̹e͙̯͡x͔̙̮p͉̩͕res̱̮̼͔̥̺ͅs̟̗̀i͚̳̦͉̲̹̱o̢͔̖n̨̫̼̣̙̪̤.̺̻̫̱̩̳ ̛͇
De̛͚̪̺͈͚̱̤s̨̗p͇̞̝̫͇̗i̴̱̟͍̯̖̲t͢e͔͙̖͔ ͅa̪̻͙͍̱͘l̴͓̰̪̹͈͈l͏͇͍̠͈͍̯ ̖t̰̕h͈̳̼͘e͔̹̱̺̳͙
͚̣̖̤ͅd̫͓̺̣o̟̜g̰͔̳̲̖̗̯'͚̝͔̙̹s͏̠̲̙̝̤͍̠ ̮̥̫p̙̰̪̺o͍̩̜͍w̸̜̥e̢͔͙r̻̹̼̭̠̪̰͜,͕͡
͙̜̬̜͚̮́t̴̤̖h̦̦̟̜̺é̘r̻̩͕̙̥e̤ ̸̙̖w̛̹͖͉̟̙̼e̯͈̟͕̮̠ŗ̪̯̮e҉̭̟̪̥͎
̡̝̦̠̖̞̦s̷͖̮̗̣o̫͎m̷ͅe̟̖ ̣̝̮̖̤t͉͇̰͙͙͓͖͡h͖̹̹̦̩̳̻i̛̳̖̮̞̯͈̮n̢̮͇̥̦̞gṣ̩̩͖
͎̩̠i̦͎̗̯͙͕̭t̜̳̖ ͖̼s̵̫̭̻̝̦̰t̜̣̰̥͍̘͞i̸͕̗̼̖ll̹̰̣ͅ
̨̠̮̯̥̟̥͉c̸̝̦͚͇͉͚̩o̩̫͕͚̳͠u͞l͇͖̭͙̱̟̠d̙̘̭̪̗͡ ̣̤̣̠n̶̰̮o̞̗̯͡t̤̥̩̠͟
̺͚̩̫̙͉͘do̗̘͚̰͘.͏̹̻̳̰̜
"Let me go!" Craig screamed. It tore out of his throat like hot coals on a
sinners feet. It bounced back at him from stone walls and screeched inside his
own head as he
It was obvious now.
"̴ͮ̊̄ͦN̢ͧ͌̀ͥͬ͆ͤoͬ̐́!ͩ͑͗"̄̋̾̌͜ ̋ͤ̿Hͫeͮ ̵̊͐͗̍̋ͪs͗h́o̽̌ͭ̉ͩͪut͛̉ë̛ͪ̉̄dͯͦ
̧̾ͧͨͯ̽aͭͩsͦ͒ͪ h̄̈ỉ̴̏͐ͭ͆͐̉s ̷̓̆̃̈́͋̄b̈́̌̌̉̇̚o̅̌̏̊̆ͭ̽d̵̑ͦ͆͐y̡͛̑ͬ́͆ͯ̎
ͨͤ̅̓ͣ͗f͌͗ͭė̈́͛l̏̀̀l̉́̓͜.̍͐̀ ̉̀̇̚͞T̶h͗ͪͣ̀ͣ͏ȅ̆͘ ͊͊̉a͗̅̾̐r̍̓c̨̔͊̎h̨̄ͦ̉̊̀
̶ͩ͑ͬo̽̂́̉f̴ͫ͐ ̡ͩ̒ͦ̈́ͦh͞ȉ̉͑̇͐̐̚s̎̀ͤ̂̓ ͌͌ͦ̚b͛͒́̚ą̅̋̓͂̊̚c̢͌ͦ̑̾k̾͑ͭͣ̑̐ͩ
̛͊̇͌s̶ͪ̃̄͆l͐ͥ͞aͫ͑ͬͧ̓͒̓m̢̍͂̌̈̎m̨̈́̚e̸͌ď ̊͑̽ͦ͑ͪ͠iͮͦ͆ͦ͑͜n̐̃ͭ̀ͣ͌t͝õ͌̾̒̚̚͜
͗͗th̾͗͒ͪ͗͠e͆ ̧̐ͧěd̡ͦ̆̊̋̋g̵ͪ̎̇ͬͨeͧͭ͛ͤ̓ ̿͑o͛̈̃̄̊͗f̿ͩ̒ͣ̈ͫ
̡́̾ͮ̋ͣ͐ͣs̒ͪ̿ͧô̵m͞eͨ̄̆̍ͤͧ͞tͤͣͨͩ̔͌͂͏hͩͧ̇̈̃ͩ̍ǐ̏̅̔n̊̏g̏̌̾̇ͦ̄̉
ͨ̏̍͗͢h̒͂̔ͨ͛ͤͮą̓rͬ̅ͣdͯͬ,̅ ̄̍̒̂͟ả̾nͮͤ̀dͩ̊ͦ̓̏͛ ̾̔̽͑̆̇ͬ͢t͠h̑͋ͮ̊̊ͧ͞e͆́̅n͊̐
̀̒̈̅hͯ̉͒͑̇ę̓ͣ̎ͯ̏̚ ̡̃ř̵̽̏oͮͦ̄͆ͪ͝1̡̍ͨ̿͊ͧ2̿ͪ͝1̍̅ͦ͗͂̀2ͤ̏ẻ̍́̂ͭ́̔d̏͗̉ ͐́dͫͤͭ̐o͆́w͒͊̋n
͌̉͂ͥ̀̒̍́iͭͪ͒̆́n̈́ͥ͒ͦͪ̚t̂̒͌͋ͫoͬ̑ ̇͑̔ͭͣ̒t̎̊̓he͒̍̅̉ͣ̚̚
̀͌̒͊̃͊͞s͋̃͊̋m̡̃ä̉̓̑̕l̔͜l̨͌͗͒͐̓ ̽͌şṗ̒̉̄́̆̍́a͋̎cͣ͒ͮ̈́eͪ̎ͪ̉̃ͭ̌.̵̑͗͗̒̿̏ Iͯͦ͐̉t͞
̴̂̈́̿ͮͧfͪeͬl̄̋ͬ̌̚͘tͥ͘ ̵̑l͂͗̋i̧kͬ͗̈ͥ̊e̿̐̅̄̍̋̌ ͗̍̏ͤ͝h̸̔̌̎ͧ̅ͥe͂͗ͤͩ.̷
̎̿H̄ͣͤ̉̂̋̂iͦ̈́̚s̊̈͆ͩͤͤ̚͢ ̴̌̌͒ͬ͌̆̀h̄̋a͘n̛ͭͭ̏d͛ͥͧ̎͑s͛͜
̔̃̒ͯ̓̀f̂͗͆̿̃ͬ̂̀e̒͋l̄tͥ͑̌̅̿͌̿ ͪ͂ͮn̈̔̿̐aͭ͆͛͆͏k̽d̅͒ͦ̆̋ ̂̑̎ͦͣ̍ͭŗ̌ͭi̾ͣb́̄̃c͏ks̷͛͆̂̅ͤ
͐̋ͨͩ̆̇t̒ͮ̎ͯ̈́͆ͭbͨ̓̉̅͑͏c ̈̂̄ͭ̔͋̾w̄ͯ͜eͤͧ̋t́̄̔ͮ͂̊̚͟.̽̐̅͗͊͏
͒Cͫͯ̽͂ͥo͌ͦ̈́ͭ̽̎̅͏l̒̃͋̿́ͩd̍ͩ̇̕.̶ H̵̿̈ͭͩ͒̐̄e̵s͒ͯ̎́ͪ͒͜
ͪ̓e̵ͭ̑͗l̶ͫ̍ͩ̈́͗͊f̄̎ͦ̽̉ͯ̄t͗͋̈̊͌̐̏͡ ̓ͥ̀͂hͤ̀̈͛̅̎ė͗̀̄ͥ̎t̑̈̿ ̛͐ͮ̌ͩc̍̃̽͐â̈́͝2ͦͥ͆͗ͣ̒ḱ.
ͨ̉͌͢H̃̏͛̄ͧ͒ě ͧͦ̂͂̊͠m̵̄ove̒͏d̶̏ͧͧ ̒̓͂ͯ̈̓̆t̨̾ͫ͐ͭ͌̉̓ö́̅ͦ̈
͐̒̑ͦ̓̔͐g͗͐͗ͮe̍͐̄̉͗̐̏t͗͑̀̊ͥ ͦ̿ȗͤ̔̌̌p̷ͫ̌̾̀̊̓̒,͟ ͨb̏̉u͌ͯt͂ͦ
̡ͤ̈̇sͣ͊͆ͫ͋͜o̢͌̀̂̏m̓̔̆́ěͦ͐͆̉̌t͛̀hi̍͌̀n̍ḡͧ͒͋̍̇͜
̽͑ͯ͂s̊l̃͡a̸ͫ̌̎̐̚m̵̉̽ͯͪ̍ͦͣm̀̈́̊͛ͩͮ̃҉e̋̿dͧ̉ ͯͯ͑́m̌̎̽̂ͧͦ̚iͪ̉h͌ͣ̄ͣ͐
̓ͫ̆͆̌͗c͆̃͆a͋̀̆̐̿̔1̷1̐ͦ̃ͪ̀bͫͬ̏͛͌͑͢ ̔̐͒ͤ̿ō͌̇͛́ͬ̿͝wͦ͟dͤͧ̓n̄.͊̌ͯ̀ͪ̎ͤ͞
̌˙̈ͬs̛ͬ͒ͮ̚ɔ̂ͯ̉ͩ̄ͯ́ǝ͆̋ͩ͗ͤ̒̏ı̡ɹ̌̍ͩ ́̍͑ןͮ͒̅̅ͮ͜u͗ͣı̃̇ן̑ɐ̶͊̇̎̂pͧ̏͒̌ͭū̶ɟ̡̅̊
̈́ͮ̉̽̐͌̊ıͫͥ̎͌͜u͛́ͨ̑ͬ̋̕ ̄͐̆̿͂ͬ͆ʞͬͧ͗ͪɐ͊̓̂͑ͦ̑̚͞qɔ̶̈́ͬ̓̈́
͌p̋̋͊͆̂̀p̑͞ǝ͒ͩp̶̓͂ͮͩɐͯ͊̑̑͐̈́́͡s̵ͮ̒̊̓u ̑̌ɐ̊ͧ̾̑͑ɥ̧͒ͪͧ͆ͯ̑ǝ͊ͩ̎͊͡p̓̋͂ͮ̀
̄ͧ̍͆̀˙̎̀s̆͡ı̶ ͐̌ͧı̾ͬ̿̇̉̏ɥͣsͭ͗̿̄̍̐ o̊ͫ̏ũ̐̎ uͥ͝p͂ʍ̢̍̍o
̍́p̆͟ǝ҉0͛͗q̶͑̇ɹͣ̃͆͛ɐ̸̐̉ͦͪǝ̄ͩ͜ ͢ủͥ̑oͥ̋ͭͦ̔ͣsͫ̆̒̉ͨ̇ɹ͗ͪ͌̽ͨ̃̓͜ǝ͒̐p
̇̊̄ɹ̄̚͜ǝ͒ͧͧɥ͌̋ʇ̑̎ͫ̉͋͒̏ǒ̶̈́̓̍ͨ̇ͨ ǝ̴̍ͨ̄ɥ͐̓̒͑ͤʇ ͬͣͬ͆͋̎̾ɟ͐̋ȍ̅́̂͒
ͫ͆̂̈́̚ɥ͐ͪʇ̿̌̐̏́̇͘ƃͯ̄̄́u̇͊̽͗ǝ̄̊ɹʇ̅ͣͯ͢šͭ ̵̏͐̃̋ǝ̶̓͗͒ɥ͟ʇ̔ͥ̌̍ s̡̑̔͑͋ɐ̏̉̿̏͊
̶pǝ̶̿ן̆̓ͪ̋ͦ̍̌ʞͩ͜ɔͧ̋ͩ̓̅̅́ůq̧ ̨ͣ͑̈́ͨͬǝ̡̾ͮ̿̀͂̌͆ɥ̴ͪ̾ͪ̍̊̂͋
̓ͪ͆̆˙ͮƃ̡̓ͣuͤ̈̽͌̓ı̷ɯ̛̓̄̈̿͒̿̈́ɯ͂̅ͭ̽̇̆̕ɐ̢͑̋̆̓̍͒ן͠s͂̊̍͐ ̨ͩͦǝ̓ͫͮͨͬ̂̔ɥ͂ͤͣ̆̚ʇ̍̓͌͑̍
̛̉̓̚p̄̆̑̒ͪǝ̊ʍ͌̈̇̂uͫ͌̊ı̎͋͂͛̎ɥ̐̎̓̈́͗̂ͥ͟ ̔p͌uͭɐ̈͑͗͆͆̚ ͋̑ͯͭͫ̓ͯpǝ͆ͤͫ̆ͤ̚ɔ̛͂ɹ͆ͤ̑̒͡ı̧
̵̃̒ͤɥͫͬ͂́ͣͫǝ̾̍͒̉͏ ̐̿̅ͧͪ˙̵̅͑pͨͣ͆̾ͯן̸ͩͫ̒̌̚ö́̇͛ɔ͐ ̔̒ͩ͛ͮ̐̒˙ͣ͌̃͌̋ų̋ͯ̀ͬı̇́̾ɐ̶ƃ̧ͤ̃ͦͣɐ̶
̨̑̾ͫ̆ͥ͒ʇ̌̅ͩ̐ͩ̐̕ɐͯ̔̈̊̚͡oͬ̔̆ͯ͒ɹ̋ͣͣͥ̌ɥʇ̎͐͑̉ ͭ̂͆ͦ̿̆̾͢s̵̉̾͛͋̃ı̔̑̌ɥ͌ͬ̔ͬͬͪ̊
̍͆͐̄̐̕ɟ̡ͪ̊oͩ̓̚ u̅̂͛̒ͦ̿ı͑̉ʞ̛s͠ ̢ɹ͑̋ͥ̎̿ͧ̅͟ǝ̧̅̌͗̓p̂͛́ͤ̾̚̚͘u̸͐̈̂̑̚ǝ̋̒̉͏ʇ̢̏͆͗ͬ
̅͒ͧ͜ǝ̸̓͒͌͊̌ͨɥ̐ʇ̴ͯ̐ͮͯ̓͋͊ ͫ̃̎̃̄ͫo͛̔ͯ͗͂͟ʇ̈̌uͣ̓̓̆ı̵̉ͫ
̍͘ʎ̾̈͘ן̢ͦ̇̍̽̚ןͣ̄̂̅̄̿͝u̡͗̽ɟ̧̽̏̃͊u̇ͤıͤͯ̋ɐ́̈́ͮp̅ ͧͯ̓̽̅ͣʞ̇͗u̢ɐ̂͒ͫ͒͋̐̀sͥ͂ͯ̌ͭ
̋̀s̛̃ͥͬ͂͗̈͐p̃͌ͦ̿̈̈́͛ȕ͡ɐ̨́ͮͪͮͮɥͫ͝.̉ͩ ̏̐̆͜H̴ë̴ ̅̏rͬ̔ͭ͛aͦ̏͢p̓̌̇ͭ̏ͧ͞e͊̈́͐̽̔dͨ̍ͨ̀̒͡
̌͋ͬḩi҉m̴̑̾ͧ͛͊͋.̴̉ͧ̉ͮ̏̚ ̔͊͋͋he͑ͩ ̅̉̉̀rͯ̂̃̚҉a̐͜p̾̂̃e͒̅̎͂̇̈d͂ͣͧ͋͒ͣ̊͘
ͧͤ̌̏͢hͪ̈́̚i͒̄͢mͭ̒͞.ͭ͌ͣ͊ ͦ̅̀H͌̑̕e͛ ̑̑̈̎͑̔ͪ
,ͦ͐̄ͭͮ͊ͫ̍ͫ̐̓̀͏̧̹̳͎̬̥̟̦͔͙̫̻̪p̵͙̤͚͌̾ͪͥ̍ͦͫ̓͗̓ͣͧ̐̿̕͜͞ͅǝ̡͓͓̠̖̙̹͇̣͛ͭ̉̒̅͘͜ı̸͚̟̺͉͑̊̿͌̃͌ͤ̀͡pͪ̆̃̚҉̪̳̲̠͕ͅ
̸͛̀̉ͦ̂ͨ͋̐̓̂͏͏͏̯̪̫͖͎̝̙̘ǝ̪̜̤͔͔͓̗̥͖̬͙̩̝̤͇͇̣̗̻͒ͪ́̆̓̑̊ͫ͌̄̃͑͆̊ͨ͢͢͟͞ɥ̉͒̂ͦ̃̉ͨͯ̏̉ͮ͏̢̲̻̼̤͉̳̝̫̭̩̮̝̞̱̯ͅ
̶̳͔̦̮̭̙͎͕̪̣̳̙̤̯ͬ͑̽ͣ̋͑ͥ̿ͤ̉͗̑ͬ̀͋̒̎ͧ̕͢͞͡˙̶̞̪̺͚͎̫͚̗̦̦̦̘̺̾ͩ̑͊ͯ̏ͮͦ̅ͧ͛̚̚͠ǝ̨̧͍͈͈̞̞̪̩͓̱̤̦̯͖̓ͫ̿̅̽̐ɔ̸̵̝̱͔̗͍̞̻͚̥̞ͮͩ̓̈́͌ͫ̏ͯ́ͯͬͨͪ̽ͮͯ̂̉ɐ̡̨̼̼̲̬̉͑͊͑ͤ̍̋ͬ͒̽ͯͤͅp͛̈̏͋͜͝҉̦͔͇̺̩̹̭͍̩͉̙s̷̛̟̤̘͍̦̠̫̦̙̩ͣͪ͒̾̊̚͘
͓͍͍̬̳͖̮̟̼̬̠̟̘̏̎̈́ͫ̑ͯ̅̍̓̏͗̈̑̽̚͘͠ʇ̸̹̩̰̯̞̱̮̞͙̰̗̪͐͑̊̉ͦ̎̎̉͠ͅɐ̷̥̭̲̗̳̰̯̺͚̥͔̠ͬ͐ͪ̈ͮͭͩͭ͟͜͜͝ɥ̷̴̞͍̭͇͎̪͓̭̠͍̪͓̮͔̹̘͓̭̔̌͒ͨʇ̶͙̟̤̖̫̇̋ͩ͐̾ͫ͆͛ͤ̿̽̾̇ͪ̄̈͌̚͡ͅ
͖̝̬̣̠̭̭̼̤̟̞̫̗̆̃̏̀̇̉̊̕͞ͅũ̶̴̜̩̩͇͚̮̰̠̏̃ͪ̔̊̍̅̌̌̄̿̔ͅͅı͈̟̙͕͔͍̫̤̫̻̮̥̮̰̮̠͚̜͓ͣ͗̃ͭ̊͂̔̀͌̍̐̈́̋͆̌ͫͭ̚̕
͕̦͖̤̩̣̲͂͊̔ͬͧ͗͒̓̑̕͢˙̶̱̺͚͖̲̹̥̖̮̺̞̪̭͕͎̭͙̺ͦ̉͛̑̃̉͑̍̊̅͛͐ͤ̽̔̋͘͜͢ǝ̔͂̒ͥ̈ͧ̈̇ͥ̏́̽̿̈̽҉̨̪͖̳͈͇͍̼̘̙̫̹̞̯̩̤͙̻́ן̃̐̉ͯ̌̆ͨ̒͑ͯͭ҉̧̛̣̮̫̫̫̳͔̞̱͚̗̤͚̬̤̥̲̺͞͠o̧̨̭̮͙̳̰̙̗͈̗̮̖̱̬͍̥ͩ̅ͪ͂ͣ̌͂͆̓̃͌̐̔̎͒̚̕͠ɥ̨̧̜̬̮̙̞̪̲̻͈̽̓́̒̿́̔̚
̛̭̘̲̠̰̹̄̽̂͌ͥ͛̉͟ͅʇ̨̠̺̟͎͈̤̖̘̥͎̦̺̦̎͋̉̈́́́̚͘͜ɐͩ̇͂ͧͯ́̉ͭ͏̵̛̳̮̞̗̠̣̺̳͠ͅɥ̸̡̡̟͕͔̦͖̘̌̎͗́̑ͯ͂͛̄̌͊ͥ̄ͩ̾̚ʇ̛̜̯̼̞̫͖̈ͥ̋ͪ̾̂̔͑̄͠
̶̸̶̧̗̼̩̖̻̻͍͓̙̆̈́̂̅͒͐͋ͪ̕ͅͅu̷̶̧̙̠̯̦̦͔ͨ̌ͭ̓̋̅̑̋̅̆ͬ͂̂́ı̡̳̯͖̭̣̼̳͉̥̦͇̪̣͚̺̋ͤ̆ͩ͌͐ͣ̇͗̒̊ͥ͟͢͡
͇̮̟̜̰̤͍̼̬̘̗̟̣̦͆ͥ̊ͨ̉̓̈ͯͧ̆́͢͟͝˙̷̡͙̻̘̼̦͍̮̺̤̝̩̭̳ͩ͆̎̀ͦ̑ͦͫ͋ͪ̋͋ͬ̎̎̓̚ͅǝ̢̢̨̯̥̫̻̖̮̭̱͎̥̫̏̎̈̐̓͑ͫͪ͘͟ͅͅı̸̶̨͈͎͇̟̙͔̍ͦͭͣ̿ͥͦͫͣ͌͂͗͛ͫ͝p̴̯̩͎̱̦͙̺̺̠̲̱̯̝̉̏̃͊̀͢͝
̅͑̓̀ͪ͏̢̖̻͎̞̰̹̝̱̭̟̯̞ɟ̸̸͔̟̹̮̝̭̥̥͔̤͎̻͕̞͆͊ͣ̃̄͋͛͒ͭ̎̑̀̐̋̀̽̚ן̷̨͙̠͚̮̜̼̮̠̝͖̙̻̠̆͐̚ǝ̡̧͚̭̭̼̺̩̥͎̠̼̭͚̺̪̰̎̽̈̍ͨ̓̽̕͞ͅş̶̮̪͉̘̭̘̗̅ͨ͛̆͊͊̽ͣͦ̒͌̿͆̌͑ͩͮͤ͂͘ɯ̧̘͔͚̺͈͎̜̠̻̓̌ͫͭ̐̃ͣͩ̐̏̿ͭ̅̆ͬ́̕͝ı̴̧̯͙͍͖̣͎̺̻̟̬ͭͮ͋̎͆̾͋̏ͧ̂͑ͥ͗ͫ̋ɥ̵̴̯̰̼͕͖̣ͧ̍̂ͤ͆́̄ͦͥ͊̀
̴̵̼͍͔̺̜ͭ̓̒͛̎̚̕̕ʇ̡̠͍̰̲̹͈̣̠̲͖͓ͫ̌͒ͩͯ̋ͩ͢ǝ̪̩̭̹͎̤͖̬̺̖͍̺̖͗ͥ͊̏͑̍̌̓͆ͫͩ̈́ͯ̑̽̕͜͜͞ן̵̰̩̣͖̠͉͙̰̈́̾̊͑̾ͧ̅͗ͪ̔͊̇̓ͬ̂ͅ
̨̨̧̹͉̼̼̟̲̝̫͍̥̤͎̗͇͌̄̆ͪ̅͆ͭ̓͌̄̽ͦ̽͆̑̎͢ʎ̷̨̢̣͎̘͇͔͓͇͂̓̋͌̍͛̽̕ן̀̀͊͋ͫͯ͋ͩͣ̚͏̞̻͍̬ן̶̢̪̤̞̣̮͇͖͓͍͉̼̼̱̊ͥ̅͒̿͛͒̅̀̽̉ͣ͌ͮ̂ͬ̔ͩ́͠ͅɐ̸̶̪̜̗̠̗̺̦̥̥̰̹͑̾̈́̊̓̿ͪͫͩͨ̆ͤͦ͊ͩ͂̌͢͟͠ư̷͍̱̹̦͎͇̗̻͈͎̬̳̖̭̓͋ͬ̃ͬ̑͘ı̵̸̳̞͍͙̜̰̭̟͎̯̪̤̟̖̤̮̆͐͑͂̈́ͥ̈́͐̓̅̑̽̉ͪ̀̀̚̕͠ɟ̵̨͖̩̲̭̥̰̝͙̟̜̼̤̹ͮͦ̂̊̆͛̆̆͋̈́̍̂̈͢͢͟
̛̰̞̹͇̝̼̳̞̣̯̖͚̜̑ͪ͐͐̀͡ͅƃ͊ͮ͋ͥ҉̨̦͍̱̲̱̀͡ı̡̡̗̦̩̞̝̣̂ͤ̎̑́̆̿ͪ̚̚ͅɐ̧͑̑̉̑͒ͤͧ̋ͦ̄͐̊͑̚͠͝͏̮̮͈̘̳͍̩̯̪̬ɹ̢̨̛̙̮̰͔̗̱͖͓̠̱̮̩͒̾̔͂̊ͥ͠ɔ̨̧̛̱͖͚̎͆̌̾ͮͬ̐ͧ͐̅͊͘͟ͅ
̵̠̲͈͈ͮ̇̓ͧ̓̾́̆̇̅̒̈́͜p̴̦̮̘͔̹̺̮͕̮̫͔͕̟͕͇̟̬̆ͭͨ̈́ͧ͒̾̋́͐́̾̍̅̓́͡ư̡͇̙̞̩͎͉̠̥̬̏̃̉ͪ͌̑͆͑̽ͭ̓́̄͋ɐ̨͔̰͖͈̲̽̎ͭ̒͐͂̿ͩ͂ͦ̑͌̾ͧ͒͐ͮ̔̚͘͞͞
̧̞͓̮̻͓̦͇͈̦͍͚̲̭͚ͩ̍ͭ̍͛͌͑̆͊ͤ̚̕͢͞ͅͅ˙̨̼̭͔͚̣̙͙̟̲̦̮̲͉̺͍̣̋͒̃̾ͯ́̚͞ɯ̯̦̻͚͔̞̻͖̮̗̭͎̀͒̔͛͟͜ͅı̴͓͔͙͇̭̲̤̞͎̝̤͚ͪ̒̔̋͌ͣ̄ͪ̇̄ͮ̈́̒ͧ͜͢ɥ̵̌̒͋ͦ͐͛̾ͥ̚̚҉̷͕̹͍̩͉͟͞
̆͋ͪ̿ͨ͑́̇̂ͪ̾̋̌ͫ̔ͤ̓҉̡̘̠̟̼͓̘̜̤͍̘̻͓̣ͅp̓̋̈́̄͋ͩ̒͑ͮ͂͊͊ͥͯ҉̧̯̭̭͙̜͠ǝ̶ͫ̿͆ͯ̅͋ͭ҉̹̹̤̞͈͓̤̫̙̭̠̙͍͎͈̕͜ͅͅṗ̴͉̳̘̙͕̭̱͖̺̞̦̥̩̑̈́ͧͧ͌͊̅̾ͥ̅̌̚͟͡ɐ̵̡̢̤͍̼̭͙ͨ̓̏̀̊̍̊͆̎̐ɹ̸̪̦̻̰̗ͦ͛͗̽͌̃̾͗̊̊́̀̚͝
ͩ̿͗͐ͬͭ͂̚҉̸̰͚̪̲ͅǝ̶̢̖͈̝͙̘̠͔͈̝̣̱̳̼̟̫̙̬̳ͯͮ̈ͦ͐͂ͮͮͥ̇̌̄̿̉̽ͪ̈́͜͡ͅɥ̖̱̤̠̼͇̜̝̫̙̱̫̱̱͈̻͗ͧ̌͋̚̕͝ͅ
̨̧̛̱̝̣̝̟͆̒͊̅̆ͬ̾͒͋͑̔ͣͭ͘˙͍͇̪̤͓̦̜̖̼̮̮͕̞̗ͮͤͯͣ͂͒̐̃̒̈ͫ̃̀ͮ͛̃̀͡ͅǝ̥̫̣̺̩̦̎ͧ̉͑͑̌ͫ͊̃̒̓̓ͪͩ̒̎ͮ̌́͞ɹ̷̡̾͑͊̍̓͋ͨͭͤ̚͠͏̢̙̻̪̟̼̫̜ő̡̑̊͛̿̓̀ͦ̔ͥͥ̑̀҉̸͙̦̲͖́ɯ̶̨̯̞͙̮̩̳̖̘̟̮͈̗̟̗̪ͨͫ̌̊̅́̃̆ͧ͒̀ʎ̴̞͈͖̠̯̱̀ͭ̈́ͨ̅̋ͫ̍͘̕̕û̸̡̢̧͙̖̦͇͕̱̙̯̦͕̣͈̞͙͈͖̰̎̋͆ͩͥ̽̓ͩͧͩ̽͒͑͑ͦ͜ɐ̴̛͎̺͚̗͙͔̜̥͆̊ͦͥ̓̚͘
̶̸̵̩͉̳̩̺͂́ͥͪ̇̃ͪ͒͢ʎ̨̀ͪ̿̑ͨ҉̶͕̤̤͖̯̲͈̯ͅɹ͛̔̈̀ͬ̽ͤ̀̆͋͐ͭ̃̓̎̚̚͞҉̨̛̞͙̪͙ɔ̷̘̲͎̠̲͙̪̬̣͖̻͔̰̍̎̎͒̐͌ͩ̕͘͞
̶́̏ͧͫͯ̐̄̋ͥ́̌͢͏̜̜͎̤͎̠̤̜̣̬̫̪͙̜ͅʇ̡̠̞͍͎͓̰̯̉̔̈̈́̋̈́ͫ̔̎̃̃̈́̑͐ͬ͟'̶͍̹͉͍̼͎͇̪̖̣̻̰̰͍̖̮̅̋ͮ́̎̈̓̿ͮ́͋͊ͪ̐̕̕ͅư̸̢̨̰̞̫̯̦͇͋̃̊̉ͤ̋̔͛̔ͯ̎ͯ̈͗͝p̆̂̊̎̋͞҉̵͈̺̪ן̡̘̪̟̞̓̏̎ͧ͞͠͝u̴̘̲͈̪̠͑͛͆̄̍ͫ͋̍̇̄͂ͥ́o̊̑̌̓ͩͮ̇̓͗ͨͭ̋͂͛͛ͣ̊̍͢͟҉̘͉̠̖̤͚̯̣͈̼̳͍̰̯ɔ̶͚̩̩̬̟̣̩̞̺̘͖̫̝̌͗̾̽̔͌ͣ̓͛͗͘͡͠
̢̢̛͐ͨ̈́̽̊̄̈͐ͧ̋ͭ͒̓̓ͮ̎҉̻͍͕̺͈͓͕͎͈̱͍ͅǝ̴̛̥̺̠̹̤̣̤̯̝͎̮̱̟͎̫̳ͫ͆́͐̌ͦ͜͡ͅͅͅɥͫ̆̅̈̾̑ͮͥ̅̉̉̈́͂̆ͬ̚͏̨̣̝̘̟͎̻̞̝̦̩̠̜̻̳̤̲͟͡
̶̘͖̩͚̞͕ͩ͋ͯ͗̆̀̀͘ͅp̶̨̛̦̖̰͈͍̞̰͔̗̹̈́̈́ͯͦ̕u̾̂̀̄̚҉̵̡̰̻̜̘͇͝
̸͕͚̭̰͕͍̠̥̬̻͓͉̓̽̄̆ͬͨ̓̿̑̐̋́ͧͭ͠ͅͅƃ̭͕͙̌ͪ̒ͤͫ̑ͦ̓̌̈́͊̀̀̔ͨ̚͝͠u͂̈̍͌ͨ͊ͫͮ͏̲̹̭̲̻̮̹̖͇͔̳͟ı̸̸̱̩̰̖̞̤̱̝̳̖͔͕̓̾̔ͪ̂͆̄ͨ͗͐͌̈p̘͚̘̞̩̝͎͎̺̩͍̟͍ͫͮ̒̎̆̅͋̊ͭ̅ͬ̈͑̚͟͝ͅͅǝ͋ͮͦͮ͌̀̉̊ͦͧͩͯ̊҉̴̢̢̪̺̼͕̗͉̹̣̲̭̗̘̻̀ǝ̴̡͖̦̭̩̳̯̹͍͙͙̖̗̗̮̱̆̀ͩ̐͡ͅͅͅן̴̶̵̦̺̣̱̟̯͈͕̪̲̮̉̐́͂̏ͪ͊̌̎̿̊̒͆̊͂̿͌q̿͒̅͊͗ͪ̌̐ͪ͏̷̡̼̠̬̣͞
̸̱̭̜̝͔͚͑̀̔̍̐̂ͬ̂̿̎͜͜s̡̛̪̫̙̱͇͙̱̘̤̼ͭ̍̒̈͒̔̀̏̍̾͂̚͝͞ɐ̢̜̰̙̼̬͔͒ͮͬͬ̓ͫͣ̂̒ͨ̎ͬ̈ͅʍ̸̸̛͚̭͍̗̘͈̼̞̘̎̒̓̂́ͮ͒ͯ͌ͪ̈̃̑̿ͨ̏̓ͪ͜
̷̙̜̝̩̩̳̯̣͈̭̯̱̩̙͈͓̓ͦ̇ͦͬ͒̚̕̕͠ʎ̢̩̤̰̲̙̬̭̳̝̳̱̤͉ͩͧͤ̓̀̍ͯ͋ͭ̀͜͞͝p̴̴͎͖̤̝͍͙͇̮̜̟͎̬͙̠̙ͬ̍ͯ͗̿̇͜ȏͭͦ̓̔ͮ͛̈́ͥͨ̀̐̈͂̌͋ͮ̂͘͢҉̡̙̠̼̯͔̳̹̥̣̥͈̰͡q̨̤̹̬̭̠̲̏̽͂̅͋̋̐ͩͣ͐̋́͗͂̑̿̕̕
̴̨͕̤̩̺͖̙̹͇̪̮̬͎̪͎͉̳̹̙̎ͧ̇̎͗͊̽̈́͌̅̈́ͬͨ̀͐͘͜͡s̈́ͭ̓͒̈́҉̪̻͔̣̳̮̳̙̻̟̝̝̕ı̦̳͙̝̪͉͖ͬͤ́ͭͬ̎ͦ̃̈́ͧ͠ɥ̸̶̗̣͈̭̞͙̥̞̹͈͖̅͐̀̓̉͌̂͛̌̓̄̏̀͠͝
̃̈́́ͣ̅̈̽͋͟͏̺̺̤̜̮̫̬̥̠͈͉ͅן̡͖̬̰̖̞̼̒ͯ̏̾ͩ̀͋̆̏ͥı̵̴̡̬̭̗̖͍͙̦̳̖̙͇̙̩̘̰̭̗͓̪ͤͧͥ́̾́͗̒ͦ̃̑͒̉͡ʇ̵̳͖͎̲̰͙͙̺̦͔̩͎̙͓͎ͭͩ͐̇ͣ̎͂̎̊ͪ͐̓͒͡ͅu̵̡̢͓̥̟͙̓͗̒́̋̽̚͡ȕ͉͖̩͕̗̙̝͙̮̭̟̫̠͓̖̺͌ͧ̔͐͘͡ͅ
̸̸̵͓͍̖͓̩͎̳̼̪͎͔͓̭̘̐̓́̈ɹ̭̞͇̠̭̫̞̯̝̦̲̲ͬ̒ͫ̏̈́̕͡ǝ̦̮̣̣̻͇͉̼͚̱̩̗̖̓͋ͯͤ̿͘ʌ͒ͨͩ͛̏ͨ҉̧͏̨̦̖͚̳̳̥͙ǫ̷͆̆ͦ̐̔ͥͯͬ̂̒͊̉ͫͣ̏̚͏̴̬̘̞͖̜͔̀
̷̘͇̼͙̟͖̟͇̲͉̻͎̖̬̬̠̰͚͊̆̈͝͡͞ͅp̛̗͔̤̥̗͂̔͐ͨͬ̎̍ͣ̓̀͐̊͂̂̅̂̿̏͡u̵͕͇̗̞̟͗̍̍ͯ̅̍̾ͩ͂̇̋ͯ͌̋̔ͥͬͤ͘ɐ̡͌̈̉ͨ͡҉̠͉̞͇̬̝͉̠̰̬̣̘͞͞
̵͌̾̔͊̌̉̌ͧ̍̐̌͏͙͕̪̺͕͖͎̠͔̤̘͈̖̩ɹ̸̛͌ͣ̽͂ͭ҉͚̭̪̱̟̲͖͇̦̻͎̤ǝ̢̰͕͕̭̤͎͙̳̠̗͙͇͖̺̮͚͉̠̲̓̂́̅ͣ̃̑ͥ̒͂͆͘̕͜͟ʌ̛̲̖̜͇̝͓̲̱̜͍͖̪̭̰̣̞̙̥̦̏̿͐̇̾͜͢͝o̸̢̭̠͍̘̹͌ͭ̊͂̔̿̏͊̒ͦ̌̊̾͌́͘
̵̸̹͎̥̖̲̠̜̻̲̮̲̺͇̉̓͐ͨͯ̔̉͐ͫͦ͗ͧͫ́ͫͩ͌ͬ͡͞˙ͨͤ̃̓ͦ̈͢͏̙͖̝͉͓͕̫̺̯͓̫̱͉ɯ̷̴̲̼̲̻͎͙̝͉̠̬͐̏̾̈́̑ͫ̃̚̕ı̸̿̄̍͒̿̊ͫ͆ͨ̾̊ͬͥ͏̟̺͓̯̹̟̣̗͕̞͇͚͉̣̹ͅɥ̵̻̤̙͙͕̣̪̘̰̞̩͖͙͎̯̝̱̹ͨ̌ͫ̍͊̄̌ͬ͑ͧͮͩ͛ͬ͐̈ͧ̊̚͜
͍͔̙͙̻͓̘̩͚̰̬̰͌̓̋͑ͧ̊̒̑͆̍ͯ̕͢ͅp̸̶͈̥̞̐͊ͧ͗̈ͬͥ̂ͤ͑̓͑̄̏̎͡ǝ̶̛̞̹͈͚͕͋͗̏̈͋̿̉͗͞͞͠p̶̡͑̒̈̋̌̽͌̀̈́ͤ̏̀ͩͬ̓̃҉̗̼̻̜̣͈̦̱͎̥͎̞̪̩̞̩̬́͢ɐ̧̺̩̘͕̳̟͔͙̘͔̫͚̝̗̊̉͒͋̈́ͯͭ̾̄ͣͭ͡ɹ̛͇̠̭̫͖͍̠̼̦̗̬̱͉̞͈ͫ̒̔ͫ̒͂̍͋̿ͨ͆̄̑̆ͭ
̵̶̝̼̜̭̼̜̖̙͕̰͒͒̈́ͦ̿͌͋̔ͩ̌ͣ̔͛̊͂̿ǝ̵̢̢̣͎͓̗͔̯̩̮̤̦͍̖ͣͯ̎̓͜ɥ̶̵͖̠̞̻̖̞̙̤͍̺̠͔͈̪̥̺̘ͭͭ͑ͤͫ̓̈̆͊͗̐͂̑͌ͥ̒́͡
̸̸͖̬͇̼͖̳̫̏̌̓ͪ͛̓̽ͦ͊̋̔͋ͣ͐̓̀̓̀̀͘͞ͅ˙̡̛ͨͤ̌ͥͬ̋̌ͪͦ̊ͭͫ͂ͬ̑ͬ̕͜҉̪̱̗̳͔̮̟̱͕̩̘̺͔̘̙͔ɯ̨͖̺̩ͮ́̿ͬ̐̃̄̾̓̒̈̚͘͘̕ı̶̧̹̼̤̦̺̣̝̖̖̤̤͕̫̞̳̻̀͂͛̑̍̑̂ͧ͋ͮ̋̄̚̕͠ɥ̵̸̯̗̻̜̘̤̰̩͇͎̩̺͖͖́ͫ̍̚͜ͅ
̸͉͕͓̙̞͇̔ͣͮ͋̔ͧ͒̏ͯ̓̀p̴̧̗̗͉̥̳̻̣̾͐ͭ̂͌̀̔ͣ̇͘͞ǝ̢̨̹̣͖͓̪̹͇͎͎̠̙̺̹̥̥͑̔ͣ͑̀̿̔̾̇͑̑́͘͟p̸̥̜͔̩͓̬̲̺̜̩̦̏̾̓́ͦ̂̇̈͋̀̄̇ͯ͘ɐ̸̸̙͈͔̳͓͔̞͓̲͙̼̩̤͕̠̜̩ͩ̇͋ͭ̂̀̿̃ͤͩ̈͂̇ͧͅͅɹ̶̮̗̙̝̙̰̮͍̻̼͈̱͔͙̦͖̘̬̫̃̆̅ͬ̆̆̌͒̉̇̉̔̒͌̏
̴̨̭̗͙̲̓͛͐͆͆ͩ̓̚ǝ͋̌̅͂̎ͪ̾͋ͪͬ̈́̅͊̅͊̑̚̚͏҉̯̝͇̼̮̻̰͍͇́̕ɥ̨ͯ̎͗̂̃҉̷̫̥̻͚̞͓̣̭̲̹͕͓̮̤̲͔ͅ
̵̸̸̠̻̖̞̪̩̯̲̣͙̽ͯ̂̌̾͞
"Hello, little one."
"W-who are you?"
"A dog," It said.
That didn't make any sense.
"It hurts."
"I know, child. I know. That's why I've come to take you home."
"Home?..."
"Yes. With me."
"But… I can't."
"Oh? And why not? Do you miss your mother?"
"Yes, but… Tweek," a tiny voice pleaded in the nothingness that surrounded it.
"Let me warn him."
"I cannot. To be granted that power I must make you into something terrible."
"I already am."
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Kyle was still picking twigs out of his hair by the time he showed up for
school the next morning. His outrageous mop was infuriating for more than one
reason. He stood in front of his locker, trying to stuff his unruly mane up
under his hat before his first class started.
His phone was singing with text messages, like always, but he already knew they
were all from Kenny. He's been trying too hard to get a hold of Kyle for the
last few days. Missed calls and voice-mail littered his notifications, but he
wasn't ready to talk yet. Honestly, he wasn't sure if he ever would be.
Maybe it was best for Kenny if Kyle just stayed out of his life. He was a shit
friend, anyway. That fact was proven time and time again. First Stan, then
Kenny, and now Tweek. Trying to be a good friend always ended up making things
a hundred times worse.
Exhibit one being the mess he got Tweek into the night before. Sneak into the
Tucker's house? What on earth was Kyle even thinking?
He dragged a couple heavy text books out of his locker. Between them he hid
Tweek's composition book. With all the emotional shit going on around him he
hadn't had time to finish reading it.
His phone was still vibrating in his pocket when he turned to head to class. It
vibrated still, even when an angry hand grabbed him by the shoulder and slammed
him back against his locker. His books went tumbling onto the floor- along with
his precious notebook.
"Ouch!" he complained while rubbing his arm. "What the hell is your-"
When he looked up his mouth went too dry to finish his sentence. There were
four people surrounding him. Their bodies were clad in blackness, and they wore
sneers.
Kyle licked his lips before cautiously uttering, "What do you want?"
The smallest of the flock stepped forward. He was the youngest, but by for the
most lethal.
"Where is he?" the boy growled around his tight jaw.
"… Who?" Kyle dared to ponder.
By then some of the kids still lingering in the hall stopped to watch. Some
looked on in distant concern, and others had hunger in their eyes. Kyle didn't
notice any of this.
"Spooks, you dumbass!" Firkle, the tiny goth, shouted. "He was supposed to come
by Pete's place in the morning, but he didn't show."
"I," Kyle stammered. Why the hell were they harassing KYLE about Tweek ditching
them? "Maybe he slept in, I don't know."
Firkle took Kyle by the front of his orange jacket and slammed him back against
his locker once more. His ribs ached from where he'd fallen off the roof the
night before, but with the clench of his jaw held in a yelp of pain.
"You listen here you little shit," Firkle hissed. "He was scared about
something last time we talked. You were the last person he was with last night,
where is he?"
"I really don't know," Kyle admitted with his teeth gritting together. He
didn't bother to ask how Firkle knew about last night's shenanigans. "We kind
of got split up."
"Hey, hey!" a passerby shouted. "let go a' him!"
Firkle's grip was broken when someone else wedged themselves between the two. A
blond boy wearing a blue turtleneck sweater. Kyle's chest fluttered at the
realization Butters came to his defense. The little goth didn't seem too happy
about it, but took a step back anyway.
"This isn't your business," the boy hissed.
"W-well, you can't just go throwin' people in lockers!" Butters stammered out.
"You're gonna hurt him!"
The goths exchanged looks of annoyance, but all came to the same conclusion
without uttering a word. They turned together and morphed into the dwindling
crowd of students, disappearing from sight.
"Thanks, Butters," Kyle sighed as he knelt down to collect his scattered books.
"No problem, Kyle. Well, I wonder what got into them," Butters said.
"Who knows," Kyle replied, but his stomach was doing flips. Why where they so
worried? Tweek was probably just out in the woods today- like he told Kyle he
would be. Their last conversation rung in his mind, though.
"I don't have much longer left,"Tweek had said.
"You okay?" Butter's voice drug him out of his worry. "You know, we haven't
heard from ya since you and Ken had at it the other day."
"Oh, yeah. I've been alright. Just really busy trying to catch up with school
and all that."
Butters smiled a little, then nodded. "Yeah, I could tell you've been really
stressed out lately."
Kyle leaned back against his locker. They had a few more minutes before they
had to head to class, and it felt nice to talk to someone. Even if it was just
idle chit-chat.
"So… how's Kenny?" He finally asks.
"Oh! Ken, he's doing… okay, I guess."
"Just okay?"
"Well, I mean he misses ya a lot. I think he's worried about you."
Kyle frowns at that last sentence, but he's not surprised. With how many
unanswered texts he'd been getting he figured Kenny was scared he was dead in a
ditch or something.
He looked up at Butters' face. His friend was watching him carefully, but he
wasn't uneasy.
"Honestly, I kind of worry about him, too," Kyle admitted.
"Why don't you tell him that?"
"Because," Kyle huffed, then ran a hand across his forehead. "Cartman was
right. I'm awful to him. I never once thought about how all of this was hurting
him, or you, or even Cartman. I'm just a shitty friend."
"Okay, but Eric said that, not Kenny," Butters pointed out. "If you feel bad
for not thinking about Kenny before, well, maybe it's time you think about him
now."
Kyle sighed, "You're right, yeah. Maybe I'll message him back later. I just
need a little more time…"
Time for what? Kyle didn't know. What he did know, though, was Kenny was okay.
He was living a normal life with normal friends and normal problems. Kyle was
the opposite of that, and there was someone else who needed him a little more
right now.
Someone he desperately needed to talk to again.
…
When Kyle approached the house in the woods that night he thought he knew what
to expect. He'd find Tweek within, walking back in forth in thought or asleep
on the floor somewhere. That's where he always was- alone in the woods. Alone
in that house. He needed to see him, and immediately. If Thomas really was the
man behind all this terror they needed to formulate a plan.
When Kyle reached for the back door, though, the decaying wooden slab wouldn't
budge. He blinked in bewilderment. After trying again to push it open, Kyle
realized it had been locked from the inside.
His nerves were getting to him by that point, but he wasn't worried. At least
he didn't show it. He gripped the handle. He heaved his shoulder into the wood
which bent and cracked against the pressure. He slammed his shoulder again and
again into the door until he was left nearly tumbling inside. The sliding lock
busted off its rusted hinges. Kyle had to take a moment to steady himself
before pressing on into the house.
"Tweek?" Kyle called with no answer.
It wasn't until he reached the living room stairs that he began to realize
something was amiss. Upon the cracking dark wood were splotches. Browning
smudges he knew hadn't been there before.
Kyle's heart sped up in his chest. He gripped the railing and snuck up the
sullied staircase. It wasn't until he reached the top his heart truly dropped.
The brown splotches he saw on the stairs became a still red streak across the
hallway floor. A streak that disappeared beneath the door to their
investigation room. Said door was shut tight, but Kyle's panic took away
whatever logical thinking he had left in him. He ran to it, gripped the muddy
knob, and threw the door open. It banged against the wall like Kyle's heart
banged against his ribs.
The room had been destroyed. Their table was flipped and missing legs. The
single metal chair that once sat beside it had been thrown against a wall
across the room, leaving the rusted metal broken and the wall itself punctured.
It looked as if there was a fight here, and someone obviously lost.
And their wall.
The wall of faces and articles and notes- it had been ripped and torn at. Some
of their papers could be found scattered about the hardwood floor. The rest
were missing.
Kyle was so shocked he couldn't move. He could only stare blankly at the
disheveled room around him, like his brain couldn't even comprehend the idea
that Tweek wasn't waiting there for him.
His face changed from lost to horrified when he noticed something under his
shoe. He lifted his foot, then pressed the red cloth open with the tip of his
boot.
There was no close friend waiting for him there, and there may never be again.
There was only a red bandanna; speckled with the grizzly mess on the floor.
***** Nobody Came *****
Kyle could do nothing but stand in that doorway with his trembling hand over
his mouth. He wanted to scream. He wanted to tear through the house, through
the woods, through all of town, until he had Tweek beside him. His legs
wouldn't move, though, and all his throat would do was knot up. He fell back
against the wall, just taking in the destruction around him.
To his knees he fell, and then he took Tweek's bandanna in his hands. He
squeezed it. His jaw clenched.
"Show me," He begged through his tightened teeth. He squeezed the fabric until
his knuckles were white. "Please."
When the cloth gave him nothing his eyes began to water.
"Show me what happened to him!" He screamed, but it didn't want to talk.
Nothing in that room did. He ran his fingers over the bloody floor, the
destroyed wall, the overturned table. He crawled on his hands and knees,
touching everything, but it was all quiet.
His guts tied up in knots as his fingers slid over the blood speckled floor.
Tweek wouldn't have gone down easily. Even grown men would have trouble getting
the upper hand on him. Unless, of course, they were considerably larger.
Like Thomas.
Was this Kyle's fault?
His eyes were pricking with water, and his face was scrunched in frustration.
Kyle gritted his teeth together so hard it was painful.
He finally forced himself to stand. He mindlessly followed the speckled trail
down the stairs, but there were no more clues at the bottom of it. He held
tightly to Tweek's bandanna and stepped onto the porch, then off of it. The
ground was soft from all the rain, but there were no footprints except his own.
"Tweek!" he screamed into the woods.
His jaw was clenched tightly together. His fists squeezed until his nails dug
into the flesh of his palms. This was all his fault. If only he'd listened to
Tweek and left when he told him to. If only he hadn't pushed it so far. If only
Thomas hadn't caught them in Craig's room. That had to be why this was
happening.
"Tweek!" he screamed again, louder this time.
Tweek couldn't answer him anymore.
Kyle should have known this, but his head couldn't catch up to his heart. His
legs forced him forward. More shrill, desperate pleas echoed off of trees.
"Show me!" He wailed. They knew. Everything around him knew.
Craig's disappearance was recorded in the grass. Tweek's last desperate battle
replayed in the energy of the ground and the bark. This supernatural power he
possessed was all he had left, but it was resisting him. He still didn't
understand it. Why sometimes things happened and other times they didn't, but
he would force it to if he had no other choice.
"I said show me!" He spat. "Fucking show me!"
He was blinded by the darkness, his tears, and also pictures. His feet tingled
beneath him. A chill washed over his body. It felt like a heavy door he had to
force open, and he was pushing as hard as he could.
He extended his hands from his sides and ran them through the foliage around
him. Every bush he bumped into whispered to him stories. Every breath of air
was from someone else's lungs.
It was different somehow. Different than all the times he'd beckoned for it
before. This time, it hurt.
Trying to ignore the sudden invasion of pain, he focused on Tweek. Maybe if he
just pushed himself a little harder, dug a little deeper, he could find the
exact moment he needed replayed. Maybe when he fell through that door he would
be able to see Tweek on the other side.
When he finally left it gaping open, though, It wasn't Tweek he found.
Something else was near. Something that scarred this forest more than anything
else it had seen. It was evil, and it was buzzing in his eye sockets.
"Craig!" a deep voice snarled.
A cry tore painfully from Kyle's throat. His eyes were so clouded by everything
the trees around him had seen before he couldn't see what they were now. They
were polluted with the echoing of familiar laughter and thousands of stranger's
voices. Every word that had ever been spoken amongst their trunks poured into
Kyle's mind and brought him to his knees.
A white sheen covered the green in his eyes. His muscles jerked and his brain
was shocked into numbness. Still, he crawled forward on his stomach. Trembling
fingers dug into mud and roots to pull his body forward.
Through the wall of overwhelming voices, one was much louder than all the rest.
"Please." It was a fearful whisper, but it exploded through Kyle's head. "Help
me!"
Kyle lifted his head from the dirt he was crawling through. It wasn't Tweek,
but it was still somehow familiar.
His hazy vision caught the shape of a boy.
The child wore a white night shirt that was much too big for him, along with a
warn pair of blue jeans. A large hand squeezed around his upper arm, and only
then did it occur to Kyle that the boy was struggling.
It wasn't real. It was just another sad piece of the past that his hands showed
him through the ground. Still, Kyle bit his bottom lip while forcing his numb
body towards them.
"I'm so sorry, I am. I won't tell, I promise!" the boy sobbed while pulling at
the fingers hurting him.
Kyle's breath caught in his throat when another hand jerked to slap the boy
across the face.
The child fell to his knees as the violent hands shook him. Kyle ground his
teeth together. His muscles were stiffening. His eyes were watering. The force
of the blow jerked the child's head in his direction. Now all he could see was
inky black hair, a hat, and a pair of watery blue eyes.
"Craig," Kyle choked out. His bottom lip trembled and his reddening face
scrunched in desperation.
This wasn't the Craig he'd come to know. This wasn't the twisted and mutilated
remnants of who Craig used to be. This was who he was. Before he sucked in his
last, miserable breath. Before he had those brilliant blues taken from him.
Kyle's brain was too packed full to realize this.
Through the screaming and shaking, Craig was forced onto the ground. At first,
the boy fought with vigor. There was hope for escape in every scratch he gave
to the arms forcing him down. There was hope someone would hear him when he
screamed.
But nobody came.
"No," Kyle could only whisper when he realized Craig's legs were now bare.
Still, Craig fought. He managed a bite, but it resulted only in another painful
blow. A curled fist to his small jaw.
There were more sounds. Vile and painful to hear. A zipper. A string of
pleading sentences. Kyle could see it. He could see all of it, but he couldn't
stop it.
Craig wasn't screaming anymore. His arms were pinned on either side of him by a
strong grip. His bare legs were open, head jerked back, mouth gaping like his
eyes.
Kyle couldn't see the attacker anymore. He was too disturbed by the way the
boy's body jerked. He watched with tears streaming down his cheeks as Craig's
face turned beat red. His mouth once gaping with shock was now twisting with
silent sobs.
"S-stop," Kyle barely managed to whisper. "You're hurting him!"
He crawled closer, reaching for the boy. Kyle somehow knew there was no way to
save him. He couldn't pluck the child away. It was only a memory, but his
shaking hand still reached. It prickled with numbness, but he could feel
Craig's hair against his fingers.
And that was all he saw of Craig. The touch blew his mind wide open. Suddenly
Craig's tragic struggle was just a drop in an ocean of agony. He felt it all as
he slipped underneath, as he was dragged deeper and deeper below it. He felt
Craig. He felt every child who died like he did, and every child who didn't.
Kyle's body was abandoned, but writhing, on the forest floor. His screaming was
muffled by distance. No one should have been able to hear him. No one should
have found him, but someone did.
A strong hand gripped his elbow and pulled him up out of the dirt. The very
feeling of it lurched his paralyzed mind out of the murky ocean, but his eyes
where still faded white with visions. His body was seized up and almost
impossible to control. He shook and jerked. His eyes were stuck in static like
a broken television.
However, he could still feel those arms around him.
"Tweek?" Kyle hoped aloud, but his vision was still swimming, and his savior
didn't reply.
It was someone else.
They lead his tremor wracked body through the woods carefully, but Kyle's mind
was too battered to keep up, and his body was in too much pain to keep stepping
forward. The presence beside him brought him as far as it could before he
slipped into darkness.
The next thing he remembered were voices.
"It's Kyle," one uttered.
"Shit. Is he breathing?" asked another.
"Yeah, yeah, he's breathing. If he's here Tweek can't be too far."
Kyle tried to open his eyes, but so much light poured in that he flinched and
slammed them shut again.
"Kyle, can you hear us? Are you okay?"
"I-" he tried to speak, but his voice cracked painfully. He soon realized the
blinding light was that of a flashlight and people stood all around him. They
were almost as black as the darkness that surrounded them.
"Shh, it's okay," said the one nearest him. A girl, one he recognized. Black
lipstick smeared between her lips when she pushed them together. Her free hand
ran through Kyle's hair. It was matted and caked with dirt, but she didn't seem
to mind.
He could feel her legs under his head, but it was somehow comforting.
"Henrietta," he whispered.
For the first time in all the time he ever knew her, she gave him a smile.
"Yes," she assured him. "What we're you doing way out here?"
He squeezed his eyes shut again while he tried to remember, but how could he
when he didn't even know where he was.
"I don't remember," he uttered. "Where am I?"
"In the woods," she said quite simply. "We found you like this just off the
highway... Who did this to you?"
Who did what to him? He glanced down at himself. His clothes were ripped and
dirty. What skin was exposed was bruised and cut up. Only after seeing his
battered state does the pain begin to set in. His limbs burn and ache. His eyes
were green again, but he could feel they were swollen. No one had done it to
him. It must have been a product of his vision induced spasms.
"I... I guess I did," Kyle admitted.
"Okay," she uttered. Obviously she was confused, but not taken aback. "We have
someone on their way to come get you, so relax."
Relax? His head was so swollen and numb he didn't have the energy to do
anything but relax. He allowed his head to go limp in her lap, although he
could hear the others wandering around them. Leaves and sticks crunched under
black soles impatiently.
"Well?" one of the others finally said, though he couldn't tell who. "Aren't we
gonna ask him about Tweek!"
"Tweek?" Kyle muttered, his voice suddenly raising a little higher.
"Yeah," Henrietta said. "We were out here looking for him when we found you."
It all came crashing back down again.
"I... Tweek is... I can't find him," he whimpered. He remembered, then. Why he
was even out there to begin with. "I was running- I was calling for him, but
he- I. There was blood, but I-"
His sniffling turned into rapid, heavy breathing and undecipherable garble.
"Michael, Firkle," Henrietta barked. "Search the woods. Pete, stay here and
help me."
Two pairs of footsteps split off from the group. Their flashlights cut through
the darkness as they, too, wandered in search of their friend.
"So what are we gonna do?" Pete growled. "Stand here and do nothing while they
search alone?"
"No," Henrietta hissed. "You and I are going to get Kyle to the road so his mom
will see us."
His mom? Kyle felt his belly rolling all over again. How did they even get her
number?
Pete didn't seem so happy about the task given to him, but didn't argue.
Henrietta coaxed Kyle up so she could drape his arm over her shoulder. Pete did
the same on the opposite side, and then they heaved him up to his unsteady
feet. As they walked, Kyle could tell they were along the edge of the highway,
though they were still hidden by leaves. When they got out into the clearing he
saw a truck parked on the shoulder. Pete let down the tailgate, and he and
Henrietta helped him climb into the back. He laid down flat in the bed. His
breath was still rapid, his cloths were still dirty and moist, and his chest
was still pounding.
Henrietta slid onto the tailgate beside him.
"How… how did you even find me?" he muttered. Sure, he had been near the
highway, but no one would have known it just by driving by.
"Firkle thought he saw a body on the side of the road," she explained, unfazed.
"When we pulled over nothing was there, but he swore it up and down. So we
combed the woods."
"A body?" Kyle murmured. "Did he say what it looked like?"
"No. Just a body."
Kyle rubbed the bridge of his nose. He practically had to pry his own fingers
apart and flex them to make his hand work again. In this process, he discovered
he'd been clinging tightly to something for dear life. Something he hadn't seen
in over a year, and hadn't expected to see again.
A bracelet. A yarn bracelet with interlacing colors of blue and red. Kyle
squinted at it for a few moments before reality set in. It was the matching
bracelet to the one around his wrist. The one Stan always wore, and, as far as
Kyle knew, had been buried with him.
It didn't make any sense.
Everything else seemed to blur together. He remembered his mom's blue SUV
pulling up beside their truck, and he remembered her getting out to drag him
into it. He felt like he was floating above his body, just numbly watching
everyone moving, yet not really absorbing it.
"Now, Kyle, what in God's green earth were you doing tonight?" Sheila demanded.
The anger in her voice brought him back to his body.
Her hands were clutched so tightly to her steering wheel that her knuckles were
turning white. Kyle just stared at them from the passenger seat. His fingers
played with a loose string hanging from the seat cover beneath him.
He wanted to tell her. All that time Kyle and Tweek tried to solve their
mystery alone. They never even thought it an option to ask for help.
Now, Tweek was gone.
Kyle let out a small whimper and rubbed at his eyes.
She snapped her head around to glower at him when he still didn't get a reply.
"What's the matter with you lately?" she demanded. "You're grades are slipping,
you're falling asleep in class, now I get a call in the middle of the night
that some group of kids found you on the side of the road? Bubby, it looks like
someone was beating up on you."
Kyle laughed. He didn't know why, and once he started he didn't know how to
stop.
"Why the hell is everyone so concerned about me?" he said. "No one should be
worried about me right now, they need to be worried about Tweek!"
Sheila shot Kyle an odd look. It was a mixture of the concern she usually wore,
but with a touch of confusion and frustration.
"Tweek? Kyle… have you been talking to that boy?"
"Yes! He's my friend, and he's gone! I can't find him, mom, he just…" Kyle felt
his bottom lip quiver. "He said he would meet me there, but when I got there,
he was gone and-"
Kyle stiffened when his mom stepped on her breaks. Her SUV rocked to a stop on
the side of the road, and she jerked it into park. They idled there in the
dark. All he could see what her headlights illuminated and the few cars that
passed by them. He sank low in her passenger seat.
"You were in the woods to meet that boy?" she hissed.
"Yeah, I… I go out there to see him a lot."
"You told me you were going to Kenny's house to tutor him."
"I lied."
Sheila shook her head.
"So the Tweak's boy is who did this to you?"
"No! Mom, you aren't listening. All this-," he gestured to his clothes which
were torn and muddy. "I did all this when I was trying to find him. I just
wanted to find out where he was but- but I just saw-"
His face twisted and he covered his ears with his hands. "I saw Craig, and-
Mom, I need to call the police. I need to help Henrietta look for him. Tweek is
out there somewhere and someone's hurting him!"
"Kyle, I need you to listen to me."
She reached into the passenger seat and pried his hands off his head. She
squeezed them both tightly and her eyes bored into him.
"I know things have been hard for you since Stan was hit by that train."
Kyle's eyes widened, and his breath stuck down in his throat.
"It only makes sense that you'd seek out somebody like Tweek. Who says he talks
to people who are gone, but you have to understand that he's disturbed. He
couldn't accept what happened to his friend and now he lives in this fantasy-
you don't want to end up that way."
"He didn't make it up!" Kyle snapped. For the first time in a long time he was
asking for her help, and she didn't even want to hear him. "Mom, I saw Craig,
too. Someone really did kill him and that someone has Tweek now!"
"Kyle! Don't you know that boy runs away from home all the time?" she argued,
obviously tired of his tales. "Ever since you were in sixth grade the cops were
at his house every other week to look for him. They told his parents if he did
it one more time they were going to send him to juvenile hall, so they gave up
calling. He comes and goes as he pleases."
"But!-"
"He'll show up in a couple days," she said as if it was a threat. "But you
won't be seeing him again."
"Mom! You aren't listening!" Kyle actually screamed. He reached down to try and
unbuckle the seat belt restraining him, but she subdued his hands.
"You need help, Kyle," Sheila said, though it was much gentler than any of her
words had been that night. "You and Tweek both do, but I can't control what
happens to him. You, though, you have to see someone."
His open mouth closed, and he stopped struggling. It was obvious she wasn't
going to listen to him. Even if he did try to tell her the whole story; she
already had her mind made up. Kyle was crazy. Explaining his gift, or Craig, or
what happened that night, would only add fuel to the fire.
Her SUV pulled back onto the road and Kyle kept up his silence.
He was going to find Tweek, even if no one in that god forsaken town was going
to help him.
***** The Bile *****
Kyle was banished to his bed after that terrible night. His mother insisted
that he needed rest to heal from… whatever was all over his body. He wasn't
even allowed to go to school the next day, though he wasn't surprised.
His father stayed home to creep into his room every hour on the hour. Sometimes
he would bring snacks, others he'd bring ice packs, and others he'd just stand
awkwardly in the doorway and say he was there to talk if he wanted to.
Kyle knew why.
Though he already swore up and down no one put their hands on him, his dad
didn't believe it any more than his mother did. His wrists were chaffed and
bruised as if he'd been bound with rope. His ribs, stomach, and back were
littered with scratches and dark splotches of color. What was worse was his
neck.
Heavy bruises wrapped around his throat like angry hands, and Kyle couldn't
help but wonder if it was because of his forced vision. The similarities
between his skin and Craig's were too many to ignore.
Rather than worrying about his skin, he was skimming a book he'd laid across
his legs. It was a well-used composition book. The one Tweek entrusted to him.
He wasn't skimming through the pages to learn, though. He just wanted to see
the words Tweek used. His hands seemed to be reading better than his eyes.
Sometimes, when he would turn a page, he would hear the words Tweek uttered
while writing them.
His head jerked towards his door when he heard a faint knock on the other side.
Without giving him a chance to answer, it creaked open anxiously. Another
person stepped in, though it wasn't his father. The first thing Kyle noticed
was long, unkempt blond hair. His heart soared with the idea of Tweek, but it
came crashing back down when he noticed a familiar orange parka where a black
coat should have been.
He slammed his book closed and shoved it under him.
"Kenny?" Kyle muttered as he rubbed his eyes. He shifted in bed so that he
could better face his visitor.
Kenny rubbed the back of his neck and nodded. He glanced around the room, and
then took ginger steps towards Kyle's bedside.
"I'm not alone," Kenny uttered as he gestured to the door. Another head poked
in, also blond, though partially shaved.
"Butters," Kyle exclaimed with a smile.
"Y-yeah!" Butters replied as he stepped inside.
Kyle's smile immediately evaporated when he realized Cartman was also dragged
along. The tub of lard hang back in the now wide open door way. His chubby arms
were crossed and a displeased expression was plastered onto his face. Kyle
couldn't fathom why at first. So much had happened since their screaming match
he'd forgotten all about it.
When Kyle gingerly raised himself in bed to greet the others, Eric's scowl
faltered.
"Gosh, Kyle. Well, sorry for sayin', but you look awful," Butters nearly
whispered. He stood awkwardly beside Kenny, twiddling his fingers as if he
didn't know what else to say.
"Oh," Kyle uttered as he ran his hand over his bruised neck. "Yeah. Don't
worry, though. I'm okay."
None of them looked convinced. Especially not Kenny. A knot settled into Kyle's
guts when he remembered Cartman wasn't the only one he was on bad terms with.
That didn't seem to matter to Kenny, though, who still stepped forward to take
a seat on the edge of Kyle's bed.
Kyle pushed his book a little deeper under his covers.
Butters and Eric looked at one another for a moment before Butters leaned in to
whisper into the other's ear. Eric rolled his eyes at whatever Butters said to
him, but still followed him out before securely closing the door behind them.
Kyle's brows furrowed, and then he threw his gaze at Kenny for an explanation.
He offered a shrug.
"I guess they figured we would want to talk alone," Kenny said as his short
fingers combed through his hair.
Kyle didn't mind being alone with Ken. In fact, after the previous night, their
little fallout seemed like such a small thing. At the same time, though, Kyle
knew it wasn't.
"I'm sorry," Kyle finally said. "For yelling at you."
It was a long time coming, but Kenny just shrugged his shoulders. There was
more Kyle needed to apologize for. He looped his finger into the yarn bracelet
around his wrist and gave it a tug for assurance.
"I'm also sorry that I made the last year so much harder on you," Kyle said. It
was funny how those words seemed so hard to say just a couple weeks earlier.
"I'm sorry I never once asked if you were okay, or offered to be there for you
like you were for me. You gave everything to help me and I never even said
thank you. I took you for granted."
The thin line of Kenny's mouth fell into a frown, but he still didn't speak. He
only sat there, quiet, yet listening. It reminded Kyle of how Craig would stare
blankly when Tweek would speak to him.
He swallowed a wad of spit, and decided to continue.
"I have a lot of things I'm sorry for. I have a lot of people I took for
granted. A lot of people who still love me and try and look out for me- even
when all I do is fuck things up," Kyle rubbed his arms, shivering like ice had
been poured into his lap. "I can't tell them that, though. So I just… I needed
you to know."
Kyle lowered his head, having said everything he needed to say. He gnawed on
his lower lip and waited patiently for Kenny's reply. Whether he accepted the
apology or not, Kyle felt just a little bit better for having said what he
felt.
"I do know," Kenny replied. "I was never mad, you know."
"You weren't?" Kyle pondered.
"No. I was a little hurt at first, but I got over it before the end of the day.
Didn't you read any of my texts?"
Kyle's face flushed a little, and then he looked down at his folded hands
before shaking his head no. "I guess I was afraid of what you'd have to say."
Kenny's eyes swept over him, over his lost expression and his damaged skin,
then he scooted a little closer. He dropped his hand over top of Kyle's and
squeezed softly. Instantly, Kyle could hear voices through the contact. It was
Butter's voice, asking Kenny if he knew where Kyle was.
He felt fear in Kenny's body. The same kind of fear Kyle himself felt for
Tweek.
"That's okay. It's all said and done, now. Water under the bridge," Kenny
squeezed a little harder. Butter's voice got a little louder. "This isn't just
about me, though, is it?"
His last sentence was tacked on and clumsy, but genuine and concerned.
Surprised by the question, Kyle looked away as his face already crunched with
sorrow.
"Kyle… if its okay, can you tell me what happened last night?"
Kyle pulled his hand out of Kenny's grasp to rub his raw wrist. The contact was
abrasive and painful, but Kyle couldn't stop. A part of him was screaming that
he shouldn't tell. His parents didn't believe it. His friends wouldn't either.
Kenny was the only person left in the whole world who knew Kyle saw spirits-
this could be the only person in the world that would help.
"Tweek," he muttered. "I was going to see Tweek. We would meet in this
abandoned house in the woods, but he wasn't there. There was just… blood on the
floor and he-" Kyle's brain felt numb, and his words were robotic and distant.
Still, it was so hard to talk about.
"It's okay," Kenny reassured him. "You can tell me. You can tell me anything."
That was all it took. Kyle was reduced to a shaking mess. Starting from their
first wild night chasing down Shadowman, Kyle told it all. He told Kenny about
the first time Tweek walked him home, about his first time seeing Craig again,
and about all the terrible, disgusting things he'd seen through his hands. He
told him how hard it was to dig a hole deep enough for Craig, he explained how
one's heart falters when it watches a child die, and he cried when he described
the look in Tweek's eyes when he asked Kyle to leave. When he told him he
couldn't bear to see Kyle hurt. He talked about everything that lead up to the
previous night.
Kenny leaned in attentively. Never once did he interrupt or second guess Kyle's
experiences. He only nodded his head. He only listened, though he'd bite his
lip when Kyle said something particularly gruesome.
"And now," Kyle concluded after his retelling of the goths scraping him off of
the forest floor. "Now whoever did all those awful things, who killed Craig, he
has Tweek!"
By then Kyle's legs were thrown over the edge of his bed. His head was leaning
on Kenny's shoulder. It was contact they wouldn't normally have, but Kyle
needed it.
"He has Tweek and it's all my fucking fault, just like- just like…"
Kyle slammed his eyes closed and let out a loud growl of frustration.
"Just like what?" Kenny asked. The poor guy's head was swimming with everything
Kyle was telling him. He was so overwhelmed with a combination of numbness and
urgency he couldn't think of what else he could say.
"Just like… like Stan."
Kyle practically melted against Kenny's side. His teeth were grinding together
so hard it hurt, but nothing else would have quenched his anger and fear.
"Stan?" Kenny repeated, befuddled.
"I don't understand why he saved me last night," Kyle admitted. "When Henrietta
told me about the body on the road and I saw his bracelet in my fist- I knew it
was him who led them to me. And looking back on it, when I first found Craig in
the woods. I screamed Stan's name, and something tried to protect me from him.
I… I want to be happy, because knowing that he's there is all I ever wanted,
but now… I just feel guilty. Why should he sacrifice his time protecting me
when it's my fault he's gone?"
Kenny's eyes softened at his friend's distress. He threw an arm around Kyle's
shoulder and squeezed.
"Ky, Stan loved you. You were his best friend. We always catch ourselves second
guessing the things we said and did, but it's no one's fault but Stan's. I'm
sure he knows that and-"
"Yes, yes it is someone else's fault, Ken! It's mine!" Kyle cried out.
There was another long, uncomfortable silence as Kyle shifted beneath Kenny's
arm.
"This isn't like Tweek and Craig," Kyle continued, quieter that time. "Tweek
always blamed himself for Craig's death, but it really wasn't his fault. He had
no way of knowing what would happen when Craig left that night, but I did. I
knew with Stan."
"Ky… You talked to him before he died?" Kenny asked with his brows pinching.
"He was drunk!" Kyle whined, his fists slamming against his raw knees. "He was
drunk like he always was. We were on the phone, and he just kept telling me the
same thing he always did- begging me not to leave, promising he'll get help- he
did it every time, Kenny. I was just so tired. I yelled at him. I yelled and I
told him I didn't want to see him again!"
As always, Kenny remained silent in the most comforting way.
"He… he was on his way to my house. He said he was coming, and I knew he was
drunk, but I wouldn't reply. He was driving because he wanted to talk to me,"
Kyle confessed as he buried his face in his hands. "That's why I wanted to see
him again so badly. I thought that as long as he didn't come back, it was
because he hated me."
"Kyle, why didn't you tell me?" Kenny asked, hushed.
"I didn't tell anyone because I… I was afraid of what they'd say. His mom- his
sister- you. How could I look you all in the eyes and tell you I could have
saved him, but chose not to?" Kyle asked. "And now, now Tweek's going to die,
too."
He was crying again. Hopelessness washed over him like ice water, and his
aching body stiffened. Even if he knew who was to blame for Tweek's
disappearance, he still didn't know where he was. Despite everything he learned
in their time investigating and planning, he still knew nothing.
"Tweek isn't going to die," Kenny promised. "We'll find him."
...
There was a misty feeling in the air down there. The only sound that filled the
empty space was the squeaking on a hanging light that had long since been
busted. Darkness. There was so much darkness. Tweek licked his drying lips and
let out a small, pathetic sound. Was he alone? He didn't think so, he heard
whispers. Quiet murmuring that never had an end. A painful medley of tragic
last words and desperate pleas. They echoed inside of his mind and left him
writing.
This was an evil place. A deadly place. He felt it since the moment he was
forced down there.
"Are you hungry again?" he heard someone whisper under the darkness. The very
moment that voice violated the air of the room, all the others hushed in
collective fear.
Tweek's instinct was to answer, but he somehow had the courage to hold his
tongue. If the spirits were afraid; he was, too.
"If you don't start talking soon, I'm going to have to let you starve," It was
a terrible threat, but the tone it carried was light and airy. Almost kind,
which was the worst part.
A light flicked on, illuminating the dingy room in a hideous yellow glow that
stung Tweek's eyes. A figure stood in the far corner; the handle of a flood
light wrapped in its fist.
This was the first time Tweek could see what was around him. There was a bed
that's mattress should have long been tossed away. He was bound to its iron
frame. The sad thing was rotting with rust, and the once white mattress was
grimy and stained with... Tweek didn't want to know.
The floor beneath him was just as soiled. Dark liquid oozed into brick and
stone, whispering the disgusting tragedy of whomever it belonged to. Tweek
found himself thankful he didn't have Kyle's hands.
Starvation suddenly seemed like a sweet release.
"It's quite funny isn't it?" the figure asked. Tweek could see his face, hear
his voice. He knew this person, but his head refused it. It was impossible.
This man.This man, was the one who brutalized and beat Craig? This was the man
who raped and murdered him?
"What's funny?" Tweek croaked. He tried to move, but metal clamped tightly
around his wrists. The bed. He was cuffed to the bed, which was bolted into the
cement floor.
He was fucked.
"Well, that it was you all this time. Running around my pond at night, digging
up all your holes. I should have figured with all your tall-tales of Craig."
Tweek yanked against his restraints, but all that did was let out a metallic
clank that echoed around the cavernous space. That's when he noticed the tiny
person sitting at the top of the wooden staircase. He was curled in a ball, so
terrified he was trembling down to his bones. Craig. He followed them, but he
was too afraid to step foot down there.
Tweek's brain was suddenly buzzing, catching up with what was happening around
him. Could this really be?
"Shadowman," the person muttered again before breathing out a bout of laughter.
"Poor kid, were you out here all this time trying to find him?"
Tweek ground his teeth together, but finally rose his head to address the man
across the room. With a tight jaw and a sneer, he slowly nodded his head.
The man's laughter was unquenchable now. "How tragic. All that time you were
searching, well, you've finally found him."
"What are you talking about?" Tweek hissed through his dry teeth.
"He wasn't like the others," the man said. "I couldn't... I couldn't cut him. I
couldn't let the fish pick away at him, you know... so i put him in a box."
The man's smile widened.
"Right beneath you."
Tweek looked down. The bed may have been sitting on cement, but under Tweek's
aching body was a layer of dirty brick haphazardly sank into the dirt. Tweek's
breathing went rapid and ravenous. He jerked against the cuffs and felt them
cut and sink into the flesh of his wrists.
"Why?" Tweek screeched, his piercing cry whining in Craig's head.
"I didn't mean to," comes the cruel reply. "I wanted to keep him."
The man's unsettling, kind eyes floated beneath Tweek. Beneath the makeshift
floor of brick and mud. Into the supposed box Craig was inside of.
"But... he couldn't handle it. I was too careless, too rough. Blood just poured
out of him and I didn't know what to do," those eyes trained back onto Tweek,
and he felt his blood run cold. "It was like stepping on a kitten. I loved it
too much to snap it's neck, but the vet wasn't an option... I really didn't
mean to, you have to believe me."
"You... hurt him so bad he was bleeding to death, and you couldn't kill him...
so you buried him alive..." Tweek repeated breathlessly.
But craig had been drown. It was one of the only things Craig showed him over
all those years. Was this man lying to toy with him, or had Craig ever really
showed Tweek his death at all?
"Yes," said the man, though it was an oddly ordinary way of saying it. "Forget
my little thing for now, though. It's your turn. I have questions, too... like,
for instance, who has been helping the shadowman."
"What?" Tweek sputtered. Asking such small, stupid questions was all he had the
power to do. His body hurt. His head was swimming. This must be a nightmare.
One worse than all the others.
"Who did you bring here!?" the man demanded. His calm demeanor twisted with
bitterness and anger. Tweek had never seen him flip so dramatically.
"No one," Tweek growled in protest.
Again, the man spouted a laugh. "Okay, we'll play it your way."
He shifted across the room, to the bed Tweek was chained to. The man's big
hands wrapped around papers that had been sitting on the bed. The paper cried
and crumbled in his angry fist. "Maybe, then, you can tell me who's handwriting
this is."
Paper after paper fell into Tweek's face as the angry man tossed them at him.
"This is very neat, bubbly writing. Maybe it belongs to a girl?"
Tweek recognized them. They were all of the notes that were tacked onto the
wall upstairs. It was Kyle's obnoxiously neat handwriting, which is exactly
what that terrible man wanted to know.
"Who's is it, boy?"
"Fuck you," Tweek spat.
"This is no time for games, you know. Whoever this person is," the man snarled
as he shoved one of the papers painfully hard into Tweek's face. "You've told
them everything."
Tweek let out a scream when the paper's sharp, crumpled edges scratched at
gouges on his face. He jerked away, and then bit down hard on the finger
closest to his mouth.
"Ah!" The man screamed before tumbling away. Kyle's paper fell onto the floor
as the man nursed at his bleeding finger.
"You little-," he snarled, but his face soon turned from infuriated to calm.
Another flip, like some deranged coin toss. He took a deep breath, and then
smiled again.
"I don't want to hurt you, you know that, right? all of this has been for you,
the last thing I'd want is to ruin it by busting up that pretty face of yours."
Tweek grimaced.
"All you have to do is tell me their name. Then we can all disappear, and no
one will ever get hurt again. That's what you want, right?"
"No," Tweek hissed.
"Welp, I guess you'll have to be punished then."
Craig's mouth gaped open and a terrible scream rumbled from his throat as the
tall figure moved to a table across the room. From it the man pulled out a
metal pipe. Without a moment's hesitation he whirled around and slammed the
jagged end against Tweek's ribs. The boy sucked in a sharp breath, and then a
scream. It came back down onto his stomach. He twisted and writhed, his spine
arching at the pain.
"One way or another," came a growl. "You will give me that name."
There was another blow. It was one so harsh Tweek felt vomit squirt into the
back of his throat. There was another and another. Each intense, seering pain
causing his throat to burn with stomach acid and his body to convulse and jerk.
A hard boot finished the job when it slammed it's heel into his gut. He slid
onto his side. What little food left in his stomach bubbled out of his mouth
and spilled onto the stone floor. He slammed his eyes closed to hide his tears,
and gasped in the smell of his own bile.
"Now you are hungry," said the man. "Eat."
***** The Real Name *****
It took a lot of begging for Kyle's parents to even let him get out of bed, let
alone go back to school, the next day.
"But your bruises," his mother argued.
"But my math test," he countered.
Seems he damaged their trust in him, because neither of his parents believed
his intentions. In fact, his mother mentioned several times how she should call
the police to get to the bottom of Kyle's wounded state. God forbid Kyle leave
the house where someone else would notice the bruises and make that call for
her.
Kenny had to come over before school that morning to help plead Kyle's case. He
talked with them alone for quite some time. Kyle could hear them through the
vent under his bed.
"Me and the guys are with him all day, we'll keep an eye on him," Kenny argued.
"Besides, If I spend time with him he might tell me what happened."
It was a bogus excuse. Kyle already told Kenny everything, but it worked. Just
a half hour before they bus arrived his mother wrapped a scarf around his neck
to hide the angry hand prints there. She begged him to be safe; to call her if
he needed to come home.
Then, he boarded the bus with Kenny.
He and his small group continued that day by skipping their first class. Rather
than part ways outside the cafeteria after breakfast, they clustered together
and walked to the computer lab. Yearbook Club was held there in the morning.
Unfortunately for its members, Kyle and company crashed their meeting to harass
them with an odd request.
"Tweek Tweak," Butters explained meekly to Wendy Testaburger, the club's
president. "We need a picture of him. A recent one."
"Why?" she pondered with a lopsided frown.
"He's missing," Kyle answered, flustered. "We need a picture for a flyer- we
can't think of anyone else who would have pictures of him."
"Missing?" she asked. "Shouldn't his parents be the ones doing this? Or the
police?"
"The way I see it," Kenny replied, "His parents would have done it already if
they were concerned, and our police force doesn't have the best track record
when it comes to finding missing boys. It's the only chance we have of finding
him right now."
And he was right. Kyle knew in his heart who had Tweek prisoner right then, but
he had no proof, and going directly to Thomas was only going to put Tweek in
even more danger. Kenny was right, and Kyle felt more powerless than ever.
Wendy gave into their request. Not only that, but she was kind enough to offer
her photoshop services and made the posters herself.
Kyle stood wordless beside her computer, fixated on a nearby a row of printers.
He watched each bright yellow flier spit out of the bottom. The words 'MISSING'
assaulted the top of each paper in blocky, black lettering. Underneath the ugly
word was a phone number, and beneath that was the only picture of Tweek Kyle
had ever seen. His yearbook photo from the year before. He looked just as tired
and messy on those missing posters as he did in person.
Wendy printed two hundred of them, fifty for each person in Kyle's entourage.
Kyle divided the stack amongst them, and they each picked a different part of
town to plaster Tweek's face on after school. Eric snatched his stack with a
groan, but, thankfully, refrained from muttering anything hurtful. Butters was
the next to receive his stack. He tucked it in his binder and held it to his
chest. Before Butters left the room behind Cartman, he squeezed Kyle's shoulder
reassuringly.
Kyle wasn't sure what Kenny told them, but they were helping. That's all that
mattered.
Kyle didn't even try to pay attention the rest of the day. Between worrying
about his missing friend and trying to hide his bruises, he didn't have much
time to learn about calculus or biology.
Butters already noticed dark brown smudges on Kyle's sleeve during second
period. It happened to be blood that seeped out of his raw wrists and onto his
clothes. No amount of bathroom hand soap could remove it. His neck, thankfully,
wasn't as tattered as his arms where, but one of his teachers managed a glance
as he readjusted his scarf. Even the spirits around him didn't linger as bad as
her eyes did.
Things only got worse when he realized Eric was more willing to help than he
seemed.
Kyle went to his math class a period after Cartman did, and when he took his
seat he noticed the neon yellow poster tacked to the cork board. The picture of
Tweek's face started a buzz before class even began.
"Who's Tweek?" was what most of them asked.
"I'm not sure," was the nicest reply Kyle heard.
A fear bubbled up in Kyle's stomach when he realized his peers weren't
concerned about the paper's warning. They'd rather murmur about how weird the
boy on it always was, about how he probably just ran away again and it was
better off for everyone if he didn't come back.
Kyle finally understood the pain Tweek carried with him all those years. Fear,
anger, and, most of all, loneliness.
His classmates may not have cared, but Kyle did. There was so much he never
said. There were so many memories they never got to share. In spite of how
terrible everything had been since they met, Kyle was looking forward to giving
Tweek better things to remember. He wanted the chance to really know the boy
who hid under that black jacket. With each hour that ticked by, it seemed more
and more like wishful thinking.
He was so afraid.
Realizing this, an odd memory occurred to him. Tweek's voice bounced around in
his mind before the muffled thought became clearer.
"If you're going to start hanging around with me, you better get used to being
scared."
…
He and his group gathered around their usual table during lunch. The silence
among them was deafening, but Kyle didn't notice. He was too preoccupied with
mutilating his meatloaf to exchange pleasantries. His friends picked at their
lunches, they exchanged lingering glances, but conversation was dead.
"I hung one of Tweek's posters in the library," Butters said, splitting the
tension, as he wrung his hands together. "Have you got anything yet, Kyle?"
"No," he replied. The number on the posters was to an app Kyle downloaded on
his phone. He hated to admit it, but it was a good thing he didn't have any
messages yet with the way the kids in his math class talked. "I think putting
them in school is a good idea just in case, but I don't think we'll have a
chance at reaching anyone until we start leaving them around town for more
adults to see."
"Yeah, you're probably right," Butters replied. "Well, maybe we can hang one
more here in the lunch room. That way all the grades would see it. All the
teachers, too."
"Yeah. I guess so," Kyle muttered, dejected. "I'll hang one on the cork board
by the bathrooms."
When he stood from his seat, Kenny did as well. In a lot of ways it was
comforting to have his friend's ever attentive presence. In others, it felt
suffocating. Kyle's body shook and trembled when he was touched without
consent. His ears rang and burned when he heard voices he didn't expect. Being
around people was hard, because he suddenly found himself untrusting and
suspicious of all of them.
If Craig's own father could do such terrible things to his son- to other
people's sons- what was stopping anyone else from hurting Kyle?
'Kenny is here to help you,' Kyle had to remind himself. 'Not to hurt you.'
Still, he couldn't shake the fear.
"Sorry," Kyle spoke up. "Is it okay if I go on my own?"
Kenny stared for a short moment before nodding his head. They parted ways, but
Kyle knew Kenny was still there if he needed him.
Once he approached the bathrooms Kyle reached into his binder and extracted one
of the yellow posters. With a couple stray thumb tacks, he carefully pinned the
paper on display for the whole school to see. He stepped back for a moment to
admire his work, and then let out a whimper when he realized he ended up
admiring Tweek's face instead.
"Where are you?" He whispered as if the paper could answer.
"What the hell," he heard a groan from beside him. "You've been the one hanging
all these posters?"
It cause him to flinch and jerk away, though he wasn't sure why. His head
snapped towards the person who spoke. A Burnett boy stood there. His chunky
frame sported a red and white letterman jacket, though he didn't belong to the
football team. The boy's brown eyes pried themselves away from the missing
poster to stare at Kyle.
Clyde Donovan.
"Huh?," Kyle muttered, "Oh, yeah."
"What for?" Clyde replied just as awkwardly. His eyes slid back to Tweek's
flier to avoid the aggravated look his question caused.
"What the hell do you mean what for? It's a missing poster, so its purpose
should be pretty obvious," Kyle seethed.
"Well, no. I mean. I saw you've been hanging around him at lunch for a couple
weeks. You gotta know by now that Tweek runs away like… all the time."
"He didn't run away," Kyle spat. His face was getting red in anger, so he
glared at his feet to spare Clyde from it. "He's in trouble. If you don't know
anything that can help you're only wasting my time."
Clyde sighed.
"You're already wasting your time. You haven't been around him long enough to
know how he is, I guess," Clyde nearly whispered. His eyes were still trained
ahead of him, skimming over what little information the paper had to tell him.
"Yeah, because you know so much about him, right?" Kyle growled. Every ounce of
patience had been squeezed out of his aching body. If he was going to take his
pain out on anyone, Clyde was a perfect target. "Because you were such a great
friend to him."
"I was, or at least I tried to be!" Clyde's rant continued, "You don't know how
hard it was after we lost Craig. You don't know how losing somebody like that
can change things! How was I supposed to be there for him when he went crazy
and made up all that shit about-"
"Don't fucking talk to me like I don't know how loosing someone feels!"
"Kyle, it's okay, you don't have to explain yourself to him."
It was Kenny's voice. He, Butters, and Eric all stood behind Kyle. He wasn't
sure how long they'd been there. His head was buzzing. His eyes were watering.
His friends wanted him to back down, but not this time.
"Yes! Yes I do! I'm so sick of this- this ridiculous bullshit! If you don't
fucking remember, my best friend just died last year!" Kyle spat. "Stan fucking
died, you think that didn't change us? You think that didn't make me go crazy?
For the first three months I was a basket-case. I'm still not fucking right,
but my friends didn't abandon me. Tweek's did. You did because strangers liking
you meant more then taking care of the people who already loved you."
"What, did Tweek tell you that?" Clyde demanded with his watery eyes narrowed
and his teeth grinding.
"Tweek is gone, Clyde! No one will fucking listen to me, but he's gone. Gone
like Craig was. Maybe if you didn't dump him like trash he'd still be here!
Maybe if anyone in this fucking town gave two damns about what he was going
through he'd be safe right now!"
By then, Kyle was screaming. Clyde wasn't even arguing anymore. He was just
standing there with his eyes wide, like a child who's mother had been scolding
him. Kenny and Eric took Kyle, who was still screaming, carefully by the
shoulders to lead him away. He was resistant and stumbled as they coaxed him
into the bathroom. Strings of angry obscenities echoed out into the hall until
Kenny closed the door behind them. Butters was left behind to stand awkwardly
before Clyde. The muffled shrieks seeping out of the bathroom beside them
didn't help matters much.
"Um… you'll have to forgive Kyle right now," Butters offered on his friend's
behalf. "Well, seems things have been pretty tough for him. On account'a the
other night and all."
"The other night?" Clyde questioned.
"Yeah. The goth kids found him laying on the side of the road. Well… like he
was just yelling at you, he thinks someone took his friend. He told Kenny
that's why he was out there all night. Looking for Tweek, you know. We aren't
too sure what the whole story is, but the goths have been out looking for him,
too."
"They have?" Clyde asked. "W-wait. How long has he been gone for?"
"Kyle says he went missing last night, but he hasn't shown up for school in
almost a week. They all seem to think it's real serious so, well, so do I."
…
Kyle stopped yelling, eventually. It took a lot of pats on the back from Kenny
and a lot more 'suck it up's from Cartman, but his rage settled in his stomach
and fell silent again. He was leaning over the sink and starting at his
reflection when he started feeling like he was floating.
What an odd sensation. Like nothing he ever felt before. His heart slammed hard
against his ribs and his breath was rapid. At the same time, though, he felt
his numb mind float from the ground. It was as if he was stuck to the ceiling.
He watched himself at the sink. His friends moved around him, speaking words he
didn't understand.
He didn't hear them anymore. It didn't matter what they were trying to say.
The door opened, then.
"Dude, get the hell out of here. You caused enough damage already, dumbass,"
Eric, surprisingly, spat in Kyle's defense.
Kyle's attention swayed from the mirror to the front of the bathroom. A small
group had congregated there. Eric and Kenny stood side by side like a wall
between Kyle and the intruders.
Clyde had returned, but he wasn't alone. He and Token stood together in the
doorway.
"Chill out," Token interrupted as if Clyde couldn't speak for himself. "He's
just here to talk to Kyle."
"Fine, then," Kenny said. "Talk."
Kyle pushed off from the sink and stood, swaying, in the middle of the room.
Clyde's eyes locked with his.
"Alone," Token specified.
"Why?" Eric demanded.
"It's personal."
"And important," Clyde added sheepishly.
"Anything he's got to say he can say in front of us," someone said. Kyle
thought it was Kenny, but by then their bickering was all bleeding together.
"Guys," Kyle spoke up with an annoyed wave of his hand. "It's fine. I don't
have a problem with talking to them alone."
Eric and Kenny exchanged glances. They weren't sure Kyle could handle
confrontation of any kind right now. After a tense moment, Kenny exhaled.
"We'll see you after school, right?" Kenny asked.
"Yeah, of course."
"Okay, we'll see you then," Kenny replied. "Um… be safe."
He turned, and then pushed past Clyde and Token. With a sneer, Eric did the
same.
With Kyle's friends gone, the air only got thicker. Clyde's feet were anchored
into the linoleum. He didn't step forward, didn't speak. Not for a long while.
"Um…" he uttered with his eyes trained onto his feet.
Token gave him a little shove forward, causing Clyde to stumble and approach
Kyle.
"What do you want?" Kyle finally asked with his green eyes narrowing.
The other boy reached into the pocket of his red jacket. He fumbled for a
moment, but pulled out a yellow piece of folded paper. Tweek's missing poster
was Kyle's first thought, but he was proven wrong when Clyde sloppily unfolded
the paper.
It wasn't fresh and new as if printed this morning. It was old and worn, split
into two pieces over time. Still, Clyde had them both, and he held them out for
Kyle to take. Unsure, he took the paper from Clyde. Where Tweek's picture
should have been was replaced with another familiar face. Craig's. This was one
of Craig's missing posters.
An odd energy settled into the fibers of the flyer. Kyle could feel them in his
fingers. Sadness. Fear. Regret. And, somehow, reassurance. Kyle's hands were so
much more observant than they had been before.
So much stronger.
"Why are you giving me this?" he muttered with his eyebrows scrunched.
"Because, well... I tried to call."
"What?" Kyle looked back down at the paper as if it would explain what Clyde
was trying to say.
"When I first saw that poster, I tried to call the number," Clyde clarified.
"The missing persons one. I... I couldn't, though, so I kept the paper in case
I felt brave one day."
Kyle blinked at the little boy in the warn photo. "Clyde, you know something
you aren't telling anybody?... About Craig?"
Clyde looked back at Token, like a child in need of direction. Token closed his
eyes and nodded firmly.
"Tell him, Clyde," Token said. "The same thing you told me this morning."
Clyde squeezed his hands into fists and stood up straight- like that would give
him the bravery he needed to admit whatever secret he'd been hoarding.
"Craig was my best friend," he admitted. "The best friend I ever had. We never
kept secrets from each other. Not ever."
The yellow paper was held loosely in Kyle's hand. He stood ridged, his heart
catching up to his head.
"He came over one night. It was about a week before he went away. We were
laying on my bedroom floor, and he said to me- he said: 'I have something I'm
afraid to tell anyone'. Of course, I told him I was there. So he told me… I'm…
uh, I never talked about this until today."
"Clyde, don't stop. Tell me what Craig said to you," Kyle demanded.
Clyde wiped at his eyes as if he was about to cry, but held it in to mutter,
"Some one was hurting him. He said it had been happening for a while, but he
didn't want anyone to know. If Craig told anyone Tweek would get hurt, too. He
was so scared... When Craig vanished, I knew he who took him. I wanted to tell
someone, but I was only eleven! I didn't know how-"
"Was it his dad? Was it Thomas?" Kyle interrupted, his hands beginning to
shake.
"What?" He muttered while making a face. "No, no. Thomas loved Craig. Fuck, if
he knew what was happening he would have fucking tore that man apart-"
"What man Clyde? Who is the man?"
Clyde blinked, and then rubbed his face with his sleeve once more.
"Richard," Clyde said.
Kyle just stood there. He just stood there and stared as Clyde lifted his head
to look into his eyes.
"Richard?" Kyle uttered. The name was so familiar, but he couldn't quite place
it.
"Tweek's dad," Clyde explained solemnly. "That's why Craig never wanted anyone
to ever know. He was molesting Craig, and Craig just- he just took it, 'case he
thought as long as Richard was hurting him he'd leave Tweek alone.
"But then Craig stopped showing up for school. In a fucked up way, I blamed it
on Tweek."
Kyle still didn't speak. He just stared with his lips lack and his eyes watery.
It didn't make sense. Wasn't Thomas the man who caught Craig with that dreaded
photo album? The door in his vision was unfamiliar. It easily could have been
either of their parent's closets.
"Are you for sure he's really gone?" Clyde asked. His body was quivering, then.
"You don't really think someone took him, right?"
Kyle didn't answer.
***** Be Silent, Not Still *****
The weather outside finally gave into it's cool, harsh ways. Snow fell in thick
puffs out the shop window, and Kyle was wrapped snugly in a big orange parka
when he stepped inside. Kenny and the others were spread out plastering Tweek's
face about town. Because of this, Kyle was alone.
He rubbed the cold off of his bare hands as he took a look around. Mrs. Tweak
was the first person to catch his eye. She stood not even five feet away while
she scratched at the linoleum with a broom. Her white fingers clutched the
handle tightly, and she mumbled incoherent babble to herself. Kyle deposited
his hands inside his big pockets. There, they could safely revel in comforting
visions of Kenny.
"Um, hello," he greeted.
She jerked her head up, and then forced a smile.
"Hello," she muttered in return. "The Broflovski boy… two coffees with two
creams each. Yes, I remember."
"That's me," he said, deciding not to point out that's the same thing she said
last time they met.
His eyes wandered towards the start of his next mission; the front counter. He
planned to step towards it, towards the man standing dutifully behind it, but
he didn't have the courage. Not yet.
"Looks like winter's finally hit us," she uttered while twisting the broom
handle in her fists. Kyle jumped and tore his eyes away from the small line of
customers at the back of the shop.
Looking at her worn expression and disheveled state, he caught himself
wondering how much she knows. How much she'd seen. Surely she'd have some
gruesome stories to tell, being the wife of a serial killer and all.
Did she know about Craig, just as Clyde had?
Did she know about Tweek?
Fighting the urge to reach out and touch her was difficult. Kyle's fingers
curled into fists in his pockets. Not yet,he reminded himself. Not yet.
"Yeah, I can't believe how much snow's already coming down," he replied.
Deep inside, he was terrified of what the bitter chill would mean for Tweek. He
only hoped his friend was somewhere the snow couldn't get to him.
"Yes," Mrs. Tweak said, and then she continued her sweeping.
Only then did he realize her hands shook around the handle. He felt the urge to
comfort her, for some reason. There was something more important that demanded
his attention.
He straightened the front of Kenny's parka, stuffed his hands back into it's
pockets, and then got in line for a coffee. Three people were in line ahead of
him. By the time he got to the counter, though, he was the last in the store.
"Hello. Welcome to Tweak's Coffee," said a voice. A voice that made his ears
ring and his body grow weak. "How may I help you today?"
He tried to lift his head to look the barista in the face, but his eyes were
watering. He rubbed his tongue over his lips to wet them, and then uttered
softly: "A large, uh… v-vanilla cream with one… wait, I mean two creamers."
His face would have gone red from his stuttering; that is, if it hadn't already
been paper white.
"Of course, coming right up," said the man.
He turned away from Kyle to make his drink, and when he did the boy finally
raised his head to look at him.
Normal. He seemed so normal. He was balding, like many middle aged men. He wore
a casual green button up shirt and a pair of slacks. Both of which were
protected by an apron. It said "Tweak's Coffee" across the front. Kyle couldn't
see it from behind, but it was the same apron Tweek wore last time Kyle was
served there.
When the man spun around with coffee in hand, Kyle flinched. He didn't want to
talk to Richard. He didn't want to even see him, but once Kyle got a glimpse he
couldn't stop staring. A thick white patch covered the right side of his face.
His eye, more specifically. A small, red stain formed in the center of the
gauze. Torn skin peeked out from the adhesive edges like thick, bloody veins.
"You alright there, son?" the man asked. "Looks like you've seen a ghost."
He sat the cup on the counter before Kyle. The boy didn't reach for it.
"Oh, sorry. It's just," Kyle made a gesture to the side of his own face. "What
happened?"
Richard reached up and touched the gauze with his fingertips, as if he'd
forgotten it was there.
"Ah, yes, this," Richard uttered, swaying side to side. "See, I tried to pick
up carpentry again after a long while. I guess power tools and I don't get
along."
Kyle narrowed his eyes slightly at the excuse. From what bit he could see of
Richard's wounds, it looked like he got in a tussle with a honey badger. Like
something, or someone, tore at his face with talons.
Chit chat wasn't going to answer any of Kyle's questions.
"Maybe it's time for a new hobby."
Richard laughed. It was an honest, casual laugh. Just how normal it sounded was
what made Kyle's skin crawl. If Clyde hadn't confessed, Kyle would never have
guessed Richard was capable of any wrong doing.
He jammed his hand in his jean pocket and fished for the five dollar bill he'd
stashed there. He was ready to get what he came for.
He held the money tightly in his fist when he offered it to the man over the
counter. Without a second thought, Richard reached for the money.
He touched Kyle's hand.
"You know how very much I love you, don't you?"a low, gruff voice whispered in
Kyle's ear. "You know that I'm only hurting you like this because you're making
me."
Richard sputtered in confusion when Kyle's eyes rolled back in his head. The
man tried to jerk his hand away, but Kyle ensnared it between his fingers and
squeezed tight.
Tweek was there. In his head. In Richard's hands.
He just sat against a bed frame with his head hung low and his breathing
shallow. His wrists hurt so badly. His hands were stinging, but numb at the
same time. His body hurt so badly that all he wanted to do was scream until his
soar throat gave out.
He resisted that terrible urge. At the top of the stairs a tiny, heaving body
clutched to the makeshift railing. It cried out as it's unruly limbs searched
for Tweek.
He couldn't scream. He couldn't cry.
He couldn't let Craig know how much pain he was in.
"I can't bear to hurt you anymore," his captor continued. "Please. Just tell me
who was helping you. Just say their name- then we can all finally go to sleep-
it can all be over."
Tweek remained silent.
"Hm, still so stubborn," the voice muttered. Tweek felt a hand run through his
hair. He flinched, but didn't bother trying to jerk away. "You're so much like
me, it's almost sickening."
Tweek felt his stomach churn at those words, but he wouldn't dare throw up
again. Last time, he was forced to lick it off the floor.
"...I know something. Something that will change your mind," he muttered.
The man stood from where he was crouched before Tweek, and then walked back to
the table situated across the room. Tweek stiffened, his breath rapid and
terrified. The table was a terrible thing.
Craig cried from the top of the stairs when he heard the movement. His head
tilted and swayed as he struggled to catch up with what was happeneing. Tweek
lifted his head to get a glimpse of him; the only comforting sight he had.
Tweek didn't expect Craig to save him, even if the tiny spirit had the power
to. Craig was just a child. Still in body and in mind. Being faced with the man
who caused all this, the one who raped and murdered him, Tweek expected nothing
more than for Craig to sit at the top of those stairs and cry.
Tweek was the grown up here. Tweek was the one who was supposed to protect
Craig.
When his captor returned he didn't have in his hand a knife or bolt cutters.
Instead, he held tightly to a book. It was white and rather large. The cover
sported a plastic picture frame, though it was empty, and a dark brown smudge
in one corner. Tweek narrowed his eyes at the thing, but was still wordless.
"I guess it's only fair if I tell you the whole story," he said. "Maybe then
you'll understand."
Tweek doubted that.
His father crouched before him. The book was held lovingly against his chest
when he cracked the cover open. Tweek's face twisted. Pictures were hidden
inside, pictures Tweek would have slept much easier without seeing.
His eye twitched with the turn of each new page. On every one was another
terrible spread of another boy's defilement and, inevitably, demise. Tweek
wanted to close his eyes, but by then he was well conditioned to know better.
If Tweek didn't use them when his father wanted him to, he feared he'd lose
them. So he sat there, eyes wide and mouth a trebling line.
"The first time I felt it is when you were three," Richard admitted. "I didn't
want to do it. I couldn't let it be you. I found the first boy about a year
later. I had to watch him for a while. I had to know when I could pick him up.
I wasn't sure what I was going to do once I really had him, but it just came so
naturally. After that, I wasn't nervous anymore."
He flipped the page again. Another boy who looked like all the others before.
His eyes were wide, just like Tweek's. the color was the same too. In fact, his
hair, his face, it was all comparable to Tweek. The disgusting things in those
photos made his stomach twist and his head swim.
"There were five more after the first. I swore I'd stop after Thomas, this boy
from North Park, was dead. I kicked the habbit," Richard said, as if he was
talking about cigarettes. "I did, too. At least until hedid what he did."
When the page was turned again Tweek had to look away. His eyes didn't close,
but they shot up to the ceiling to avoid having to take in what was in front of
him.
"Oh, no, no, no," Richard cooed softly. His hand found the bottom of Tweek's
jaw and pulled his head back down. "You have to see this or else you won't
understand how badly I need you to tell me that name."
Tweek squinted when he looked at the page. A small face greeted him. It was one
most familiar, though he hadn't seen it so in tact in a long while. This was a
little boy who looked nothing like Tweek, aside from his blue eyes.
Craig.
Tweek leaned forward to get a better look at that face. He wasn't smiling and
happy like Tweek remembered. Instead, he was hunkered in a stone corner. His
eyes down away from the camera. His face red.
He wore humiliation, but not much else.
Tweek's head tilted to the side as if it just became too heavy for him to bear.
"He wasn't like the others. His eyes were just as beautiful, you know. So
bright. So blue," Richard smiled before his gaze fell onto Tweek, who was
clenching his teeth so tightly he thought they would burst out of his gums.
"But he wouldn't stop STARING at at me. They followed me everywhere I went, and
every time I tried to touch him, they'd leak when he cried. I hated it, you
know? I had to take them out. Him looking at me like that made me feel..."
"Guilty," Tweek finished for him, teeth bared and snarling like a wild dog.
"You knew him his whole life, you're friends with his father. You felt guilty."
Richard clasped his hands together and continued on as if he hadn't been so
rudely interrupted. "Odd... it made me feel odd."
"He was different for another reason, too, though."
He flipped the page. Tweek's face twisted and his jaw clenched. Craig. His
small, tiny creature. His helpless, sweet child. Those pictures were something
Tweek never should have had to see. In them, Craig was broken, crying,
violated. Tweek's chest heaved. He made strangled, angry sounds he didn't know
any human was capable of.
"The others were all forced to die for you," Richard whispered.
"Die... for me..."
Richard nodded. "That's why all this happened. It's all because of you. I had
to protect you, you know. You're my son. I love you. I didn't want to do that
to you."
Tweek wasn't even listening. he was just staring, head tilting, eyes wet. He
just stared at those vile pictures of Craig. His lips trebling, but mind like
television static.
"Craig chose to die for you."
That caught Tweek's attention. His head raised from those disturbing images of
his baby, and up to the man who took him away.
"He came willingly. I mean, sure, he tried to run, once, but he got in my car
when I told him to. He followed me into the woods like I told him to. He knew
what would happen to him. He knew what was going to come, but he still
followed. Do you know why?"
Tweek only replied with rapid, dry breaths.
"He knew if he didn't, it would be you. He died for you. No, because of you.
They all died because of you."
"Shut up," Tweek growled. He rolled his head around on his shoulders, but never
closed his eyes. "You did this, not me. YOU did. Craig, he... I take care of
him. I love him, I didn't- I didn't-"
"You didn't what? You didn't cause this?
The page flipped again, to the last pictures he had in the book. Of course,
Tweek's precious specter was the subject of them. Eyeless, bruised. He looked
nothing like the first little Craig in that book. He looked like the Craig that
cried at the top of the basement stairs.
He laid on the bed, the one behind Tweek. His head limp to the side. His pale,
bruised legs apart and bloody. Tweek's sorrow bubbled up out of his chest and
into his eyes. Silently, they leaked.
"He wouldn't stop screaming. I tried to choke him to make it stop, but he
wiggled away from me. I told him I'd give him something worth crying about. It
was an old bottle, but I didn't think it'd shatter like that."
Richard's finger slid down the page, towards the last square Polaroid the album
bared. Craig, again. Still eyeless, still miserable. This time, though, the
blood was pouring out of his face. Out of his mouth. White, hazy pieces of
long, jagged glass was scattered on the sheets beside him. Pieces were lodged
in the poor things mouth. In his throat.
The horror Tweek felt when he realized that jagged glass was familiar.
They weren't teeth.
He tightened his jaw and dropped his head. As wordless as ever, but raging
underneath.
"He couldn't even speak," Richard said. "He could just... gurgle up blood. That
poor thing. Poor little thing. I couldn't make out a word he was saying, but I
think… I think he was crying for you.
"I suppose it was for the best. If he hadn't died that night, his eyes would
have caused it later. They were getting puss in them, you see?"
"You're disgusting," Tweek said. His voice was so dry and small. He was too
thirsty, too weak, to be as angry as he felt.
Richard wouldn't close the book. He kept it open against his chest; open to
that picture of Craig choking on broken glass.
"You realize now, though, right?" Richard asked. "Look at all these terrible
things."
Again, Richard ran his fingertips over the yellowing page.
"This world has no place for people like us. Like me. I'm going to erase it
all. We'll all drown together where we belong. Just let me end it."
"How?"
"Tell me who was helping you. We can't leave any pieces behind. It all has to
fade away along with us. Just tell me that name. That's all you have to do to
make it stop."
Tweek couldn't even focus on the information his father was asking for. He
couldn't stop staring at the mangled images of Craig.
"I won't do it."
"Boy," Richard said, more violent this time. "I'm afraid you don't have a
choice."
He honestly couldn't remember anything in that moment. Tweek had to allow
himself a long blink to conjure up bits and pieces of memories.
Fiery red hair was the most vivid image in his mind. Large, green eyes. A kind
smile. Everything Kyle was.
Kyle.
Tweek's gaze strayed from his father's eyes. He looked up to Craig, as if sight
of the boy would inspire him to form a plan. There was no such luck, though,
because Craig wasn't the only odd creature he caught sight of. There was
another.
It stood beneath the staircase. Beneath Craig. It's large, reddened eyes
glowered at the little boy through the gaps in the stairs. It's long, furry
ears feathered across the wood when it lowered its head to face Tweek. It
smiled at Tweek through the gross yellow light of the flood lamp. He could see
it's buck teeth glisten in the darkness of the corner.
Richard jerked his head back as well. He tilted it a bit, and then shifted his
gaze back to his son.
"What do you keep looking at?" he demands, his fists curling tightly.
"Craig!" Tweek demanded through his tight jaw. "Get up! Please, you have to get
out of here!"
Those bulging, rabbit eyes stayed trained through the spaces between the
basement stairs. Craig lifted his head. It tilted from side to side.
"Will you stop!" Richard braked with a sneer on his face. "We both know
northing's there. You aren't scaring me!"
Tweek couldn't even hear his father's raving.
"Listen to me!" Tweek spat to his trembling creature. "You have to stand! You
know what that thing did to David, Craig. Please!"
"There's no one there!" Richard screamed with his hand reeling back. Tweek
stiffened when it crashed back down across his face. "There was never anyone
there! That's why it never scared me. You talked like you knew it all- but
everything you said was wrong! A scared kid making up stories!"
Tweek didn't care about what Richard was saying or about the stinging in his
jaw. It didn't phase him. All he was concerned about, as he had always been,
was the tiny child cowering at the top of that staircase.
"Craig!" Tweek demanded, his voice stern and desperate. "Go!"
A boot met with his gut, and his words got crammed into his throat. The rabbit
still stood under the stairs. It's big bulging eyes scraped in it's head as
it's focus shifted. It seemed amused by Tweek's predicament.
"Shut up!"
The back of a hand again found the side of Tweek's face in a stingingly painful
blow. Tweek went limp to one side, his greasy hair covering his face as he
heaved for the breath he'd just lost.
"You're fucking crazy. Craig's dead, remember? Ishould know! And I'm going to
prove it. Yeah, that's what I'll do."
Richard reached forward and took a painful hold of Tweek's ankle.
"If your ghost is here, he'd stop this- right?"
Those hands tore at him. At the zipper on the front of his jacket. At the
buttons on the front of his dirty pants. He spit curses at first, and then he
cried out pitiful pleas.
This wasn't happening. It couldn't be. His wrists twisted and stung against
their restraints, but there was no way he could make it stop. Thick fingers
forced their way into the opening of his pants, and a screech burst from
Tweek's throat.
"Please, no! Please!" His face twisted into a red, wet mess as he begged for
his father to stop. His once strong voice was reduced to the trembling of a
child. "Please don't. P-please."
"Shut your fucking mouth."
This was it. The punishment Craig endured all that time. The defilement, the
shame. Tweek felt it all before he was even deprived of his jeans.
Under the sounds of Tweek's strangled cries, there was a growl. It was a low
and angry warning as bone tipped fingers scraped against wood. Trembling lips
curled back over jagged teeth of glass.
"No!" Tweek wailed, his feet kicking and his voice raspy. "Let go! Let go of
me!"
The small apparition was more afraid for Tweek than he was of the man hurting
him.
His wobbling, thin legs carried him down the steps one by creaking one. The
rabbit watched each movement with a twitch of his pink nose. This was fun for
him- Kyle could see it in the grin around those buck teeth.
This- this is what he wanted.
Craig showed his fangs. Arms cracked out of his contorted spine, growls spilled
out of his trembling jaw. Richard did turn around at the noise, but didn't hear
it like his son did. He didn't see the quivering branches of flesh reaching for
him.
Richard's hands spared the edge of Tweek's pants a few moments of mercy, but
only because they preoccupied themselves by winding around Tweek's throat. They
squeezed so tightly the boy felt his windpipe crushing together. His mouth
spilled open for air, but it was fruitless.
Craig's tiny body staggered closer.
As Tweek soundlessly gasped, his father placed a kiss on his bottom lip.
"Oh, you poor, pretty thing."
Richard froze in terror when, through the flickering yellow light, he saw
something peering at him below the throat he was crushing. A tiny, eyeless face
hid in the folds beneath Tweek's jacket.
The pointed tips of bony fingers jerked forward and sliced deep into the man's
face. The bone sank into wet, red flesh.
By instinct, Richard lurched back. Blood came pouring down Craig's arm. It
soaked into his pretty rainbow sweater and left pools in Tweek's loose pants.
Whatever oozing flesh Craig latched onto was left between the dead boy's clammy
fingers.
Richard stumbled to his feet. He trembled wordlessly as he watched his fluids
gush out of him and spill onto the floor. He pressed a loose, sagging flap of
skin against his cheek; hiding his new gaping deformity behind his hand.
He stumbled backwards as Craig emerged on all fours. He kept most of himself
engulfed in the safety of the jacket. His grinding, popping arms whined with
every movement, but they reached yearningly towards Richard's last remaining
eye.
"God, you were there. You were watching me through the keyhole," The man
sputtered while retreating to the stairs.
Craig's oozing maw gaped open. Thick, jagged edges of dirty glass protruded
from his torn gums. His remaining arms were folded back, ready to strike. His
head tilted from side to side as he tried to hear where Richard fled to.
Tweek's breath became heavy and frightened when his father ran up the
staircase. The thick, wooden door slammed hard behind him.
Tweek was again left there alone, still cuffed to the bed.
It was daylight. The wounded man was retreating from a shack-like structure.
There were trees all around. The vivid vision was falling apart into just
pictures and words.
In the woods.
He never left the woods.
Something searing hot soaked into the front of his parka. Only when Kyle
blinked the color back into his eyes did he notice the steaming brown liquid.
It seeped into the front of Kenny's coat. What didn't land on him had pooled
around the empty paper cup at his feet.
It must have fallen off the counter when Richard was struggling to pry Kyle's
fingers off of him.
"Where is he?" Kyle demanded, tears in his eyes. "What did you do, Richard?!"
The man didn't respond. He just stared at the bleeding boy.
"What did you do!?"
Kyle held his nose, which was gushing with blood, while he backed towards the
exit.
"Shhh, you're fine," he heard Tweek's mother try to reassure him. "I think you
had a bad seizure, okay? Do you need an ambulance?"
Both her and her one-eyed husband gawked at him as he backed into the front
door. He pushed it open with a crimson covered hand, which smeared his blood on
the glass as he shoved it open.
"Wait!" Mrs. Tweak called, but Kyle didn't listen. He ran down the street and
didn't dare to stop.
***** Shadowman's Folly *****
The light cast through the dark was the only thing keeping Tweek awake. It
shined from the flood light his father left on. It was a small comfort, but the
batteries would wear down eventually. If, of course, they didn't outlive Tweek.
How long had it been since he'd been abandoned down there? Hours? Days? Weeks?
He couldn't even venture to guess.
He wasn't alone, though. Craig sat in his lap. He was curled up in a ball,
quiet and motionless. The two of them remained that way since Richard fled the
room bleeding.
"Craig," Tweek said. His voice was cracking and small in a way it had never
been before, but Craig heard it.
The boy rose his head to face the direction of Tweek's voice. His creaking,
tired bones ground and whined when he raised up to sit straight. He laid his
head in the crook of Tweek's neck, nuzzling there.
"I'm sorry it ended up like this," Tweek whispered. "It's my fault. I wish I
would have known what he did to you. All that time I yelled at you for growling
at him. You just wanted him away from me."
Tweek laid his head against Craig's and a small, weak sigh slipped out of his
lips.
"I'm sorry… I just hoped that if I could find you it'd make things better. Like
somehow digging up your body would get back everything you lost... I just
wanted to see your eyes again." Tweek sucked in a steadying breath, but his
eyes were already wet. "I couldn't help you at all. I can't even help me.
Craig… I think this might be it."
Craig's tiny fists twisted into Tweek's shirt and tugged hard. He cried out in
protest, but Tweek's eyes were too heavy to keep open. He was so thirsty. His
body hurt so bad. He was so tired.
"It's okay," he muttered. "I'll always be with you- always. Even if I can't
fight anymore. Even if I…"
Tweek's eyes closed, and his face twisted in discomfort.
"…Even if I die."
Craig crawled off of Tweek's lap and stood. The arms that didn't belong to him
wandered seemingly in confusion. They spread out across the dirty floor and
tangled themselves in the steel bed frame. When Craig lowered to his knees,
though, they all froze where they were and began to tremble. His sharp, jagged
teeth came back to him.
"Craig… where are you?"
The trembling limbs shifted and bent to Craig's will. They spread over the
cement floor until one found a loose brick. It heaved it out of the floor, and
deposited it's find into one of Craig's real hands. He felt it for a moment,
compensating for his loss of sight.
"Where are you," Tweek asked again through his bloody teeth.
The boy felt the chain binding Tweek to the bed, and immediately began to beat
on it with the brick. He spat and growled and screamed as he struck the chain
over and over, harder each time. He broke into angry wails when he realized the
chain wouldn't give into him, but he didn't stop.
"Craig," Tweek repeated as he struggled to move his body. He put himself
between the chain and Craig's crumbling brick. "It's okay."
Craig didn't seem to think so. He left the brick broken and abandoned on the
floor, but his arms, under his influence, reached around to tear away at the
unfazed metal.
Tweek could see it in Craig in that moment- the loss of control that destroyed
the spirit in the tunnel and turned it into a monster.
Fear. He saw the boy's fear.
"Listen to me," Tweek managed to utter the agony in his jaw. Craig stopped,
rigid and shaken.
"Okay, now, I need you to breathe."
Craig's response were deep, quick breaths like a rabbit between a wolf's teeth.
"Do you remember when we were little? When your guinea pig died? You told me
your life was good because I was there. Well… I wanted you to know that's how I
felt, too. That's how I feel now. I know… I know this isn't how we wanted
things to be. I always said I was supposed to be a famous actor. You were
supposed to grow up to be an astronaut."
Tweek laughed a little, and the glass in Craig's mouth retreated back into his
throat.
"This isn't how it was supposed to be, but at least we're together. That's…
that's more than I could have ever asked for. And if I die down here, then you
and I will really be together again."
Craig's face disappeared into Tweek's shoulder.
The small boy heaving in his lap opened his mouth. As usual, dark, congealed
blood oozed out of his lips as they moved. He wanted so badly to talk back. It
hurt so badly. The jagged ends of glass dug into his throat with every
attempted word, and clumps of drying blood muffled any sound he would have
made.
His mouth remained open, and his jaw cracked when it moved.
"It's okay," Tweek said again as he nuzzled his nose into the side of Craig's
face.
Then, he heard something he never thought he'd hear again.
Something that came out of Craig's quivering jaw.
Unlike the chorus of children that usually spilled out of Craig's mouth, it was
just one voice. One quiet, trembling voice that left his ears ringing and his
heart thumping hard. The voice was one he remembered better than anything, but
what it said was new.
"I…" came out first. It was choked and gurgled, but it was Craig's. "I…"
Tweek sat silently. His eyes were closed and his breath shallow.
"I love you."
At first, there was only silence around them. Tweek sank a little lower. The
handcuffs pulled a little harder against his wrists. His wet eyes soundlessly
spilled over.
"I… I love you, too."
He closed his eyes tightly and dropped his head down against Craig's. His
shoulders quaked and sorry sounds bubbled out of his throat.
"So much. I love you so much."
...
He couldn't remember the last time he road a bike, but it was true what they
said. Once you learned it's something you'd never forget. Kyle's legs pushed to
move the bike through the slowly-mounting snow. The bike wasn't his, but
instead a neighbor's who'd left it laying in their front yard. It would get him
there faster than walking, and he needed to be as far away as he could be
before anyone noticed he was missing again.
The snow fell so thick he could hardly see in front of him. The street lamps
helped, thankfully. They were the only thing guiding his way to the pond.
By the time he made it to the church he was already short winded. He rolled to
a stop in the big, empty parking lot. His breath made small clouds as he
dismounted and leaned the stolen bike against a light pole.
The pond was just a short walk away now, and the bike would be useless in the
woods.
He rubbed his hands on Kenny's parka to try and regain some warmth in them. He
reached in the pocket and pulled out a red bandanna. He couldn't bare to leave
it behind, so he wrapped it around his face, and then raised his hood to
protect his ears from the chill. This was it.
He couldn't turn back now.
He left the bike where it was, hoping one way or another it would be returned
to it's owner. Then, he walked. Once he reached the edge of the Church the
street lights no longer helped. Their guiding light faded away. He pulled his
flashlight of of his messenger bag, but the small beam of light didn't comfort
him like the lamps had.
"Stan?" Kyle muttered as he tugged at one of the yarn bracelets around his
wrist. "Are You there?"
He didn't get a reply, though he didn't know what he was expecting.
"I'm not sure if you are or not, but I... I have to confess something to you."
Again, silence answered. He squeezed his toes in his socks to try and warm
them.
"I'm so scared," he whispered. "I don't know what I'm going to find tonight, or
how different things will be tomorrow."
"Sometimes I wish I could go back in time just so I could talk to you again.
You'd know just what to say. You always did." Kyle took in a deep breath and
tipped his head back. "And I know I wasn't there for you like I should have
been, but all I need right now is to know that you're here with me tonight.
That I'm not all alone."
A feeling of fear bubbled up in his chest at first when he felt fingertips
sliding down the back of his arm. Somehow, the didgets were inside of his
clothes, as if they'd been waiting in his sleeve. They were warm, though. The
fingers slipped down his palm and interlaced with his own, squeezing tightly.
Kyle closed his watering eyes and steadied his breath before he could squeeze
back.
"Are you ready?" He asked.
The hand squeezed tighter.
"Okay."
And so he walked. Quickly at first, but slower when he hit the pond. The water
was starting to freeze over. Little layers of ice crept off of the shore, but
the fish were still swimming freely. In a month or so, the pond would be open
for ice skaters, as it was every year. Would people still use the pond at all
after tonight? After the whole godforsaken town finally knew the truth?
This was another question that could only be answered by time.
He tiptoed past the rickety shack of a public bathroom, past the quiet docks,
and into the tree line.
He hadn't been in those woods since he day Tweek went missing. Stepping into
the thicket did not feel the same as it did before.
He followed his memorized path to the abandoned house in the woods. All the
while his flashlight scanned the tall trunks and fluttering snow flakes around
him. The woods were deafeningly silent. They were either still angry at him for
forcing them to talk, or they were mourning.
After much walking, he finally caught rotting siding in the beam of his
flashlight. He clutched onto the strap of his backpack with his free hand, and
then jogged to the back door. The decrepit wood looked like the shack he saw in
Richard's hands. Even though Tweek wasn't there, it was the best place to
start.
He slammed the kitchen door behind him; the darkness of the forest felt like a
monster he had to keep out. Then, he turned to face the room. His eyes lingered
on the floor where he once found Tweek sleeping. An odd feeling swept over him
when he realized Tweek had once been there. At one time, there, but in another,
gone.
He walked through the living room and listened to the wind whistle through the
gaps in the windows. He walked up the stairs and observed the blood on the
floor. There wasn't nearly as much ass he remembered there being. There were
drops and streaks, but it wasn't the gory bloodbath his mind tricked him into
thinking it was.
He spent time in the bedroom they hung the boy's pictures in, but he didn't
stay there long. He looked through the drawers in the dresser in the hallway.
Still, nothing spoke to him. It was as if the house was too afraid to tall him
it's secrets.
He began to believe houses, trees, places, could all be affected like people
could.
They could all be affected by the things they'd seen.
It would explain why Craig's bedroom was so eager to tell Kyle all about the
boy who used to inhabit it, but the woods didn't dare speak about where that
boy disappeared to.
He ran his fingers over the banister on his way back down. He could try to
force the house to speak, but even if it told him anything he'd be too
incapacitated to act.
He sat on the bottom stair, wrapped his coat tightly around him, and tried to
think of his next course of action. Somewhere. Tweek was obviously somewhere in
those woods.
It was then in his silence he heard a sound. Small vibrations plagued the plank
of wood he sat on, and heavy scratching assaulted his ears. He jolted up off
the staircase and took a step back. The scratching turned into bangs.
Slowly, Kyle circled around the staircase. His eyes locked onto a closet
nestled beneath them. The small door didn't move, but the angry sounds came
from inside. He steadied his flashlight in front of him. Besides the chipping
white paint, there was nothing peculiar about the door.
"H-hello?" he demanded, and then took a step forward. "Who's there?"
The banging stopped, but was replaced by loud, livid growls.
He bit his bottom lip and wrapped his fingers around the loose metal door
handle. He jumped back when he swung it open, but there was nothing inside. The
beam of his flashlight cut through the dark in the tiny room. He leaned inside,
his eyes scanning every inch and corner. The closet looked like it'd been
abandoned mid-construction. There were no plastered walls, but only exposed
wooden beams and patches of insulation. It was eerie in the limited glow he
cast on it, but nothing else.
There was no one there.
However, there was a tiny piece of metal embedded to the wall on his right. He
never would have noticed if it didn't shine his light back into his eyes. He
fiddled with the odd piece of metal. It looked like a handle that belonged to a
cabinet door, but it didn't budge when he pulled on it. He shined his beam
higher, and more metal glinted back at him.
A set of sliding locks were drilled into the wooden beams. He got onto his
tiptoes and pried them apart, then bit his lip as he pushed at the heavy slab
of wood. He backed away as it slowly creaked open. Beyond the hidden door was
mostly just black. Swallowing down his fear, he approached with his flashlight
in hand. Another set of stairs greeted him. They were old and rotting, and most
of them were devoured by the darkness below.
Kyle never knew that house had a basement. And, he assumed, Tweek never would
have either if he didn't go looking for one.
In the beam of his light, pairs of eyes shined back at him from between the
railings of the staircase. He let out a small cry and shined his light on them,
but the shadows scurried away from the abrasive glow to hide.
They whispered to each other so low that Kyle couldn't make out what they were
saying, but he heard them echo. He yanked his red bandanna off his face and
around his neck.
"Tweek?" He whispered at first, and then repeated himself louder.
Tweek didn't answer, but something else did.
It was a low, gravely hiss that crept up from the pit and into his ears. He
recognized the warning.
"Craig?"
Wood cried beneath his boots when he gathered the courage to step down onto the
first stair. The hissing got louder, but it didn't deter Kyle.
He stepped down until he was low enough to sweep his flashlight around the
room. What he saw in it's beam, though, was not what he expected.
There were children. Six? Seven? He didn't know. They were all huddled together
beside a bed. Their forms intertwined as they hold one another in fear. The
apparitions shivered and whimpered, whispering to one another.
Their faces were all familiar, and they all gawked at his presence. He took
another step closer, and his heart lodged in his throat when he realized one of
the boys was not like the rest. He was not awake and huddling. Instead, he sat
limp against the bed frame. His head drooped to one side. The other boys
surrounded him. They clung to his clothes, held to his shoulders, piled around
him, as if they were protecting him.
"Tweek," Kyle whispered. His jaw quivered when he realized how motionless the
boy was. How sick and dead he appeared.
He took steps that were quick and desperate.
Something shot out between the open slats of the staircase and jerked at his
ankle. He caught himself on the railing, but his flashlight went tumbling down
the steps and then smashed against the cement floor at the bottom. In the
flickering, frantic line of light, he could see something waiting for him at
the bottom. He shivered as his flashlight rolled away and collided with the
wall. The beam illuminated a pair of pale feet. The faint growling became
ravenous and animalistic- like a pack of bloodthirsty dogs.
And Kyle was the intruder that defiled their den.
The small, trembling feet swayed towards the bottom step, and Kyle fell back as
he tried to scramble away. He jerked and kicked his leg, but a bony pair of
hands held his ankle captive between them.
"Craig! Let me go!" Kyle demanded, but the hands did not release him, and the
small silhouette was climbing the staircase. It scurried towards him on
creaking hands and knees, screaming like a wild animal. Kyle managed to jerk
away from the hand squeezing his leg, but a plethora of others shot up from
beneath the wood to ensnare him. He wasn't even touching the ground anymore.
"Stop!"
The scream wasn't Kyle's, but it still didn't deter the beast. Craig's sharp
fingers were already embedding into Kyle's shoulders, and two rows of broken,
bloody glass gaped open to peel away the skin of his face.
He slammed his eyes closed and screamed.
"Craig! It's Kyle! It's not Richard!Stop! Please stop!" It was Tweek.
Kyle could feel rancid breath puff onto his cheeks. It smelled thickly of road
kill, and it was hot and wet. The arms around him squeezed so tight and hard he
couldn't move anything except his left arm. Cautiously, he reached out to touch
the face contemplating his fate.
"Craig. It's me. Please let go. You're hurting me," he pleaded breathlessly.
Suddenly, Kyle was falling. Gravity slammed him against groaning wood, and he
nearly went tumbling down the stairs.
Craig was nowhere to be seen, but Kyle could feel him shifting in the shadows.
Ignoring to fear in his stomach, he caught his breath and bolted to the bottom.
He snatched his flashlight off the floor, and then waved it around the room.
The boys were all suddenly missing, but Craig's mass of arms twisted and
intertwined like writhing snakes under the stairs. Kyle's fear subsided when he
again caught Tweek's slouched body in his sight.
His footsteps echoed around the basement as he rushed to his friend. Tweek's
head rolled on his shoulders like he wanted to look up, but didn't have the
strength. His eyes were black, and a gash cracked the skin of his forehead and
cheek.
"Oh, Tweek. God," was all Kyle could manage.
Tweek tipped his head away from Kyle's bright light and blinked in discomfort.
"Kyle," Tweek replied. "How did you find me?"
"That doesn't matter right now. Fuck," Kyle growled as he felt Tweek's bound
wrists. "You're handcuffed?"
"Yeah."
"Where's the key?"
"On my dad."
"Fuck, shit. How the hell am I supposed to get you loose?" Kyle panicked aloud.
"On the table- there's a pair of bolt cutters," Tweek said.
Clutching his only source of light, Kyle hurried to the old table across the
room. He smiled when metal blades glinted back at him, but that smile wavered
into a look of horror when he saw what lay beside them. Four human fingers. The
wood beneath them was stained a darker hue than the rest of the table, and they
began to bloat and rot without fresh blood running through them. The skin had
turned plastic looking and pale, but he could still clearly see the dirt caked
under their big square fingernails.
He snatched the bolt cutters off of the table, and quickly returned to Tweek's
side. His friend leaned forward and pulled his wrists apart so Kyle could reach
the chain. He knelt down beside the bed frame, and his stomach rolled in a sick
way when he saw Tweek's hands. The flesh was bleeding and torn where the
handcuffs where eating into his wrists. Some places were particularly bad. The
cuts split open into puss filled wounds. Gauze was wrapped around the stubs of
where his fingers used to be. They were hard with dried blood and scabs. They
hadn't been changed in three days, at least.
"Kyle, please hurry," Tweek begged.
"Oh, oh, okay."
He raised the bolt cutters up and situated the chain between its blades. One of
it's long handles touched the floor for leverage, and Kyle pushed with all his
might against the other. He strained before letting out a final large heave.
The chain snapped, and Tweek's arms fell like dead meat to his sides. He slid
against Kyle's side, where he curled and hissed in pain.
"Oh, god. Are you okay? Did I hurt you?"
"No," Tweek croaked. "No, my arms just feel like they're on f-fire."
Kyle wrapped his arms around Tweek, but was careful not to squeeze. Despite the
screaming in Kyle's head to get up and drag Tweek out of that place, he
remained still. He and Tweek both did, as his friend's shoulders were heaving
with sobs.
"I'm sorry I didn't find you sooner," wobbled out of Kyle's mouth. He couldn't
help but remember he was there just hours after Tweek was first taken. He ran
down those fucking stairs and didn't even look through the house to make sure
he wasn't there. If Kyle would have just stopped to think, he would have found
Tweek days ago.
"I'm so sorry- I saw what he did- what he tried to do- I- I'm-"
Tweek heaved out a dry cough, and then shook his head.
"I'm happy," Tweek admitted. "I thought… I'd never see you again."
Kyle couldn't resist the urge to squeeze Tweek's shoulders just the slightest
bit, but his limp friend didn't protest.
"Do you think you'll be able to walk up?" Kyle asked. He looked again at the
distorted and heaving mass of limbs beneath the stairs. "We need to get you to
a hospital."
"No," Tweek argued from his place on the floor.
"Okay, I'll help you, then I'm going to call the police."
"No! No, I mean... I don't want to go to the hospital. Not yet."
"Tweek your fucking fingers are missing- you're wrists are infected, if you
don't get to a hospital like right now you could lose your hands!"
"I don't care," Tweek argued while using those same mangled extremities to push
himself up.
"Why the fuck not? Jesus, Tweek. You need help!"
"Craig is buried in here."
Kyle went quiet, and Tweek looked around the room for his shovel.
"Where?"
"Under the bricks you're sitting on."
Kyle launched up off of the floor and illuminated the haphazardly placed
bricks.
"Kyle. I won't leave him down here alone, not again."
***** Water *****
When they found Tweek's shovel it was placed between a saw and a pistol on
Richard's table. Kyle would have asked how it managed to end up in such a
peculiar place, but the blood on the spade and the gash on Tweek's forehead
told him all he needed to know.
"Tweek, I know how important this is to you, believe me," Kyle began. He gently
lay his hand on Tweek's shoulder as his friend struggled to hold his shovel.
"But it'd be best for everyone if we call the police and get you out of here.
They'll be able to get to Craig much easier than we would, and you'd be
somewhere safe."
"I'll never be safe," Tweek reasoned as he pressed the tip of his shovel
between two bricks.
Kyle's frown sank even lower on his face while he watched Tweek fight to
overturn the dirt-caked rectangles.
"That's not true. If worse comes to worse, you could just pack your bags and
start over somewhere far away from here. I'd… I'd come with you."
"It could be like all this didn't happen," Kyle continued. "Like we met at the
grocery store in the cereal aisle. Like we bonded over chess or something and
not..." he paused to gesture around the room. "This."
His voice echoed off the blood stained walls, in the hollow holes in Craig's
head. Tweek held his tool aloft while trying to envision such a thing. As if
they and leave this all behind and live a carefree life somewhere far away.
When Tweek looked up at his friend through the dim, yellow light, those well-
meaning fantasies shriveled and died in his gut. He hadn't noticed before, but
Kyle's throat was blotched with painful looking bruises. Not only that but when
Kyle first joined the crusade, his eyes were bright and determined. Now, they
sagged with worry and unsavory experience.
"I like the way that sounds, but even if I run away, even if my dad gets locked
up for the rest of his life, that life will have to end eventually," Tweek had
to take a moment to catch his breath. Even just talking in length was enough to
leave him drained. "What's stopping him from coming back? Who knows what he'll
be able to do when he does. Running away won't change that, and it won't help
Craig. He died in this room, I won't leave him here."
Tweek's sunken eyes shifted away, and he tightened his jaw before finishing
with, "A life with me is the last thing you'd want, anyway."
Kyle squeezed his bottom lip between his teeth. He disagreed but didn't say so.
"Alright, but I don't see how we're gonna do this," Kyle said as he watched
Tweek clumsily attempt to loosen the bricks with his shovel. "You can't even
hold it, let alone have the strength to dig a grave."
"I can do it," Tweek persisted. He grappled the tip of the handle with the only
two fingers he had on his left hand; his index and his thumb. His right hand,
which had all but his pinkie, gripped the shovel's middle.
His arms still felt achy, and every movement stung and burned beneath his skin.
His jaw clutched, and he hissed in agony when he finally flipped a brick over.
Kyle frowned, then looked back down at the patchy brickwork.
"Let me change your bandages, then I'll dig it for you."
Tweek looked back at Kyle as if he'd just insulted him, but then he looked back
to his hands. Somehow his father managed to take away everything. First, Craig,
which in turn took Tweek's normal life. Now that he stood there above the grave
he'd searched so desperately for all that time, his father made sure he'd never
dig it up.
"Fine," Tweek whispered. He laid the shovel down on the bed in favor of the
flashlight Kyle handed to him.
With his right hand, he aimed it into Kyle's backpack. Seems his friend came
along almost over-prepared. God only knows what all he had packed in there, but
after a little digging he yanked out a white box bearing a red cross.
"Let me see your hand."
Tweek obliged, and Kyle's fingers carefully picked apart the gauze. It was so
fused together with dry, caked blood he had to use a pocket knife to separate
them. Tweek grimaced and whined as Kyle squeezed. When the dirty gauze was
removed, Tweek got a look at his bare, mutilated hand. It didn't even feel
natural on the end of his arm. It was both gory and incomplete, and his stomach
flipped when he tried to move fingers that simply weren't there. Not even a nub
was left behind.
"Kyle, do you think... they can be put back?"
Kyle bit his lip. He was busy cleaning off the blood from Tweek's hand with wet
wipes when he heard the question. He used the distraction as a way to not
answer, and Tweek didn't ask again.
The next few minutes were spent tending to Tweek rather than digging. Kyle gave
him food and water, then after he'd emptied every plastic baggy and water
bottle, Kyle gave him a change of clothes. Tweek felt worlds better after
changing out of his piss-soaked jeans and into a pair of Kyle's sweatpants.
Despite all that, though, he still felt too weak to stand.
He opted to rest nearby on the floor while Kyle gathered his shovel.
Craig listened intently while Kyle swung the tool up over his head and smashed
its metal end into the floor. He used brute force to dislodge the bricks, and
the boy flinched with every piercing sound. This went on for some time. At
least long enough for Kyle's shovel to smash into the chest that was buried
beneath them. He carefully scooped shovel full after shovel full, running out
of breath as he did so. When Kyle could finally make out the trunks green lid,
Craig began to growl.
"Shhh," Tweek cooed to the boy on his lap. He wrapped his arms around the child
and squeezed him close, but it didn't deter Craig's angry sounds.
"Is he okay?" Kyle asked, his shovel stalling by his side.
"I don't know," Tweek replied, his voice echoing faintly. "Something's upset
him."
Craig's feet planted on the ground, and he hunched in Tweek's lap like a snake
in a coil. One of his many hands latched onto the handle of Kyle's shovel and
yanked so hard it ripped out of Kyle's grasp. The tool flew into the darkness
across the room with a violent clatter, but Craig's angry screams didn't seize.
"Fuck, Craig, calm down!" Tweek demanded as he tried to subdue the boy against
his chest. "He's trying to help you, brat!"
Kyle stood motionless in front of the small hole he managed to dig before Craig
snatched the shovel away. He wanted to intervene but feared Craig too much to
touch him.
Craig burst out of Tweek's arms. His hands clutched to the front of Tweek's
shirt. He yanked hard as he stood, trying to force Tweek to his feet. His poor
friend was too weak to stand, so he stumbled across the concrete floor instead.
Tweek grabbed at the shredded fingers latched onto his shirt; the arms attached
to Craig's shoulders. He pulled Craig down to his bare knees and held him
there.
"I know you don't want us to be down here," Tweek tried to reason calmly. "But
the sooner we get you out of the floor the sooner we can leave."
Craig released Tweek's shirt to cup his hairy chin instead. His head shook, and
desperate sounds bubbled from the blood in his throat. He was trying to say
something, but Tweek couldn't make out what it could be.
"I think he wants us to stop digging and just leave," Kyle nearly whispered, as
if Craig would turn on him if he spoke too loudly.
Tweek blinked, and then gazed up at the creature holding his face.
"Is that true?" Tweek asked. "I just… I don't understand."
"You… don't," Craig managed to croak. The more he tried to force words out, the
deeper the glass dug into his throat. He choked on it, and fresh blood seeped
into the cracks between his teeth.
The boy's chest quaked with cries of frustration. When he realized how hard it
was to explain himself, that frustration quickly changed to hopelessness. He
sobbed, and Tweek stroked his tar-like tears away with his thumb. One of the
few fingers he had left.
"You don't have to talk," Tweek softly assured the boy.
Craig shook his head, then slapped away Tweek's hand.
"Wait!" Tweek called as Craig turned away from him and bolted up the stairs.
The old wood slammed beneath his bare feet as hard as Tweek's heart against his
ribs. Tweek hoisted his aching body off the floor. His legs burned painfully
and his arms were practically useless. He stumbled again, and then crashed to
the floor, unable to catch his fall.
Kyle ran to his friend's aid.
"Are you okay?" Kyle gasped as he took a gentle hold of his friend's arms to
help him stand.
"F-fuck, ugh. Yeah. Craig. I have to get to the top floor. He's probably hiding
up there."
"There's no way you'll make it up two flights of stairs."
Tweek grunted at the realization, then begrudgingly muttered: "You'll have to
go."
"Um… me?" Kyle spat, his face twisting up at just the suggestion.
"I know he's scary sometimes, but he's really just a terrified little kid. Talk
to him. Bring him down."
That was easy for Tweek to say. In all the years he cared for the tiny
creature, Craig never tried to rip his face off. Kyle had not been so
fortunate.
"What do I say?" Kyle asked as he helped Tweek sit on the bottom stair.
"Just tell him it's you. Remember he can't see- he has to hear you," Tweek had
to stop to take a few feeble breaths. "And… and don't touch him, not unless he
touches you first. He's weird with that, and-"
"Okay, okay. I get it, be gentle, but what do I say?"
"He just ran out of the room crying," Tweek reminded him. "What would you say
to anybody?"
Kyle paused and nodded his head. "What about you?"
"I won't leave this step," Tweek lied. "Just come get me when you get him
down."
"Okay, okay," Kyle repeated to himself as he grabbed the rickety rail. "I'll
try."
"And, Kyle?"
Ky shined his light at the bottom of the stairs, cutting through the dark.
Tweek squinted, then asked one small request.
"When I touched him, he was cold. Could you give him my jacket?"
Kyle promised, and he took the long black cloak with him when he ascended the
stairs. When he left, so did the glow of his flashlight. Tweek watched it grow
dimmer and dimmer until Kyle disappeared around the corner; this left him
drowning in darkness.
He lived up to his promise of staying still, at least until the creaking of
Kyle's sneakers faded like his light had.
There were no more sounds. No more sights. Only the smell of earth in the air
and the taste of it on his tongue.
As weak as he was, he could still rise to his resistant legs. It had been so
long since he used them, but they carried him across the room, beside the iron
framed bed where Craig's hole was.
Because of the pitch blackness engulfing the room, he couldn't see it. He could
only scrape the edge of his toes across the cement until he felt loose soil
beneath his heel.
To his knees, he fell. His hands were mutilated, but not useless. He used his
palms to dig around the lid of Craig's box. Not much, but just enough for him
to feel the silver lock keeping it shut.
He dug his pointer fingers into the metal and smashed it between the lock and
the dirt as he fought to force it open. The metal tab popped up. Despite the
stinging in his hands and the warm liquid trailing down his wrists, he managed
to grip the lid and yank. The wood was so degraded it didn't open. Instead, his
hands tore off a large chunk of partially rotted wood.
A new smell filled the air.
The musk was foul and sharp; it was nothing like the fresh earth under his
knees. It seeped out of the damaged trunk and into his clothes. Into his lungs.
It was familiar.
It smelled like Craig, but stronger.
He covered his nose for a moment and let his eyes water. Next time he took a
breath, he let out a gagging cough.
Still, he did not stop.
His bandages became warm with blood as he ripped another chunk out of the lid.
Then another, and another. There were scratches in the broken pieces. They were
deep enough for Tweek to feel on the underside, as if a wild animal tried to
scrape its way out.
When all was stripped away, the smell was worse. It filled the room and
lingered in the air so thick Tweek could taste it when he breathed in.
His body shook to the core. Partially from the pain and partially from the
cold, but he still reached his arms into the hole.
He ran his fingers over cloth. It was soft in some places but grimy and hard in
others. A shirt. He felt the bump of a rib beneath his fingertips. From there,
he traced the hemline to the bony peak of a shoulder, and from there an arm.
The flesh aged like leather, but it was still there.
Carefully, he slipped his hands beneath the tiny body. The shriveled husk of a
corpse was fused to the wood floor of the truck, but with gentle coaxing, he
lifted it out of the hole.
For a long time, he idled there on his knees.
The stench of the corpse soaked into him, but he held it closer. His cheek
brushed against the top of something soft and round. The puffball of a tiny
blue hat. With the few fingers he had left, he gently pulled on the earflaps.
"If I'd have found you sooner, you could hold me back," Tweek whispered into
the top of the grimy cloth. "I'm sorry."
...
The child cowered in a closet. He huddled in the farthest corner, tucked away
out of sight. He always hid there when he was angry with himself. The arms
tethered to his back sprawled out stiff and afraid against the walls. The tiny
space was practically lined with quivering flesh.
The door's rusted hinges creaked open. Craig panicked, but when he caught the
smell of Tweek his body relaxed.
Someone kneeled in the doorway. Their movements were slow as not to startle the
tiny creature. Craig sniffed the air and cooed, expecting to hear Tweek's
soothing voice.
The person with him, however, didn't speak.
Craig let out an anxious cry and then scratched at his empty eye sockets with
the tips of his mutilated fingers.
"Craig, it's me, Kyle... I'm gonna come in, I hope that's okay."
Against his better judgment, Kyle slid into the closet alongside the little
boy. Craig didn't seem to care as he continued shredding the insides of his
sockets with his fingers.
Kyle curled his legs against his chest and wrapped his arms around them. There
wasn't much room to even breathe in that closet.
"Tweek wanted me to give you this," Kyle said as he laid a black, folded cloth
between them. "It's his coat."
Craig's tiny hand reached with distrust. When he felt the fabric under his
fingers he whimpered, snatched it up, and then tangled himself in the familiar
jacket.
"You were calm until I hit the trunk," Kyle observed. "I couldn't help but
think you didn't want us to look inside."
Craig stopped cuddling his new favorite thing, but it remained clutched in his
fists.
"Surely that's not true, right? Your body is what you've been trying to lead us
to."
Craig's hands abandoned his eyeless sockets in favor for pulling at his too-big
shirt. His bottom lip trembled, and he shook his head 'no'.
Kyle blinked with his brows furrowing.
"If that's not what you wanted all this time, what is?"
Gurgling and choking, Craig could only continue to shake his head.
Kyle needed more, but figuring things out was difficult when he could only ask
questions that could be answered with a yes or a no.
The boy shifted closer. Kyle swallowed as pointed, bony fingertips sank into
the sleeve of Kenny's parka. Craig couldn't see Kyle's green eyes roll into the
back of his head, but he felt his limbs quiver.
Again, Craig force fed him a vision. Brown gradients and a rippling surface
enveloped Kyle's mind. Desperate sloshing caused his arms to jerk, and water in
his throat made his mouth gape open for air.
It was the same terrible vision he saw when he reunited with Tweek in the
coffee shop. When he accidentally touched Tweek's hand.
The vision of someone's violent, watery death.
When Kyle felt the big hands grab the front of his shirt, though, the
attacker's face wasn't distorted through the water. He came up once. His lungs
burned like coals. A breath of air filled his lungs, and Richard's face struck
terror in him.
Then, he was under again.
When Kyle lurched, his eyes returned. He rubbed them as if he could scrub the
vision out of his eyes. He still didn't understand it. Craig died in the
basement. Not under Stark Pond's surface. It must have been one of the other
boy's death. Yet the boy insisted on them witnessing it over and over.
"You always had the power to show me the whole vision, didn't you? To show
Tweek? Why would you hide his face from us?"
Craig nodded, and then a pitiful cry spilled out of him. The boy rocked back
and forward as the holes in his head leaked like tears. His hands covered his
ears, and he nodded harder and harder with each rock.
The boy was ashamed of what he'd done. For some reason, all that time, Craig
easily could have shown them everything.
Kyle always believed Craig was on their side, but, in a way, he had been lying
to them. To protect Richard? That didn't sound right. In spite of feeling
betrayed, Kyle reminded himself the person sitting beside him was a child. A
child that understood the word betrayal better than Kyle ever could.
"I wish I could ask why," Kyle said through clenched teeth, "but… I think I can
guess."
Craig raised his head, and then aimed his eyeless sockets towards the sound of
Kyle's voice.
"I saw some of the things Richard did… I wouldn't have wanted to show my best
friend those things, either. Especially not if it was his own father."
Kyle tried to ignore all the little hands that decided they appreciated his
forgiveness. They skittered around the walls like tiny creatures and trembled
in his lap, rested in his hair.
Craig wrapped his arms around himself, then small, gurgling sounds spilled out
of him. He wanted to talk. Forcing all the boys to come together to form
sentences wasn't an easy task while they were distracted, and he couldn't do it
on his own.
Kyle sat for a short while and listened to Craig practice words that sounded
more like painful moans than anything. Sounds came out, but the glass shredded
every syllable. In frustration, Craig let out an angry wail and threw his tiny
fist against the unfazed wall.
"My fault," Kyle managed to make out of Craig's screams. "Mine!"
"What is?"
Craig sank deep into the corner and curled into a trembling ball. Voices
uttered hushes all around, but they were too disorganized to come together. At
least until they realized Craig was crying. Then, every small voice fell
silent, and the hands crawling the walls scurried back to the body they were
attached to.
They wrapped around the creature and lent him their voices.
"When Tweek's asleep, he cries," they whispered in unison. "He cries my name;
he cries for me."
Kyle squeezed his legs closer to his chest but didn't speak. To such a jarring
confession, he didn't know what to say.
"Everything is wrong. I ruined him."
"That's not true."
"I ruin everything."
"No!" Kyle barked louder than he meant to. Craig flinched at the sound.
"You didn't ruin anything. It's not your fault things turned out this
way.Richardmade those decisions. You were just a little boy, there's nothing
you could have done! It's… it's not your fault."
Uttering those words made him feel an uneasy twisting in his guts. They sounded
an awful lot like the same thing Kenny said to him just a few days prior.
Maybe, in some ways, he and Craig were more alike than he thought.
Kyle rested his chin on his knees.
"Tweek lost everything. His whole life. Over me," the children said.
"And if you showed him what happened, he would have lost his father, too.
Because of you," Kyle observed. "But you're more than just Tweek's problem."
A tiny whimper quaked out of Craig's torso. He didn't agree.
Raising his head, Kyle argued, "Craig, I swear that you were always more than
what Richard did. You aren't worth any less right now than you were before he
touched you."
Craig's bloody palms reclaimed his ears. Again, his head shook, but much harder
than it did before. Kyle slid closer to the cowering boy, trying his best not
to cry himself. There had to be some way he could make Craig believe it. He
scoured his mind for memories of who Craig was in life. It was hard, since they
didn't speak much, but there was one thing Kyle never forgot.
"You know, when you and I first met in the woods, I didn't recognize you. You
changed so much because of all this. But, sometimes… I see the boy I sat across
from in art class," Kyle said, a small smile unfolding. "That's been so long
ago, now… Do you remember?"
Craig's fingers parted so he could better hear Kyle, and then he nodded.
"You hated me because of the whole Peru thing, so you drew a dick on one of my
pictures and turned it into the teacher."
Craig's hand's jerked to his mouth to stifle his giggling.
Yes, despite everything, Craig was still a little asshole.
A lopsided smile found Kyle's lips.
"See."
The small boy's big grin faded to a confused line.
"I know… I know when you were alive, Richard was too strong. You couldn't stop
him. But it's not like it was before. You're the one with the power. Not
Richard. It's okay to be sad and angry sometimes. God, after what happened to
you, you have every right to feel all the things you're feeling. You have to
feel them, but they don't have to control you or dominate who you are. Now, he
can only have as much control over you as you give him.
"No one can hurt you without your consent."
Craig didn't move. He didn't cry anymore or try to speak again. He only
listened.
"I saw what you did to him when he tried to hurt Tweek in the basement. You
didn't let him control you, then. You love Tweek more than you fear Richard.
That takes a lot of strength in itself."
Craig uttered a tiny sound.
"That's why you came back, isn't? If it wasn't for your body, it must have been
for Tweek."
Craig's pale, blood-streaked face nodded. It seemed to stare at Kyle even
without eyes. Again, his tattered fingertips reached forward and clutched
Kyle's sleeve. The boy twisted the cloth until it wound tightly around Kyle's
wrist. He twisted until he couldn't anymore, then held it there.
"What are you trying to tell me?"
Craig's hands clasped Kyle's wrist and shook it. Black ooze again spilled out
of his eye-holes and his mouth distorted.
Kyle was disturbed, but thankful the boy wasn't forcing that vision into his
head like the last time he'd grabbed his sleeve.
Wait…
"You never even cared whether or not we found out how you died, but you keep
showing us a death that isn't yours. It wasn't you who drown."
Craig nodded his head, still shaking Kyle's limp arm in desperation.
"And you came back… to protect Tweek."
Kyle's watering eyes widened. He had to force himself to breathe.
"To warn Tweek."
***** Endlessness *****
Tweek sat where Kyle left him. It was still dark. He still shivered from the
cold. However, he held something new.
Craig's body.
He'd wrapped it tightly in soiled bedsheets and his arms. It was but a
shriveled shell of the boy it once was. Still, if he kept it close, it's
severed spirit might feel his warmth.
Sorrow engulfed him as he clutched the corpse with his few, bloody fingers.
Craig was once the warm one. He was the summer asphalt under Tweek's feet. He
was the huff of white breath in the Winter. The first flower of Spring. The
last leaf of Autumn. He was everything.
When Craig's heart stopped, so did all those beautiful things.
So did Tweek.
The door at the top of the stairs squeaked at its hinges, and the beam of a
flashlight cut the dark. He felt its light rest on his shoulders as someone
scurried down to him.
"We have to go," Kyle said, short of breath.
Tweek turned and squinted against the light. When he did, Kyle saw what he held
against his chest. His light shined into the empty hole that was Craig's grave,
and then to the sheet-covered form in Tweek's arms.
"I lied. I'm sorry," Tweek whimpered.
"It's okay… It's okay," Kyle assured. "But we have to go- now."
Tweek's bottom lip quivered because he knew Craig's body would be left behind.
"Okay."
He moved the corpse towards Kyle, holding it out for him.
"Um, what are you doing?"
"I… can't stand well."
Kyle's nose turned up when he exchanged his flashlight for Tweek's gory bundle.
The stench of putrid flesh made him gag, but he stood with it against against
his chest anyway.
"Will we come back for him?" Tweek asked.
"The police will. They'll take better care of him than we could."
"What? But they'll cut him up."
Kyle laid the small body on the nearby bed, then turned back to Tweek.
"I'm sorry. We don't have a choice."
There were no more arguments as Kyle helped Tweek to his feet. Tweek shook and
his knees buckled. Without Kyle, he couldn't even stand. He'd lost too much
blood.
"You can do this," Kyle encouraged as he took a heaving step forward. There was
such urgency in the way he spoke; it was in the way he moved, too. It was hard
for Tweek to keep up.
Gritting his teeth, Tweek clutched to his friend. The ring of yellow light
before them jarred up the stairs with each step. Tweek prepared to stumble up
another wood plank, but Kyle froze. He pulled Tweek back, away from salvation.
His wide, green eyes gawked ahead of them.
"Ky, what is it?" Tweek heaved. His blurry vision tried to focus, but Kyle
already turned around.
"It's okay," Kyle chanted over and over as he ushered Tweek back down. "Just
keep walking."
When they stumbled to the bottom, he heard something. Behind them, the stairs
moaned beneath another pair of feet.
They weren't alone anymore.
"Kyle!" Tweek yelped as his heart slammed against his ribs.
"It's okay," Kyle repeated, although they both knew it was a lie.
Tweek's buckling knees gave in, and he and Kyle tumbled to the floor. The
flashlight Tweek clutched flew from his grasp and cracked against concrete. Its
guiding light flickered and died, dousing them in blackness.
The two scrambled away on their hands and knees, still clinging to one another.
They crawled until a concrete wall stood in their way. They were backed into a
corner. The sound of footprints stopped when the groaning of wood became a
thump against concrete.
He was there, lingering only feet away from them.
Tweek threw his arms around Kyle and squeezed with what little strength he had.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry."
"It's okay," Kyle assured. "It's okay."
Another light buzzed to life. It's blinding and harsh beam burned their eyes as
they bathed in it. A Floodlight. Richard sat it between the rails on the
staircase, then turned back to the cowering boys. He stuffed his hands into his
pant pockets, then soundlessly stepped closer. Each move was careful, as if
landmines were buried below his feet.
Nearby, Tweek's shovel sat among loose dirt and broken bricks. Kyle reached for
it, but Richard wasn't fazed when the scrawny boy clutched it in his hands like
a weapon.
"S-stay away!" he demanded as he swung the thing.
Richard only grinned, his un-patched eye sliding over them.
"How cute."
Kyle's skin crawled. He clutched the shovel's grip even tighter. He was anxious
for Richard's first move, but the man never stepped closer.
"I was surprised to find you here, Kyle," Richard admitted. "I never would have
guessed you were the one Tweek was protecting. At least not until you showed up
at my shop. I pictured a girl."
"How long have you been here?"
"Long enough."
By now, Kyle was in Tweek's lap, forming a barrier between his friend and the
devil in the room. Tweek never let go. When he heard what his father spewed,
though, his grip around Kyle tightened.
Kyle's reckless heart slowed its beating when he heard scratching behind him.
Bone-tipped fingers scraped against the harsh wall as Craig crawled down it.
Awkwardly bent limbs cracked and popped with each jarring movement. Blood
poured between Kyle and Tweek when Craig's gaping maw spilled open. His bloody,
sharp teeth were exposed in warning.
Richard would never touch the boys with Craig guarding them like a dog.
The tall man at their feet crouched quietly. The child's oozing head rotated
like a satellite in search of sound. He prepared to strike as he had before,
staking a claim on Richard's last eye. Without sound, though, Craig couldn't
find it.
Kyle watched the man pick a brick off the ground, then chuck it across the
room. It crashed into a wall with a pop and a bang. Craig's neck snapped
towards it; a screech tore from his throat.
"What are you doing?" Kyle demanded, still clutching the shovel.
Richard replied by throwing another brick. When Craig heard the crash, he
lunged in its direction, growling and spitting.
"Craig, he's trying to confuse you," Kyle said. "Remember what we talked about-
you can't let fear get the better of you!"
As hard as he could, Richard chucked another brick at the furthest wall. Craig
screamed in the direction of the bang. His desperate fingers dug into stone,
and his plethora of arms wildly searched for the man. However, Craig would not
leave their side.
Richard's face scrunched in frustration, but it wasn't long before it melted
into another nasty grin.
Kyle screamed when a big hand gripped his ankle and yanked. He slid across the
concrete, shovel clattering across the floor. Tweek panicked. He grabbed at
Kyle's parka with incomplete hands, begging his father to stop. Craig jerked as
he tried to make sense of all the booming noise.
Kyle kicked and rolled to get loose, but it was fruitless.
His body heaved up, and suddenly he was pinned between Richard's chest and the
blade of a knife. When the pointed tip found his throat, all noise stopped.
Kyle's thin legs knocked together and his wet eyes slammed closed.
Struggling would spell his death.
Tweek could only watch with blurred vision. Craig fell in his lap, teeth still
bared and open for Richard's head. An odd clicking resonated from the boy's
throat. He tipped his head from side to side, daring the man to make another
move.
"Please, don't. Don't take him," Tweek's small voice pleaded. He leaned
forward, trembling fingers reached for Kyle. "He has nothing to do with this-
I'll do anything, please."
Hearing Tweek plead for his life only made Kyle's tears thicker.
The soles of his sneakers scuffed against the floor as Richard pulled him
towards the stairs. Ky's wild eyes locked with Tweek's, his only comfort.
Richard's breath huffed against the shell of Kyle's ear.
"Scream," he demanded.
Kyle's chest heaved rapidly. His eyes darted around the room. Scream? Did
Richard want Craig to rip him apart?
The sharp tip of the blade dug into Kyle's tender skin. Tweek could do nothing
but watch from the floor.
"Scream, or I'll make you."
A pained cry tore from his throat. Kyle did as he was told. He shrieked, and as
loud as he could. Either Craig would come to his rescue, or someone outside
might hear.
Craig's head snapped towards the sound, a shriek of his own spilling out of
him.
Richard grabbed Kyle by the hair, and dragged him up the stairs. The rickety
structure jarred when Craig ran headfirst into the railing, then shook with
violence as he barreled towards them.
Kyle and Richard emerged from the closet under the staircase. Richard still
fisted Ky's hair, causing only more pained cries. Kyle couldn't keep up with
where they were going. Darkness devoured them, and all else was hazy through
his tears.
He could, however, hear Craig clawing at the hard wood behind them.
They stumbled up yet another staircase. By the time they reached the top Kyle's
face was soaked and his knees were bruised. Kyle tried to resist as Richard
threw open a door and pulled him through the frame. He scratched, bit, and
hissed at the hands staking claim on his fate.
Richard fisted Kenny's parka in his hands and lifted the scrawny boy off the
floor. Kyle never felt as weightless as he did when the man jerked, tossing him
across the room like a broken toy.
He slammed into a wall and fell, struggling for breath, to the floor. The man
stood motionless as he stared in the darkened doorway. Dawn broke through a
cracked window. It's dim blue light crept into the room. Just enough to see an
angry beast emerge from the hall.
Dozens of tiny fingers curled around the edges of the doorway and gripped the
rotting frame. The wood groaned beneath their hatred. Craig drifted in. His
limp body hung from his spine, where his spare limbs met. Red streams trickled
down his legs and leaked off his toes. Cracked lips curled over his jagged,
glass teeth.
Richard dared not make a sound. Not a move. He knew much better after losing
his left eye.
When Kyle regained his breath, he coughed. Craig's neck popped towards the
noise, and his hands abandoned the doorframe to bring him across the room.
Richard backed away, as to avoid contact with the spirit's straying limbs.
Kyle rolled on the carpet, hacking and gasping. Craig's hands ran worriedly
over the other boy. Once he was assured Kyle was breathing, his growling
returned. Infuriated hands tipped over dressers and ran over the walls in
search of Kyle's attacker.
Footsteps banged floorboards as Richard made a break for the hall. Craig's
distorted form barreled towards him, but the door slammed hard in his mutilated
face. Squealing resonated through the walls as Craig scratched at the wood. His
bone-tipped fingers left deep scratches, but the door wouldn't give.
Kyle rolled onto his knees and held his throat.
It was a trick. Richard used Kyle as bait to lure Craig away from Tweek.
Kyle felt vibrations through his knees. A bang. A scream. Heavy footsteps. His
mouth dried out when the back door slammed. It was so violent the whole house
shook. He stumbled to his feet, and then to the window. His head span, but
below he saw figures through the falling snow.
One dragged the other across the snow-plagued yard, towards the tree line.
Towards the pond.
The room whirled around Kyle as he scoured for direction. All he found, though,
was Craig. The boy that was once ramming his head into the door stood oddly
still. He faced the wood like a child in a corner, then his head slowly turned
towards Kyle.
"What?" Kyle sputtered. "What is it?"
Craig's nose twitched as he took in a big whiff of air. With brows furrowing,
Kyle mimicked the movement. Nothing came to him besides the smell of mildew and
old wood.
Craig abandoned the door and crawled towards the window. He felt around the
wall for it, then slammed his palms into the glass.
"Craig! Move!"
Startled, Craig spun around. Kyle charged towards him with a metal chair
clutched in his fists. Craig ducked, and Kyle sent the metal crashing through
the window. Glass and wood alike shattered and rained down on the snow-covered
ground below.
"He took Tweek- he took him towards the pond. Go!"
Craig growled at first, as if he didn't want to leave Kyle behind.
"I'll be okay! Go!" Kyle insisted as he pushed Craig towards the jagged hole.
"Go help him!"
Craig crawled out the gaping hole like a spider, slid down the wall, and then
disappeared, screaming into the night.
Kyle's knees knocked together as he stared out the gaping hole in the wall. His
blood pumped hard through his tightening veins. Craig was free. Free to hunt
down Richard like an animal and tear him apart. He would save Tweek.
That left another problem, though.
Tweek was hardly alive. Even with Craig's help, the boy would freeze to death
before the police would find him. Kyle could practically see him shivering to
death in the snow. The freezing water from the pond would take away any chance
Tweek had.
No matter what, Tweek would not survive if Kyle didn't get out of that room. He
ran to the shattered window and peered down. There was a small ledge right
below it. If he was careful, he'd be able to shimmy to the roof. He could get
down from there.
He didn't have much time to rethink his strategy. He moved one leg out of the
gaping hole, careful not to get snagged on any lingering glass shards, and then
the other.
"Oh, crap," he groaned as his wobbling legs tried to balance on the small
ledge. His upper half was still inside. He clutched to the wood of the
windowsill, unwittingly clutching to a few pieces of stray glass as he did so.
Little known to Kyle, snow wasn't the only thing under his sneakers. He leaned
out of the window and reached towards the roof, but never touched it. Kyle's
foot landed on a thick patch of ice, and a scream pierced through the night.
He dropped to the bottom.
His cry halted when he landed on the cement stoop with a thud and a crack. His
watering eyes rolled back and his spine quaked. Intense and searing pain racked
through his breathless body.
Slowly, the buzzing in the back of his skull numbed. He blinked the water out
of his eyes, and finally drank in a cold breath of air.
"God. Oh, god," he muttered through sharp inhales. It fucking hurt, but he was
at the bottom. That's all that mattered. He could still do it.
His hands sank into slush and broken glass while he pushed himself up. He never
made it off the ground. Instead, he let out a pitiful sound of agony before
tumbling back into the frigid blanket of snow.
"What?-" he whimpered.
He couldn't feel his toes, and his foot didn't move when he tried to curl them.
It was only then he realized his right leg was awkwardly bent.
It was broken.
"S-shit!" he screamed as he clutched at his useless limb. "Fuck! No!
He thrashed as he tried to drag himself through the blistering cold, but he
couldn't get far with his elbows alone. His body sank helplessly into the snow.
"I should have known better," he growled through chattering teeth. "We… We
never had a chance. Never!"
Puffy white flakes fluttered down around him. Kenny's coat protected Kyle's
body from their chill, but they dusted over him. Much longer, and they'd bury
him alive.
Like Craig.
He let his heavy eyes fall closed and didn't fight the white blanket
accumulating on his back.
"The only reason I even made it this far was because of dumb luck," he
whispered through clenched teeth. "Clyde telling me about Richard, finding
Tweek in the basement. I didn't do anything to get here on my own. I didn't
even understand my visions. I'm useless… useless."
His red mop shifted as he buried his face in the fur trim of Kenny's hood.
There was warmth there, no matter how little. Through the thick layer of cloth
came an odd smell. It was sharp like peppermint, but metallic like blood. He
rolled slightly as his tired eyes cracked open. He smelled other things, too.
Burning rubber and oil filled his lungs when he breathed in.
Color rested beside him in the snow. He squinted through the dim blue light
that surrounded him. Blue. He saw blue, red, and brown splotches. They rolled
around inside his eyes until he realized he was looking at a human form.
Another person lay face-down in the snow beside him.
"Stan?" He whimpered pitifully.
The person didn't speak, didn't move, as they lay dead in the quiet. Kyle
reached out to grab a hold of the glove covered hand beside him. The red mitten
was warm. So much warmer than Kyle. He squeezed it between his fingers. It
squeezed back.
"Why are you still here?" Kyle asked, his voice small. "I… I failed. You were
wrong about me."
The limp body beside him said nothing.
"I never helped anyone. Not even with these stupid… powers. It's not a gift,
Stan. You were wrong. I was wrong. It's a curse, it always was."
"I don't think it's a curse," the chilly breeze whispered as it whistled by
them. Somehow, the tone didn't fit. Kyle's words were listless and dead. The
wind spoke differently, as if cut from a different conversation.
Kyle smiled softly through his tears.
"You always knew what to say," Kyle said, "but I don't think anything can fix
it this time. I just... I want to be where you are."
Kyle's shivering hand squeezed Stan's tighter. The warmth in the red mittens
was the only thing that made him feel alive.
"I want to be where Craig is- where... where Tweek's going. I don't want to be
left behind."
Those words burned his throat in a way nothing ever had before. Despite his
damning confession, Stan was silent. As silent as he'd always been.
"It's like some angry god had this planned from the beginning. I couldn't save
Tweek; Just like I couldn't save you. I'm powerless."
A short, black veil of hair shifted. White freckles of snow fell from his hat
as Stan raised his head to face his friend.
The depression in the snow where Stan laid was not sullied with blood as
everything Craig touched was. In fact, there was no blood at all. No mangled
skin or broken jaw. No gory mess that the impact of the train left behind. The
face that smiled up at him through the fluttering snowflakes was just as
untouched as it was the last time the spoke.
"Stan," Kyle heaved breathlessly. "You're... you're okay?"
Somehow, he was no longer trapped in the moment his drunken head broke through
a windshield. The agony that should have chained him to a gory fate was
severed.
Stan accomplished something they had only dreamt about. Something they feared
had been impossible.
He moved on.
The spirit's worn eyes lowered, and then closed.
"I don't think it's a curse," the wind carried Stan's words, although he didn't
speak them. Words that came from a different conversation, but were more needed
now than they were when they were spoken. "It sounds more like a gift to me."
Kyle tried to speak, but his throat clogged with whimpers. Stan squeezed his
hand, then the spirit's blue eyes shifted towards the treeline. Kyle's watery
gaze slipped towards it as well.
The Sky was no longer black. Dark colors of blue and purple bled onto its
canvas. The trees seemed impossibly tall, their black leaves scraping mountain
tops. It was beautiful, though the picturesque image was stained with a form
that stood among the trees.
In the brush where Richard dragged Tweek away, there stood a rabbit.
It wore a nice blue suit, and a pair of spectacles set upon it's twitching
nose. Kyle saw this creature only once before. It was in the vision of Tweek
that led him there. What exactly the monstrosity was, Kyle couldn't be sure.
All he knew was that Tweek was terrified of it.
It's long, fuzzy ears rotated like satellite dishes. It's large, black eyes
bulged toward Stan and Kyle. It's small mouth stretched into a toothy, human
grin, and then it followed Richard's path into the woods.
"Stan... what is that?" Kyle asked.
"Hopelessness," the wind whispered. "If you belong to it, it takes you. It
holds you under 'til nothing's left."
"Why is it here?"
"To take them. Both of them. You were the only thing left in its way."
***** Never, Never *****
Tweek's heels dragged through a cold, white blanket. Thorns and nettles poked
through his sweatpants and into his flesh, but their sting was nothing compared
to the numbing snow. He'd never felt such a thing. It started in his feet and
legs, but quickly sucked the life out of the rest of him.
He had no strength to fight. He could only chatter his teeth as his limp body
dragged across the forest like a doll. It was a funny thing, though, that he no
longer felt pain. Perhaps the cold turned his limbs into useless, dead husks.
He could still hear, however. It faded in and out like a bad station, but it
was there. His father's voice. It was low and gravelly, and it said something
about Kyle.
Tweek's heart jerked painfully.
"Where?" he managed to groan through chattering teeth. "Where is he?"
Tweek's pants snagged on a fallen log. His father squeezed him around his ribs
and gave a mighty yank. His sweats tore open. The branch took a chunk of
Tweek's bloody flesh along with it. His limbs were so numbed he didn't notice.
"Where is Kyle?" Tweek demanded, louder that time.
His father glowered at him as he crushed Tweek's ribs between his arms.
"Locked up, for now," was Richard's reply. "With that little slut of yours."
Tweek growled at his father's disgusting choice of words.
His legs were dead weight, but with gritted teeth he threw one over the other.
With the twist of the spine, he rolled out of Richard's deadly embrace and fell
into the snow at the man's feet. His father cursed in frustration while Tweek
tried to will his unfeeling limbs to lift him upright.
"I'm fucking telling you, the more you struggle the harder this is going to be
for the both of us!" Richard shouted.
The sole of his boot rammed into Tweek's back. The force was so intense Tweek
feared it burst his ribcage open. Pained gasps tore through his throat as the
heel of the boot twisted into his spine.
"I… want…" Tweek muttered between gasps, "I want to see them."
"What?" Richard hissed.
"Kyle… Craig."
Richard's angry hands ripped him up from the ground. Amongst his father's
breathless panting, Tweek heard the rippling of nearby water.
"Oh, my boy," his father said. He said as if the last two months hadn't
happened, and they were sitting parallel at the dinner table. "We all want for
things. That doesn't mean they're what's best for us…"
The man's voice dropped and a sneer found his lips.
"And it surely doesn't mean we're going to get them."
Tweek was too incoherent from blood loss to keep up with so many words. He just
blinked hard to clear his hazy vision.
Richard squinted down with disgust.
"Oh, son, what a disappointment your dad turned out to be. I never wanted it to
come to this, honestly… I've lost control," the man stopped to belt out a
laugh. Tweek was squeezed so hard he could barely breathe. "All of this was to
protect you! Then that little bitch shows up, then he- he's protecting you from
me? No, I hope you can understand, and forgive me someday. I'm the only one who
can save you.
"It's time we say goodbye."
"Goodbye?" Tweek whimpered.
The violent disturbance of water filled his ears, and then his heels sank into
frigid liquid. It sloshed around his legs until it was up to his knocking
knees. Already, it devoured what little warmth was left in him.
His father's breath was rapid, but focused. He squeezed his limp son from
behind. Tweek's back pressed up against Richard's chest to keep the boy above
the surface.
Soon, Tweek's head would be filling with water. His lungs would be breached,
his body overwhelmed with it. Tweek would be killed, and there was nothing he
could do but let it happen.
And by his own father.
"I'm sorry…" Richard said. His voice became soft, like it was when Tweek was
young and being lulled to sleep. It ghosted over the shell of Tweek's ear. "I
have to protect you. S-set you free."
With every breath Tweek exhaled a white cloud of mist wafted from his lips. He
was so chilled to the bone he didn't feel cold anymore. In fact, he may have
even felt warm, especially with the comfort that came from his father's tone.
If Richard killed him, it would be the kindest mercy the man ever gave.
"What will happen to you?" Tweek asked in a whisper, then immediately hated
himself for caring.
"Don't worry, I'll be close behind."
Tweek's heart shifted uncomfortably, and he again felt the urge to cry. Not for
his own life, but for his father's.
His self-hate crashed back upon him.
How could he feel remorse for the man who slaughtered his dearest friend? This
was the same man who beat him in the basement; the same man who tried to make
Tweek… do things.
He was also the man who packed butter and jelly sandwiches for his lunches and
taught him how to ride a bike.
Where those things real, or was the father Tweek loved just as made up as
everything else turned out to be? Whatever the answer, despite Tweek's anger,
there was still love for the man.
The tears on his cheeks felt frozen to his stiff face. He never felt so
ashamed, but no more bitter liquid would come.
The arms that kept him on his feet released him, and his limp body crashed into
the icy waters.
It felt like he'd been shoved into a freezer.
He could move and weakly jerk about, but he never touched anything. He could
open his eyes, but all he saw was a brownish black gradient of an abyss.
He floated in a void. Every part of him was desperate for warmth as he
struggled to breathe in. As he kicked and thrashed with what little strength he
had, he heard familiar sounds. It was a muddy and distorted sloshing.
Somehow, he felt like he'd been there before.
Panic set in when he finally gasped, only to be met with a throat full of ice
cold water. He moved closer to the bright brown beams of color above him.
Despite this, he knew he wouldn't make it to the surface conscious.
When he had that terrible revelation a large pair of hands broke through the
shining rays of ripples. His heart leapt out of his chest with hope that
Richard changed his mind.
They grabbed his wrists. He expected to be heaved up out of the dark pit, but
his rejoicing gave way into terror. Those hands tightly wound themselves around
his throat, and then pressed him deeper into the water.
He was so close to the surface. He could see distorted colors dancing in the
chaos of the water.
He gasped in a painful mouthful of the fluid. His vision blurred, and his lungs
burned like hot iron against his insides.
This was it. He was going to die. He was going to die and feel this horrible,
unfathomable pain for the rest of eternity.
He decided this wouldn't happen. Even if he couldn't control his death, he
would control how he felt in his last seconds. It was a rebellious act, much
like pillow fighting with Craig and Kyle.
Craig and Kyle.
As his vision began to fade, a faint smile adorned his bluing face.
…
Little known to either Tweek or the man above him, they were not alone.
Merely feet away a boy stood in the thicket of the woods. He could not see, but
he tipped his head side to side as he listened.
The whistling wind was sullied with loud sloshes. Among these sounds, there was
another. Heavy, rapid breathing interrupted the stillness of the waterfront.
The breath was familiar and sharp. It pierced through Craig and left him
trembling.
Water splashed against the quickly freezing shore. When the surface broke,
someone gasped desperately for a breath. Through the relentless waves of
blistering air, Craig felt Tweek's warmth fading.
Craig's terrified cries echoed through the dense trees.
"No!" the chorus shouted from the bottom of Craig's throat.
He charged into the water. His small hands clutched for the back of Richard's
collar. When he found it, his heels dug into the pond's muddy floor. He tried
to pull the man off Tweek. Richard was so absorbed in the throat he was
crushing he hardly noticed.
"Don't take him from me!" the child wailed as he twisted the cloth in his fists
and jerked harder. Richard gagged as the fabric tightened around his throat.
The man jerked around. The point of his elbow slammed into the side of Craig's
head. The force of the blow threw him, and he tumbled into the snow.
Craig jerked on trembling arms as he tried to push himself back up. His ears
rang so loud it left him dazed and useless. He fell back onto his side. Without
his hearing, he was as helpless against Richard as he'd ever been.
He was no match for the monster of a man on his own, but he wasn't alone
anymore.
A groan tore from Richard's throat as a searing pain wracked through his body.
Something pierced his flesh and embedded in the side of his neck. Richard's
hands unwound from Tweek's throat as he stood in the water. The blade ripped
out of him. Blood poured down his shoulder, and he turned with wide eyes to
face the creature who struck him.
What he came to face with, though, was far from what he expected. Rather than
caverns of blood and razor sharp teeth, he was met with a pair of wild green
eyes. The Broflovski's boy sat in the edge of the water. In his shuddering fist
was a knife; one that was once pressed against Kyle's throat. Blood dripped
down its blade and onto the boy's pale hands.
There were no sounds. Only the dripping of water from the man's soaked clothes.
Richard reached for Kyle, but stumbled in the pond's bitter liquid and fell to
his knees. The man pressed his palm against the gaping wound. Blood spurted
from between his fingers and poured into the water. No matter how hard he
pressed, he couldn't keep the red from seeping out his veins.
"Little… bitch," Richard groaned.
Kyle gaped, wide eyed, at what he'd done. His head swirled with thoughts of
Tweek, but he couldn't tear his eyes off of the crumbling man and his river of
blood.
The painful ringing faded from Craig's ears, and pair of his spare arms wrapped
around his middle. Four others pushed him off the freezing ground and placed
him on his feet. His jaw cracked as he let out a mournful cry in search of
Tweek's voice.
He ran past an immobilized Kyle and a choking Richard. The soles of his feet
slapped against the soggy shore, and then water splashed against the boy's
hips. Soft waves beat against Tweek's body. They gently cradled him in the
shallows of the pond, where Craig's shaking fingertips brushed against his
hair.
A cry bubbled out of Craig's throat when he grabbed Tweek by his shoulder. With
the other children lending their limbs, he pulled his friend from the muddy
water and laid him ashore.
There was still warmth inside, no matter how faint. He ran his palms over
Tweek's face, and then cooed gently at its familiar bumps and hills. Craig
tilted his head when his affectionate greeting wasn't returned.
Craig pulled at his friend's soaked shirt sleeve. He clutched Tweek's wrist and
pressed the mutilated palm of it against his face. With the help of Craig's own
fingers, Tweek's thumb wiped away the blood from his eyes.
It wouldn't caress him on its own.
He ran his hands from Tweek's purple throat to his ribcage. He felt every long
bone, but not the strong and steady rhythm of their rise and fall.
Craig's ribs quaked with teary hiccups. His bones squeezed Tweek's hand against
him as he pressed his forehead into his friend's chest.
"We're okay now," the children helped Craig whisper.
Craig's tiny fingers clutched onto the front of Tweek's shirt. Fresh blood
overflowed from where he was most afraid of being touched. It left grisly
streams of red slathered across his legs and dirty white shirt. It spilled all
over Tweek, too. He didn't care. He just stayed there, rocking back and forth
while rubbing Tweek's face.
"We're okay. We're fine. Nobody can hurt you now."
Something changed inside the boy. Where Tweek's warmth once resided in Craig's
heart went cold, and his glass-lined jaws clenched together with uncontrollable
rage.
Behind him, beyond the statue of fear Kyle became, Richard gagged around the
blood pooling in his throat. Never had Craig and the other children encountered
the man as subdued and defenseless as he was then.
"Look how helpless, the poor thing. He is going to join us in death soon," the
calmest child noted with Craig's lips.
"Yes," said the angriest. "The rabbit will devour him."
A mischievous giggle bubbled out of Craig's throat, but it wasn't his.
"I can think of a fate more fitting," the calmest chimed. "We can pull him to
the bottom, like he did to us."
"No!" pleaded the youngest through slurred words and fear. "Let the rabbit take
him! I don't want to go back down!"
The shared face twisted red with sorrow as the youngest wept miserably. Craig
cradled his head in his hands. Regaining control was never hard before, but now
Craig could barely speak out amongst the other children.
"Shut up! We won'tgo," a voice, Craig's voice, said. The red water seeped from
the edges of his lips and dribbled down his chin. With every forced word, the
glass cut into him.
"How could you say that?!" the angriest barked from behind his hands. "He
k͓̪̻̯i̷͕̹͉l̀le̝̳͚̗̥͢d̳̜̯͖͉͡ Tweek, you should want to hurt him!"
"No! I want to be a good thing!" Craig argued. "Tweek's good thing!"
"T̪͕̫̗̝̦̱ͨ̐̀̃̄̈́h̹̳̪ͯ̇͒̅̚e͊ͭͣṟ͇̹͈ͮ͋̋ͨ̑̆e̬̟͑̊̀̇̊ͭ̚ ̲̻̹̌i̘̮̟̳ͮ͒̓ͅsͨ̚
̜̘̻̀̿n̹̯̤͇̂̊͊ͧͅo̙̽̃̍̑̄̃t̰͈ͯ͑ͫ̐̿ĥ͔̱̳͚͍̞͓̅i̭̟̖̥̞͓͖͒͋ͤ͛ͧn̮̞̦̺͔̞͑g̰͎̫̼̿̉̉
̣̖̳̘̐̽͋ͧ͑ͮ̆g̹̝͔͙͈̺ͅo̅̇̎̑͑o͕̜̞̻͚̺͈ͮͫ͂d̯͚̟̽̃ͤ
̣̫ͨ̍̇̽̈́ͮa͒̇̈́͋̋͂b̘̣̯͓̗̈́oṵ̟̠̥̃̅ͬͬ̋̎ͣt́̇̔ ̰͈̲͎ͯ̚ÿͭ̽̃ͪͮo̪͗ͪ̃̽u̓ͯ̈́͐ͦͩ!̣̅̍ͣ̀̐̋!"
The calmest child reminded him "The dog never should have chosen you to be the
host!"
A pair of Craig's spare arms left his side to take a fistful of Richard's hair.
The man tried to push it away, but he couldn't stop them from forcing his head
under the water.
"He will suffer!" the children demanded.
Kyle snapped out of his trance with a scream. He hadn't noticed Craig's
struggle until the boy's arms slammed Richard's head down. Only then did he see
how much blood coated his fingers. He gasped, then chucked the filthy knife in
the pond. As far away from him as he could.
He turned and crawled towards Tweek and his raging little creature. Craig still
sat on Tweek's hips when Kyle dragged his body beside them.
Kyle put his hand to Tweek's throat in search of warmth, or, better yet, a
pulse. Richard's blood smeared off Kyle's hands and onto Tweek's face.
Craig dug his bones into one of the rogue arms. He scratched desperately where
it connected with his spine, but he couldn't break away from it.
Only two children remained loyal to Craig. Their hands clawed and scratched at
Craig's back in a vain attempt to rip the disobeying limbs from his spine.
There was nothing they could do, though, when the remaining souls sided with
the angriest child.
A terrified yowl spilled from Craig's lips as he was torn away. All but four of
his spare arms skittered toward Richard. They had every intention of going to
the bottom with him. Craig's terrified hands gripped onto Tweek's pant leg and
he let out a pleading sound. This time, however, Tweek couldn't protect him.
"Craig!" Kyle screamed as he reached for the boy's outstretched hand, but Craig
was pulled out of reach.
Kyle's head span in circles. Every fiber of his being screamed for him to run
to Craig, but Tweek was still breathless in his arms.
"Stop!" Craig begged as he kicked at his vicious arms. "I don't want to go down
there!"
Craig had a fighting chance.
"ͤ̾ͪ͒̅ͦͦYo̊̑ͧͥū̽͂͐ͧ͊'̀ͭͤͬ͊͊ͮr̽ͭͩͦē̌͐͂͌ ̍͛̒ͭͥ̚hǔr̔͋̾tỉn͒ͧͬͩ̾ͪͥg
ͪͫ͌ͣ̋ͬ̄ḿ̽̽̃̆ẽ͗͗̈́!̓ͣ"̏̅ͪ
All Tweek had was Kyle.
Tears spilled from green eyes as he slammed his mouth against Tweek's. He
forced a heavy breath down his friend's throat, then slammed his hands against
Tweek's chest. His arms shook against his will, but he still forced Tweek's
ribs to move under the weight of them.
"Please, stop!" Craig begged. He sank his fingers into the mud to try and
resist, but he lost all control of the others. His hands raked through the muck
as they dragged him into the pond. He couldn't separate from their rage, and he
couldn't subdue their bloodlust.
Richard was beside him, ensnared in the children's vengeful limbs. The boy
stared with a knot in his throat. Richard glared up at him with his last, angry
eye. The killer who was once so organized and self-assured had fallen into
emotional pieces. Water was up to his bleeding neck. Small hands clutched at
his face. The arms they were attached to squeezed so tightly his bones popped
in the weight of their misery.
"You're the devil," the man hissed as blood filled the cracks of his teeth.
"Putrid, selfish whore."
He couldn't blame the others for wanting to destroy this man. Craig's lips
twitched into a tortured smile, though he hadn't meant for it to. The hands
that gripped Richard tightened around his wounded throat until it popped and
the man was gagging.
"Oh," the children's many voices uttered from Craig's lips. His head tipped to
the side, into the water. "You poor, pretty thing."
Richard's eye gaped as they were ripped from the surface and dragged along the
muddy bottom. Richard's big hands escaped from the tendrils of writhing flesh
and sank into Craig's sides. They dug through his shirt and into his flesh, as
if to send some vile message to the boy.
It hurt.
Craig tried to scream. When only water filled his mouth, he remembered Tweek
wouldn't be coming to his rescue. For the first time in years, he was alone.
The quivering mass of limbs settled like a stone on the pond's floor. The
painful grip on his hips loosened with Richard's watery death. The children
released the body. Craig felt it float up and away from them, towards the
surface of the pond. The empty place Richard's body left was filled with
something else.
It began as a black blob. The children crushed it in their hands as it
struggled to take form.
Their laughter echoed through the emptiness of the pond, but Craig's chest
tightened. The small black blob split through their fingers and settled in the
mud around them. Mischievous giggles filled Craig's skull as their hands raked
through the floor in search of the putrid thing they were playing with.
The others wanted to torture the man as they had been. They desired only to rip
his body away from him and have their way with his filthy soul. To violate him
and steal his existence as he had done to them.
Craig only wanted his freedom.
His hands frantically searched the rocky bottom for something, anything, that
could sever the parasites in his spine. Still, not all the children had
abandoned him. A gentle hand took a hold of his wrist, and another placed a
gift in his palm. It was hard plastic, but the tip was a sturdy, sharpened
metal.
Those same kind hands wrapped tightly around the fleshy base of a hostile arm.
Craig drew back the knife, Kyle's knife, and jammed it into the joint that
connected him and the angry limb.
The laughter transformed into an agonized wail. He sawed at the flesh and
tendons until his helping hands ripped bone out of his spine. Flesh tore and
vessels burst as the flailing limb was severed. He cried as they repeated this
gory mutilation of their souls. Not because of the mind-numbing pain. Because,
one by one, he was abandoning the others.
There was no other way, the kind ones reminded him. If he was attached to them,
he'd be attached to Richard, too.
A hand burst of the mud, but it wasn't small and pale like the children's. It
was a dark silhouette that cut through their arms and wound its fingers around
Craig's ankle. The mere touch of its flesh burned into him like hot iron. The
children took it by the wrist, but another surged out of the ground and pierced
into his thigh like knives.
He was in the basement again.
The ropes cut into his wrists. The camera clicked with its dreaded shutter. The
salt was on his tongue.
His chest filled with the uncomfortably familiar need for escape.
He jerked his ankle free and slammed his heel into the monster below him. It
clashed hard against a skull. This only enraged the creature.
Water jetted past Craig as he was smashed against the pond's rocky bottom.
Those big hands grabbed him by the front of the shirt. The boy's first instinct
was to curl up in the face of the monster's power and beg to be forgiven.
Forgiven for what, though?
Nothing! N̵ͣͦͧ͗̕͠O͌̇̐Tͣͫ̃͝Hͥͭͣͩͪ̑ͫ̓͜Į̢͋͆ͤ̋ͦ̊̇̀͘N̵̛̍͗͒͏G͗̃ͤ̓̄ͯͯ̄̑!̸̛̊ͪͥ̌͋̑ͭ
̨̈̂ͫͨͣ͐̓̏͘C̵͗͊͐͞r̓̌ͩ͒̿͏͠a͐ͦ̇̈́̿̊ͤͤ̀i̔͏̴҉gͨ̽ͭ͞ ̡ͫ͡hͨ̀͢á͗̈́̚d̾̐̍̈́͒͒͘
̧̉́̏̑͆̀̚dͦ͗͒̓oͨͩ̃́ͮ̊ͦ͗͑n̡̈́̈́͌͘͝e̵ͭ̉ͮͭͦ
̛͛̏̈͂͟͠n̒̊̽̾̽͟ơͤͮ̀t̽͊ͣͫͥ͢͝h̴ͩ͋͛҉̛įͭ͌̿ń͗̏̌ͭgͬͪ͐̈̑̀̄̀!̡ͮ͌ͨ͊́͆ ̢̐̐͆̈̆̈́ͫͬ
He drew back his arm and drove the sharp end of Kyle's knife into Richard's
head. The beast let out a muffled cry. It coiled back as it clutched to its
face. Craig used this moment to sever what ties he had left to the others, who
were still screeching for their retribution.
He braced himself against the pond floor. A cloud of dirt wafted around him
when he pushed off, aiming for the surface. The gory man below him, however,
was not as desperate to be separated.
A black hand scraped his toes as the man clawed after him. Before Richard could
rip into Craig, his fingers tensed. Small, yet merciless limbs captured the
shadow of a spirit. Their fingernails scraped into his flesh, and he let out a
wail as they reeled him back to the bottom.
They would never leave the nightmare he created for them. Now, neither could
he.
…
When Craig broke through the surface, he gasped jealously for air he couldn't
breathe. He struggled to stay afloat, and water splashed loudly in his panic.
Through the noise, he couldn't hear where the waves broke on the shore.
He cried out, and by some miracle, someone replied. It was a far away and
muffled scream, but he knew it was calling his name. Thoughts of Tweek swarmed
Craig's frantic mind, so he paddled aimlessly towards the call.
"Craig!"
He heard it again and again, louder each time. He paddled until his knees
scraped against the shallows of the pond, where a pair of arms scooped him out
of the water. He was held against a heaving chest, and he took in a strong
whiff of the person holding him.
It wasn't Tweek's smell; earthy and dark. Rather, he inhaled the fruity scent
of Kyle's shampoo. The boy pulled his head away from Kyle's chest. The faint
sound of distant sirens filled the air, along with Kyle's quiet whimpering.
There was nothing else.
"Yes, yes," Kyle said through chattering teeth. "He's okay, I think."
Kyle let out a groan when he moved. Maneuvering through the woods on his broken
leg, only a branch as a crutch, put him in unbearable pain. Still, he dragged
Craig from the shore, and laid him down in the soft snow.
The boy didn't cry when Kyle's thumb rubbed weakly at his eyelids. Somehow, the
useless flaps of flesh had matted shut over his eye sockets. The side of a
broken nail scraped along the seam and broke away the scabs.
The bruised lids split apart, and for the first time in a long time, Craig saw
something other than darkness. He reeled as blurry masses of bright color
assaulted him, and the thumb moved to scrape at his other matted eye.
He stared at the person laying on their back beside him. The one the thumb was
attached to. This wasn't Kyle. He heard his voice echoing behind them as he
screamed at the sirens.
The man beside him was a stranger. He was large, larger than Richard, and his
face was colored with open wounds and smudges of drying crimson. Despite his
ghostly appearance, blood pumped through his veins. This was a living man.
Craig would have been afraid if not for the look on his face. His thin, cracked
lips quirked into the smallest smile. His eyes were tired and sickly, but they
wrinkled with joy as Craig's left eye peeled open and adjusted to the light.
The same thumb that freed his eyes weakly raised to caress Craig's cheek. The
boy stared, dumbfounded at the familiar feeling.
With cautious movements, Craig's bone tipped fingers reached out to return the
affectionate gesture. He ran his palms over the pale face. Every bump and hill
of the stranger's features was familiar, and he realized this man was no
stranger at all.
Blue, Craig thought as tears, real tears, ran down his face.
Tweek's eyes are blue.
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