Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

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Archivist:

Lets see… testing.. testing 1 2 3….  FINALLY it’s working… ahem

My name is Kyle Broflovski. I was recently promoted by the owner of the South Park institute, Colorado, Timmy Burch to take the job of head archivist. I will be continuing the work of the previous archivist, Lianne Cartman to complete academic research of the esoteric and paranormal activities of our area.

I’ve been working here for the past four years and all I can really say is that most statements are- very unlikely to ever be substantial. Most of the time it seems to be a person’s hallucination or dream and even if researchers find a single lead, it most likely will stop there at a dead end… and when it hits the dead end it reaches down here. Into the archives.

Even worse with a century’s worth of recounts all bundled up in one deep, barely heated basement, it will take a shit ton of work and time to gather information. Now, you would be thinking that the previous archivist must have had a good sense of organisation and filing due to being the head archivist for decades, but no. Not at all.

From what I can see, there’s hundreds of statements strewn across the floor and being squashed by the useless filing cabinets with disordered dates. Then, some files even seem to be damaged from what looks to be burn marks and coffee stains. 

The most annoying part though is that when searching through the archives sometimes I come across pictures of, what I believe to be Mrs Cartman’s son. They don’t look to be put in any certain order so it is definitely annoying to see pictures of random fatass every time I attempt to search through this godforsaken place.

It’s going to take a while to clean but it won’t just be me in this messed up basement. I have managed to recruit a total of two assistants to help me around the archives. Technically three but Clyde’s really only good at seducing the receptionist in his free time.

…

Anyway, I’ve been attempting to get the statements up on my laptop but all that I get back is… absolute unintelligible distortion. So, I’ve had to use this tape recorder that was on the desk before I got here and this analogue camera that can be used to video anything that requires visual additions.

Alongside these statements, my assistants: Stan, Wendy, I guess Clyde too, and I would be doing some supplementary investigation. This will be promptly presented upon post statement although I cannot guarantee these investigations will go anywhere. I also cannot promise any organisation of the order of statements being digitised and would like to apologise to any future researchers using this resource. 

That’s… probably enough justifying the state of this place, I guess we’ll begin the actual statement.

Statement of Rebecca Cotswold regarding her time being homeschooled. Original statement given November 10th 2001. Audio recording by Kyle Broflovski, Head Archivist of the South Park Institute, Colorado. Statement begins.

Archivist (Statement): 

For all my life, I’ve been homeschooled. It’s just been me, my brother and my parents in this house. They gave me everything. Everything that I could have ever wanted and needed. What more could I have asked for really. 

They told me how exceptional and amazing I was at my young age, how fast I was learning all of the topics. Even though, to be honest it was always my brother, Mark who far surpassed me at everything. I don’t hold any grudges against him though, I admired him for it as he was always one to help through the lessons when our parents failed. 

Everyday, we’d wake up together, eat together and learn together. All in our oasis called home. We still went “outside” of course, during our recreational time we’d go outside to the backyard and hide treasures in the Earth and dig them back up after a few days. It was my brother’s favourite time of each day. I could see his eyes sparkle every time we’d feel something rock hard hit our shovels to find the same old toy truck that we buried some few days ago. Probably because it was the farthest we had ever gotten from those walls.

Now I know what you’re thinking but my parents weren’t like that. They never really talked about outside nor did they ever give those spooky stories of whatever crimes that can and would occur. I think we all sort of thought we would just stay here, safely confined. And I didn’t see anything wrong with that.

It was like that for eleven years until my brother started to want more. I remember that it was autumn when he first asked. He said that he wanted to begin public schooling and join all the other kids with their backpacks and rowdy school buses. So, after a lengthy conversation behind closed doors, he went out.

From then on, I woke up alone. Mark had to be early for the school bus anyway and I’m not the best at changing a schedule. What was odd though is that, the walls . They felt… more suffocating. It was a subtle feeling in my chest but my room felt just a little bit tighter , as if the walls were closing in on me. A shiver went through my entire spine but in the end I just reduced it to not waking up with Mark. That could’ve been it.

The day went just fine really, the only difference was the absence of my brother of course. I just simply continued to go to school, all the same. My parents never mentioned Mark’s absence but they were aware of it. They kept eyeing the window every few minutes of silence, and when Mark came home the two immediately ran to the door suffocating him with hundreds of questions. 

He didn’t say much. All he said was that he planned on going back. It was only until mom and dad went to go prepare dinner he suddenly dragged me to our room. In a quiet voice he desperately implored for me to join him in public school and that I’m going to suffocate here. But I noticed the bruises on his arms and legs. I knew that the school wasn’t a safe place either.

I could have trusted my brother right then and there, but I didn’t. I knew our parents could protect us after all and we were just kids; of course we would have been imagining things. Oh how I wish I came with him.

The next day; I woke up alone, again. Now the walls seemed even more tight than yesterday. For a split second it felt as if there wasn’t any air in the room as I let out a sharp breath. The windows looked smaller too, there was only a tiny bit of sunshine being let through my desolate room. Even my bed became smaller, my legs could now reach over the bed forcing myself to put my knees to my chest when I slept. 

As expected, my parents never batted an eye. I tried to tell them, I really did but they didn’t see anything wrong with the house. Mom attempted to reassure me that the walls were fine but when she put her hand on my shoulder, I just felt the air in the room dissipate uncomfortably.

After mom and dad failed me, it was my brother. More injuries started to appear and he was coming home at ungodly hours of the night. So late that I was already tucked in that desolate bedroom until he came. He also stopped trying to convince me and instead refused to let me come with him. Instead, he was thinking of going back. Back to where it all used to be safe.He still kept going to school though, my parents couldn’t stop him. But they did stop me as they knew I couldn’t protect myself from whoever was dealing Mark’s injuries.

 And so the walls kept going. The rooms shrinked into smaller and smaller dimensions as I was struggling to breathe throughout those days. And I must tell you that I don’t even have asthma nor have had any previous trouble breathing.

The windows disappeared too and I was let with no sight of the outside. It went up to a point where I had to squeeze my body through the hallway just to get breakfast. Yet my parents just figured that this was how we have always lived somehow.

I had no other options. The more I talked to my parents, I felt even more squashed and suffocating as they tried to hug me in attempts of stupid comfort. I needed to escape, reach that front door. But I couldn’t. Even the front door had shrunken into an impossible size.

Mark stopped coming home from then on. No more cars driving through the street, sun reaching my eyes and no more children clamouring to get in that bus. It was just me and my unknowing parents slowly getting crushed by the very place we called home.

There was only one opening to the outside left. The back door. 

One day during one of my parents' lessons, I finally suffocated enough. I immediately sprung up and made a run through the door. As I ran through the layers of my skin sanded off as it slid against the rough walls. They burned through me but I kept running. 

It was already hard to breathe even without expending my energy, I began to cough out my own saliva but I kept going. Squeezing myself through the sharp attack corners of each kitchen counter, I could no longer hear my parents. I looked back for just a split second and saw another barrier coming right for me. No longer that subtle uncanniness, it was closing on to me faster than ever. It was ready to crush my flesh and bones into red bits of meat and white speckles of dust.

I pursued through, holding onto the sharp breaths that I could barely muster whilst the wall’s friction was clinging on to my skin. 

In what felt like the longest few seconds of my life, I saw the back door. No light shone through it, only darkness peeked through but with the last few pieces of adrenaline I hurled through it. Going right through the glass as it pierced through my already destroyed skin. My nerves were too numb to even feel the cuts.

Once I ran outside, it wasn’t done yet. What was supposed to be the exit had shrunken and the fences were taller than ever. They just loomed over me telling me that I could never get out and that I would simply be crushed. But there was one more thing outside.

I looked down to my feet to see that I was nearing the edge of a hole . In the hole spread all across it were familiar toy trucks, dolls and trinkets Mark and I had buried. But, the most shocking object was what was right in the heart of the hole, the deepest area. 

That was where two half buried beds laid. A familiar green bed where I usually slept now back to its original size to fit me perfectly and another deep teal bed, where my brother lay half covered in earth. He’d been lying there for at least a few days from how much dirt was enveloping him but I couldn’t tell if he was still alive. 

The gaping pit enticed me to its centre. The end of suffocating within these walls and to join my brother who looked to be only peacefully asleep. In a trance I slowly walked towards it. I mean what choice did I even have?

Walking through the rough dirt and filthy toys, I never seemed to lose my balance for some reason even as the pit got steeper down below. As I reached towards the middle, my breath steadied but I remained light headed.

When I reached the bed, I looked up to see the night sky, there were no fences from where I was, it was just simply space. And with that final euphoric fleeting freedom I fell. It was far past my bedtime.

The world closed in as it covered me and my brother’s unconscious bodies bringing us closer than ever to the Earth. And I closed my eyes to see the next day.

Archivist:

Statement ends.

Well, despite the eerie ending, Rebecca and her brother seem to be doing fine in the present day. Wendy found records that show after the events of the statement, she joined her brother in public schooling for a year but then quickly reverted back. It is true that her brother did indeed suffer from bullying amongst the other boys but persevered through school for the rest of his time. Wendy also found out that Rebecca is now working as a full fledged architect after completing a degree in archaeology. Kind of an interesting choice of career if you ask me. Looks like homeschooling worked for her after all, as she even got into a pretty good school. 

Stan found the address of Rebecca’s childhood home but the parents seemed to have moved out. The people currently living there don’t have any knowledge of the Cotswolds new locations either and the house wasn’t in any odd shape or form. Clyde, unsurprisingly, couldn’t get the family to allow us to inspect the home or at least get the floor plans; leaving us with nothing about the interior.

We tried to get back in contact with Rebecca and Mark Cotswold but Rebecca is currently off the grid on a business trip. Meanwhile, her brother Mark is not at all willing to do any follow ups on the events, so another dead end. 

Of course, as Rebecca mentioned, she was only a child at the time this can be concluded to just be a recurring nightmare being mixed with the reality of her brother leaving for public school. Especially with the beds near the end.

So with no practical evidence of walls moving by themselves and an unreliable statement giver… there really is not enough to work with on this statement. So that concludes our very first statement. One out of… who knows how many….

Recording ends. 

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Chapter Text

Archivist:

Statement of Jason White regarding his job at Tweak Bros. Coffeehouse. Original statement given December 16 2006. Audio recording by Kyle Broflovski, head archivist of the South Park archives.

Statement begins

Archivist(statement):

I’ve always been one to enjoy cafe and coffee shop hopping, it’s been one of my most consistent hobbies. During the weekends I’d find a place I haven't yet visited and, you know, have breakfast or lunch there. Then, a bit embarrassing but; post my review on my own blog… but that blog is irrelevant! I have all the photos you need in the statement so please don’t go looking for it.

Anyway, for me cafe hopping sort of felt like an escape from monotony you know? Every week experiencing a new flavour of the drink you love and an entirely new but comforting atmosphere. I wasn’t really expecting to become a regular anytime soon until my first time visiting the Tweek Bros Coffeehouse. 

It was a low key coffee shop placed far away from any touristy areas and it was even owned by a sweet married couple that the place was named after. The interior was pretty standard for any old coffee shop, a few chairs placed here and there, a soothing light green wallpaper and a register right at the entrance to warmly greet you as soon as you came in. What I was most keen for though was their all year round spooky special. I know, I know it shouldn’t really count as a special but that’s what they liked to call it. 

Almost all of the reviews called the special “addicting” and “the most energising coffee they have ever had.” So I was super keen on getting my hands on it at the time. In reality though, it was just your normal cup of coffee but with a cool little spider web drawing that could be made out of milk or chocolate sauce on top and small bits of white cotton candy you could dissolve in your coffee. Nice and cute right?

So anyway, on the day I arrived at the place as planned. The pictures I saw on my laptop looked exactly like the place, which was a bonus as you never know when a place decides to suddenly renovate and change its entire appearance. What I did notice at the corner of my eye, was a small poster pasted on the glass wall. “We are hiring,” it said. Now, I surely wasn’t looking for any jobs, especially a barista job. No shame to them of course, I just already had a profession I was content with. 

For some reason… my eyes were fixated on that sign for who knows how long. Maybe it just had a neat design? Even weirder is that, I don’t recall what it even looked like despite marvelling at it for so long. Eventually, I stepped out of that trance just for a bit and went on my way to get that signature drink. 

I was greeted by one of the owners of the coffee shop, Richard Tweak. I had a short conversation with him before ordering, it’s not as if it was crowded after all. He was a nice guy like most hospitality workers and he had a funny quirk of always trying to squeeze in an opportunity to advertise his business. Whatever to get ahead in the game I guess. 

What was also a bit off was that brief conversation though, he just immediately went to the back. You see Richard didn’t actually, let's say “work.” The only reason I was able to have a conversation (a brief one at that) was because prior to my entrance he was talking to; I believe to be his son, who was the actual worker there. 

He was just around my age and even more of an oddball than Richard. In fact just from his name he was weird. His name tag said his name was “Tweek.” So weird right? Naming your own son your last name but just changing one letter that doesn’t even affect the pronunciation. But he gets even more eccentric. 

His hair was sprawled out all over the place like sharp spikes eager to stab you and oh boy you could see the dark circles underneath his eyes from a mile away, they were THAT pronounced. His clothes were filled with wrinkles and his hands were practically wrapped in bandages. He also had a habit of shaking and twitching from time to time which was probably why they didn’t allow him to do any serving. I really hope his parents didn’t just leave him all by himself during rush hours so thank God he got the help he needed later on. 

Despite the eccentricities though, he sure could make a good cup of coffee. It felt as if only a few seconds between the time that I ordered and when I heard a high pitched croaky voice yell out my number. As I walked towards the counter I could feel the warm wafts of roasted coffee beans permeate the air. The same old energising yet comforting smell. 

Taking the cup to my table, I took the time to take a few photos. As you can see it’s in the file that I sent. I’ve got to be honest though I don’t think I captured how magnificent the actual coffee was. Sorry for sounding like a bit of a nerd but the lines of the webs were so smoothly placed in such refinement. It was as if the barista had so elegantly painted each web with such masterful stillness just like a crane. It wasn’t just the web art either, the small bits of cotton candy that laid on the saucer were somehow perfectly placed and symmetrical! It truly shows how you don’t judge a book by its cover.

Anyways, sorry I can be a bit of a dork sometimes; it was just really good coffee okay? Back to.. what happened, right. 

So yeah, I tried the coffee and it was great! Just as the reviews described it, it may have been even better. But to be honest, I don’t remember the flavour at all. I can’t tell you any of the flavour notes or what type of bean they could have used but you don’t really care about that do you, archivist? 

Haha, I just keep rambling. So, I had the coffee, it basically ascended me to heaven and the next day, before I knew it, I was back. Back at Tweek Bros Coffeehouse. It was as if I just blinked and it was suddenly the next day and I was teleported to the coffeehouse. And as a hopper, I never go back to the same place twice in a row. The reviewers were right, it was addicting. 

Everyday I came back, as if I was pulled in by some unknown force. I was coming there so frequently that even the owner noticed. 

“Why, since you come here so often, why don’t you start working here?”

Ha.. it was a while since I had actually heard the voice of someone else.. but that didn’t mean I was out of the trance. Despite having a stable job and content life before I knew it I had accepted. Was I really that keen on getting that employee discount?

So, I came to work at Tweek Bros Coffeehouse the next day and then days after. On the orientation to my new job, I learnt that I wasn’t the only new guy around. Unfortunately I don’t remember his name or any other features. I just knew I wasn’t the only new employee. Maybe he was like me, another past regular who got really hooked.

The other guy wasn’t the only new face I met that day though, I had also first laid my eyes on the other owner of the coffeehouse, Mrs Tweak. I assumed that she’d be teaching us the ropes and how to wait customers since they were upgrading the service but no. As Mrs Tweak entered the room she held two cups of coffee in her hands and with a sweet buttery voice she simply told us to.

“Have some coffee, dears.” Or something on the lines of that with a sweet silky voice. 

Simultaneously we took one huge gulp of that stimulating cup. Not even flinching as the hot brown liquid scathed my tongue and only stopping when there was nothing left in the cup. We both concurrently banged down the mug and that was the end of our “training.”

The day started and somehow we immediately knew everything we had to do as waitstaff. Not exactly “knew” maybe controlled is the better word actually. Tweek didn’t even need to yell or ring anything for one of us to be at the counter. As if strings were linked to my body, I had lost control of my body entirely. The only thing I had left were my eyes. 

There were three things that I noticed. The first thing was, Tweek was wide awake. Maybe a bit too awake as he was always frantic in his movement constantly twitching. All the coffee he made for himself was from his own set of beans and were completely black too. During his off times he’d be fiddling on his phone or feverishly checking the corners for something, I’m not entirely sure.

The next observation was there was something going on in the basement. All of my waitstaff buddies would immediately scream that they want to quit after pushing through and cutting their strings. The owners were surprisingly fine with this but only until they’d take them to the basement. There was no way I could take a peak as the doors were always shut during those times and you know my brain being disconnected from the nervous system. Once they’d go into the basement, I never saw them again. Then it was onto the next regular turned employee. 

With so much time stuck in my head, I started a new game as some sick way to cope. Who would be the next employee? Regulars come in and out until eventually they stay to join working. There was only one customer who never converted though. I remember first by her stark blazing red hair.Just like Tweek, her coffee was always black and specially requested it to be “piping hot.” Maybe that bitter taste flowing through your tongue made you immune or something. 

As you can tell from the previous sentences, I was there for longer than the average person. In some sort of sick twisted way, I guess I enjoyed not even having to think about my actions. But eventually, I knew I had to break out. My memory is, unfortunately, a bit fuzzy but slowly, I tried to be in control of my paralyzed body and I got it back. It wasn’t immediately unlike the past employees, gradually, I could move my legs, my fingers and even my mouth. I kept working there though. I just had to find what was in that basement. 

One day, after my latest partner had disappeared downstairs, I snatched the keys right from Mr Tweak’s belt. And there was only one thing left to do. 

I kept the controlled facade up for a few more days, hoping no one had noticed any changes. Otherwise, I think Mr and Mrs Tweak might be coming for me as I write this. But at around closing hours when Tweek was busy tidying up, I had slid into the back face to face with the looming basement door. Every so subtly, I slid the keys inside the keyhole as the door immediately swung open. I was greeted by a dark downwards staircase decorated with spider webs all around the walls and stairs. It was the literal definition of “spooky.” Despite all that, I just had to find the truth. 

I delved deeper into the dark, damp passage with only a single light from my phone. As I continued towards the bottom, it seemed as if the webs had gotten thicker and bigger. I had to put a hand out just to prevent myself from getting stuck in one. Carefully treading each step, being wary of the webs and the gradual abundance of spiders. They were small ones, none of them venomous but still dangerous in a way that if they were to ever reach my skin and suffocate me. Then, after an eternity, I reached the truth. 

You could say “curiosity killed the cat” but in that situation, I prefer to say “the fly fell into the widow’s trap.” 

The basement was absolutely covered with thick white threads of web across the walls, floor and ceiling, way more than there ever was in that narrow staircase. And there, backed up in the middle, I was ominously greeted by Richard and Mrs. Tweak. They offered me a cup of coffee. At that moment, the strings weaved back into my body. I sat down, taking a good look at the cup. It donned a hypnotizing set of threads all converging into one single point. It was the same coffee I had gotten oh so obsessed with. The couple simply smiled at me, urging that I take a sip of that warm, addicting drink as they began adding their special sugar. 

The threads, they pulled my hands towards the mug. My hands trembled trying to resist as sweat trickled through the hairs of my skin. The cup was warm, as it always was. Never hot, never cold, just comfortingly mellow as if it hugged your heart. A hug that you couldn’t escape. 

My mind ran in a panic just trying to think of a way to regain that control I once had. So as the cup had reached my face, with all force I could muster, I clenched my teeth as hard as possible not even caring if my tongue had bitten off. 

Immediately, I woke up and simply walked my way out too stunned to even do anything. The Tweaks didn’t do anything about it either, they just sat there still with that uncanny grin plastered on both of their faces. Slowly, I trudged my way through each and every sticky web in my way.

And then I got out. I didn’t say any farewells to Tweek, I simply opened the exit and kept living. Sometimes, I see the coffeeshop as I pass by during day to day life, I never try to look at it for long fearing that I may enter that trance once again. I don’t know what happened to their son, last time I peaked for longer than usual I saw him still working at the counter, twitching as always. 

But, sometimes I see Richard smiling at me across the street… just smiling… Can you believe that guy? Even through the shit he put me through… he can just smile?

Anyway, I have plans to move far away from that place, maybe even out of state. I don’t think I’ll be having any coffee in maybe years after that incident. I think I’d like to be in control. 

Archivist:

Statement ends. 

Unfortunately, Jason White has passed away in a car crash. The culprit of the car crash had no connections whatsoever with Tweek Bros Coffeehouse, so therefore we cannot make any follow ups to the statement. 

Although, against the statement givers request Clyde did actually find his blog called whiteonlycoffee.com. It wasn’t that hard actually Jason had used his full name so it was one of the first results. There’s nothing of note on the blog, just a bunch of photos and reviews which we already had in the file so once again, Clyde has been proven to be completely incompetent. I do believe Stan found online customer reviews proving that their coffee was indeed extremely addictive. 

On the matter of, Tweek Bros well… Tweek Bros Coffeehouse was burned down in 2008. The case files claim it to be an act of arson, the perpetrator being a known Red McArthur. The burnt remains of the owners were found underground around where the basement would be but there were no remains of their son, Tweek Tweak. We can presume that alongside his parents, Tweek Tweak is dead.

So with a statement chock full of death and disappearances, the only connections we have linked to the elusive Tweek Bros CoffeeHouse was their supplier at the time, State Farm delivery service and this photo that was given by Jason of what seems to be Tweek Bros specialty. A cup of coffee laced with a spider's web made out of chocolate sauce on top and cotton sugar placed around the saucer.

Recording ends.

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Chapter Text

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Archivist:

Statement of Dogpoo Petuski regarding the trash of 103 Annelida road. Original statement taken April 10th 2013 Audio recording by Kyle Broflovski, head Archivist of the South Park Institute. 

Statement begins. 

Archivist(statement):

I work in a professional clean up service company. It’s basically when someone asks you to clean up their house all in one sweep. Yes, it’s not the most admirable job to have but I don’t mind it. You get used to the stink and as a child I’ve always been known for rolling in the mud and getting dirty. It suits my name after all. The pay’s pretty decent too and it’s nice to have a flavour of exploration to your job. Miles better than being a slave to the nine to five. 

You never clean up alone, especially when working at absolutely trashed areas. There should be at least three other people with you in that house to both keep you safe and get the work done quicker. For this statement, I do not believe the names of the people I worked with at the time is anything relevant, if you insist that you require other witnesses please just contact me directly. I just want to clarify that I was not alone in the first half of these events. 

So, the actual statement part, let’s begin. We had received a call from an anonymous tipper with a rather hoarse voice regarding a job he needed done on the house of 103 Annelida road. He claimed he was calling for his neighbour and only requested one thing, to keep any books that were found on the location. It wasn’t too often we received a client who didn’t want to reveal their identity, people go through shit and experience shame over it. Usually they’d properly introduce themselves once we had reached the property and reveal that the so-called neighbour was actually themself. The address, Annelida road wasn’t known to be a particularly dirty part of the town so I was rather taken aback by the mention of it as our usual cleanups would typically include apartment complexes and other claustrophobic properties. 

Once, we had reached the tiny suburban housing road of Annelida road. Immediately as we turned the truck, we were hit with a horrible rotting stench that made every one of us’s noise crinkle in absolute repulse. It was around the winter months the time these events took place, so there was no reason for people’s meat or produce having to go mouldy all at once. I remember riding on that same road just a few weeks ago and never smelling such putrid rot. How could that much garbage accumulate so quickly? Usually such strong odours would be coming from possible years of shut in behaviour. 

It wasn’t hard to spot the property. As just from both the stench and its appearance. Heaps of tar tinted trash had filled up just the entire front yard. The entire house suffocated underneath the piles of garbage. The sharp stench of rot and faeces pierced through each of our nostrils making each of our stomachs uncomfortably gurgle.

As a clean up worker, it’s not really your job to pry into others' waste but sometimes things just get you questioning. People do tend to hold the weirdest things and it’s only until you search through their garbage you learn the truth. From all that trash though, you can illustrate quite a story from them. One time I found a life-size blow up Antonio Banderas Doll just lying in there.  Our job, that had the numbers 103 etched into its mailbox, had what felt to be mountains of deep-coloured plastic bags filled to the brim with every single trashed item known to man throughout literally their entire front yard. Even more disgusting was that it seemed this place an absolute lovespot for flies as most bags had maggots squirming around its surface. 

The air around the pile permeated with a sharp repulsive odour of rot. Most of us felt like throwing up right then and there. In fact, every one of us ended up regurgitating at least once through this period of time. I never thought such filth could have ever existed in one place, especially in the middle class location of Annelida Road. Usually with that amount of mess we’d be asking the residents to call in actual cleaners and pest control but there was just no way to even enter without clearing out the hundreds of plastic bags in our way. 

At first, I assumed this enormous pile was just the consequence of some unhealthy marriage or mental health issues. People’s trash can say a lot about them but good thing it wasn’t any of my business. I just cleaned up after all. Nothing more. Still, how could someone accumulate such large amounts of garbage that they can fill their entire front yard? It’s not like there were any signs of new tenants and the week before I was so sure it was nothing like this. That house had never permeated such putrid odour before. Despite my years of working, it was something I had never seen before. I mean usually the trash would be inside the household not be dumped outside for the world to see. 

In front of that fateful house was also where the voice had finally introduced himself. A tall large nosed man who donned himself in only black and white as he leaned on an arching spruce cane and accessorised with one bright golden earring in the shape of an eye on his right ear. As he let a smokey breath from his cigarette making us all further crinkle our noses, he introduced himself as Michael. He didn’t say much nor reveal anything about how the current situation had even occurred, he just restated what he said in the call but further digging into the importance of retrieving any books found. At that time, I simply thought they held some simple sentimental value to them. Once he finished repeating himself, he went off, leaving the job to us for the rest of the week. 

Get the garbage and toss it into the truck. No matter what dirty, filthy path we had to go through, we had a job to do after all. Clean up the place, collect the books. We decided there was no possible way this could all be cleaned up in an entire day, so in fact this project took over the course of an entire week spending a few sleepless nights here and there. 

The first night of the clean up was the most treacherous. Before even reaching the summit we had to tread through each moist squirming maggot infested bag as those things violently crawled up your legs and arms. It was as if they were forcing their way inside my body, trying to reach for the flesh deep inside to feast and making the hair growing off your legs tense up. 

I know I said previously that I don’t mind dirt but that sensation of each and every squirming maggot peering into your skin as if feeding off you. Out of every single pest in the world, through your roaches or your rats it was always maggots that made the flesh under my skin queasy as they squirmed within me. There was even the often chance you’d squash a squirming little bit of larva, you’d know by the irksome squelch each one of them would create. Even worse, its remains would smear all across the bottom of your shoe, sometimes still squirming just urging themselves to get under your skin. 

My stomach continued to uneasily gurgle as it turned and tumbled whatever I had for lunch.  I could feel the bits of it rise up to my throat urging to escape from its narrow confines and out into the form of mucus and food for them . I forced myself to shrug it all off, both the sensation and the maggots. But they kept coming . They kept trying to squirm up my legs almost aggressively and I kept trying to shake them and my disgust off but I stayed completely repulsed. One of my teammates, thankfully, tried to help me out of it, noticing the sickening green painted upon my face. It didn’t solve the problem but having to focus on something that wasn’t the squelching maggots crawling up my legs, at least had stopped me from regurgitating even just for a few moments. 

So that was how I functioned for the rest of the job. Every time, my senses had become too acutely aware of what was up my legs, I thought of anything else trying to revert back into that calm space to drown it all out. Of course, I avoided the topics of food and the like but overall, for the majority of the week’s worth of clean up, I only threw up for an average of three times a day. Which is pretty good when you’re treading through mountainous piles of deep garbage swarmed by flies and their larva. Honestly I felt like quitting then and there but I kept clinging on to the eventual satisfaction of a spotless backyard. 

And as the treacherous days of clean up we slowly swept through each bag into our garbage truck to be disposed of. The green grass gradually grew back up to see the sun. Of course there were still remnants of squelching and squirming among the grass and with the rate flies matured some of them had already transformed into buzzing bugs. Using a combination of steaming hot water and acidic vinegar we had killed the maggots that remained. Of course we still had to tediously pick up every last remaining corpse, thank God we never had to pick them up directly. 

Oddly enough, there was only one book we ever found. Buried underneath every stinking putrid bag it lay. It was an old worn out novel simply being binded by a rusting wire probably the same age as those pages. I tried to sweep off the remaining dirt on the book with my hands but somehow, it just further made my fingers dirty but I decided to simply ignore it for now. I smoothly flicked open the novel, trying to touch it for the shortest amount of time. What I first saw fancily embedded onto the starting page was “from the Tegridy Library.” Unfortunately, I couldn’t really find anything about it, the initials were just too vague. 

Inside the actual book contained countless diary entries from what I assume to be young women of the Victorian era. In those diary entries they held full recounts of what was called the “Tapeworm diet.” 

From what I’ve researched in a short time, the Victorian Tapeworm diet consisted of swallowing a pill that had a literal tapeworm egg inside of it. And as that tapeworm begins to mature and grow inside your body, it supposedly ate alongside you. Since, that tapeworm would be eating your food therefore you’d be able to cut off those extra calories and still eat whatever you want. Too good to be true right?

Because indeed it is, tapeworms are classified as parasites for a reason. They feed off you, quite literally actually, they don’t even make you lose weight most of the time, sometimes they can even cause the opposite. I read through the hundreds of recounts of young women at first seemingly overjoyed about losing weight and receiving that beautiful plump hourglass feature that men oh so desired from them. Until those entries divulged into that sickening horror. Frantic descriptions of nausea and sharp blaring pain down their stomachs as the tapeworm slowly took over and infected their entire body. Some cried and lashed out about the absence of change within their bodies, meanwhile some described some sick masochistic pleasure of their waist’s thinning as they slowly felt their abdomens become sicker and sicker. Either way, they were just both sides of the same coin as both of them still had that tapeworm coiling inside of them, becoming one with their bodily system as it continued to parasitically feed off its host. 

Somehow I kept flipping through each and every page. Every single gruesome, uneasy entry until I could not take it anymore and regurgitated on the now clean grass. And so did my teammates. Each of us spewing our nasty lunch’s down onto the greenery and reluctantly cleaning the filfth off. 

We decided to no longer touch or interact with the book anymore and safely set it down underneath one of our cardboard boxes. As our job was done, there was no need to linger. We called up Michael and for the first time in seven days, he appeared once again wearing monochromatic garments with a tinge of golden eye-themed accessories. With his deeply sunken shadowed eyes, he put his hand forward.

“The book.” He dryly asked in a deep hoarse voice. 

The entire team was quite taken aback by his bland words. We hesitated first as we glanced eyes at each other. In response, Michael  retrieved from his pocket what felt to be a hundred dollars worth of cash tightly wrapped in four shining money clips worth almost an equal amount. 

Each one of us changed our glares towards the wads of cash each specially prepared for us and slowly, each of us took our share in silence. 

And so we gave it to him. 

One of my teammates hurried over to the elusive box and removed the book from its protection. With shaking hands he slowly passed over the book to Michael as he once again threw up on the ground after doing so. 

As Michael began to flip through the pages, he remained uncannily not green . It’s funny writing it now but his face sat completely frozen not at all repulsed by its vile content. Only his dark eyes moved, scanning every written letter in immense focus. He did give in at one point though, as he quickly got out a fittingly black handkerchief to cough out some vomit. Once he had finished, he slammed the book shut leaving bits of flyaway dust in the air. He dully thanked us for our contributions as his eyes remained transfixed on the pages.

With all his business seemingly complete, Michael had gone his way, turning his back around slowly walking away with the soft taps from his cane hitting against the grown as his earring glistened underneath the sun. And then we never saw Michael, the book nor the filth on 103 Annelida road. 

Archivist:

Statement ends. 

“Tregridy" that elusive title strikes again. The South Park Institute has never found the real name behind those two letters but their library has been dealt with as of a number of years ago. It seems not fully though. It would’ve been fucking great if every statement regarding them and their books could have been put in one goddamn file because-

It just… would have been nice to have some consistency here…

As Wendy found there seems to be no records of the previously mentioned book. On the sort of bright side, we can confirm that the tapeworm diet was at its peak during the Victorian era. Whether or not we can confirm those diary entries were real is clearly impossible as we do not currently hold the book in our possession. 

According to landlord files, 103 Annelida road is currently unoccupied. It has never been inhabited by a Michael at any point of time so we cannot pinpoint any last name to find him. The only ever tenant of that place listed would be a certain Heidi Turner, which is… let’s say interesting. 

Stan and Clyde conversed with the neighbours of Annelida road and we can confirm that during the time of the events there was indeed a great stink and that permeated across the entire road. This of course originated from the heaps of rubbish Mr Petuski had to clean up which was also confirmed by the neighbours. So, luckily we can write up his statement as true but, 

We cannot confirm any causes of any esoteric or supernatural events that occurred from this statement. The sudden pile of garbage appearing may just be the neighbours at the time pulling one big prank and not wanting to confess it to some random unlicensed interrogators. On the matter of the man named Michael, there wasn’t anything supernatural about him, just some odd mannerisms at best. The book’s content itself may have just been incredibly vile, who knows? But since it’s a Lorde it might as well cancel that out. 

As to the statement givers wishes this time , Clyde successfully did not peak into their privacy as we have received enough confirmation of the statement’s events. Dogpoo remains to be working in the cleaning industry at least but is not entirely enthusiastic about making a follow up. 

So, I guess we only have a single lead, better than usual perhaps. Later today I’ll try to ask Timmy to make those books one of our highest priorities. That library has caused us enough troubles and damage, we have to stop it until it can cause more.

Recording ends 

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Chapter Text

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Archivist:

Statement of Herbert Pocket regarding his visit to the Havisham estate. Original statement given November 19th 2005. Audio recording by Kyle Broflovski, head Archivist of the South Park Institute.

Statement begins. 

Archivist(statement):

It’s not unlikely you work by yourself as the only heir. There wasn’t any competition for me growing up, so I spent most of my time growing up learning about etiquette, the family’s fabric business and how to operate it. Rather than genuinely interacting and developing bonds with actual people. My birth, to simply put it in words, was just a step in one bigger direction by my arrests. 

However, I have to say it wasn’t that bad, it was easy to accept the fact that the reason for my birth was not entirely out of love. The few kids my age that I knew thought the same things back at their households. The same conceited conniving and cunning plans played through their head as they gave a simple handshake to another. To their eyes you were a potential business partner rather than a friend. You always learnt their surname first instead of the last.  So I never really had anyone that could count as close, as it was in my parent’s eyes; a sign of weakness, vulnerability even. 

Well, the only lad who I could really call my friend was Phillip Havisham or what I like to call him Pip. In spite of him being the eldest son, he wasn’t the heir. Which I assume is the reason he never held the same mask, every other kid I knew wore. We shared many joyous yet frivolous memories together, I taught him his table manners and expectations he had to bear as a member of a well off family. Meanwhile, Pip would give me the small bits of leisure away from familial expectations and someone that felt real and genuine, with no sinister meaning. He made me feel more than a means of profit and saw me as a person.

As the years went on though, I was sadly pulled out of school and back into years of solitude to pursue the family business. Due to the new atmosphere, we had stopped talking. Of course I was a bit distraught but once again I got used to it and it seemed like so did he as I noticed the Havisham heir taking over a few years after me. 

So it wasn’t too much of a surprise when I received a letter of invitation to their estate so many years after our childhood. Judging from the letter it seemed as if that lad, Pip, was still his cheery old self, which made me so very gay! Of course not in the homosexual manner, dear heavens no!

The letter was regarding a possible business venture the Havisham and Pocket family could co-own. The details of the actual project weren’t really described but I assumed it was all to be revealed when I’d arrive. It was a common act to not reveal all your cards to the table after all, and I could trust that lad in maintaining a steady business despite his shortcomings as a child. 

When I saw the true size of the Havisham mansion, I realised how much of Pip’s home life was shrouded in mystery. Of course, I never really wanted to talk about the family business as that was all everyone else seemed to talk about. I knew that the Havisham family expanded right over to America which is why of course I came to you guys instead of your European branch. As I felt a bit safer from the overseas distance but hearing the news of them further branching out in recent times, makes my position feel a bit less secure. But it’s too late now I guess. 

The walls of the Havisham estate completely encaged the mansion as if it wasn’t already isolated by the thousands of hectares worth of surrounding evergreen. The huge guarding walls were mutedly hued just like the fog that filled up the surrounding forest that day. Even though the barrier's held an encompassing deciduous forest, the front courtyard was completely barren with only a robotic guard, his back standing in a complete vertical line.

It was definitely odd seeing such a lack of physical security. Typically, there would at least be the presence of guard dogs around the entrance but there were none in sight. My rationalising mind concluded that they didn’t put up any security measures due to being so remote but I just felt so alone. 

Inside the mansion felt just as devoid of life. Sure the hallways bent long and spacious throughout the mansion but still barren. The only pieces of decor they had were rows and rows of armour set up to imitate people. Their stands felt just as disconnected as I was wandering around those capacious hallways. A few walls had windows here and there but all that peaked through were the layers of low hanging fog that permeated through the air. 

As I wandered lost through the dully lit solitude of the hallways, it almost felt quite suffocating. Searching through the unfamiliar grounds with no one but, the watching empty suits of armour and the inhuman family portraits that hung upon the walls. 

There was something so odd about the expressions of their faces, I just couldn’t put my finger on it. Maybe it was their empty disconnection of each smile? Or maybe they had just hired a bad artist. As I had never seen Pip’s face look so empty . Or possibly, Pip had simply just changed over the years, like any fellow does. 

Luckily, in contrast to the paintings, Pip didn’t seem to have changed one bit at first. As I took a sharp turn I saw him standing in the centre of the hallway. Pip gleefully greeted me as we came in for a hug after more than a decade of not seeing each other. He guided me towards the dining hall as we lamented all about our childhood years.

We teased each other about how he wasn’t at all knowledgeable about table mannerisms and etiquette or how I had almost died that one time. Oh what frivolous things we talked about. He had even mentioned that he had found someone recently and honestly, good for him. I hope whatever lucky woman he’s with has a good long life with Phillip. Or as long as she can. 

I was eventually taken towards their dining room. That’s when I think the feeling of disconnection had finally hit me full. Just like hallways, the grey sky filtered through effectively creating a depressingly distant and cold atmosphere. The dining table ran long and almost devoid of life. No candles were lit upon the table as the food set upon the table was set for one. 

I sat at the closest end of the table observing my bare plate of peas and mashed potatoes. Meanwhile, Pip began to hop over to the other end of the abnormally long dining table. He took a seat right next to a man I did not know and his sister, Estella Havisham.

While Pip was a nice little fellow, his sister was the complete antithesis. Always jaded and stern. It was as if her heart was a diamond. Hard, indestructible but strongly sought out for. Out of every deceiving faced child out there, she always remained at the top. Her “strategy” towards the game was completely filled with manipulation and deceit, I dare say. It felt as if every single week another boy or girl’s heart would be shattered by heeled leather boots. 

I never really talked to her, in fact I more likely avoided her. As I knew my life may have been over if I dared fall under the gaze of Estella Havisham. And now that was me. Being coldly examined by the same girl sitting kilometres apart only being covered by an unlit candle. 

My hands nervously trembled trying to pick up the dull green peas. Neither of them said a thing as we ate. As if all the emotion had completely drained out and all that was left were the silent clattering of our utensils. I managed to glance at them as we ate our bland meals. 

It seemed like Pip was used to this hollow silence as his now daunting smile remained stuck on his face. For me on the other hand, I was always forced to converse about my day to my parents no matter how mundane the day was. As the years went on, I did get used to eating in solitude. With the presence of people though, I still wasn’t quite comfortable with that ambience. 

It was only until our plates were bare and put cutlery placed on the ceramics, the silence was torn apart. Pip had finally begun to introduce the possible business partnership as Estella observed beside him. 

I was pleasantly surprised by how Pip’s business skills have evolved over the years, I mean he always knew how to keep one entertained. The pitch regarding a possible investment on a space project based in the Andes mountains in Peru or some northern area of Alaska that they had planned alongside other companies. 

To be honest, I didn’t really catch much of it. I still felt the creeping hollowness go up my skin even as he spoke. Something about supplying the space suits for the project? It made sense I suppose. 

Before I knew it, Pip was almost up to my face. How did I not possibly notice him walking all the way to the other side of the room? He then asked if it was a deal with that same nonchalant grin. 

Already feeling uncomfortable, I hesitated. I claimed that I was still thinking about the offer and all its benefits. Phillip still remained old, cheery demeanour  and even offered for me to stay the night so he can further break down the pitch tomorrow. 

“After all, it gets lonely down here.” 

Pip smiled as those uncanny words shivered all throughout my bones. 

But, of course as the head of family and a guest I had to remain courteous. I complied to stay the night over at the Havisham mansion. In which I would deeply regret. 

Instead of Pip, it was Estella that guided me this time. She remained hard and cold like the icy storms of Mont Blanc. We walked through the ever expanding hallways, it seemed that the guest rooms were far isolated from the main halls judging from what felt like hours. Even if Estella kept such a menacing character, I had to be thankful to her for guiding me through such a maze. 

The guest room was in typical fashion, isolating. A tiny writing desk tucked into the corner, a small rusted mirror hanging on the empty wall and a worn out ceiling lamp overhanging me. It was quite spacious, just enough to tell me the absence of people among it. It had been a while since I could actually feel the daunting chill of solitude back upon me. The last time I remembered was when I had to leave Pip to pursue the family business and once again it was back. 

There was no one I could really write to and my personal entertainment was, let’s say lacking. One can only enjoy a game of solitaire for so many times. With nothing left to do, I grasped the candle stand and lit the flame to delve deeper into the Havisham’s winding halls. Alone.

As I slowly creaked the door, instead of seeing the dark broad paths, but something far worse. 

The door had disappeared begging me as I was greeted by an empty void of white plains. My body became an unreal figure being whisked away by the subtle winds of the void. Sometimes solitude can feel comforting. Just flowing down with the wind all at once but it can also be the most crushing emotion ever felt. We humans are meant to be social creatures after all, it’s only the amount of time we start to break down from the isolation.

As my time had prolonged, a view of a playground had begun to take form before my eyes. The monochrome world then swarmed in their lifeless inhabitants into being. Some of the figures within the crowd, I recognised. Well, they were all the silhouettes of the children I acquainted myself with so many years ago. 

A sea of hollowed figures all mindlessly passing by a black and white void. They murmured empty conversations all disconnected with no continuity to their dialogue whatsoever. Silhouettes of those who I barely knew, of those who I had never formed a connection with.  

I felt my sharp breaths exhale out as the crowd inched towards me, suffocating me within their empty figures. Conversations continued to clutter through to the drums of my ears. Some of empty pointless, futile small talk or some with a greed filled incentive in the front of their minds. 

I too was hollow. I too plotted and deceived. For I was no different than those familiar drifters passing through the false playground. 

And I soon would be the next within that crowd. 

Drown into their hollowed out heads, fusing into that mob. Becoming nothing. Becoming one. Their abstract figures greet my unmoving, suffocating body of mine. I too would join their like-mindedness and be alone.  Never forming anything real, my life staying insubstantial. 

All that I shall leave is my fake wealth, that I didn’t even earn. Maybe without that rich pain to bear, I need not be deceiving every moment of my life . But I shan’t be saying that, my troubles are one of few, one of privilege. And yet it is still the cause of my downfall. 

In a flash, I thought of those who I had actually formed something of a friendship with. That of course being, Pip. Oh how long ago those times we shared had been. A simple escape for past me had become the most important life saving moments of my life. I thought of how I want to form that kind of bond once more. A connection that had no deceit or incentive behind each other’s faces. The simple appreciation of another’s existence. Yes, that would be nice, wouldn't it? 

As I kept reminiscently cogging through the thoughts and memories in my head, I didn’t notice how eventually, the crowd had begun to fizzle out. Bringing myself back into a real physical state and soon, I had returned to the empty hallways of the Havisham estate. He was also there. Phillip.

He grasped my hands, concerningly asking if I was okay but I heard barely any of it. All I could perceive was his cold, distant hands against mine and the emptiness behind his voice. Even if he had been right in front of me, it felt as if we had been separated by the Caucasus mountains. It seemed he too had joined the crowd. 

I quickly dismissed myself back into the guest room, leaving the now unlit candlestick on the floor of the estate. I kept the lights on once more but I didn’t sleep for one bit throughout the entire night. 

The next day, I immediately left.  Refusing the offer for such a collaboration. I called in my secretary to come pick me up immediately and as I went, Phillip called out his hollow farewell. 

I think I will take my leave and be moving back to Europe some time soon, maybe try to improve my social life. I haven’t been focusing a lot on the business either and I’ve been slowly building up fellows that I can trust. I really do hope I could reconnect with Phillip once more but I don’t think that will ever happen again. 

Archivist:

Statement ends 

Well, to begin with this statement takes place way out of our jurisdiction. Therefore we can barely complete any further research into the matter. So, that’s just great.

One call to the Pocket Fabric Industry ended up in a spiral into customer support service in which Wendy really does not want to go deep into. It does confirm that Mr. Pocket has been putting emphasis on his personal and social life in recent time as direct contact with him is nigh impossible.

On the other hand, the Havisham family has refused to answer any questions or grant us information and both Estella and Phillip are still active in business. We can confirm that the Havisham mansion does indeed exist, its location being all up North in some isolated Scottish forest just as described in the statement. Not going to lie but it is quite similar in what we have going on in this quiet mountain town. 

The project that Phillip may have described would be the space satellite Casey in which its headquarters are currently located in Utqiaġvik, Alaska. Many media outlets have already covered the elusive satellite though and it seems the project went just fine without the Pocket industry backing it up. What is also to account of was that Phillip was also a high ranking member of the now defunct cult, church of the Great Old One, notably being right hand man of their leader, Damien Thorn. 

Either way, there are no possible methods in confirming that Pocket’s statements were true even if we did manage to go all the way to the United Kingdom and even get inside the Havisham, it’s completely unviable. It’s most likely it may have been either a delusion or dream as a subconscious reaction to realising how friends change or something of the sort. 

Recording ends

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Chapter Text

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Archivist: 

Statement of Jimbo Kern regarding a hunting trip he experienced with Ned Gerblanski. Original statement given March 28th 2008. Audio recording by Kyle Broflovski, head Archivist of the South Park Institute.

Statement begins

Archivist (Statement): 

Vegans, vegetarians or whatever you call them are all fucking pussies. Animals are killed all the time! At least we’re actually putting good use to them c’mon! Some of them have to be sooo pushy all the time claiming that oh you support the killing of poor animals, and so what if I do! I even partake in it! Those people truly don’t know the extent of what eating meat is. 

To be honest I don’t even know why I’m even here, it’s not like you schmucks know anything. According to Ned, it’s a way to express your feelings? I don’t need to express my feelings, that’s not what men do! Might as well get someone to listen though, the police ‘round these parts are fucking pussies too scared to even do a proper investigation or listen to us. 

You see, me and my war veteran buddy Ned co-own the town’s local gun shop together and we go on frequent hunting trips together. Hunting isn’t as cruel as “those” people describe it to be. It’s just a way to escape into the wilderness for us men and return home with a big cash prize of meat. 

Now, that’s the real spirit of hunting.

Even better when you cook the meat out the same night on an open fire in the forest and then bring back a head or two to hang on the wall. 

Despite county law claiming that it’s so called “illegal” to kill wildlife, there’s a simple hack to bypass this law. As long as you show that the animal was hostile first, you may kill it in an act of self defence. Therefore, always call out “It’s coming right for us!” Before you shoot. Professional's tips right there. 

So me and my war buddy, Ned were just hunting through some uncharted forests as the cops were getting a bit suspicious of the amount of animal blood being found in our usual hunting grounds. We were prepared to camp out the entire weekend there and thought the animals in there could suffice as food. In the rare case there were no animals in the grounds, we could just; do the equivalent of sober hunting, fishing. 

The forest in question was pretty standard. It was technically counted as private property by the owner of some nearby feedback. So our bad on that one I guess. 

Never knew the owner, nor should we have cared really. I mean, why would he even bother to own such an expanse of forest outside of his business. It wasn’t even encompassing the theme park! Maybe it’s some sick liberal shit where he’s “trying to protect the wildlife” but that didn’t stop Ned and I.

On a wet sultry summer morning where the cicadas annoyingly chirped, we swiftly climbed up the metallic barbed fence with our guns and grenades tied around our backs. Screams of horrific joy of the amusement parks had long gone mute by the distance we were at. 

Our hunt began adequately at most, as we strayed far enough for the fence to be gone. We saw a flock of birds soaring up in the bright baby blue sky, urging close to the ends of warfare. Nothing too bad. We shifted our guns to point upwards to the sky and yelled out “it’s comin’ right for us.” Which then followed with two simultaneous bangs ringing in our ears. 

At the speed of light, their soaring wings had been broken and dead only to meet their full demise back to Earth. The birds began their last descent and as if the earth had decided to become bedrock hard on its surface. When the birds had finally met their final demise and splat straight into the ground, their bodies had immediately exploded into microscopic bits of lung and flesh, staining our green camouflaged wear. 

We stood still for some time, witnessing the remains of combusted guts and feathers. The birds didn’t seem at all that far from impact to occur and the ground was just as grass and dirt as it was before. It was like nothing we had ever seen before. At the time though, we simply dismissed it. If birds were off the menu, we had to set our sights on the ground. 

Next up, feeling the peckish urge in our stomachs enlarge, were the wild roaming deers lying and feeding upon the grass. Using the natural foliage as our disguises, we slowly raised our guns up towards the mindless deer. With one single trigger our bullets pierced right through their fragile deer hearts as we exclaimed our false call of danger. With the slightest touch of the bullet, each and every antlered animal and its fawn’s heart seemingly exploded one more into microscopic pieces of their once alive body. Now it wasn’t the eventual fall to the ground, the huge burst would have simply come from the contact of our bullets. That was the first sight of our impending fate as our insides began to create a subtle gurgle.

Then, our hungry minds had set our sights on rabbits. Small, seemingly cute things but secretly absolute beasts at fleeing away and reproducing. What made it even harder to catch them this time was that we had resorted to the use of daggers. Since, if the bullet impact made the glass fragile animals shatter immediately, surely a blade could penetrate it just enough to have a body not left behind in pieces. In my hunter’s opinion, daggers don’t usually give the same satisfaction as a rifle unless the stab was straight through their body but desperate measures had called for desperate needs. 

Hunching down a dense hidden bush we had set our sights on a burrow of rabbits out in the woods. Our plan was for me to go on one side of the burrow and then burst out for them to flee. Then, Ned being the more agile of us two, would spring up and stab the closest rabbit. 

Of course, rabbits being the prey that they are, it took a few tries and burrows to actually be able to catch one. They’re just too dang fast with their abnormally strong hind legs! We tried to swap places, Ned taking the role of an ambush and I becoming the stabber.

The new strategy didn’t work either. A bit worse in fact. I was too slow to stab as fast as Ned meanwhile he had the trouble of occupying both his arms. One being dedicated to holding his voice box down and the other to holding his knife. The culmination of these added up to slower chases and the goddamn rabbits escaping even farther. 

One attempt, had Ned completely lunge himself towards a rabbit having for a brief moment, catching it. We kept trying that strategy, our knees constantly scratching the ground underneath each time we pounced. So desperate to get some sort of prize to bring back home or gobble it up as soon as it got off the fire. Eventually we did manage to capture those pesky cunning things. One small kit had managed to be so dumb, it didn’t notice the rest of the burrow had fled from our previous ambush and so Ned immediately sprinted into action screaming with his hoarse false voice “it’s comin’ right for us!” With one huge crash to the ground, the kit was grappled within Ned’s arms. It struggled and squirmed like a worm, its helpless squeeks didn’t prevent I nor Ned from flinching at all as Ned beautifully and swiftly thrust his knife right into the rabbit's skull, piercing it straight through. 

The stab was so clean as if it was just like any ol’ shot from a bullet. Maybe it was even more satisfying than hitting a bullet straight through the head. Even with the sharp cut through the rabbit’s head, that didn’t stop it’s body to once again burst into the same tiny chunks of bright pink and red meat. 

It was like that for every animal out there in the woods. Every single one of them. They all seemingly exploded into bits of microscopic flesh and blood when a bullet had barely skimmed through its skin. Their blood’s still invisibly stained upon my face unlike any other. You’d think seeing an animal explode so many times, you’d become completely desensitised but oh no. Never in my life have I taken in such a potent amount of that odour of metallic blood as each fallen animal had gotten more vivid than the lights up North.

It was only a matter of time before we began to starve. Our stomachs began to gurgle through each explosion of flesh and bone, the few snacks we had bought were bare. All we had to drink were our stocked up cans of beers we kept. Of course the beer wouldn’t help our situation at all besides forgetting it but we ain’t that much of an alcoholic to resort to drinking in such dire circumstances. The beer in general would have only made us thirst even more.

We tried to tread back to the barbed fence as the sun began to set but it never seemed to appear. As if the trees began to entrap us in and we were now prisoners to this encompassing, colossal and overpowering forest. Too deep, us two had been. 

So, many animals had seemingly combusted under the hands of our rifles and our bodies stained red. We hungered for meat to gnaw and chew on at that point. Starving, rabid predators we had become. Unaware that we had fallen off the top of the food chain. 

As soon as the water began to fall back to the Earth, we desperately went to inhale the minuscule droplets it had left us. Not noticing the incoming fog at that time nor the figure who was to come. 

The rain came for only a brief moment as now we were left with the sinking damp soil to trudge upon and a plain deciduous forest, absent of its fauna. We were treading on the brink of hunger, starving for the sweet delight of meat to consume and gorge up our throats hoping to fill that devoid hole within us. Two unwatched lone beings stuck in a colossal expanse of a forest, thirsting for a feast, throwing grace aside as we nauseatingly trudged on. 

Maybe the hunger had gotten to our heads. It’s funny, maybe even hilarious as I write about it now but the two of us began to hear the small childish chuckles and guffaws come behind the fog. A collection of nostalgic fairy tale animals had emerged before us. Faint silhouettes of a bear, a rabbit, a beaver, squirrel, fox, deer, chickadee, mouse, porcupine, raccoon, skunk and tiny woodpecker respectively. Each and every animal before us, hauntingly cheered at our appearance through the fog. Ned staggered himself to pull up his gun and shaked as he blasted a bullet out aiming to hit those hidden figures. 

A miss. The mocking, sickeningly sugar-filled laughters grew as the flash of the bullet had ended its futile run. We ventured closer to the fogged frosted figures clinging on to our final pieces of humanity within us. 

A collection of cute critters crawling about the blood stained grass, laughing amongst each other. If it weren’t for the fact they were talking and speaking as if humanoid, we may as well have shot them down. I don’t think we would have even gotten out of the forest if we had even directly attempted to provoke them after the first shot. 

They frolicked amongst themselves in such a horrifyingly joyous manner as if unaware of the sunken and dead eyes of Ned and I. The animals jeered and laughed within what they had called home, cackling smiles along the lines of a “last supper.” My stomach squelched and squeezed underneath its loud growl as those words went by. 

We were so delirious at this point and didn’t even question how these woodland critters could even speak and comprehend the human language. Some sort of hallucinogenic side effect of starvation I guess. 

The critters continued in preparation for a feast. A long wooden table set up just the right size for their tiny bodies. A table cloth with a small scarlet red stain, neatly thrown over the log table. Then, an assortment of distorted bowls and plates placed in equal distance from one another. As the centrepiece, an expectant feast plate is set, still empty. 

“Come, come! One and all for we shall feast!” The rabbit had jeered as they all gathered around the supper’s table. As the critters joyously took their seats, all in eager anticipation. 

However, three seats had been left open. One seat by the edge of the table and two across from each other, placed right in front of the awaiting empty feast plate. 

As if one single entity, each and every woodland critter had rotated their heads to look straight at us, the absent sun turning their eyes into a hue of blood. 

“Well c’mon join us for a feast? Why we’re starving!” The bear had said, waiting for the two of us to take centre stage. 

Nervously yet in desperate nature, Ned and I took our places amongst the eager animals. They continued to expectantly stare into our starving empty cutlery. 

“Gaursh, well why hasn’t dinner been served yet?” The chickadee had nonchalantly asked the feasters. 

“Hm, I wonder why too!” The high pitched hedgehog joined in on pondering. 

“Well that’s because the body has yet to be prepped! You silly goose!” The squirrel laughed as the other critters joined alongside his horrifying giggles. Each one of them had simultaneously rotated their necks towards the centre, towards us. 

“Well what are you waiting for? We need the body of course!” Then said the woodpecker as it flew over to place my old worn out dagger back into my clutch. I looked at my bud Ned and back down at the knife. Now I’m not the most religious man in the world but I knew what had to be done. So did Ned too as he placed his arm right on the eyeing plate in the middle.  He gave a slight nod and cursed encouragement through his monotone voice.

I raised what once was my dagger towards the sky as my stomach growled, pleading to be filled with any type of flesh and I whispered to myself “it’s comin’ right for us.” As the animals placed their palms together and chanted

Cursed are you, Lord of all Viscera, 

for through your existence we have received the flesh we offer you: 

Flesh of the earth and work of human hands, 

it will become for us the bread of life.

Cursed be our lord forever. 

My arm swooped down to the table and onto Ned’s. Blood splurged right over the clean cut as Ned stood still out of breath and not retracting his upper arm. Sadistically, I let out a small subtle laugh at the piece. Neither Ned’s arm nor self had been yet to combust and dinner had been served. 

The animals quickly scurried over Ned’s now mutilated arm. Of course, I had to pounce too as I reached my way towards the only source of survival. 

Snatching Ned’s arm away from the rabid animals in utter desperation. With one huge bite I gnawed through Ned’s raw skin and flesh, metallic blood spurting out of it and onto my teeth. 

What was sanitation when this one was far deep? What even was sanity as one clings onto life? 

I bit through his bones, sunk my teeth through his flesh and swallowed his fingers right down my oesophagus. Meat into meat. 

They say beef has the closest taste to that of human flesh. Honestly, I have to disagree. I can’t compare the taste to anything else. It was simply meat . The same old thing you’d gnaw on and chew with your own bones so that one could live and work for the next day. 

I can’t tell if you if I enjoyed it, might as well confess all my sins to the pastor if I did. 

A bloodied plate, a circle of mocking animals around me and my bud Ned staring blankly through his shaded glasses, mouth apart. As his arm was no longer in my hands. I had devoured the entirety of Ned’s arm down into my stomach

The next thing you know I had passed out for the rest of the day, waking up with an arm around Ned’s shoulder. His forearm had now been gone and replaced with a bandage plastered over what once was a joint. 

The land beyond the fence was clear with only our worn out deep green pick up truck parked by the side of the road. I removed my arm from Ned’s shoulders, regaining balance and we slowly returned back to civilisation in our man-made automobile. 

It was ‘course noted by the police. Let’s be honest though, what kind of shit will they actually accomplish? If it’s not some big ol’ murder case they won’t even bat an eye at it. Complete bullshit I tell ya. 

So if you even try to report this statement to the police well, I wish you good luck. As all they needed to know was the absent arm was just from frenzied animal attack. It’s not entirely a lie is it though?

Well, at least even as Ned’s arm is gone we’re still the best of pals. We don’t really talk about what happened back at the forest, Ned claims it was an act of desperation and it’s fine. So, I guess I’ll have to accept that. We ain’t pussies of course, still going on those frequent hunting trips, owning that gun store. Just maybe bringing some beef jerky as snacks just in case.

Archivist: 

Statement ends 

It’s a small world isn’t it? Who knew your assistant’s red necked uncle would make a statement right in these walls. 

Well, it seems like Stan’s been enjoying his little family reunion. He’ll probably be back by next week or so, not too hopeful he’ll come back with any information but it is worth a shot. Even if the statement giver is the least likely to ever answer a follow up especially with the contents and events.

On to the actual matter of the statement, well… 

As Jimbo claimed the police did indeed write this case off as an accident. The entire part of trespassing into private property has been completely erased from the police files, so is the alleged hallucinations and cannibalism. One thing we can get out, however, is that the two of them were out in the woods for more than two weeks without any nourishment. 

Going over privately owned forests near- 

[SOUND OF RUSTLING PAPERS]

Archivist:

I said if you were quiet, I’d allow you to search for it whilst recording, Clyde

Clyde: 

Well if Stan gets a week off from one of his relatives making a statement, then I deserve one too! If I can just find it…

Archivist: 

Why are you so desperate for a get out card in the first place? Let me be honest Clyde, you could just leave for a week or so and absolutely nothing will change. 

Clyde: 

This sure is a healthy work environment we have going on here!

Besides that I need to go see my dad in person and with the account that I’m on a business trip. Therefore, I can convince him to give me his most prized pair of shoes from his store. As I’m being such a successful son, going on solo business trips out of state. So that I can give them to our wonderful and beautiful receptionist!

Archivist: 

You’re not even dating her!

Clyde: 

You just don't get it Kyle. Bebe and I are in our infamous will-they-won’t-they phase in our relationship. Trust me once I walk into the reception with those dazzling pair of shoes in my hands, she will for sure want me!

[ ARCHIVIST SIGHS]

Archivist: 

Look, we both now how god forsakenly unkempt the archives are, I say you just… I don’t know, wait till it floats down into your gracious hands?

Clyde (sarcastically):

Wow, you sure are a great help boss. Look I swear I’ll find it, it should be here! Just don’t bother my extreme focus. 

[SOUND OF RUSTLING PAPERS RETURN]

Archivist: 

As one can see, Clyde is uh… slightly jealous that Stan got to go on a bit of a let’s say “business trip” instead of him. So now, he’s been the most diligent he’s ever been trying to find the statement he made before his employment… per usual archives fashion, due the current chaotic disorganisation he is currently empty handed and incompetent. 

Continuing on with the actual statement in hand. 

Going over privately owned forests that are nearby any theme parks. Our highest match seems to be the now defunct Chilli Con Carnival located in Kentucky. Apparently, the owner could no longer seek any profit after dealing with some sanitation issues with the health inspector. Anything you find on the topic however seems to be from some cooked up conspiracy theorist. 

On the matter of the forest, there really is nothing of note. Just a privately owned expanse of land. Unless we follow the footsteps of Jimbo and Ned, there is no more information to get out of this. The talking and exploding animals all seem to be either a sick prank or some hallucinogenic side effects of extreme starvation. 

I guess if a tree falls in a forest and there’s nobody around. Do you ever really crash or make a sound?

Recording ends

[CLICK]

Chapter Text

[CLICK]

Archivist: 

(mumbling) Are you serious? More photos of that annoying fatass? C’mon I know we have that statement somewhere in… Hm- 

[DOOR OPENS]

[STAGGERED PUFFS OF THE PERSON AGAINST THE DOOR, TRYING TO CATCH THEIR BREATH]

Archivist: 

Oh, good evening, Stan. 

Maybe you should consider knocking next time?

Stan:

(Staggered) Dude. Don’t even. Do you even know the shit that I had to go through and even witness!? 

Archivist: 

Well, I’m assuming that you were taken on some hunting trip with your uncle and got beat up by some animal to your uncle’s disappointment?

Stan:

That and something else I guess .

How the hell are you so spot on?

Archivist: 

Just a hunch, especially from the bandages around your arm.

Stan:

Yeah, I tried to put them on myself but once I got here they were completely falling off. Luckily Wendy helped me put them back on.

Archivist: 

That’s great Stan.  

So, did you find anything?

Stan:

No not really. Uncle Jimbo and Ned seem to be doing fine and didn’t really enjoy my attempt at interrogation. As you predicted they took me on some miscellaneous hunting trip which caused me to accidentally shoot myself in the arm. I’m okay now though. They didn’t exactly seem comfortable with my interrogation and both of them simply shrugged off each question instead deciding to chew on the beef jerky they kept in their pockets.

Wait, that doesn’t matter! I have something much more important to tell you about!

Archivist:

So you… want to make a statement?

Stan:

Yeah sure whatever yeah I’ll make a statement. 

Archivist:

Very well then.

Oh- must’ve already set it to record. 

Stan:

Dude, is it really necessary for you to use that thirty year old tech?

Isn’t it, too on the nose?

Archivist:

Yes it is. Unless you’d rather be greeted by static scratching your ear drums.

Stan:

Ok, ok whatever suits your taste I guess. 

Archivist:

So, statement of Stanley Marsh regarding…?

  Stan:

Just Stan is fine- uhm regarding what became of an old acquaintance. 

Archivist:

Statement taken direct from subject, 18th of April 2016. Statement begins. 

  Stan:

… 

Where do I begin?

Archivist:

How am I supposed to know!? I’m not the one giving the statement!

How about, just from the beginning?

  Stan:

Ok. Got it. 

[STAN TAKES A DEEP BREATH IN]

Stan (Statement):

Back when I was kid like I think 10 at the time, I wasn’t really the most morally correct person you would say. The 4th grade isn’t always the nicest place on Earth especially when you were nice.

So when this new kid, Garry Harrison rocked up to our classroom all happy, cheery and even a know-it-all, the entire class knew we had to wipe that huge ear to ear smile off his face. I, wanting to seem cool at the time, volunteered to beat him up. I can’t really say if I initially hated the guy, I just wanted to fit in at the time. Especially since Gary seemed to be so stuck up and perfect from our 4th grader eyes. 

So at lunch I approached the dude, ready to beat him up. All cool and badass with my most menacing face put on and hands in pockets. He was just some state wrestling champion or whatever. 

I slowly stomped towards that blonde boy with my peers all silently observing behind me. I was fully prepared to knock that kid out even as I felt a bit queasy. Almost felt like throwing up in panic, a part of me was. 

What was the oddest thing though, was despite  the menacing aura I tried to put on, he simply brushed it off, inviting me to even join him in kicking the ball. Even when I did declare I was going to beat him up, he just shrugged it off and accepted it!  

I know right! Such a weird kid. Even worse was that I felt guilty! I couldn’t just beat the guy up anymore even if he was fully prepared to take a punch or two! He was just too nice… He even hoped to still be friends after I beat him up! That’s too much man, too much… 

I conceded in the end, turning a blind eye towards the friends behind me and just talked with Gary for a moment, and before I knew it I was having dinner at his house that night. I don’t know how it got there, maybe I was just enticed by how friendly he was to me. It was nothing I had ever experienced before in that red-neck mountain town of mine. 

So to the threat of my friendships and reputation, I went along with him. 

Immediately, when Gary and I approached his house, I could hear the sounds of joyous banter reaching past the confines of the walls. As Gary opened that door, it was as if an enormous wave of warmth and happiness illuminated from just them playing a simple board game together. I had never seen anyone be so happy about losing to another guy and just laugh it off!

It was all just so new. Having an actual family that cared and nurtured each other. Hell, every family member was even super talented! They played music, got insanely high grades and were even more than decent people. I mean they were just so perfect! 

Apparently it was thanks to their religion, Mormonism I believe. It was about some Joseph Smith guy miraculously translating their sacred text and the original natives being White? They claimed they weren’t trying to convert me and honestly I found the book of Mormon to be complete bullshit, it was even claimed to be all deceit in the book itself. 

What was worse about that however, was that I couldn’t even see that that’s what made the Harrison family so happy all the time, even when I came back home to see my disconnected family. So whilst the days were good I ruined it. 

One day,  I was hanging out with my usual friends. Gary suddenly came up to me all smiling and inviting me to come to this flea market charity event held at the community centre. Well I had to decline. I didn’t want to seem like a dweeb and ruin my already established friendships and reputation. 

Gary stayed with me as I saw my friends slowly retreating behind when Gary joined in. He saw my displeased face and out of nowhere, Gary gifted me this wallet he handcrafted after I said I lost mine.

 How could I guy just be so nice ? That just was not normal! Feeling so confused about this act of kindness, I ruined it. I abruptly confronted him about the blatant lies told in the Book of Mormon or whatever it was called and complained about how uncomfortably nice he and his entire family was. Even if they had claimed to not try and convert me then why were they so nice and happy in front of everyone, to get more people to join!?

I thought I was doing the right thing, calling him out. But no it was just the cynicism getting to me as a burnt the one happy bridge. I couldn’t help but feel bad, looking at his saddened face, distraught at what I had just told him. He slowly walked away, probably going back to his uncomfortably cheery family as I went off to find whom I had believed to be my friends at the time.

The next day, Gary came up to me, this time calling me out. Commenting how I didn’t see how his belief made him happy and gave him the best family he could have ever asked for, despite the deceit behind its stories. That even if Joseph Smith’s story was all imaginary or a con it was thanks to him he’s blessed and the church today believes in loving your family and doing good and that I have a lot of growing up to do. After all that ranting, he walked away, never talking to me ever again. 

I did have a lot of growing up to do. As the years went on I realised, all he ever tried to do was be my friend and I couldn’t accept that, burning the bridge. Sometimes, I thought we could be friends once more but I was too much of a coward to say anything to him you know? I thought that he would immediately reject me or start going on about how I was a horrible person in 4th grade and I tried to beat him up. It got even harder to talk to him when my family moved all the way to my dad’s farm. To be honest, I think the distance kind of made me like the guy but that’s all it ever built up to. 

So the years went by, I dropped out of college, somehow got a job at this institute, don’t know how and what do you know, I was back in the same crappy town for a business trip from my crappy job. I didn't really have a choice to not go though did I? 

Archivist:

It’s not like I would fire you for not doing so.

  Stan:

But you oh so wanted that sweet info and get real nosy about my family in which, I’m not allowing you to do unless in my control. 

Archivist:

Ok ok fine, just keep going with the statement.

  Stan (Statement cont.):

So I’m back at this quiet mountain town of mine. Going on treacherous hunting trips with my uncle and his long time pal, Ned. I decided I needed a break free from those two meatheads and decided to take a walk around that town I once called home.

Not much had really changed, I mean what do you expect? It’s some rural town in the mountains. So it wasn’t too surprising that I was able to see Gary once more. 

It was on one of the days where my uncle gave me a break as he had to man the shop. So, I took a walk around the town that I loved and came to despise. 

The crappy food was all but the same, a few new ones were established though, never gave them a try. Hopefully there really was nothing to note about them. I saw that they had a whole foods installed recently. So that was new and even possibly interesting. 

I went inside eyeing the naturally overpriced products and window shopped around the humongous store. Until what caught my attention was not food nor alcohol it was a person recognising me. Rather, it was a woman with long ginger hair who came up and recognised me. 

I’m pretty surprised that she remembered me, cause I didn’t. It took a bit of awkward shifting in the conversation but luckily she saw that I could not for the love of God recall her. She introduced herself as Jenny, Jenny Harrison, sister of Gary Harrison. Now that’s when stuff started to click. 

I quickly tried to get back from my fumble, luckily nothing had changed about the Harrison’s. They were still all joyous and happy all day, everyday following the Mormon faith to a tea. She claimed that all her siblings were back in town for a family reunion to see their parents and with the same Harrison family cheery charm, I had been granted an invitation to dinner tonight. In which I accepted before I had even realised once again. 

It was better than staying the night at my Uncle’s where we’d most likely have a carnivore’s diet of non-stop meat to gnaw on. 

Within the good graces of Jenny Harrison as she walked me towards her family’s house, I could already feel the warmth illuminating from it. Part of me was pretty psyched up but the other half was feeling queasy about seeing and even talking to Gary after years of uneasiness, almost to the fact I felt like vomiting. 

To which I unfortunately did, I ended up vomiting on the already contaminated snow. Luckily not on anyone this time and Jenny didn’t seem to be too disgusted. So that’s a win right? 

Anyways, we reached closer towards the house, up until the doorstep. I truly was excited to see Gary once more despite the rocky past and our estrangement. I wondered if he still held that upbeat Utah accent that complimented his sparkling and radiating personality. If he still had his perfectly smooth blond hair cut. Wanting to once more view his captivating cyan eyes that always complimented his bright blue shirt and navy jeans. The door opened and Jenny greeted the doorman in her brisk chirpy voice “Hello Gary!”

But what opened the door to the Harrison household wasn’t Gary. I implore you that that man was not any Harrison and especially not Gary. He said he was Gary Harrison but it wasn’t. A short man that looked old for his age, that had messy brown hair frizzing up in some areas and deep black eyes.

I was taken aback at first but some part of reality remained in me. Maybe he had gotten his hair dyed? He really likes wearing contacts now? I mean the years can do stuff to you right? 

Only until I heard his voice was when I could no longer accept that that man was not Gary Harrison. When not Gary had opened his mouth, he spoke in a soft spoken, clear American accent, not southern nor from Utah. His voice was significantly deeper and more bass-like compared to Gary’s expected tenor. It couldn’t have been puberty either as I could clearly recall him doing some social justice speech at school. 

Still, I was taken to the Harrison dinner table, prepared for a joy filled feast. As I walked towards the happy family all bantering and laughing between their game, once more they claimed that the man was indeed Gary as they let me join them in their rainbow coloured board game. 

Minutes rolled by through their fun-filled game that I didn’t entirely feel comfortable to join, as all I could do was observe each little action of the man that stole Gary’s identity. The thing that was not Gary moved almost doll-like, despite his cheerful words they always came out monotonous. In fact, his entire mannerisms seemed completely stiff and robotic. I don’t know how no one pointed his right out even if they had all believed that that was somehow their beloved family member. 

Apart from “Gary”, there was one more thing that I couldn’t help but peer at. It was the coffee table set in front of me. Despite the scattered game pieces and boards sent on top of it, I noticed an intricate looking pattern etched behind it. Every deeply carved stroke seemed to all converge into one central point but that had been covered by the miscellaneous assortment of game pieces and colourful board. I couldn’t help but trace my fingers over the fine ornate work done upon it. I’m not usually one to admire carvings but this might have been an exception for better or for worse.

I stayed transfixed on observing either Not Gary and the table so much so that before I knew it, we moved on to other activities away from the haunting table but still with Not Gary. And with no matter how much laughter the family shared together as one, my shoulders remained stiff and still the entire night with them and Not Gary. 

I could tell by the way they looked into his static eyes with all the love they shared and spread amongst the huge yet tight knit family. That they really had forgotten Gary as if the guy that looked nothing like him was now just accepted to be his son. 

The next time I got a moment to myself, I went around asking the townspeople what Gary looked like. The answers were all the same. Messy brown hair paired with black eyes. That was the overly bright fellow who would always arrive for volunteer work. Nothing of the man I knew.

I avoided the Harrison household the rest of my stay. I couldn’t bear to look at him anymore. Even the Polaroid photo he put of himself in the wallet that he made for me has distorted and morphed into someone I do not know. 

The last that I ever saw of the Harrison’s was a small delivery van parked outside with the words “State farm Delivery.” As two men, one short, one large exited with the coffee table in their hands and Gary was no more. 

Archivist: 

So… Statement ends?

Stan: 

Yeah.

[a beat.]

Archivist:

May I see that photo of him?

Stan: 

Uh sure I guess 

[RUSTLING OF FABRIC AS STAN TAKES OUT SOMETHING FROM HIS POCKETS AND A ZIPPER OPENS UP]

Here. I think I'm done here. I don't want to see that photo ever again.

[DOOR CLOSES]

Archivist:

Huh… that’s odd

He said that even the photo changed his appearance but when I look at it now, it’s the Gary he just described. 

Smooth blonde hair and cyan eyes.

[CLICK]

[CLICK]

Archivist: 

I’m not exactly sure whether or not to take Stan’s words wholeheartedly. As he said, the years can change you. Especially with the fact that his photo hadn’t changed when Stan claimed it did. It's all so… strange. 

Recording ends. 

[CLICK]

Chapter Text

Archivist: 

Statement of Aaron Hagen regarding the death of his mother. Original statement taken October 2nd 2013. Audio recording by Kyle Broflovski, head Archivist of South Park Institute. 

Statement begins. 

Archivist: 

My parents never really had a functional marriage. Some of my first few memories, I recall how every other night or so I had to shut myself in my room, muffling my ears to not hear the aggressive complaints they yelled at one another. Arguing and ranting about every single miscellaneous fault of one another whilst failing to properly comprehend or translate each other through each of their own screams. Perhaps they deserved their fate in the end. 

Thinking about it in the present as I’ve grown up, they really should have just divorced in the end. Both parties were just as equally intolerant of one another. Yet, at the time they claimed that they would remain in the same household because of “me” unaware how they were further rubbing salt in the wound. Being the glue is horrendous and too much for a child. Imagine being only support for an entire bridge and if it falls, then it’s all your fault and failure. 

I never saw them get violent before the events however, sometimes I felt that they were close to doing so but never enacted upon it. I never saw any remnants nor bruises on either of them, when I got home from school or woke up to see their tired sunken faces. Maybe they were just good at covering them up but I doubt they would force themselves to keep up appearances in front of me. Sometimes all bark and no bite can be good in the right scenario rather than being a form of cohesion. 

I believe, eventually my brain became desensitised as it just learnt to shut out every argument and consider it white noise. When I would return home to the sound of raging and exasperating screams, I would simply dismiss them. Go up to my room, slam the door shut and only reach out until dinner has arrived, ready to hear more complaints spread across the living room. Once I would have finished my plate, I would silently retreat back into my room without my screaming parents noticing and slumber for the rest of the night. With the sound of their arguments still rumbling through the walls. 

So the one night when I had lied down in my bed and the atmosphere had been devoid of sound, I even fell into a bit of discomfort at this silence. I was struggling to sleep without the absence of fighting and threats. I knew that both my parents had been present in this house since I saw them say good night to each other . The silence permeated through and there had been a raging thought in my head. Maybe they had finally put each other out of their misery or the unimaginable worst had happened. So with either anticipation or worry filling my mind , I shifted my way out of the covers and creaked into the pitch black night lit hallways of my house. 

As my bedroom door made an eerie creak at the subtlest movements, I entered the spectrally lit hallway. The only thing being my source of light being the moon reflecting the sun’s light. I was beginning to hear something now, the noise coming from my parents bedroom as I also noticed a tinge of blue flashing light peeking through the bedroom door’s crevice. 

Therefore me, with a child’s curiosity, slowly treaded my way towards the illuminescent hypnotising light that lured me in. I was attempting to be as quiet as a mouse, tip toeing my way trying not to interrupt the floorboards. Until I heard a screech of an unfamiliar woman reach past the door. Out of fear and shock I hurled myself towards the door kicking it right open.  

The TV’s light illuminated onto my parents king sized where I witnessed my parents,  actually smiling . It seemed as if they were truly enjoying each other's company and to me it was uncanny. It almost felt unreal, like a dream. It would have made more sense if it had been a dream actually. 

Meanwhile, on the wide TV’s bright blue glowing screen, had played what seemed to be an over the top melodramatic and bloody show. The scene consisted of a hooded man dressed in black. His eyes had been completely dilated and bloodshot. In one of his trembling hands had been a kitchen blade, glistening under the moonlight. He looks down in unease and fear at a skimpily dressed woman lying unconscious on a clean white bed. With an agitating mix of rage and fear, he took the knife to the slumbered woman’s chest. He thrusted it in and out as blood spluttered throughout the entire room. Even as the woman had long stopped breathing, he continued to wound at her body out of pure rage and insanity. 

A child me was almost tempted to begin crying out loud and disrupt such a gruesome scene from unfolding in front of my eyes. However, I had to hold it in as for some itching reason, my parents were happy and I wouldn’t dare to destroy that. Before my parents would have noticed my presence, I silently left. Leaving myself to a sleepless night of silence. 

The next morning, it all went back to the usual. I was awoken by my mom’s cursing screech downstairs as my dad retaliated back and forth. Perhaps what I had witnessed the night before, truly had been a dream. 

I ate my usual over cooked eggs and burnt toast and went on my way to school. As per usual the neighbours checked up on how I was doing with my pair of dysfunctional parents. They never did anything about it, just indulging in their corrupt sense of nosiness.

My life outside my parents was surprisingly mundane. I had friends, okay teachers for an American public school and decent attendance. Never was that memorable and stayed within the crowd. I wasn’t even infamous for having a broken family, for a kid growing up in America it was considered the usual for families to be so dysfunctional. In fact, it was probably after the death of my parents I became reached out by the media and true crime podcast speakers.  

School had been just as mundane as ever. The teacher rambled on about the birth of Ancient Rome or something. I returned home, keeping my hands on my ears and ready to take in the usual afternoon argumentative shouts. 

Except, that day I was greeted to nothing. Nothing but an empty living room, kitchen and backyard. Completely devoid of life. A shiver went down my spine as my footsteps let out the only signal of life. Compared to that night, I had been wide awake at that time of day. 

I tiptoed up the staircase to the second floor and once again, muffled dialogue and this time shoddily scripted squeals had echoed into the hallways. Dropping my backpack from my shoulders I went to enter the  bedroom once more. The door knob only rattled as I tried to twist it, refusing to let me through. So this time all I could do was insistently knock and prepare myself for whatever was beyond the door. This time its opening hadn’t been from my control yet it still originated from curiosity. 

My mother greeted me with a smile. A smile absent of melted makeup nor puffy eyes. Her hair had been dishevelled as always and deep bags still encircled her eyes to indicate the woman was still indeed my mother. 

She checked if I was okay as my dad, behind her, went to turn off a scene of a dark figure staring across the street at a paranoid woman. Then taking out the VHS playing such a scene. As whatever they were watching was definitely not for my child's eyes. Of course, I still wanted to know what could have made them so happy. 

So as night rolled by, I stayed up past my bedtime and into the twilight hours to witness what had apparently solved all of my parents' gripes with one another.  

I turned on the living room TV and being illuminated by the bright artificial screen, I flicked through each miscellaneous channel. The children’s channels long gone inactive, the history channel on some severe deep dive into some conspiracy and finally the TV drama channel.

As soon as the channel flicked, a gunshot blared loudly into my ears, despite the minimal volume I had set on the TV. A man, barely dressed, lay atop a skimpily worn clothed woman. The woman’s body had been mutilated and contorted into a gruesome disarray of limbs. 

Panic still astruck on the man’s face, his fingers trembling above the still and lifeless body of what the voyeuristic narrator claimed to be his “lover.” A fit of rage amongst the lust and love of the night, the omniscient one had described the bloody scene. But had it really been love if both parties made each other sick to death? 

Completely focused upon the screen, I witnessed the man silently hid the pistol back into the small bedside cabinet. He then slowly shifted off the blood splattered sheets and slipped into the empty kitchen. Near where they once shared so many rotten dinner nights together. 

The man slid open one cabinet door and grabbed the sharpest his wife had once placed against his skin. He returned to the bloody bedroom observing the dead corpse. He went over to it, placed the knife above her. Soon, out of pure violence and fear, gruesomely, excessively and insanely stabbed the previous gunshot wound. Attempting to cast the wound out of oblivion and evidence. The narrator horrifically jeered at this enactment as a cacophony of smooth romantic jazz played throughout. For a split moment, I thought I even saw the performing band play in the very room I was in from the corner of my eye. It was all just so violently vivid. 

Stab after relentless stab. Guts and blood spilled over. All humanity lost. Yet it had been romanticised into shoddy over dramatic television. And that melodrama and violence had somehow fixed my parents. It made me clench my fist, having to desperately hold back from punching the television glass.

I couldn’t sleep the rest of that night. Every time I had shut my eyes, all that I saw was that same ferocious and gorey picture emitted in the solid void of my mind.

I couldn’t handle the thought of my parents watching such gruesome actions occur before their eyes and at worst indulging in it. The perpetuating thought that one day, my parents' intolerance and hatred of one another would eventually explode on to one another. Then leading them to further misery. As the TV made my blood boil into the edge of violence, why wouldn’t they enact upon such urges too? It’s funny how much people underestimate a child’s comprehension abilities. 

As much as I knew those shows made my parents relive their peace together, I couldn’t sit back and relax as they enjoy observing sick acts of violence. It seems all so futile now, even if I did back down and accept it allowing them to consume and consume, I believe I would have held witness to that bloody scene.

The next time I was given time to myself all home alone, I called up the cable company. I interrogated the man over the phone on the influence of some of those horrid shows. That they thought its content would have no negative repercussions nor consequence. They assured me no casualties would be a causation of consuming such media and that unfortunately, I could not pick and choose each channel I wanted as it comes in a pack. 

I quickly got infuriated at the cable man’s unreliability. Luckily, he heard my anger through the phone as he made a shallow apology. He then suggested a feature called parental control. Typically parental control is meant to control what a child sees but in this case, the roles had changed. I had to take control. 

With the man through the phone helping me out as he vaguely and uncooperatively explained how exactly to set up parent controls. It took some time but with tragedy prevention upon my hands and confidence that the password would never be able to be cracked with my parents non existent pop culture knowledge. How naive I was as a child. 

I went to sleep peacefully that night. Only until the entire house shook as I heard my mother scream and yell in a fit of anger. Even from the impenetrable walls I could clearly hear her exclaim a call of frustration. Then my dad joined in. Then, in an explosion of the moment they were back to verbally attacking one another. 

Immediately, I jumped up from the covers and ran over to see the unfolded scene. I slammed the wide door open for all to see with adrenaline filled cursed curiosity. There had been a moment of uncomfortable silence between my mom and dad. Staring at me in a cluster of shock at disgust as red tinged both of their faces. 

Only for a second they thought of me, as for the split moment I had received the spotlight. They paid me no mind as they went back to an endless blame circle of pointless “who dun it”. 

I think even those shows got to me too. As through their ear piercing cursing yells, I watched. Taking it all in as that same tune I heard on the show played out of the limelight. I too may have been just as messed up and tainted by those sickening depictions. 

I didn’t tell them the parental control was by me. As both would attempt to go down what they thought was “my level.” Claiming they’d spoil me to death or just buy me the newest console everyone thought was cool at the time. I’d hate that. They never dared to even look at the big picture, only their own selfish incentive. 

I can’t say whether I preferred the moments of uncomfortable treaty or the arguments. I think I hated both but the verbal abuse was just easier to dismiss, so that’s what I sided with. I let the fights continue to taint the household as I held the password behind my back. It was back to the ticking time bomb of anger and maybe I just had to accept that. 

Once a- 

[A KNOCK ON DOOR]

Archivist: 

It’s kind of a bad time right now?

[DOOR OPENS]

[MOTORISED VIBRATIONS AGAINST THE FLOOR AS IT REACHES CLOSER TO THE TAPE RECORDER AND THEN STOPS]

Archivist: 

What do you need, Timmy? 

[A BEAT] 

Archivist:

What do you mean not talk about the Havisham family.

Isn’t it our job to- 

…

Fine fine, they’re our biggest patrons and you don’t want to talk about it with Gregory fine… 

Now could you please excuse yourself Timmy. I know you own this place but I’m kind of in the middle of doing my job. 

[MOTORISED VIBRATIONS RETURN NOW MOVING FARTHER FROM THE RECORDER]

[DOOR CLOSES] 

[ARCHIVIST CLEARS HIS THROAT]

Archivist:

Thank you.

Archivist (Statement cont.): 

Once again I had become apathetic towards all the chaotic anger roaming around every turn of the household. So it wasn’t so surprising when they’d ended up meeting each other’s fate. 

Another night of screams as I tucked myself under the covers and that’s when the symphony began. 

The sudden ringing sound of a screeching jazz band had abruptly begun to burst out attacking into my ears. I immediately jumped from the safe covers that I knew were my sheets and looked around at the dark night outside. Even if it didn’t matter whether or not I could tell where they were coming from, I knew they were a sign of the impending fate and well, I just needed to have a chance to see that discordant melody’s performer. 

There was an absence of any figure playing aloud on the night’s streets. Therefore, I took a peek into the suffocating hallway and behold, there it was playing that blasting discordant tune that attacked all its surroundings in multiple huge explosions of sound. 

The now revealed performer was a translucent multi-faced limbed and faced figure. It held three heads in total of varying faces. One a display of distraught and despair as its gaping mouth received the falling clay tears from its drooped eyes. In its hands a guilty pistol with fresh smoke emitting from its nozzle as it tapped away at a dissonant and sour keys. 

The face opposite, a face of anger and rage as its furrowed brows yelled non stop and uncontrollably at whatever approached them. Its limbs aggressively rushed through each supposed beat of the drum. Constantly thrumming the beat in an inconsistent rhythm, cathartically up and down tempo. On its body a shoulder strap holding a various assortment of daggers and knives glistening within the moonlight.

Lastly, the centrepiece of the untuned melody. Its eyes were calmly shut and bearing a light sure smile as it blew through its heavy golden and blood stained saxophone an ear scratching tune. 

The distorted playing figure led me towards the fateful door to my parents as it had may have already done so before those previous nights of childlike wonder. It passed through the walls and into my parent’s room. 

When I tried to open it, there was nothing but a locked rattle. So I placed my ear against the wooden wall, ready to observe and passively listen to the ongoing melody. 

Even though the music had now been muffled by the walls but still ever as abundant as it screamed through the walls of my brain and nerves. I impulsively placed my ear against the wall, just needing to know and eavesdrop on the events about to unfold. 

First, a single high pitched scream from a voice I knew to be my mother, arose kicking off a searing symphony as a rhythmic melody of a knife cutting and destroying through layers of raw skin and flesh. I could only listen to such a chaotic symphony erupt behind the confines of the walls. Stab after gruesome stab went by through the bricks. I could only imagine what bent and bloodied and bruised their bodies had now become as bagpipes belligerently blasted out their tunes. 

My breath, heavy trying to gather as much information as possible into my ears. Examining the thick layers of discordant melodies and off beat rhythms trying to make up the gruesome bloody scene beyond the wall. My image however, was ever so insurmountable to the true crime scene. 

I stayed completely transfixed, my ear upon the wooden surface. It wasn’t until the final climactic note hit its last chime and deep thud to the floor. Coming in came silence.

I finally began to comprehend the severity of those past events as a bright high pitched screech began to ring through my ears. Before I could let whoever remained standing from the massacre find me, I rushed down to the telephone ringing in the police station. That’s when the tears finally began to roll out as my stuttered words tried to escape out of my mouth. I whined through a jumbled mess describing the ringing carnage that I had just been put to hear. 

The person on the other side said they’d be there immediately, well that had been a hoax. To me however, it felt like hours before I heard their blaring sirens and saw the flashing green and red lights. I had to pray that whichever one of my parents that was still breathing didn’t dare restart the symphony once more. 

Luckily as I stayed tucked in the corners of the living room until I caught a glimpse of those brightly flashing lights reaching close towards my house before hearing anything of the ensemble. Immediately, I ran outside waving my arms frantically around as I cried out to the chasing police cars. 

The speeding automobiles screeched loudly as they quickly stamped the breaks as soon as they reached the front yard. Policemen and women came out simultaneously out of their vehicles. With the chief calling out some incoherent command into his handheld transceiver to initiate a charge into my house. 

I never got to see the crime scene firsthand. Some part of me wishes I did just to see if the band had still loitered around but most of the time I feel blessed that I never got to see my mom’s fresh deep red blood splattered across. Instead, I only ever got to witness pieces of my mother’s stabbed body as the blood had begun to dull being dragged out in a sterile white hospital bed. Most of her body had been covered up by a sheet the same plain shade of white as the bed. If I saw her true bloody disfigurement before me, it may have forever haunted me for the rest of my life. 

On the other hand, my father came out distraught and half naked, blabbering about excuses and excuses. Trying to reduce his sentence time but ultimately being seen as shameless as he did it in his half naked body. Luckily, his justice was served right. Since, for the rest of his life he would be held behind bars and eventually, die there too. 

The police’s investigation had been mediocre. It was pretty obvious to see the full story unfold just from the crime scene. They never believed the figured performers I saw that night. As much as I confirmed how vividly real they were to my eyes. 

I’ve been around a few foster homes here and there. It seems as if every family I’ve been under can’t help but associate me with the actions of my parents. So it’s still continued to be a hard life but I’ve trudged on, still living and breathing till today. 

I never heard that symphony play their tune any longer. However, whenever some belligerent interrogator abruptly and noisily asks upon my parents, it would once again ring in my mind. It’s possibly a case of shell shock or whatever. The thing that had come into my house and those dreaded shows had simply been just brought my parents' carnage closer. 

I’ve tried to explain it to the authorities, my multiple past therapists or the rare eyeing amateur investigator of the performers that night. Disgruntfully, each and every one of them have always concluded with the thought of some childhood illusion or trauma response. The “investigators” in the end just make it some spooky segment of their shoddy podcast or novel. Lesson learnt too many times over the latter one.

The TV channel and shows never got taken down from the television. Even if some considered my parents to be influenced by them it was too much of a case by case study to ever confirm it ever was. I don’t think those types of shows will ever die. I just hope people like my parts never enact them ever again. 

In the end, all that I can leave with is that if that tune I heard that night wasn’t real then I don’t know what is. The ringing discordant jazz that pierced through my ear drums and deep into my nerves all so vividly. I know that now because of my deafness in the aftermath. I’ve been mostly reliant on hearing aids and sign language for my entire life after that one huge turning point. It’s not as bad as I previously thought. It honestly makes me feel safer at night. 

Archivist:

Statement ends.  

The homicide of Amy Haegan’s death has been decently and roughly documented by some police files but especially the media. A case of 57 violent and mad stabs to the chest done by her spouse in their own bedroom and one final stab in the eye with the knife left in place. Therefore, we can indeed confirm that Aaron Haegon’s statement is a reliable statement at that. 

However, as it is so thoroughly documented, there isn’t much to get out of this statement. The only things of note would be the TV channels and its representing shows and the vision of what Hagen had witnessed. 

First of all, the true crime TV shows Hagen and his parents were likely viewing was on a channel sponsored by the infamous Mitch Conner. A notorious conman at that. 

He’s been active for at least eight years now. Scamming millions out of their money and growing in great power in the black market. However, none of these actions seem to have any paranormal side effects to them. 

We’ve even watched through a few episodes of this so-called “informative murder porn.” And to no avail. Therefore, this show may have minimal connections to the Haegen family homicide. It was probably yet another get rich quick scheme from Conner as the acting and quality truly was as trashy as possible. Only thing worthy of note was that the music was somewhat decent and that Clyde seemed to be getting a kick out of them.  

Regarding the visions of Aaron Haegan well, this multi faced being has no possible way to prove its existence to us. At most a traumatic illusion. Furthermore, if we even attempt to recreate such violent events or find and closely observe an aggressive pair on the brink of collapse for the smallest chance to see it would be both highly dangerous, on the verge of illegal and quite meaningless in fact. 

The music that Aaron had like heard on the night of his parents death. As police files report on the bloody bedroom scene. Blood had been splattered on almost every surrounding surface including the walls, bedsheets and furniture as the Mrs lay dead with several cathartic stab wounds to the chest and a knife impaled through her chest. The man of the house was found half naked in the corner of the room with blood on his hands. He was quickly handed over to the authorities. The only thing left on was the bedroom television playing an episode of an informative murder drama as a televised jazz band whistled its tune in the background.

Recording ends.

[CLICK]

Chapter Text

[CLICK]

Archivist:

Statement of Kenneth “Kenny” Mccormick regarding his immortality. Original statement given August 13th 2004. Audio recording by Kyle Broflovski, head Archivist of the South Park institute. 

Statement begins.

Archivist (Statement):

Do you know what it’s like to die, Archivist?

You’d think it would be pretty cool to not be able to die.

But do you know what it’s like to be shot, impaled, mutilated, crushed, burned, electrocuted, blown up, drowned, eaten alive and even suffocated? So it’s not pretty cool and it won’t go away and nobody will believe me. 

Every single day of my what seems to be infinitely running life, I die. It doesn’t matter how, I simply just have to stop breathing and let my heart halt in its beating. You’d think with so many countless and painful deaths in this lifespan would have made me desensitised of the pain, but absolutely not. 

Every. Single. Death. 

That the taunting grim reaper puts against me. All of them are equal in sharp visceral pain or slow deep agony running through my nerves. Sometimes I see my life flash before my eyes or sometimes I see just a pitch black void of nothingness. Either way it always ends with me waking up in my dirty room and back breaking the mattress with those who witnessed my deaths, not even remembering. 

Sometimes I think they’re in on it. That they too partner with the grim reaper in mocking my countless daily deaths. Every time I die they scream out their curses to the Gods but not even caring for a word they once said. Then I wake up and it’s all back to normal. From time to time I’d believe I was in a time loop until my next birthday would roll on about. Then I’d be poisoned by my own birthday cake. 

I don’t know how I even got this way. I don’t know what force is compelling me to live nor what force is compelling me to die. All I know is that I was born cursed. Cursed to never enter the pearly gates nor the pits of hell. All I would ever see was just a glimpse. 

Eventually, that heavy gnawing pain sometimes became freeing in my own life. The smallest bit of control I usually got was the masochistic joy of being able to sway my own death. I could prepare for the pain that way. If days got too hard such as the day I tried to explain my mortality to my closest friends. I got the glock out, pressed the muzzle against my temples. With a pull against the trigger and a flash and a bang. My brain was immediately obliterated as I temporarily traumatised my fellow peers. I felt the warm fresh blood drizzle down the side of my head but not for long. Immediately, I was back awake in my bed as my friends called out for me, once again failing to remember.

At this point, I’ve been drowning down this infinite cycle of death and resurrection with the frequent substance abuse here and there. Sometimes taking that hallucinogenic trip down into an imaginative vivid world feels safer when there’s no chance of meeting your end. It’s come to a few people’s concern but it’s not like they’ll believe me if I confess that I’m immortal. Probably just think I’m claiming nonsensical words as I trip. It’s not that bad to be down in madness, cut it some slack. 

It’s all pointless really. They say the two things every human being has in common is birth and death. And whether or not my deaths truly count as one, I may only have half of what humanity shares. Even if they don’t count as per see deaths, I can feel it through the people around me. 

Besides the discord and isolation of never having someone else go through multiple visceral and painful deaths, there’s also something else that’s haunting my subconscious. Since this state is not a running time loop therefore, I must age and so they must age. And well, will I really die by that time?

I'll slowly and eventually lose all those dear to me, each of their deaths would be ingrained in my mind unlike mine to their own memories. One by one they’ll all perish either peacefully or violently but for good. No resurrections, no waking back up just, death as their heart completes its last beat. And in a guilt ridden sensation, I feel jealousy as I watch their body be buried six feet under. All that’s left would be for them to be completely eaten by whatever lies below, and fully disappear.

Unlike the protagonists of eternal youth, I will have to age just like any other being. I’ll have to reluctantly earn every greying hair and wrinkle on my fraying body. Maybe I might catch some terminal illness such as Alzheimers to decay my brain. Forget that I’m immortal and be unknown to the face I would be continuously dying of old age every day. It gets rid of the pain of knowing at least. 

There’s really only one thing stopping me from killing myself or taking drugs as soon as I wake up. Which would be my sister, Karen. Our family isn’t the most functional you see and quite the poorest around. At least we’re clinging on to the house but either way the world has it out for not just me. 

Which is why, even if it is at the cost of my livelihood, I don’t care. I’ve had to toss out enough of myself already and you learn to become selfless when there’s nothing to lose. I just need to make sure Karen is safe, away from anything supernatural. I can’t have her hold the same curse or any curses that I can bare. So if she comes to this institute or whatever you knowledge addicts call it you better tell me alright? I just can't let herself get into danger. I know I sound overbearing. I really do but she’s the one person that I can hold dear to. 

I don’t exactly know I gained this curse of immortality. Whether it be of natural cause or the God’s just simply despise me. There is but one clue I have however. A dream.

Out of all the clues I could have in my hand it is all but vague dreams that I have but in those dreams there must be a connection to my eternal life somehow. I’ve been having these dreams since I was ten years old and they’ve never stopped recurring since. And with these dreams I may be able to stop my own demise. 

So let me tour you through them, archivist. 

The dreams all begin at the same place. I am greeted by a red viscous landscape. Sets of ancient ruins made out of eroded bricks with intricately carved stones are laid across the sharp scarlett Earth. A place as old as time. The foliage growing around the barren landscape don’t seem to be at all humanly and the ones that would look familiar would have all been shrivelled up and decayed. 

There are these long flesh-like strands rooting from the ground and elevating into the unclear deep red sky. Past the dense clouds floating in the daunting skies you can somewhat envision the silhouettes of organisms. They all lie sky through the sky as either their limbs, heart or brain are chained up to the towering visceral roots. I wandered around this empty landscape, sometimes meeting through the frequent cliff with spikes beneath them. 

On my first night of experiencing such a dream, I jumped head first into one of these piercing pits. The sharp pain was ever so vivid, spiking through my heart and ribs just as if in reality. I coughed out a few splatters of blood and my heart let out its final beat as per usual. Immediately, I woke up in my uncomfortable yet familiar dirty mattress. 

I thought that was that, it was for only after a month of more gruesome deaths, I was back once more. Back in the same deep scarlett landscape. This time, I was standing atop a sharp cliff. The same cliff I had jumped off of as an area of spikes beneath me had been splotched by now dried out blood but with no body to be found.

So it was either this dream had the same continuity as my own real life existence or that this was a genuine place. Or some sort of realm perhaps. Therefore, there must have been something special with this place or whatever it may have been. So I decided to not jump in and die immediately. Instead, I paced around this land that seemed to be frozen within time. 

The rotting stone architecture had remained to seem as ancient as ever as it was slowly consumed by the growing black splotches of mould and moss. I wandered around for seemingly hours and I noticed that my feet never began to ache nor did I feel hunger. Maybe it was some sort of dream logic happening but it felt like I was in there for an eternity, way longer than any normal dream would last for. 

I gazed upwards, following the strands of flesh up to the sky. Up there I spotted a figure that I knew. It had been one of my old elementary school teachers, Richard Adler. He had always been a strict one, kept going on about not fooling around during the Shop class I had to reluctantly participate in. 

I always preferred to do home economics growing up. One to get closer to the girls in my class and avoid the clearly obvious death traps in the workshop. Unfortunately, I didn’t do so well in home economics so I had to move that death ridden room. 

Every single minute in that horrid room I was faced with being mutilated and obliterated and sanded by every piece of supposedly safe machines. The point being, I hated that room. I hated that I had to be whisked away to a room completely filled with weapons of my demise. Luckily, I got through it for a year and ended with a cute little carving of my beloved opossum, Mr Possy. That didn’t stop me from despising that class however. I still hated the fact I could have avoided a gruesome death just by not setting foot into that dreaded workshop. 

So now, I raised my gaze up towards the unmoving and lying silhouette of Mr Adler. The flesh-like string linked up to his forearm. I gave it a slight tug pulling him closer towards the ancient land I stood in. I only saw but a glimpse of his body falling through the red sky, until I was back immediately in my grimy room surrounded by a pack of rats scurrying around the peeling wallpaper. 

Afterwards, I went to school as normal only to learn that Mr. Adler had passed away from accidentally slicing his arm off with a saw blade last night. Due to this, it had been announced there were to be no school today. As they had to give Mr Adler the proper ceremonial mourning and have enough time to clean the blood off the blade.

So I spent the entire day playing with my friends outside in the snow. From playing baseball with some sticks or beginning our grand fantasy storyline of warring states and adventure. It was all in great fun really. Unfortunately, I had still been hit by a speeding truck across the road. 

However, what had been so shocking to me was when a speeding car had gone across the snowy road. I had not been hit. I stood in completely frozen for a moment trying to process how that vehicle had only barely swerved away from me. I thought I had died only for my friends to come running towards and calling me back. 

Therefore, thanks to Richard Adler’s death, I had not died. 

I tested my theory more often after that. I pulled a strand or two down during my dreams. I tended to avoid people that I knew of but in the rare case I did, I was typically immediately notified of their death. Which made it easier to confirm my fate for today.  

Unfortunately, I was too overwhelmed by the guilt of someone’s death being by my hands. I had to stop pulling others down towards their deaths. Of course at the cost of mine. It went back to meeting my demise almost everyday. People die all the time but it’s different when from your hands. So I can’t just be selfish and kill them off for not having to feel excruciating pain for the day. 

I’ll bare this curse for as long as possible. I still frequently enter that dream world landscape. It seems that even if I don’t pull the root, they are still doomed to die like all human beings are. I simply bring them closer and bring my temporary one farther. 

The question is, with this newfound part of the curse to hold. Instead of bringing death closer, could I bring it farther? Would there be a way to gamble a soul’s life farther from their demise and bring mine closer? And if I bring each of my death’s closer, would I finally reach my place in the afterlife? 

It’s too much of a risk to gamble my theory just yet so as of now I’ve just been exploring the realm as long as I lie asleep in my uncomfortable mattress. Furthermore, I still have a lot left to do in the mortal realm. I still have to protect Karen so I can’t die just yet. Not just yet. 

But, I guess there’s no risk in doing it now, I see you through the glass booth. Wouldn’t you like to witness a little something, archivist?

Archivist : 

Statement ends. 

Well, this certainly is an… interesting statement. 

The man known as Dr. Kenny McCormick is a well renowned figure within the science community. Especially within the physics and chemistry industry for his albeit unorthodox fusion of dark matter and breast implants… that would then earn him a Nobel laureate which is indeed an impressive feat. 

What he is also famous for would be his overall philanthropist and humanitarian nature. Acts include donating hundreds of science equipment to public schools all around America and donations towards improving the lives of many children living through poverty. Overall, his actions seem to be wholeheartedly kind and have made an ultimately positive impact on every American. 

However, digging further into Dr. McCormick. Some of his past work include collaboration with the Havisham family. Too bad we can’t go into that. If possible we would really like to have a follow back with Dr. McCormick. Unfortunately, he is currently busy with his current research regarding fractals. Furthermore, his sister, Karen McCormick is also refusing to speak with us. Therefore, we cannot make further contact with the elusive Kenneth McCormick. 

Regarding Dr. McCormick’s dreams. All we can really confirm is that McCormick has never mentioned such dreams to a public audience. Not even a heavy search through the deep web has ever had such mention of McCormick’s visit to this institute. 

There is no way to prove Dr McCormick’s so-called “immortality” but a few jokes he nonchalantly claims during his interviews. One that includes him starting his own daredevil show to prove that he’s the unkillable kid. Or something like that was the motto of the Krazy Kenny Show. It’s really just him doing the most heinous actions known to man and not dying. Probably just the power of effects even with the live studio audience. 

Crazy how he’d become a world renowned scientist soon after. 

Even if McCormick’s countless deaths were indeed true, the fact he puts up the excuse of “everyone around him forgets” makes us less inclined to believe so. As this law creates an easy scapegoat to not disprove him. On the other hand, it also makes his immortality impossible to prove. 

I’m no therapist but, if his eternal life was indeed true, the dreams could be some sort of psychological reaction.  For example, not being able to control his demise and instead controlling others in his dreams. However, once again that is if his immortality was present. And if it isn’t then the dreams may as well be made up too. 

So if one part of the pyramid falls, the rest do. And with no contact nor relaxing information with Dr McCormick, the only thing we have would be this bloodstained statement. 

Recording ends 

[CLICK]

Chapter Text

[CLICK]

Archivist: 

Statement of Mike Makowski regarding his sleeping patterns and past involvement with the Church of the Great Old One. Original statement given November 19th 2008. Audio recording by Kyle Broflovski, head Archivist of the South Park Institute. 

Statement begins 

Archivist (statement): 

The call of the night is imminent within all of us. Whether it may be staying up until the witching hour, completing a midnight seance or even just completing an all nighter for school. For humans have always gravitated towards breaching their capacity of staying awake per se? 

I’ve been in love with the night for a very long time. I’ve even been making progress to become a full fledged vampire. You see, even if the name written on this statement is that of Mike Makowski, for I am actually the vampire Master Vampir amongst my fellow vampires. 

Although, that is the typical identity I take on amongst my fellow members of the vampire society during our nightly assemblies at our current academy of study, per se. However, I have yet to speak to them regarding what it truly means to be a creature of the night. 

You see, for most of my life I have always been infatuated with the nocturnal species of order Chiroptera. Flying little creatures that glide through the night in grace. And with their minimal sense of vision, instead they depend on their screeches. As the sound waves bounce back to the bat, the bat can visualise its entire surroundings while barely being able to see. Such is the fascination of echolocation. 

Then, there is the marvel of vampires. It has become a huge phenomenon in recent years from works inspired by Victorian and gothic architecture and Bram Stoker’s classic novel, Dracula. Bloodsucking creatures of the night. They live for all eternity with their face forever cursed to be that of youth and they shall never enter the break of light. For they will only but incinerate under the good graces of the sun. 

Such is the captivation of the night that still proves to be existent and persistent. As a vampire can even transform into a bat, another majestic creature. Even if I may not be able to transform into one just yet, it is what I aspire to be. May it be all in fun and games or not. 

So perhaps, I may have wanted to find more like minded people per se. Fellow night dwellers or people of the night. That leading thought would then lead to the moment when I first discovered the Church. 

This ‘twas a time before I had first established the vampire society of Scottsdale, I had been simply taking a stroll underneath the moon’s twilight. Luckily, I live in a rather peaceful area of Scottsdale. The streetlamps of the town road had cast upon a warm glow on the streets to which I despised. As you can assume, I as a vampire despise the light and for it to be artificially created makes me want to regurgitate my guts out of intolerance. One negative thing about living in Scottsdale per se would be the lack of light pollution. Must the stars always shine so brightly and cast upon their revolting light to the moon? Sometimes I feel as if they reflect the people that reside here. 

Even if I may bring around a personal alarm, it is rare that I ever have to clutch the item within my palm. It helps me feel just a bit more secure wandering through the dark and lonely streets. As when alone amongst people, isolation feels much greater. Because, to be frank, I never had friends during my years of college at the time. I always sat alone away from my peers, all of the parties and frats I went to all felt so suffocating as the lights blared into my light allergic eyes whilst I stood by some awkward corner, empty cup in my hands. I couldn’t stand the chatter at all, so when it was night the solitude became a comfort. After all, what is a vampire without a lonesome place to call his dwelling.

Since after all, as a vampire I can also thrive within solitude as strongly as in the dark. Which further supplies my fondness for these frequent twilight walks. Especially when the moon’s illumination is absent, as that is when the night is at its darkest. Yet I think deep inside me I did long for fellow people who could agree with my admiration to the night. 

I had been wandering through the night street as per my usual uncharted routine. Until from the corner of my vampiric light sensitive pupils, a cluster of dark hooded individuals scuttled across into the narrow night neighbourhood. Each of them, features obscured by the pitch black and long garments they bared. Only from the streetlights was I able to capture a symbol embedded onto the fabric by a glistening silver thread. It had been of an eye shut tight with four straight lines peering outwards. 

They scampered into a narrow alleyway, huddled up within the dark. Unfortunately, curiosity had gotten the best of me as I slowly approached the tiny congregation of dark figures.

I tried to not be so hostile with my tone when I came up to them. Still, they were taken aback by my sudden approach as they hissed back like snakes. However, one outlier stayed level headed. A man possibly younger than my age with a stark Scarlett highlighted roots to contrast with his deep pitch black hair. 

He calmly shrugged and asked what was my business with us. I replied by simply describing my pure intent and curiosity, commenting that I was a simple person who would occasionally enjoy their night time walks. Unfortunately the doubt and stiffness stayed present within their postures. 

At once, they all pounced towards my belongings making me unable to grasp the handheld siren. They scurried through my items, probably searching for any weapons or a police licence lying somewhere in there. I had nothing of the sort within my belongings of course. Instead they had just taken the siren and my cellphone, making me feel significantly more unsafe. My instincts were telling me to leave but my desires declined that offer. I could have run back into the night but seeing fellow lovers of the night simply made me more enticed towards this mysterious and elusive group of closed eyes. 

I believe the one with the dyed hair had also been enticed by my interest. As he peered closer into the words I had previously sayed. He asked if I too had been blessed by the lightless sky. In enthusiasm I had agreed with a strong yes, claiming that I was a creature of the night. A bloodsucking vampire as I showed him my glistening fangs whilst I grandly bent my fingers to imitate a scare. 

I saw a bit of a drawback from this rather eccentric introduction of mine. Despite the clear uncomfortable whince the man had made, he kept his composure fortunately. It was typical for humans to show disrespect or doubt at my extravagant persona. It would be harassment or a call out at worst but I could tolerate a few discomforting glances most of the time. 

I gave the man a few seconds to settle his composure as he gave a quick inhale. Immediately after, he asked me,

“Are you too fascinated with the night?” 

As he spoke, I saw his silver pendant glisten with his words, the ruby in the centre welded to be of that same optical symbol. I had also noticed the crowd of almost identical figures had now encircled me, preventing any possible escape from me. Some figures had dirtied bandages across their eyes whilst some held long black canes in their hands. 

I immediately nodded at his inquiry. Why just from the group’s peculiar actions I had been captivated. Fellow people also in love with the time most of humanity lies asleep? The time where we are most unsure? The time where all the  monsters and horrors of a child’s vast imagination are most abundant? 

The man had shrugged at my keen response, as he shuffled to get something out of his dark robes. From his pocket, he handed me a single earring akin to his pendant yet not consisting of a ruby but still one of an eye shut tight. He then went on to describe their current “activities” for the night and said that I may join for a pseudo trial period. 

I hadn’t been exactly sure what they had meant by trial period so I asked but one of the robes in the circle claimed that I did not need to know such a fact. Then the red stained hair swiftly shut them down with a single raise of a palm. 

I was suspicious of course but I had still been charmed by the lightless sky. I simply had just asked for my handheld siren to be returned but that I was keen to join their midnight assembly as I had retrieved the earring clasped in the presumed leaders’ hands. With a few hesitant glances shared across the circle before finally, the device had been returned to my palm. I felt much more inclined than I ever did to join them now with the security now given back to me. 

I don’t know if they had ever done anything to that siren. Either way that was not in my mind at the time. I had been more focused on the anticipated activities we were about to do that night. 

I placed the silver jewellery on my right ear, the ear uncovered by my side swept radioactive green and black hair. The man in front of me nodded as the other members had dispersed their circle now most following behind where I stood. 

He then turned around, walking back to his initial spot and I awkwardly followed suit. As they were set back into their places, I sat awkwardly around the people I had yet to know. Exactly what were we to do on this eerie night. 

 Until, as if in an instant  had to squint my eyes as an unforeseen exploding light had begun to burn into my retinas. Each one of them had suddenly brought out a lit glass light bulb. Seemingly out of nowhere. I hadn't even heard any fabrics rustling or shifting. 

As if I was allergic, I stepped back at the burst of rays. I had been temporarily teleported towards the burning flames of sub that I despised. From the sharp light, somehow I couldn’t even bare to comprehend the gibberish chant that had been spoken amongst each member the light had outshined.  A ramble on regarding the wretched Helios they chanted. 

I failed to get any of the chants unfortunately. Instead the cries ended with one climactic burst and simultaneous shatter. Then at once, darkness. Darkness that shrouded my entire world, darkness where hence there was nothing. Nothing but the cold ground concrete against my feet and the warm individuals I had now become part of.

Beautiful it was. 

As if all stress or paranoia had been washed away from that majestic lightless beacon. My world has both been utterly destroyed yet expanded at the exact same moment. I felt at peace within the world’s everlasting chaos. I found a peace I never knew I needed. 

I had begun to move my hand to the floor. Wanting to feel that all consuming sensation and cold rough surface against my skin. Instead, I felt the sharp broken shards of glass penetrate through my skin. I felt my nerves scream at this visceral and agonising interaction. And yet I did not yell nor move one bit. Rather, I leaned in deeper to such piercing flare as my own blood. 

Even as I could not witness each glistening shard stab into my flesh. It was the most visceral and real sensation I had ever felt in my lifetime. All worldly problems had simply disappeared into some unknown figure within the void. For they did not matter. 

I longed to stay within that world shrouded in darkness, perhaps even sink further into it. Yet, all good times must end. As the abrupt black out had ended and the street lights had been lit back on to do their jobs. I was back in the circle yet the cloaks didn’t feel as distant as they were prior. They felt ever so connected as if in those brief moments we had completely bonded even in silence. I had found fellow dwellers of the night that I had never encountered before. 

Ignoring my palms as they all stood up at once, looking down at the shattered light bulbs but they were quick to dismiss them when doing so. Moving on to the next agenda. That being swiftly and silently dispersing all at once. Back into the void. 

I stood frozen, still processing the moment of endarkment. Until it had been brought to my attention that all but one of them had left the scene. The guy who I assumed to be some sort of leader to them. 

He had finally introduced his name. “Pete” it was, never got his last name however. So Pete inquired to me how my first taste of what he named to be “true darkness” had affected me. I wanted to express such majestic and visceral sensations I felt as the world had seemingly disappeared. As if all worldly possessions perished. Yet, at the time, I had been utterly speechless. All I knew was I needed to reach closer for that euphoric void. 

I believe Pete saw how that moment of darkness had capsized the entire method of how I perceived the world, throwing it completely overboard and into a deep dark ocean. Observing my completely shocked expression plastered upon my face. He notified me of their next assembly. Set to be located in Bridport church as he welcomed me to “the Church of the Great Old one.” Soon after, he had been gone too. Leaving me in solitude with nothing but the annoying company of looming streetlamps.

It was definitely jarring to be joining a group titled the Church of the Great Old one, per se. But at the time I just hadn’t been able to find any friends especially with my eccentricities. Call it a cult or whatever it may be. The important part was that I found people like me. People who could share a deep love and appreciation for the night and had also made me too become consumed in such extremes that I never had before. 

Once I had reached my humble abode I noticed the spills of blood falling from my hand. I had fully walked home with literal blood on my hands and yet didn’t even notice so. I screamed myself back into reality from the sight of deep shards of glass piercing through my palm. I immediately went to work fixing it up, tediously and painfully spraying disinfectant liquid onto it and then bandaging it up myself. Couldn’t even think of calling the ambulance otherwise I’d be going bankrupt. Hopefully none of the possible security cameras during my walk home had spotted my blood stained palms. 

So when the time had come, I was sitting outside the church I had been called to. Once again it had been under the moonless light with only that silver earring reflecting minimal amounts of light. I definitely didn’t feel the most safe coming to a church at midnight, or a church in general. As you know. Vampire. Doesn’t really like anything holy. Yet I still patiently waited outside for this upcoming assembly. 

It had been about an hour basking in the darkness before they had come. It was almost midnight at the time of their arrival in their usual huddle of dark eye marked coats. I first spotted Pete amongst the crowd. He had been walking alongside first, a short boy with dark side swept hair looking significantly shorter than the former, possibly still even in high school. To the other side of Pete, rather let me be frank here, quite a plump woman with black spikes for hair, pitch black eye makeup and nails and deep violet lipstick adorned on her face. All three of them had gloomy stoic expressions chiselled to their faces. 

I felt a bit nervous at first, granted that I may have put myself in a tough situation in the first place. Nothing was even said to me as Pete only glanced at me for a split second to then open the church doors, the group entering as well. 

The doors had been left open, I assumed for me as I hesitantly threaded into the church walls. I looked around the chapel, observing the many monotonous men and women all adorning that same closed eye symbol on the back of their clothing. They all glared at my arrival, some anticipated, some stoic and some threatening. Either way I was called up to the front of the chapel by Pete who introduced me to the church’s leader who stood tall and high upon the unlit candles. 

Their leader had a similar pitch black hair, this time cut way shorter than the last three I caught sight of but nevertheless, dark spiky strands. Oddly enough, his voice was surprisingly high pitched for someone so menacing in the looks. I was taken aback by this at first but was slowly silently hushed by Pete who once again never failed to observe my body language so easily. 

I immediately straightened back up. As I can’t even think what would happen if I had made a horrible first impression, especially towards what seemed to be the most important figure within this congregation of night dwellers. 

His name was Damien. Damien Thorn. 

And he was what was revered by his followers, their “Messiah.” Their giver of salvation. I learnt that very quickly as all the figures behind me simultaneously sang such eerie chants as they praised his reverence. 

I definitely felt the goosebumps creep onto my skin more than ever at that point. But the thing is when you’re so isolated from everyone after some time, you just become all the more vulnerable to being desperate for connection. No matter what. And that’s what even makes people fall into cults. 

So unfortunately, I went along with this escapade. I too joined the crowd in bowing for acceptance. Apparently, this congregation had been some form of entrance ceremony. For me. As the saviour Damien uttered my name through his acute voice, I felt the spotlight suddenly all fall on me at that very moment. At the same time as those figures faced my form, I felt somewhat and uncomfortably blessed by this notion. Did I really get acknowledged by someone so revered? 

It felt all so fast. From being a lone vampire who wandered in solitude within the night to finding a treasure trove of fellow night dwellers who suddenly acknowledged me and shared my fondness of all that is black in out of all places, a chapel. I just really wanted to be accepted. I guess that’s what had gotten me so deep.

Before I knew it, one of the cloaks had suddenly ushered me towards the grounds beneath the church. With the rest of the robes following suit. I took note that the one who had been guiding me had bright blonde locks in contrast to those that I had seen before. Also unlike the others, he held a bright aura around himself. From the few moments I observed him, a consistent smile plastered on his face. I can’t really be sure if that smile had reached his eyes though. 

I had been led into a rather spacious and friendly room within the church underground. The wall's and furniture were still shiny despite looking like they were made before time and even a bed neatly set down on the floor. 

I had been immediately ushered inside that room as the blonde one assured me that I would be out in no time. And that this was all part of my welcoming ceremony to our divine order. Then, the door was shut tight right in front of me.

I took his word for it. I comfortably took my dwelling within that not suffocating room. 

Despite the miserably illuminating light, I stayed there peacefully for about an hour or so. Since I entered the church far past midnight, it had been a good time to begin slumber as I hopped inside the neatly prepared bed. Unfortunately, there had been a lightbulb swaying from the ceiling providing the rooms only light from down below. I hissed at these dangling bulbs as the cool monotone light it had emit had been way too bright for these light allergic eyes that longed to be closed. I searched around for a light switch but to no avail.

So for the first hour, I was left to be awake. Pacing through the well lit room. The sink had been working and I found a few components around and within the drawers. Those components included canned food, trail mix and a few items to be used for sermons. Which made sense as I was in the basement of a church. 

I hoped that I wouldn’t be lingering in that room for too long but I had quickly gotten accustomed to the thought I’d be here for the night. I settled myself in and tucked myself under the covers as I once again tried to reach slumber under the fluorescent light. 

It had been an hour of my stay where I couldn’t bare bask in that horrid blue light, as much as I tried to stuff my eyes under the pillows. At least the bed felt sanitary but that didn’t help with my discomfort below the blinding artificial sun. 

Eventually, I had enough of that blaring bulb. Grabbing a chair and a pile of miscellaneous items, I stacked them up to reach the hanging lantern. As I climbed my makeshift ladder, I reached for the light bulb. I touched the heated item, my hands had been immediately slashed by the sudden combustion and explosion of its glass. As it exploded by my faintest touch, all light had gone, leaving me to fall backwards into the void of darkness. 

I had lost sight of it all. The floor. The stack. The light. All of it had gone. Simply faded. All gone. All except for the shards that lingered into my still yet to heal skin and something. 

Do you know that feeling when even though you can’t see someone, you can sense their presence ever so clearly? Because I do. I do so very well.

There was something out there, that I couldn’t unravel in that mindless expanse of black. Whether it may be hostile or not. It was out there. And it was out there, accompanying me within the darkness. It is also what I believe to be my true source of my innate vampirism. My very own vampiric vector. Or simply just vampire per se. 

Even if you can’t necessarily perceive this beast, you can indeed sense a rough figure. A silhouette of thinly humongous almost looming size. I felt its shape curl around unseen limbs, entrapping me still and frozen. Its texture felt like a struggling stinging swarm of cold elastic wings fighting against whatever had their way. 

Vampires are not what you think. Most creatures of the night aren’t. For what we perceive with only the slightest light peaking, is far inaccurate from what we perceive within the day. For even nocturnal creatures witness the night world far differently from us. So who’s to say our rendition of monsters should be considered accurate?

How can humans stand to witness concepts yet to be even formed? Maybe it was the dark that protected me this entire time. Yet the fact this thing was unable to be viewed or even conceived was what had feared me the most.  

Vampires need not to bite. They simply need access to your blood to strike. 

I felt its seething soul seep into my new and old glass pierced cuts. I was helpless. Only left to succumb to what may had been before me. 

I had become a child again, trembling under their sheets, yearning for a night light or the comfort of their parents. All they could simply do was let whatever monsters that lurked within coexist alongside them in the same room they thought they knew. As all that they could perceive was the void and blank dark pitch of the night with only their minds left to fill in the horrors. And just like a youth, I had been forced to slumber with my helpless body awake in the void. Let that vampire taint and steal my bloodstream. 

It’s a stupid thing to say and then I woke up. But I did eventually. Cool artificial light had finally been sent back into my eyes. I squinted at this light and almost in fact hissed, raising my cut arm towards my face. 

I realised that the bandage had been completely removed and what was left seeping was this deep black ooze that glistened under the light as it dripped down into my eyelids and retina. I only caught a glimpse of the blood for only a split second as it briefly and fully slipped into my bloodstream. 

What had been beyond the light, were the varying members of the church. Once again clumped together to form a dark pit of cloaks. I squinted at the blinding sight, my eyes taking their time to readjust.

Stomping a top of the scatter of glistening glass shards, crushing them into bits of dust. Then a hand ushered me to my feet. I recognised it had been the same one that had first led me to this underground with their bobbed blonde locks and the looming smile. 

I turned to face their grin, then to the robes. In the centre front had been the stern looking leader, observing my state. The room had still been unlit at this point so I could only perceive the direction of his face. He faced a glance towards my revealed wound and nodded his acceptance. 

And all at once, the cult exclaimed with their divine hands out.

“The Church of the Great Old One welcomes you, Mike Makowski.”

Damien had uttered as a wave of applause seemingly drowned my sorrowed form. For my ceremony had finally been completed. I had become joined with the swarm.

I was then dismissed. As they commented on our next congregation and welcomed me with open arms. I had finally been fully accepted. Finally welcome to be who I was. The creature of the night I had became to be. 

There is one more thing I should add to this conversation however. 

I tried going back to sleep a night after the ceremony. Going back to the place I thought I called home. Lying in the bed that was soft as a cloud. Flicking off the light switch in one swoop. And it was there once more. 

The swarm was back. The bloodsucker had returned. Not to come get me. But to simply watch, simply loom, simply observe. Observe my stiff body and tainted eyes. My eyes were held wide open, having it right in my sight too. They wouldn’t, couldn’t even falter down. As if I tried, I would simply feel the swarm breach closer. Closer towards me once again helpless. 

I couldn’t even get up to flick the lights back on. 

I was frozen underneath its gaze. Only the soft covers of the blanket were able to protect me from the horrors. I couldn’t sleep that night. Nor the nights following. 

If I tried to keep the lights on, I’d see it through the window. So then I invested in blinds. And what a surprise when I tried to sleep, my light had conveniently exploded into tiny glass shards that almost pierced through my eyeballs. 

I feel my bags getting heavier too. I’ve been having non stop migraines and headaches for the past few months.  All I could do was continue with church activities from then on. Praying, offering and sacrificing my worldly possessions. As all should be futile under the lightless sun. Pete said I’ll learn to find solace in it. But I don’t think I will anytime soon. As much as I feel a part of my fellow night dwellers. They claim and preach that I’m just not trying hard enough or accepting the cold grace of the Great Old One. And maybe I am. Maybe I’m not trying hard enough. Maybe I could do better. I could let that vampire further infect me, make me become a true bloodsucker.

I don’t think I can take it much longer. I can’t keep living like this. Living within the void. I’ve been also trying to get rid of the black ooze in, let’s describe them as insanitary methods per se. Unfortunately, to no avail and to the disappointment of the church. 

I long for the days I could succumb to the dark in solitude. Yet they won’t come. It’s still present and I still cannot let my eyelids fall. Call it sleep insomnia or whatever it may be. The only solution now is to sleep when the sun is present. I don’t know how badly it’s turned my form into but it’s praised by the church members at least and it provides me some escape from the creature. Yet I still feel a faint image of it when I shut my eyes. It’s still there. It’s still looming and observing. I don’t why it must haunt me. Please stop. I can’t sleep anymore. I can’t be at peace no longer. 

There’s one meeting coming up soon. One from all around the states. Somewhere in Utqiagvik I believe. I won’t be joining however. I’ve been attempting to gather a new set of people I can surround myself with. A group of fellow vampires if you will. People who will still share the love of the night yet they need not to experience the horrors I have to go through. I’ve been building a few people up behind the church’s back. In fact we’ve established a name! The Vampire Society. It’s full of fellow vampires or simply night dwellers whether it be past church members or not.

I still have yet to slumber however. Still bonded with that nocturnal creature. But I just have to get out of this cursed church even if coming to this institute might cause the church to shift closer to me. One way or the other, I must depart or I may meet my soon demise.

Archivist:

Statement ends.

The case of the cult known as the Church of the Great Old One is indeed an interesting one at that. Damien Thorn. A child that seemingly popped out of the abyss. Revered to be the messiah since conception to the church. 

It’s rare we ever get a firsthand account from a member of the church. Perhaps I have hit gold. It definitely provides some information on the cult’s practices and some notable members have indeed been mentioned. Pete Thelman has been notorious for causing hundreds of blackouts all across America and we can assume those he accompanied were his fellow associates, Henrietta Biggle and Firkle Smith. The blonde fellow may possibly be Phillip Havisham but the concerns I can state on that matter are… limited. 

The church’s headquarters are located as Mike mentioned in Utqiagvik, Alaska. It’s too far and a risk to enter the grounds but as we know for now the church is still defunct with no recent action nor advertisement. 

Mike Makowski’s sleep insomnia does seem to have come out of nowhere. Although being quite a night owl, neither his parents nor peers have ever noted any odd habits or stimulatory drug usage prior to his interaction with the church. It is a common hypnotisation method for cults to lock new members within rooms for days at a time making them experience some form of entrancing media. Perhaps this entrance ceremony was all but one big theatrical performance but that is neither here nor there. 

Now onto the “vampires.” Mike Makowski’s belief in vampires and self proclamation is definitely one of… delusions. Perhaps it’s a way of coping with his insomnia. Either way any formations of a vampire society by Makowski have not been mentioned nor found. The being at night, once again a symptom of sleep insomnia. Although odd being so immediate after the dysregulation of sleeping patterns. 

In the end, all we can note of Mike Makowski or head vampire, Vampir is his interaction with Damien Thorn. Out of all the places he chose to locate to, Scottsdale is definitely flabbergasting.  Luckily, the church’s influence and relevance in today’s time is almost non-existent. Only thing left standing would be their headquarters up in Alaska and these few statements

Recording ends.

[CLICK]

Chapter Text

Archivist:

Statement of Tweek Tweak regarding… Am I reading this right? Statement of Tweek Tweak regarding gnomes. Original statement given December 16th 2008. Audio recording by Kyle Broflovski, head Archivist of the South Park Institute.

Statement begins. 

Archivist(statement): 

They’re out to get me, man! They’re out to get me. Oh this is way too much pressure… Why are they here? Why are they here to torment me? Was it because I stopped drinking my parents coffee? I’ve only ever had it black if I had gotten desperate. Was it because I tried to rebuild the empty shell I had for all of my life? Oh… when I thought I had finally gained control of myself… I think I’m going to die here. I think I’m going to die here all alone with nothing left of my existence. Maybe I should just bash and destroy everything in my sight at this point. It’s already inevitable after all. 

I knew there was something in that coffee. I’ve known for a long time now. For most of life, it’s been all but a blur because of it. I never had any of my own motion nor thought. Only a slave to my parents who kept numbing with that scalding hot liquid. So with all the effort I had left in me. I stopped. I at least was able to stop or at best replace it with something more bitter and painful. If there’s one accomplishment I’ve ever made in my life then it’s that. It took months to save myself. Preventing myself from even touching the surface of a warm, sickeningly sweet and enticing surface of the mug. And yet here I am once again. Spiralling down into forces beyond my control. Is my existence hated simply hated by this world? What did I do wrong? How can I fix this? How can I fix myself? All this to simply feel some sort of reassurance within myself. It’s never enough. There always has to be something coming for me. I don’t know if this suffering will ever end, 

Even if I had been able to stop drinking, stop being puppeteered, cut off those strings. I haven’t changed at all. Was it all pointless? I’m still all alone and helpless. In the same place I hate with nothing of the little pieces that I managed to create of myself left. 

Maybe these words are all that will be left of my existence. I’m not sure if I should even be worried about that matter. If this will be my legacy or not does it really matter? I can’t do this anymore. I’m going to be taken. I’m going to die here. I thought I would one day escape from this horrific coffeeshop. Save up. Maybe even live somewhat of a free life and settle down with

It’s too much. It’s all too much and yet so less. If someone gets their hands on these words so bet it. And if they don’t then so be my memory too. I just. I just need to get this down somewhere. I don’t know if this would make me feel any better. I can feel my hand frantically shaking and twitching as I write these words. Will this even be legible? Oh who cares at this point. I just need to write this. I don’t know why. Whether it be a coping strategy or not. All I know is that I have to get out of here, I might die and I need to write all that I have witnessed.

If you’re reading this, report me to the police or whatever you may. Even say that I’m just a poor soul lost in my delusions. It’s better I don’t hear it rather than getting it from the few people actually around me. It’s better than being stuck here. Perhaps if I go to prison they can’t reach me any longer. Within those trapped bars, maybe that will be a source of some twisted paradoxical freedom. From my parents, the coffee and the gnomes. 

Gnomes. Yes. Gnomes. Don’t be fooled by that round name. They come into your room during the dead of night as they sing haunting discordant tune. Then, as they play their work song they take a single possession of yours. Just a single, never too noticeable when they first begin their invasion. But eventually they keep taking and taking, every night until your own identity has been whisked away by the gnomes. 

Sometimes I hope they’d just take my parents but I know they won’t. That’s just wishful thinking. I don’t know if I feel any love towards my parents. Is it cruel to think that? Maybe that’s why I have to meet this fate. No matter what they’ve done to me. Or maybe it was myself all along and I’m just trying to shift the blame. Even if they had tainted that drink with their special sickening sugar.  

The gnomes all started appearing around a year or two after I stopped taking whatever my parents kept insistently giving me and replacing it with the bitter notes of black coffee. I had gotten up to get out of my pyjamas and was preparing to slave the day away at my parents' coffee shop downstairs. I had to keep working there. Even if my parents kept buying and disposing of new puppeteered members of the crew. If I had just quit then what if I had been kicked out? Tossed aside into the garbage dump or just had that scalding drink forcefully burn down my throat. Instead I had to keep going. I had to keep working and be stuck to the threads my parents had sewn. Pretend or even still be tied to those strings. The shell of myself I had to rebuild is now a frantic, panicked mess of a person. I can’t tell whether that’s better than being empty with no will of myself left. 

I opened the drawer, searching for one of the few olive green shirts that was absent of any coffee stains. The one that I even held for special occasions. I can’t be bothered to wash the ones that have been. I stain them too frequently and when I try to rub them off, there’s always something left of that brown stain. So I try to clean them again. And again but to no avail. I can’t get rid of the marks. I woke up decently that day so I thought maybe I could get a clean slate today. Maybe be a bit adventurous today. Even take a few risks perhaps. 

As I rummaged through the pile neatly folded clothes. It was gone. Only but a pile of identical olive green shirts ridden with brown stains. I immediately threw myself into a panic. There was no way I could have lost it right? Surely. I mean, I rarely even wear it. So surely it should be in the exact place I left it. Except it wasn’t. Somehow, it was gone. As if it fell into a black hole, lost to time. Scurrying around my drawer just to try and find it. I can’t be that much of an idiot to lose a shirt that I even put on a pedestal thinking of how well I took care of it for not getting it tainted. Instead I had been left with a scattered mess of garments strewn across my frantic room. Reluctantly, I cleaned them all back into the drawer and counted them as I folded back up into their original status. Forty two pieces of clothing in total. It was supposed to be forty three as I had checked and rechecked my scribbled pile of receipts.

I tried to reassure myself that maybe I hadn’t lost anything. Maybe I had just replaced it. Was it still in the wash? No. It must have been at least a month since I last wore it. Maybe I did get it stained. Then why would I be missing one piece of clothing? I thought I could keep track of even just the few things I could call my own. So I counted up my garments once more. Then, again. Then one more time. Then another. Again and again and again and again and again. I could’ve kept going even until the sun came down. It was gone. It truly had been gone. All I was left with were the scattered remains of the clothes I still had. It was just a shirt. It was just a shirt. I had to tell myself. I could always buy a new one. But the fact I was so stupid to lose some of the few possessions I had made me want to bash my head against my bedroom wall or sedate myself with a cup of cursed, controlling coffee. 

I felt like exploding or breaking the drawer in front of me to see if the shirt was somehow in the wood until the door behind me creaked open. I almost jumped as my stance had been halted by my parents' annoyingly cheerful arrival. They commented that I was running late for work. Rather than asking me if I was alright first like any actual parent should have. I tried to explain the situation but of course my parents were unhelpful as always. Suggesting that I was just overreacting. I mean I had a dozen identical shirts in the same exact colour. Sure I could just wear a different one. They even asked if I had tried looking for it. Of course I did! Why else would I have been scrambling across the floor in an anxious rot trying to find them. I want out. I want out of here. Just to rub more salt in the wound was when they saw my frantic movements all across the room they even suggested that I should have some of their sweetly scalding coffee. I bursted out in front of them immediately, claiming my annoyance with them and went back to lock myself inside that room. In the end I did have to go out, this time with one of my stained shirts. Ready to slave the day away in that cursed coffeeshop. 

I can’t say if I like working at my parent’s coffeeshop. It’s just all that I have known for almost my entire life. I mostly worked alone until my parents kept introducing new members of the crew. These “members” had never really been people. They felt like a reflection of myself years ago. Controlled and chartered through their every movement, stuck in a pointless routine. All that I saw left of their soul had been the confusion and paranoia lingering in their eyes. Either way I don’t enjoy their company one bit. They simply feel more surveillance cameras set up by my parents to never let me leave. 

I did eventually return to the confines of my room that I thought was a safe place. Once again, I tried scurrying around my entire room just to find any remnants of clothes. In the end, thirty nine pieces of cloth and plus ones that I had been wearing, forty two. Still not enough. I wanted to scream and cry the entire night away. Both at my incompetence at losing such a good shirt and the fact that I even had to have this visceral reaction. I might as well have dunked my face into a fresh pot of boiling coffee and let my skin burn off. 

Instead I did something somewhat healthier but still destructive nevertheless. I frantically picked up my phone, scrambling just to find where I had put it in the dark. I almost dropped it as soon as I had gotten it into my head. With my wildly trembling hands I dialled up one of the three only contacts I’ve ever had. The one at the very top of the list. 

It’s pretty typical I whine about the smallest stuff that happens to myself. And I hate that fact sometimes. I hate the fact that I have to be a ticking time bomb to whoever reaches near me. 

As soon as I heard a groggy nasally voice come from the other side of the phone, I screamed right into it. I couldn’t help it even if it was past midnight. I shouted out all of my complaints, bursting them all out in a rushed pit of shame to my partner at the time. I'm not sure if I want to reveal their name. It’s not their fault. Or maybe it is. At least partially. I screamed and whined about almost everything. The shirt, my parents, my inability to have at least one piece of control in my life the entire night. 

After I had lost all things to repeat with my staggered breath still hurling into the mic, I heard a tired reply back. They tried to put an effort to and console me, they really did despite the clear fatigue in their voice. They put forth all of these ways to distract myself from the missing cloth. Try baking or trying playing a game or just go to sleep. The only problem was that it just wasn’t helping at all. The shirt was still gone. And it was all my fault that I had let it go out of my sight. Still after hearing him out, I let myself fall asleep for the night. Struggling to clear my mind in the dark. To my horrendous luck, my possessions kept disappearing.

The next items had been my boxing gloves. I groggily woke up from my staggered sleep schedule but slowly pumped myself up for my few pieces of escape from this horrid place I have to call a home. Boxing was one of the few activities where I felt in control or even proud of myself in fact. It had even been how me and my partner had met. Apparently they needed some strength training for their dream job but at the start we got into a bit of a commotion and immediately went to fight each other. In the end though we did start to get along after the spar. Which made the gym feel even more warmer even after they stopped going, they stayed with me. And yet when I was pumping myself for my few bits of freedom, the rack had been empty. Once more I ripped apart my room piece by piece trying to search for my lost items. I mean, they were a bright colour blinding red of course they would be easy to spot. Still, they had disappeared into the void. 

I could’ve gone to my boxing class nevertheless. They had boxing gloves you could use a lesson or two or even rent. But what if they were so disappointed that I had lost the boxing gloves? I mean it wasn’t as if my one was a rental, I was too scared at the thought of staggered payments so I just bought my own pair. Yet the fact that I had lost my own precious gloves. What if they were so mad at me they kicked me out? Or even get beaten up and my bloodied body had been left to die in either the gym floors or some trash dump outside. But what if I didn’t go and they came to get me? Well, at least with that thought my parents wouldn’t allow them without a cup of coffee. As I was only precious cargo in their eyes. 

It was all way too much pressure. I spent the entire day thinking about whether I should go or not. Before I knew it, the sun had fallen. I had accomplished nothing. I didn’t find my gloves nor did I make a conclusion on my arrival to boxing class. Instead the world decided for me. As if it was out to get me as it typically did. It was all useless. 

Maybe there was something out to get me. Maybe after they’d take away all my stuff, they’d take me or even CJSISH . I couldn’t stand that as my heart palpitated in an exploding mess, wanting to rip through my flesh and let my bloodstream spew out. My eyes were already filled with fearful adrenaline at that point. Had it been my parents messing with me? Trying to get me back on that skin burning beverage. Or had it been me all this time? Being so frantic and messy all the time I couldn’t even keep track of the few things I could call my own. Were they even mine in the first place? I mean sure I had the receipts and kept them in my room but what even indicates ownership? A name? A receipt? Maybe I didn’t deserve anything. Was that the reason these items had been seemingly disappearing? Has there been something out to get me? Either way I needed to unravel it. 

With the hours of darkness in my hand, I staked the night under the covers. Trying to fight the urge to place all of my stuff in one huge pile. Since if I did, the perpetrator might know that something was up or they’d come up from behind the mountain, where I couldn’t see whatever had been cursing me. I didn’t struggle much with staying awake. I’ve already gotten numb to the night with the copious cups of coffee and infinitely streaming anxious adrenalin I’ve been burdened with throughout entire my life. The circles dwelling under my eyes can’t get any darker nor deeper anyways.

I kept my eyes wide open. Like an owl searching for prey in the night, except it was helpless and keeping an eye out for its predator. I had dilated my eyes so hard it hurt to keep them open. Except I had no choice. I had to keep them wide open.. Otherwise, what if the one time I had shut my eyes, the perpetrator had already completed their steal for the night? I just couldn’t risk it. So even if I did have to feel my eyes become a desert, I had to keep them wide open. All for my surveillance to be in the highest ability ever.

I tried to suppress my shaking as I lay. But that was futile. I had to at least accept that fact. At that point, I had been only running on my terrified adrenaline at that point. Who knows if I would have been able to move an inch from the covers as I was hammering all of my focus towards the barely lit room I thought I could call my own. Even all possible distractions were turned off. Anything to fidget with, phones or trinkets had been shut off and sacrificed to be hidden somewhere in the bedroom. 

I stayed up for hours watching. I took note of every little creek, every little tap and every little rustle amongst the walls. Honestly I was beginning to feel the adrenaline fizzle out. It was getting increasingly harder to not get soothed away from my weakening eyes. I almost felt like giving up and accepting that perhaps I just had two unlucky days in a row. 

Until, from my ears catched a small tune being sung from the walls. My body froze as soon as I heard this song play its jingle. I was completely unable to do anything. It sounds like your average work song. Yet it was seemingly coming from nowhere or at least from the walls. I held the covers tightly as strong as an owl's grip on a branch at night keeping an eye for anything to swoop down in the night. The only difference being that I had been hiding as the prey. 

I felt my heart urging to explode and burst out into pieces of flesh. Sometimes I wish it would. I had been getting restless as my trembling had been stronger than ever. Just like a jittering fly running away from a continuously attacking splatter. I almost had to let my hyperventilation let go and become fully audible to the entire bedroom until a small figure peeked out from a hole in the wall that seemingly appeared out of nowhere. 

It was a tiny group of miniscule humanoid figures all marching in a simultaneous single file. I couldn’t extract any detail from any of their features due to the lack of light that went into the bedroom. I could only decode but a silhouette of long hairy beard on their tiny disproportionate heads and a sharp pointy hat that made a third of their height. Just like your average garden gnome statues you’d place in your garden am I right? 

In one straight line, they approached my belongings. I couldn’t even budge at that time. I was only but a trembling rabbit cornered by a fox. As they continued to sing their nasty jingle in chorus they slowly moved closer into my drawer. Skillfully, as a team they swung open my cabinet and reached in for the steal of the night. I had still been frozen, still helpless and still useless as I saw one of them take out this time a single sock. Not a pair no. That way if I wasn’t aware of their existence, I would have an odd number of socks and therefore have an incomplete and useless set. Then I would go completely mad. Therefore, I could tell they knew what they were doing. They were trying to torment me, mess with me. Yet I lied still like  a helpless rabbit until they eventually retreated back into the drilled hole in the wall with my single sock. 

I stood awake for the rest of night. My eyes still painfully dilated except this time shaking. I finally let my breath out, gasps and heartbeat vibrating as fast as a hummingbird. Once more I felt like bursting out and yet I couldn’t. What if they had caught me awake? Then they’d know that I caught sight of them. Then I might as well say goodbye to my torturous life as they’d have to whisk me away too. If I couldn’t make my existence aware to them, what else could I possibly do?

I continued to tremble every single night. Watching the gnomes steal away another one of my few sentimental values. One by one. I had been going mad, losing all that I knew. I tried to tell my parents about them but what else would they suggest? Of course they just told me to cope with coffee. So then I tried to convince my partner. I could hear their voice getting increasingly tired and concerned with each screaming call of mine. All he told me was that I should distract myself, take a walk or even just go to sleep. Except, I couldn’t even go outside. What if while I was gone they had gotten in and stole another item? It just wasn’t worth the possibility. I know it's bad to stay in the same room for hours or even days at the time. But at least I had been forced to man the coffee shop around the puppets. So I guess that would count as my time outside of my room. Except I couldn’t get their presence out of my mind. I was glancing at every nook and cranny, keeping my ears perked up for any hint of their arrival. 

One night I saw them take away a brachiosaurus plush that I had treasured for years. I longed to retrieve it back, reach out my hand this time to be the one who stole an item tonight. Memories of the toy had flashed before my eyes and I almost inched my hands towards the marching group until I fell victim to one of the gnome’s gaze. My breathing had immediately been put to a stop and so had my movement. Just like a possum playing dead. Once again my efforts, futile. 

I did find the miniscule hole they came out from. Behind my bedside table had been a gap in the wall like those holes meant for mice to come in and out. I peeked into it but it was too dark and they had already stolen my flashlight. Meanwhile the flash on my phone had only depicted what was typically to be assumed the inside of someone’s walls. Planks of wood built up and a few hints of electrical wires and pipes. No hints of any mini existence within. One afternoon I even built up enough courage to barricade the tiny entrance. However it had all been futile. As my ears had to bare the pain of hearing the continuous bangs against the wooden barrier. At least they had assumed I wasn’t knowledgeable of their presence and assumed that I assumed they were rats. So I gave up blocking out their entrance. If they kept knocking it down with no effort then what was the point?

So many sleepless nights I spent watching them slowly make me lose my humanity. I couldn’t handle it. It was all too much. Staying freezed yet frazzled over each of one of my possessions they stole. I can’t do this anymore. They’re going to take everything. What if they took my parrot? What if they took me? I was scared, terrified, helpless.

And that’s when they took Craig. 

Screw it, I can't keep him anonymous any longer. I tried my best but that’s it.  

They didn’t exactly take Craig. He didn’t disappear with no goodbye. To put it simply, one morning at a time I felt somewhat safe enough to reach out for my phone. It noted a notification from Craig had popped up on my lock screen. I realised how long it has been since we had last even normally texted. The calls as of recently had mostly only consisted of me screaming about the ongoing gnome invasion but I was terrified and I didn’t have any other place to even go to…

With my shaking finger, I popped open the text. 

“I got accepted into a space expedition so I’m going off to space, goodbye.” 

Can you believe it? The guy sends the driest dead of the night text ever and thinks I won’t be pissed off? Does he think that’s okay!? It makes me want to punch him so bad. It makes my blood boil the fact that whilst I had been fighting for my life he went off into outer space to wear I could no longer reach him. 

Yet, I can’t blame him. I can’t stop him from pursuing his dreams. Good for him I guess. I can’t stop him from not wanting to talk to me anymore either. I know that I’m a lot to handle. I can’t even handle myself most of the time. Always trembling and anxious like a rabbit. It’s not like we technically broke up. I can still cling on to the delusional hope that he might come back. But it’s all too late for that. 

Why did Craig have to leave? All he really did was give me a bunch of reasons to ignore those monsters but it didn’t solve the problem! I don’t know what I’m even supposed to do. Stuck here within the confines of this coffeeshop. Maybe I freaked him out too much. Maybe it’s all my fault that I have to be so difficult all the time. He was so good to me or at least he tried unlike anyone else in my life. Yet my stupid stupid head had to ruin it all by freaking out too much… I overloaded him. Didn’t even have time to consider how he felt.

I couldn’t do it any moment longer. I could feel the gnome’s clench on my life slowly and almost tighten until my ribs would have exploded. It’s too much. It’s all way too much pressure. I can feel the ghosts of all of my adrift items weigh on my head. I can’t do it. I can’t do it at all. But I need to. I know what I have to do. 

I lied awake for one more night. Just waiting for their cursed arrival. My body had begun to itch, hairs fully raised to the sky yet I lied still, calm. Eyes ready to jump from the slightest reaction. My breathing, stable and silent. In my steady hands a lead pipe I had taken from the wall. I made my presence invisible unlike any other night where I had been constantly shaking and trembling under the gnome’s control over all my possessions and mind. This time I needed to take control of my mind and self. Otherwise I’d lose it all. 

A jingle from the wall. My already dilated eyes had somehow become even wider like an owl sensing tonight’s feast. From the corner of my pupils, it was there. In their usual single file order, singing their thumping terrible work song as they marched along what was supposed to be my property. As they walked over to my drawer, ready to whisk away another piece of my identity. I pounced towards my prey. One hand gripping my lead pipe and the other clenching the ones that had tormented me for so very long. 

I finally caught a glimpse of more of their silhouettes. They looked as terrified as I once did. They looked human. Wrinkles and beard marking their face like any other normal person, except the size of my hand. I almost felt remorse for them. But that remorse had swiftly faded away as in my hands I clenched with every single bit of strength I could muster. In one visceral splatter, the gnome in my grasp had exploded into miniscule bits of flesh and blood staining my clothes and skin. The other gnomes immediately bursted out into a confuddled mess, trying to retreat back into their hole but I had acted fast. As with my other hand gripped onto the pipe I had quickly smashed them too into pieces. 

It all happened in one fast breath. A rush of thoughts had been running through my mind as with each death came with it the sound of flesh being smashed into smithereens. How many left standing? Are any of them trying to escape? Oh Jesus, what if one tries to stab me in the back? Are we sure that one there’s dead? Maybe I should hit it again just to make sure. Even with the rushing thoughts however, it felt as if the pressure was leaving my shoulders and giving me the euphoric bliss of cathartic peace. I no longer felt at the point of dying as the ones that were going to die were right before me. All with one bash, splat and crash from my red tainted pipe. 

In the end I had been left with a bloodied room and body with scattered pieces of tiny flesh. The worst part is that I somewhat still felt euphoric at this gruesome sight. I had finally been safe in my room. I had retrieved my control back. The monsters were gone. But I don’t think I can stay here much longer. Or more like I can finally leave. There’s still a few threads I need to tie up but now I believe I can get out of here once and for all. Even if I have to be the last one standing.

Archivist:

Statement ends. 

Well… where do we even begin?

Despite the fact that the Coffeeshop has been long gone for a while, it is nice to get some background on the son’s… let’s say mental state at the time. Unfortunately, there’s not much we can really gather nor say about this statement. Most pieces of Tweek Bros. Coffeehouse may as well be considered lost media and information to us. I guess we can extract that the owners of Tweek Bros are quite neglectful to their son and the insistence on having him drink coffee in though clearly not needing it is definitely, unorthodox. 

Gnomes… having your main tormenter to be gnomes is indeed jarring even to me, a worker at a paranormal research institute. Small humanoid creatures that slowly whisk away all your possessions. Indeed an interesting concept yet no way to confirm their existence. They may as well be a simple urban legend. At least this part of the case didn’t get out to the public as we’d be having… a range of increasingly hyperbolic myths. So perhaps Tweek is content with this being his legacy who knows. 

His partner Craig, although no last name was ever given I do believe somewhere in these records, a certain Craig Tucker has been cited to have made a statement. If only I could find it in this never ending heap that would be really helpful. 

Recording ends 

[CLICK]

Chapter Text

Archivist:

Ok so let me get this straight. 

You want me to begin reading this statement of yours, right now?

Jimmy: 

Y-yes please! It’s v-very im-im-impor- relevant. If I do say so myself.

Archivist:

Well I’m sorry but even to esteemed comedian and journalist the likes of you, Jimmy Swanson Valmer. Despite being renowned for your famous or infamous articles, I believe this intrusion still counts as acts of trespassing as these archives are restricted even to many of the employees here. Therefore, it is still jarring to have such a calm conversation after you barged your way in here and ordered me to read your statement out loud immediately, is a bit…

Jimmy: 

Well I was allowed in here anyways! I-it’s not like I can read the statement out loud myself as-as much as I would love too and you n-never know when inspiration will st-stri-stri happen.. Which is why it would be just fantastic if I could h-hear the esteemed archivist read m-my statement. 

Oh and don’t report this nor the statement to the police even if they su-su s- su- are horrible at doing their j-jobs. As I w-won’t publish anything na-na-nast bad about you guys even with your already dicey r-r reputation. 

Archivist:

Well… fine by me, since you didn’t even question the dodgy technology we use around here. Just don’t cause any noise and you may stay.

Statement of Jimmy Valmer regarding his past use of steroids. Original statement given May 16th 2016. Audio recording by Kyle Broflovski, head Archivist of the South Park institute. 

Statement begins

Archivist (Statement):

People take steroids for many different reasons. For me, I guess I just felt the need to catch up with all of my fellow peers or I just needed to become stronger in general. I thought well, if thousands of people are also taking steroids then, what’s the big difference if I do the same? Perhaps I’m even just getting to face their own level too. Not like I can really beat most people in the leg department in the first place. Being handicapable with my crutches and everything. So what’s the harm?

I just wanted more in the end. And I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t stop injecting all of those serums, those chemicals, that addicting medicine into my veins. Eventually I would get numb to the pain of constant needles piercing through my skin. No pain no gain am I right? Ultimately it was all one big excuse for me to turn to drugs as a way to get stronger. That sort of strength isn’t earnt righteously however and it makes you even more of a coward when you turn to them, is what I believe now however. 

It started off small like all codependences do. I was still in high school at the time and there was going to be an athletics competition for kids with disabilities near my school, the Special Olympics it was called. I picked my biggest focus for the challenge  to be weightlifting. Since I already have to carry metal poles almost all the time, the only difference would be weight and the poles being horizontal. I mean come on, how hard could it be? Was what I had been thinking at the time, either I believed it or thought it was funny. Of course if I could stand my ground in other challenges that would just be fantastic. An additional thing of note is that I was slowly yet surely getting rather competitive in regards to this competition. As with the fame and money prize I could have earned, it would have been a great line to put in my comedian resume and would even kickstart the beginning of a few joke ideas. For example, did you know I won my high school weightlifting competition? Yeah it sure was a heavy weight to bear. 

Apologies, I just can’t help but let my creative juices flow whenever I have a pencil and paper in my hand. 

So be it either fame, money or pure pettiness I set my eyes on winning no matter what. No matter what. 

I began with the basics. I didn’t have enough cash to my name to get myself nor feel the need to even acquire a trainer. I was quite in fact pretty overconfident at the start of my journey, believing I could accomplish first place all by myself with no third party help required. Since, I was very fortunate and lucky that there were few fantastic friends I had that would help me by being my spotter. Of course I would help out on their side as much as I could especially if they were doing any other sports. Or even spot them in their own weightlifting warm ups. I wanted to play fair with my challengers after all.

Starting simple and unguided, I had begun my treacherous and long journey into lifting weights. Boy was it a lot to lift am I right? I do a few lifts here and there and then more on the dumbbells in case I ever get tired. As the more working out and effort you put in, you're guaranteed for improvement. Well, that training regime showed its fruits of labour for the first few days. I saw a small increase in the amount of lifts I was able to do and I was even managing to keep them in the air for longer durations. However, it still didn’t suffice. I noticed that all of the peers and people that I would help out in spotting were achieving far greater times and amounts than I had been. Somehow they were already getting accustomed faster than I was. As a writer of jokes, I know it’s bad to compare yourself to the people around you but come on it was a competition and these were the people I had to beat. So with such a fantastic opportunity to be near my future opponents, I just needed to at least observe what level my crutches had to be set to before the actual battle. 

Seeing my weak and flimsy arms compared to the competitors I soon had to face, I felt like nothing in contrast to the muscle they all seemingly gained overnight or at least I felt like I had been doing garbage. There was something wrong with what I was doing. I wasn’t manipulating my body enough to reach it to be the way that I wanted it to be. Call it body dysmorphia or whatever it may be, I was unhappy, I was going to lose and I needed to fix that. 

With this new added drive or desperation, I worked harder. Harder than I ever thought I could before. I trained almost the entire afternoon and sweated through the entire weekend. I mean come on who needs a break when there’s a literal championship reaching closer everyday? Or when you can’t even compare to the people around you because of how much better they are at what you do? I needed to be stronger, that was it, and fast too as each day the competition was speeding closer. I felt the pressure to not even put money into a trainer as none of my other rapidly growing competitors ever invested in one so why should I have the need to? What I wanted was a quick and easy way to reach their level and even surpass them. 

I felt horrible, I felt limp almost close to passing out every single moment yet I couldn’t stop. Who cared if my muscles were pulsating and aching through every movement because I didn’t. Countless day ins and day outs in the gym never halting for a break, only brief sips of hydration throughout the workout. Everyone had already left the gym at that point so I even tossed the chance of a spotter aside and simply lifted weights by myself. I even almost completely forgot about my girlfriend at the time, Nancy. She expressed her concerns but I assured I was doing fine. Rather, this new found independence would surely make me improve by a fantastic amount wouldn’t it.

However it didn’t. Rather I felt the numbers begin to dwindle. Less weights lifted, less durations of endurance held and less muscle. I was falling behind. I was falling behind so fast that there may have been no way to pull myself back up to my crutches before the time had come where I had to officially compete. I thought that it may as well be futile at this point. If my training was just going to make me worse I might as well resign rather than humiliate myself. The Special Olympics were only a week away. Did I really have enough time to rebuild myself? I thought to myself. That was until from a narrow hall in the gym a voice ushered me towards them, calling my name. I thought there was no one else inside the gym but perhaps my focus was so hammered on training I simply hadn’t noticed their presence. It was definitely jarring that they had somehow known my name but I guess that’s what is expected for a future comedy show host. 

Once I had grabbed my crutches that leaned to the side of the empty piece of equipment beside me, I approached this elusive person behind the wall. A man, roughly my age that wore glasses and had his light brown hair slicked back away from his face. During our entire interaction he always seemed to solely look down on me with his head tilted upwards. The man introduced himself in a slow breathy voice as “Nathan.” I could definitely describe Nathan’s mannerisms as eccentric but I could also describe him as having a great eye for catching opportunities or low on their esteem. 

Nathan immediately took an eye on my current mental and physical state. He asked how my training had been going. As my arms were screaming inside me, I had to be frank to him, it wasn’t going great. I explained to him that it looked like all of my work had been useless and only degraded my ability. I was seriously suffering from the fact that everyone else around me has far surpassed me and that I may well be better off not participating. 

Nathan nodded with his already upturned head as he closed his eyes, hearing out my sentiments. In which he introduced the concept of a certain ‘shortcut’ as he revealed a set of pills and syringes in his palm. I assumed that these were steroids and boy was I knowledgeable of what they are of course, stimulatory drugs that enhance the performance of your adrenal glands and I knew they were illegal. However, he commented that these weren’t exactly such manmade concoctions. Then claiming that these chemicals won’t appear in the urine test and I’d be witnessing improvement in no time. I was still doubtful about this promotion. Even when commented that some other people in the gym have used them. I implored him to give me a demonstration of what type of growth could possibly be achieved by these so-called medicines he was advertising to me. For me to comprehend such things, I stuck to calling them steroids as somewhat of an umbrella term. 

And so he did as he called over someone, in quite a large voice, named “Mimsy”. I was baffled at first as I was simply just bargaining my way to see if this desperate path had really been worth it even if I was already clenching my hand on the edge of the cliff. With this opportunity granted to be however, I just needed to witness how effective were these performance enhancing really?

From one of the doors in between the hallways, a mysterious creek had been let out soon accommodated by a large stocky fellow. His shirt and waist seemed to be haphazardly placed onto him as his clothes gripped for their lives, clearly being some sizes too small. Sure he was stocky but nothing too impressive. I immediately began to have my doubts. It was only until my dealer, Nathan yelled at him to “get the other specimen.” Mimsy promptly followed, returning back into the room and bringing out a new much more enormous figure. 

I can’t quite properly describe this guy’s physique actually. I could comprehend sure, it made sense and I was definitely sure he was at least human I tell you that. I could at least extract however was that these were truly the effects of those steroids. From his arms alone I could tell that he would easily be able to lift up at least five times the weight of my own, in comparison, flimsy body. I noticed his face had the sun spray freckles from top to bottom and his hair was a deep orange. His eyes were empty too as if they had no soul nor thought beneath them. Furthermore, if he had dared to even compete in the championships, why I would be a dead man at that point. 

So this was the true extent steroids could push you in. Well of course I had to give it a try. I mean come on it’s not like the drugs would be my only source of improvement. Of course I would keep going with my own physical training, the steroids would only be there to just give me the boost I needed. Besides, if the other guy looked fine, how could it ruin me? 

I can’t say the steroids were cheap at that. The stash that I had bought was expected to last me for the week until the championship, as I didn’t want to waste time taking multiple spending trips. Nathan claimed that he had to negotiate through overseas exports and get his back off vice. Or whatever that vice was. He said the business he and his partner, Mimsy worked for this company called “State Farm Delivery.” It was probably some underground black market business so I didn’t really dig deep as I wouldn’t want my search history to get mixed up with those guys. Simply had to take what I got. It’s not like I knew any other dealers or what steroids should actually cost. Most of those stuff should be held under wraps and besides the competition was about a week away, I didn’t have time to go searching for any cheaper dealers. 

Everyday I had to take three of the small blue ones across the day at separate times. Then, twice a day, before my meals I had to inject a few needles into my bloodstream. The injections were painful at first but when you do it everyday alongside gaining muscle, you just become numb to constantly making microscopic stabs through your skin. At one point I even felt myself get stronger just by feeling that stimulating sensation run through my veins.

And only three days later, I enjoyed the fruits of my labour for a simple fleeting moment. I saw that I was able to do a lot more. More curls, more bench presses and more muscle. I felt euphoric, even unstoppable. Even the others around me were in awe of my literal overnight evolution. I had become invincible, so extreme to the fact I couldn’t stop. Not once did I feel like throwing the towel at any point during the day. I felt myself and muscles changing, evolving, improving. I was going to win and I could win. Even during the trials the umpires bet that I would even beat championship records. My ego had been so huge that I began shifting my working out towards other sports. For example, sure I could take on long jump or swimming or track or high jump, maybe even all at once. No matter what sport, no matter what conditions I could do it, me and my muscles could do it. 

However, even with this evolution I needed more. Bigger. Stronger. Faster. More exercise, more pills and more injections. I needed that non-stop adrenaline to run through my bloodstream and brain. I couldn’t lose now. I still needed more because what if some other person would take a hit at these precious pills? I was high on hormones and I couldn’t risk falling from the podium before the challenge had even begun. The bandages on my arm kept growing rather than healing and I was beginning to build up irritation in every little thing I had noticed about myself. My biceps needed to be worked on or my forearm strength needed to be worked on. I was yet to reach perfection and if I couldn’t reach peak perfection then I could easily be beaten. So I continued for hours never even thinking of a break. 

Concern and tension began to grow between me and Nancy. However, I didn't register that thought, only until one night I had been curling my way through the hours in my room and I heard a knock come from the door. I told the door that I was busy but it opened nevertheless and behind it had been Nancy. I didn’t realise it but I had been ignoring all her concerned texts and when was the last time we even had a full conversation? We were even supposed to meet for the donut shop today but I had completely wiped that out of my brain and replaced it with adrenaline. It was all put in the spotlight at this moment and yet I dismissed the bright light that shone upon it. Instead, I retaliated back at her. Upsetly, commented a few nasty things to her. She had been distraught and I completely dismissed her own feelings only until she claimed that she was going to leave me and that I wasn’t the boy she fell in love with anymore. How could she not want to date me anymore? I thought. Clearly I had changed but certainly not in a negative way right? No, this change has only made me soar high up to the skies and she. She wanted to bring me down. She had become envious of my body. I was flabbergasted. Who knew as I was reaching closer and closer to my peak form I would only be met by envy by the person I thought loved me. Maybe even everyone else around me may as well have been jealous.

So through my enraged and palpitating self, I burst out at her. Burst out on the assumptions that my unclear brain had been running on. To be frank, I may have been close to reaching my limit. My mind felt as if it was in the air as my nerves palpated and moved on its own away from the brain. Before I knew it my weights had been replaced by my crutches and I had begun to continuously punch, kick and hit my own girlfriend. I needed her to stay with me and realise that this form of mine was unreachable to the likes of her. I didn’t want to be left with a broken heart but I guess I already did. As ever since I had started taking those steroids my flesh had never had gotten a break had it. It was always palpitating, working and aiming to become bigger and better.

My mother, hearing the sounds of screams from upstairs, ushered her way into my room trying to stop my acts of violence and I even ended up hurting her too. I looked down at both of their bruised and bloodied faces. So this was the true extent those steroids could take me. Leaving me shrivelled and alone in the narrow hallway I called home. I punched a deep crack in the wall, horrified at the damage I’ve caused and the damage I could still create.

Except I was in far too deep at this point. The injections and pills had already deeply injected themselves into my skin. So as much as I wanted to scream, as much as I wanted to bleed out my contaminated bloodstream and return to my flimsy self it was all too late. The Olympics were only in two days, so I couldn't risk anything else. So either I quit whilst being so close to the finish line or I tough it up, like I’ve always had been. I picked the latter of course, as I stabbed one more piercing needle of chemicals into my bloodstream. 

I was alone the next day, my parents had gone out after the events of last night and they were gone for the week. I could not bat an eye at this phenomenon though, after all the competition was just a sleep away. I couldn’t really think of walking all the way over to the gym either. I couldn’t afford to have some warm up walk or run over, I just needed to continue working and training because that’s what truly mattered to me. Push it. Push it. More stronger. More buffer. I skipped breakfast but I at least knew I had to stop and take a dose of my daily medicine. What would I be without it after all. 

Taking my stash out of the bag, I noticed it had been the last syringe of chemical left. Perhaps this was a good sign, maybe I could have a chance at halting my steroids intake and getting back my girlfriend. It was just a thought however, some part of me was still considering spending more of my hard earned cash on Nathan’s product even after the championship. I was still in the middle of such a decision but I was at least sure that I needed to keep taking it until the championships had begun. Well of course I picked the latter option as I placed the syringe up to my veins, already numb to the high pitched sting it would give me. Except what was odd about these steroids was that they didn’t at all feel like the ones that I typically had taken the fast few days. As it ran through my bloodstream, dosing me with that artificial adrenaline, I can’t fully grasp such sensation. Yet, rather than feeling as if I could easily punch anyone who came against me, a strong soothing wave came over me as I felt the fantastic reassurance of growth on my left arm. 

I already felt my muscles begin to expand. Shape themselves into their ideal form. Bigger, buffer until they may explode. They kept growing, increasing and then from my deltoids to my biceps and then to my extensors. My muscles kept stretching and expanding through my skin until they had turned into incomprehensibly shapes and sizes of flesh. They didn’t stop either. My own flesh and bone pleaded to become free of this skin. My face turned to horror at this sight as my arm had twisted and distorted into a size almost as big as my own bed. I had lost my central balance too as my arm reached towards the ceiling, I had also joined such height. 

Do you remember that one scene from Alice in Wonderland, where Alice in a hurry takes a bite of a cake piped with the enticing words of ‘eat me’ and grows to the size of a house? Perhaps that’s the best way to describe my phenomenon at the time without divulging into the impossible curves and bends my body and morphed into. Either way my body wouldn’t stop growing and eventually I saw myself sprouting out additional limbs and arms. Like a tree sprouting out new branches. I was struggling to maintain control of my body, in fact I may as well have completely lost it all. The flesh under my skin longed to escape or reach across its boundary called my skin whilst it disproportionately stretched and expanded. I could even sense and listen to the sound of my own muscles shifting across my body as if it had not been my own no longer. I was changing, changing all too fast that I had lost my own self. It may as well be a punishment of my greed, my pride or my envy or perhaps an ugly concoction of all of those emotions at once that I had cultivated myself. The seed had been planted a long time ago, the concoction was only but a fertiliser. Maybe this was the body that I had found ideal or suitable to compete and yet it had been incomprehensible when viewed at. Muscles disproportionately and inconveniently gigantic, sprouting and forming an impossible amount of additional flesh and bone out of it whilst it screamed viscerally as it gutted outside of my own body. 

The only thing I had somewhat control and position would have been my own literal head. I had to somehow regain enough control to stop this mess of bone from further destroying the walls and destroying myself. It was all in a flash when I swerved my entire centre of balance over to the side like a turtle on its shell. Then I swerved myself over to hit the side of my desk to effectively dislocate my arm. I screamed at the visceral pain it shouted back at me but maybe I deserved it in the end. 

The growth stopped from there, I was grateful that the only casualties had been a few cracks in the wall and a destroyed window. I couldn’t really tell if anyone caught a glance at this new form of mine or at least no one ever screamed at it nor reported it. I didn’t go to the competition in the end. Technically I couldn’t but even if I was able to, I had been horrified to even go move any parts of my limbs anymore nor even have to bare an witness anyone else move their own anatomy.

So I sat out for the entire week, all alone. Nothing but the few bits of cracked hard paint falling onto me and the floor from time to time. It takes a while for steroids to wash out your body. Typically the most effective way to remove fluids from your body would be to drink tons of water and so I did that. Well that was when I had enough manipulation of my body back and got over my uncomfortable queasiness of returning to an entity of naturally moving flesh. In the first place, the thought of flesh being all under control by one single piece of flesh is already an uncomfortable thought to lurk on. Maybe I should be grateful that we have skin to protect us from having to witness such a demonstration upfront. 

Either way, with enough time and dedication, I was back in form, not an ideal one but a form at that. I was able to once again grab my crutches and look at myself in the mirror. It’s weird to see your body back into the flimsy form you used to hate, almost uncomfortable. Yet, some part of me had to accept that fact. I burned away all remnants of the steroids, even the bag that I had kept them in. I kept trying to get stronger and stronger as a means to overcome and take the spot of first place but in the end I just became so blinded by this goal, I hurt myself and the people around me.

Archivist:

Statement ends. 

It has sort of an abrupt ending. Do you have anything else to add such as are you still going to gyms or what not? 

Jimmy: 

G-great question, Archivist. Well, it took while but I did ev-ventually return to working out. Except my m-m-m-motivations have changed around this time. Rather I’m looking at developing my own s-self rather than being able to be stronger than another person. Oh and no dr-drugs of course. It’s been just fantastic really.  It also has a wonderful m-m-mo- lesson doesn’t it? Don’t take drugs kids. 

[ PAUSE FOR NONEXISTENT LAUGHTER]

Wow what a great audience. And so I guess you’re pr-probably wondering why I would confess such things so late. I mean come on, it’s been what? Eight years since I graduated from high school. I assume that’s less than you though, archivist. 

Archivist:

Unfortunately, your guess is wrong. I am in fact the same age as you, twenty six. 

However, yes I would like to know of your motivations of handing in this statement. It’s not rare for statement givers to begin writing so far after their interactions with the paranormal. The fact that the memories lingered for so long sometimes tends to incline me more to believing them too. 

But what my main inquiry is, why you had to barge into such clearly off-limits areas. I mean, you did know if we had a lead we’d likely contact you for a follow up right?

Jimmy: 

To answer the f-first question, well it’s a quite funny story actually. A few days ago, I was w-walking home from a show and you wouldn’t believe what I saw!

[ PAUSE ] 

Archivist:

Just get straight to the point please. I’d rather not indulge in your humour to be frank. 

Jimmy: 

Wow what a great audience. 

Anyway I had been walking back late at n-night right? And in the corner of my eye I saw the most str-st-st peculiar yet familiar of things behind a van window. Brown hair slicked all the back paired with the glint of gold framed sunglasses. Next to the slicked back hair was once again a stocky silhouette that I had also r-recognised. Why it had been Nathan and Mimsy, back at it again looking sh-sh-shifty as a-always. 

I glanced at the van the two were situated in, the words “State Farm Delivery Service” pla-plastered on with a muted red logo, accompanied by an intricate spider web on the side. 

Archivist:

Do you believe these two are on the move again? 

Jimmy: 

Ind-deed. Thank god for the devil's luck as I quickly retreated away from their line of s-sight without catching their a-a-attention. Th-this was only a few days ago too, I believe they’re still around here with their c-cargo. 

Archivist:

I see. Our team will move on with these leads. Thank you for the information.

Jimmy: 

Oh, well I was e-expecting for you guys to have some sort of information. It seems y-you’re just as clueless as most. 

Archivist:

Excuse me- 

Jimmy: 

It’s f-f-fine. I’ll be c-c- advancing my research into this. I’ll contact you instead if I need to. Goodbye then archivist. 

[ JIMMY PICKS UP HIS CRUTCHES AND EXITS]

Archivist:

Oh- well, okay?

[CLICK]

[CLICK]

Archivist:

Supplemental. 

That same postal service strikes again and nearby too. Even worse it seems as if our one witness isn’t inclined for us to dig deeper into this and would rather do this himself. We haven’t gotten any contact back from him and I doubt he will after a bit of a sour interaction. 

Maybe if we hand over some previous statements involving that duo, we’d get something back. As of now there’s not much we can do as we were never given a proper location. 

My main assumption though is the two are probably just black market dealers and the steroids were just some failed experiment. Maybe it’s good that we're not getting our hands dirty into the black market then. 

Recording ends 

[CLICK]

[CLICK]

[SOUND OF CLACKING ACROSS THE FLOOR ALONGSIDE A BUSTLING CITY AND A TRUCKS EXHAUST HONKING NEARBY]

Jimmy:

Hm w-well didn’t seem to get much out of that experience but o-o-oh well. 

[FOOTSTEPS]

Jimmy:

W-wait a second. D-don’t I know you? 

Nathan :

Hm I'm sorry sir… but we’re just here to do our job. 

We two are just your average postmen after all, it's very easy to see a familiar face. Ain't that right, Jimmy?

[MUFFLED STRUGGLING VOICE OF JIMMY] 

Mimsy:

What should we do with him, boss?

Nathan :

Just… stuff him the truck. I think Leslie might like this one. Besides that we have a job to do. 

[CLICK]

[CLICK]

Wendy :

Uhm excuse me, Kyle. You have a delivery. 

Archivist:

Uh, I didn’t order anything. Who’s it from? 

Wendy :

There’s no name on the package. Not even an address. 

Archivist:

So no idea what’s in it either? 

Wendy :

Nope.

[a beat]

Archivist:

Well... might as well take the risk. What could it possibly be?

[BOX IS PROPPED ONTO THE DESK]

Wendy:

If you say so.

[ARCHIVIST TEARS THROUGH PACKAGING AND UNSEALS A CARDBOARD BOX]

Archivist :

Hm well isn’t this interesting.

Wendy:

A pocket knife? 

Archivist :

Yeah. It’s got an interesting engraving on the handle too. 

Like a spider's web. 

[CLICK]

Chapter Text

[CLICK]

Archivist:

Statement of Theresa, no last name given regarding Heidi Turner’s reanimation. Original statement given November 15th 2015. Audio recording by Kyle Broflovski, head Archivist of the South Park Institute.

Archivist (statement):

They say you become more and more like the person you’re with and I can’t help but believe that till this day in every waking moment I still live.  

I believe I feel safer to remain anonymous. I fear what threat I place myself in if my identity is ever revealed so sorry for the lack of a surname. I’m already putting myself at risk for coming to this godforsaken place in fact. In the end, I just want to put this all behind me and finally let out those haunting memories. Who cares if anyone before me has written the exact same events in this very place. Maybe I even have the best recounts. Is what I like to think. 

It all began when Heidi Turner had gotten herself a boyfriend. On a technicality it was when she had been forcefully wiped off the internet and isolated into her own plane of disconnection. Maybe that was what had made her so vulnerable in the first place to such a guy. Sometimes I think I could have done something to pull her back into a logical world but she was just too stubborn for her own good. 

We knew her boyfriend was bad news ever since we first met him. Known for manipulating those around him as if the world was a toy to him. He made himself anything but the aggressor. Always the victim and never to be blamed. That’s why he too had been tossed off the internet. Except in Heidi’s case it was a genuine case of nasty nonstop threats flooding her inbox in which she couldn’t take it anymore.

I mean, Heidi was always one to be naive and even worse her severe stubbornness got in the way of me and my group of girl friends trying to express our concerns. Maybe her isolation led her to be in such a vulnerable state and just increased her worse traits by a ten fold. And from these critiques she only got farther and farther away from us until she became almost irrelevant to our clique.

So the girl found somewhere else to reside. As she was desperate, who wouldn’t be? After tossing out every single bit of praise and clout you could have gotten. She had been left alone and vulnerable to almost anyone. I should have done something but instead I chose to stand by and avert my gaze to your loneliness. However someone did gaze upon her. That being the man known as Eric Cartman, your own son. 

I hope you fully realise my reason and choice to remain anonymous now. Well at least lets pray you two sharing the same last name is just a coincidence, surely it is right? Sorry, I just need to be sure you see the full picture now that I have almost completely put myself in danger. It’s just that when I see you through the looking glass, so carefree as if you haven’t even witnessed the horrors that could even arise. It makes me more horrified and disgusted than ever, that you could just let him do that. But then again I have to consider if he was even in your control in the first place. In the end, I believe it’s both of you and your son’s horrible faults for what happened to Heidi. If you even call that man your son. God I hope he’s not here. As I write this I’m glancing at every little corner just in case I see that fat brunette man smirking at me from across the room. 

To her, it was either a strike of fate but to me it had been  misfortune. It seems that they had both shared a need for another’s undivided attention. So they began dating. I can’t say it was out of romantic interest. No. Definitely not. Absolutely not. It was out of the human desire to simply not remain isolated. Although on Eric's behalf I believe he held devious intentions from the very beginning. 

As I’m assuming you know, Eric has always had a nasty reputation surrounding him. I don’t even know why you allow him out in the broad daylight. Even almost, repulsive just to look at sometimes. But personal opinions out of the way, he was already infamously known to get away with literally everything. An unstoppable force he was. It’s funny because I don’t ever remember seeing you at all. Of course I didn’t at all associate myself with that disgusting force of nature but still, you’d think we’d cross paths at least once before this one but perhaps who were just too busy doing your job right?

Me and all of my friends all reacted quite reasonably when we first saw the two holding hands in the hallway I would say. We were flabbergasted, absolutely shocked at this sight. We just couldn’t believe it. Sure, we haven't been up to date with Heidi ever since she had slowly faded away but nevertheless it was as if it came out of nowhere. 

I only ever saw a few bits of their little honeymoon phase but it was as if they were attached by the hip at any moment. Honestly it was quite a repulsing sight to see the two link hands wherever they went. Sometimes through passing conversation I heard Eric coddling Heidi. Constantly saying how she was so smart and so funny. As if it was exactly what she wanted to hear because honestly from his past actions I doubted they were ever genuine sometimes. Unfortunately, at one point our entire friend group just had to accept it, some even bore growing jealousy towards the two. We did try to express our concerns and criticisms towards Heidi but she had insisted that Eric was different and actually a decent person. Of course, there was no way we could have possibly believed in her but to each their own perhaps. And so both me and the girls parted our ways with Heidi Turner. 

That was until they broke up. The first of many break ups that is. 

It had first been announced as a rumour online from a hidden witness of the two. A video of Eric crying as he declared that the two should part ways had been posted during the weekend. They’re faces were rather skewed from the angle so much that I couldn’t properly deduct Heidi’s reaction to such a declaration. Furthermore, we never got to know the recorder of such video, as it was revealed on an anonymous gossip site. Either way, it spread like wildfire. 

Apparently they were going through a rough patch. Some people commented on how Cartman had been slowly getting tired of Heidi. As observed he was constantly becoming drowsy whenever she even approached him. What a tonal shift. It was as if he was trying to guilt Heidi until he finally broke things up. In the back of my mind I thought that it even looked liked Heidi was at fault for this breakup. 

It was the first thing that went out people’s tattle tailed mouths, once Monday morning had come. The theories and interpretations lingered through the school halls. Some had questioned who truly had caused such an altercation. As Eric was the one who cut it off, perhaps Heidi was the one that should be viewed in a darker light? Or maybe, it had been another one of Eric’s schemes. Our cursedly curious minds desperately needed to conclude the exact details of the events to pick a side. So me and the girls casually roamed through the hallway, trying to be the first to spot our past friend. There was no way we were going to talk to Cartman after all.

I had been nonchalantly pacing myself through the school grounds trying to spot the two. Oddly enough, whilst observing through the yellow stained walls I had found myself a neon green beetle shining in the cool, sterile light. From the looks of it, the beetle was the size of my palm. I remember vaguely from an excursion years ago the exact species was that of the scarab, figeater beetle. The species isn’t that important really but seeing a beetle known for enjoying sweet fruits and coming out in the summer months, appearing to me on a damp winter morning inside the rowdy school grounds was such an anomaly. It’s not like I was panicked by its sight, I believe I’m more tolerant to bugs compared to your average person as of my living conditions. If I did want to kill it, I could just scoop it up and into a bucket of soapy water but it was a single one, what harm could it even do. At worst I could steal the neighbour's pesticide (the ones that kill instantly) that he leaves outside and be left with toxic chemicals in the air with piles of dead beetles. In fact, figeater beetles are completely harmless to humans. So there was no reason to just yet. 

I marvelled at the beetle for at least a long minute and before I knew it a sight of light brunette hair had passed through my peripheral vision as the beetle scurried into a tiny vent.

There as I swerved my head around, had been the elusive Heidi Turner, linking hands with Eric Cartman. Once again, I had been left utterly confused by this same sight yet different circumstances. So they got back together. Just in a single weekend? I thought the two, getting together in the first place but going in and out so quickly? I had my doubts and suspicions, in fact the entire school did and yet we barely did much to interfere. After all, Eric Cartman is a force to be reckoned with. 

Too cowardly we were for direct inquiry nor confrontation, so the entire cohort simply continued to simply observe and whisper out rumours thereafter. One moment it would be Cartman whining about his torturous relationship with Heidi, the next moment he’d claim that he ended it with her and before you knew it they were back linked to the hip as apparently Heidi had begged for him to come back. It seemed tedious really. Nonstop in and out, breaking up and making up. Of course no one would want to get thrown in the fray. We just let it keep growing into one big pile of noxious trash and thrown out arguments and typically teenagers don’t enjoy cleaning up garbage. I kept seeing the bright green beetles lurk around in every nook and cranny too. Sometimes I’d find one alone on a wall, eating on decomposed school lunch or even their nests. Sometimes I even considered killing the next one that I would see but in the end I never got to do it. I don’t know, I just felt bad for them I guess. They were such a beautiful bright tint and I guess some of my parents' naturalistic teachings got to me. So I let them thrive as long as they were outside, where they were meant to be and simply chose to view from afar. 

From my observations, it was always Cartman that blabbered on about their relationship. Complaining how manipulative or how extreme that girl's mood swings got. Heidi never said a word about it however. Never refuted nor complained about these things. Or if she did, she’d be immediately silenced for more whiny cries of her partner. As no one even wanted to listen to her in the first place so why attempt now?

That was until Heidi Turner began to transform. A metamorphosis if you would call it. She began to join us back on the table. Just out of nowhere yet, announcing herself in. She even barged her way into the centre of our conversation yelling an obnoxious greeting. Each one of us stared at her in surprise by this entrance as all that she had been doing in recent had just been hiding behind Eric’s back. From this reaction, she exclaimed “what?” In a blunt nasty tone. Which had definitely been out of character for Heidi but overall it seemed as if she was doing okay? I couldn’t really make up a proper justification for this but she was away from Cartman at least. I assumed that was a good sign. According to the news, they were even in the break up part of the cycle too so who knows maybe it was the final one. Still I couldn’t help but shake off that feeling as I had to dispose of my food because a beetle had decided to call it its own. 

It’s probably a good time to bring it up now but I used to live in something called a tiny home. Or a trailer van some people call it. It was just how my family believed it was the right way of living. As you could live closer to the forest most of the time and it was more environmentally friendly to the Earth. I do understand why people would often chagrin at this sort of lifestyle, I do feel content with it. As it’s nice to feel you’re doing good everyday except not so much with having to park near a forest.

You see, the beetles kept subtly until in almost every corner of my eye, there was a tiny of fluorescent green. They even started inhabiting my own tiny home. It’s not like it was repulsive or scary to have them but the fact that they insisted upon making themselves a guest to my life was rather annoying. Sometimes I forced myself to not look at the freeloader but from time to time that bucket filled with a concoction of soap and water was tempting. Only problem would be is how would I get rid of all the corpses as only more creatures would let themselves in to eat up the dead beetles. Dumping them outside too would only cause a horrific sight, that my parents won’t enjoy either. 

We could’ve just parked in some random parking lot, we really could have. Even if the bugs would still creep through the walls, it would have at least made me feel safer that they came from the neighbourhood. Or that way my parents would view them as abnormal and not mother nature thanking us for being so environmentally friendly. Though, even with the scenery change, I feel as if the beetles would still find their way in through the crevices. 

Even as Heidi came back to join us, that didn’t mean she was out of her sickening cyclical setting. Still forever, in and out arguments of break ups and make ups. From time to time we’d even hear a whiny voice through her phone that she reluctantly picked up. It was honestly debilitating to watch and probably even more debilitating to her. Some girls insisted she end it for good but Heidi Turner was just too stubborn of a girl. So it wasn’t long before it was all too much.

Even as the relationship went on and Heidi was constantly torn up, rebuilt, broken down and remade once again, it even affected us too. She began, acting like Cartman. Constantly complaining as she did absolutely nothing. Saying such immoral and offensive comments that I don’t even want to divulge into. She even refused to volunteer for the special needs science fair despite committing to it a month prior. The past Heidi would have never complained about such an offer and we commented on this behaviour. Unfortunately, all we were met with was more explosions as we had stepped into a landmine as we spoke. She even called me poor for living in a trailer park. So me and the girls just had to separate from her. After all, we didn’t want to become like that either and I don’t think Heidi would have liked being with us any longer. Yet still we were tainted to interact.

It was Halloween that day I saw the two. For me I don’t celebrate it too often, especially thinking about the poor material of most costumes and for bits of candy I won’t even finish. It’s just not worth it so I typically rest around in my home those nights. No one even cares to even knock except a few other kids who live in tiny homes. With that amount of actual trick or treaters, my family can’t be bothered with stocking up on treats. Maybe a packet or two but I end up eating most of it during the week. 

As I was lazing around in between the narrow walls, eating some of the Halloween candy as I watched some horror movie my parents were watching. I heard a metallic knock from the door, a rather aggressive one at that. My parents told me to get it, too engrossed in their film. Already lying down, I was reluctant to get up at first. I yelled at my parents but then they yelled back. I exclaimed a loud groan that the entire world could hear. Only for the door to be knocked once again but this time increasingly more aggressive, making the beetle on my wall immediately depart. It was as if the person at the door longed to burst down the door just to get that sugar rush hit of sweetness. 

I raised myself up from the bed and unwillingly went to open the door. Outside I had been greeted with Cartman and Heidi, quarrelling over some frivolous things. They wore a matching set of costumes. Cartman, stretching the fabric out of his deep green jumpsuit and Heidi in a pink and blue dirndl, with a pink oversized bow to match. Hansel and Gretel the two were. 

Heidi was quarrelling over the fact that Cartman didn’t need to bang on the door so obnoxiously as he might break it. Meanwhile, Cartman could not at all care for the door he may or may not have put a dent in. Instead he went on about how “oh Heidi you’re always like this!” With a side of whiny claims of their relationship. I only stood there to watch the dysfunctional show unravel. They kept constantly shooting back at one another until it had become one complete befuddled mess, I couldn’t even comprehend. Looks like I had gotten front row seats for the show. 

It made sense that Cartman was the instigator for these arguments. I’m surprised that Heidi would even have the guts to go against Cartman but perhaps I was wrong. 

The quarrel did have to die eventually though. Not in a way that they had found an agreement unfortunately but how Heidi finally noticed me standing at the doorstep. Stopping any chance of a possible satisfying resolution or compromise for one another. She apologised for me having to see all that and on Eric’s behalf in which Eric made an audible click of his tongue. 

I said it was fine in the end. They exclaimed their trick or treat towards me and I gave them some chocolates. Afterwards, Just to rub it in a bit more, Cartman just had to whine that this was all that I had been giving. Plus, a diss to the fact I live in a trailer van. Heidi then tried to tone him down but then Cartman simply grabbed her arm and dragged her into the forest. 

I was conflicted at this sight. It was never really my business to interfere with whatever kind of relationship they had to deal with. I could just let them do as they please, it wouldn’t be my fault if they ever got attacked by a bear or a snake. Yet, as I saw them leave, rather than leaving a trail of breadcrumbs on the ground, instead a plague of beetles followed their path in single file. 

At this point, I was finding beetles in almost every place I went and especially when those two had been around. They become somewhat of a pest. I figured if they were all going to one place it was some sort of mating location. So if I was correct, I could at least stomp out a few eggs to prevent overpopulation right? As there were far too many beetles lying around this goddamn town yet too many people can’t even tolerate a single fly sometimes. 

As I followed the two and the beetles down the path, I had to bear witness to what it was naturally like to be in a relationship with the cursed Eric Cartman. It seemed that Eric was the one always dragging Heidi to everywhere she didn’t want to go. Of course she didn’t want to go into the forest late at night. But if it was worth not getting rejected again or being yelled at or being ghosted, perhaps it was worth it. She did have the guts to yell out some concerns but it was back to her voice being dismissed as if nothing she said had mattered. I guess time repeats itself right? Her existence may as well be as inconsequential to that of a single insect in a colony, yet still ever so controlled. Still, she fought back only for her struggle to make the escape more harder for herself as the arguments and refutations only escalated as they walked. They were going at each other. Well, mostly Cartman was going at Heidi but most of the “conversation” was just an encircling mess of accusations.

They stopped at the same place the beetles had stopped, on a pile of decayed matter and mulch. The grass had barely been interrupted within the part they stood as from there the Halloween's night sky had been visible. I hid myself behind a tree and beneath a few bushes, luckily enough, I managed to avoid cracking any miscellaneous leaves or sticks which helped me remain hidden enough. Right beneath their feet were a scatter of fresh beetle eggs, yet not stepping on them just yet. It seems that the beetles had come to a stop all converging right beneath their feet. The couple were still arguing too. I was just waiting for one of them to accidentally step on the nest so they could kill a few hundred or so. At least that way I wouldn’t have to get any beetle blood on my hands. Heidi was reasonably scared to be in the forest when the sun had set such a long time ago. Fitting for their outfits I guess. 

Thankfully, they hadn’t noticed me yet nor had I been a bit too quiet for any snakes to catch on. It’s not like I was trying to record anything though. They had enough gossip surrounding them 24/7 that most people had gotten fatigued of it, yet sometimes people can’t help but marvel at such levels of imbalance and toxicity two people can have for each other. Guess that’s why so many people gravitated yet never actually interacted with them. All too scared to enter the fray. 

The fighting kept devolving deeper and deeper. As if a bug burying its way into the dirt only to eventually hit stone they cannot penetrate with their tiny claws. More concerns came with more threats, more yells and more shutdowns. As if stag beetles fighting against each other in an arena full of expectant giant children. And yet all I could do was sit and watch as those beetles converged to their feet. 

It’s not entirely digestible to watch people hit their rock bottom at all. It also made me want to regurgitate right on the grass. Unfortunately, that would have made my appearance known to those two as I doubt anyone would not think someone had been watching them if they had found a fresh muddle of vomit on the ground. So I held it in as I stood to watch it all unfold. 

For only a half of a second as the fighting escalated to imaginable heights. I witnessed but a glint of something sharp within Cartman’s grasp. And within a split second before the cries could even reach my ears, the blood had already been spewing out. My eyes forcefully watch and my breath standing still as Eric Cartman, your own son, countlessly and infinitely stabbed through Heidi Turner’s raw beating heart. Countless bits of organs crashing onto the floor. I didn’t even hear Heidi scream. It may as well have been overtaken by Eric’s scream of rage as he went in for the kill.

Once again, I failed to do anything, even if my flight response had been beeping. I simply watched the horrors unfold. Sometimes when I think back to the moment, each violent stab brings a loud bang to my ear drums. Some part of me even found some sort of voyeuristic wonder out of it and till this day I am unsure how to feel about that. Either way just from afar I could still catch a whiff of that metallic smell of blood ring through my nostrils. It was the longest yet shortest moment of my life witnessing such bloodshed occur. There must have been more than a hundred stabs Heidi had to take. All haphazardly yet violently done.

Eventually and fortunately, the rage had to die down. The sounds of breaking meat had faded away only to be left with the tiny sounds of creatures scurrying on Heidi’s now lying corpse. My breath froze seeing a murderer now standing above it only to silently leave the crime scene soon after with each stomp leaving a squashed beetle in its tracks. I could hear the crackling of each shell as he walked. I had to thank the Gods I had not been noticed, or at the least my air capacity.

Once I felt almost safe enough or sure that he had been gone, I peeked past the tree I had leaned against. There, in the centre of the trees, had been Heidi lying dead. Disfigured and bloody in all its glory. Only from afar did I witness the next processes occur. Even from such a distance I could still strongly sense her rotting odour and the small taps each beetle made as they congregated on her corpse before even the flies could get to her. 

Figeater beetles are described as herbivores. Their diets consist of flowers, fruits, sap and of course as their name suggests figs. The entire spectrums of sweet succulent fruits in fact. At most they’d feast on a piece of rotting fruit. But what happens when a herbivore goes outside of their known diet and completely flips it?

As the beetles marched towards her corpse, my breath had already settled down. Natural processes are a wonder aren’t they? An infinite cycle as energy flows from a plant, an animal and then decomposes by all sorts of critters and fungi to only then repeat again and again until time runs out. Our existence need not even be a part of it. We simply just sit or lie dead until they arrive. We are eaten, broken down, torn apart all by tiny creatures or particles and then within time rebuilt back into another human being. 

This event was similar. Except for as the beetles culminated all across Heidi’s body, as if one hive of a mind they’re bright green shells morphed and changed to the rough structure of a clean and fresh piece of lung. The iridescent leaf green muscles twisted and turned to wrap around the naked skeletal structure of the titular Heidi Turner. Through the rebuilt bloodstreams flowed not scarlet red but tinged transparent and dull yellow. Resembling that of the green hued insect. Soon after, the formation of skin. Incomplete skin at that. A set of haphazardly placed burrows and holes set all across the body for the critters to call it home and inhabit the reanimated lung and flesh. 

As her decomposed form had been synthesised and become consumed and completed by the now carnivorous creatures. She awoke with not white not bloodshot but yellow tinted sclera. Even her iris was now dyed a bright iridescent green. The evident odour of rot remained as from skeleton to skin had reformed, a new Heidi Turner. Perhaps a metamorphosis if you will. 

My own lungs clenched tightly on to my throat, trying to not catch a single whiff of that heavy decomposed odour. Otherwise I may as well regurgitate on the floor to attract over a few critters of my own. Or at worst attract something I couldn’t fully call Heidi. And yet it still was. To some extent those were appearance wise and it wasn’t like her body had been so damaged it had no longer able to be identified. The image of Heidi Turner was still intact.

I wanted to take a peak. Marvel or look in horror to this new form in all its treacher or glory. Yet I had simply froze in my tracks. Too locked in on surviving this Halloween night and returning to my trailer van. At one point, my curiosity had almost been the death of me. Ever so slowly I did in fact turn my head to face the amalgamation of beetles. 

She trod slow, like a rotting zombie. In some way or form I guess she was now. I wanted to observe more. Observe the culmination of constant decomposition. I looked and then she looked back. She didn’t see me, no. I could tell as she tilted her nose upwards to smell her surroundings and then went to turn her yellow tinted eyes towards me. 

I ran. I ran immediately. Straight back to the home where I thought was safe. I didn’t look behind me but as I sprinted, a rupture of flapping wings hovered towards me. I was going to die. I was going to die and be consumed, torn up and remade into Heidi. And I did not want that to happen. No matter how gentle a creature may be. In the end they’ll only be called a pest if there’s one too many. 

I’m not a fan of pesticides. They kill off too many creatures in one go, effectively destroying the ecosystem. Except this was far too many. 

Mustering up all my strength I concocted a plan. A plan to save myself from this monstrosity. 

I swiped over the pesticides my neighbour had in full display. The buzzing was getting closer and closer. I rushed towards my own tiny home as a swerve the spray can open. Instead from the nozzle however, it was straight from the toxic liquid. As I did so, I dashed towards the water filled bucket I had saved in case I needed to drown any persistent pests. And this was the case. 

Dumping the chemicals right into the water, smelling that foul stench of toxicity I prepared myself. The wings were almost ringing in my ears as I heard her. It didn’t matter if I hid, she would have smelled me anyway as rather than relying on sight, beetles rely on their sense of smell. 

Once I had seen but the slightest reflection of bright green glimmer underneath the light, I picked up a bucket and a few moments later, with a splash and an explosion of chemical odour, a pile of collapsed beetles lay on the dirt floor. Perhaps the diluted pesticide had failed. As there were still a few beetles on their back trying to wriggle their way back up. Some had even been completely fine and slowly building themselves back up. Stubborn things aren’t they?

I didn’t dare to even stay just a second longer. The more I lingered made me only want to vomit even more. 

I guess what was nice about living in a tiny home is that it's easy to move around the place. Minimal packing and no need to transport any additional items, as all you need is either a few items right outside and already in your mode of transport.  

One of the best things to do when something keeps pestering or even begging to stay, so much it slowly yet eventually deteriorates you into a new being. Sometimes it’s best to run. 

So we moved, I didn’t like the idea of sleeping next to a corpse. But ofcourse it wasn’t reasonable to wake up my parents at almost midnight and announce that we should move to another state or something so I waited until daybreak. Before tucking myself however, I may have moved my home further away from the beatles. May or may not have squashed a few on the way but it was somewhat doing good for this world. Ignoring the fact I was only on a learners permit at the time too. Either way I had made it safely away from that rotting corpse and could somewhat tuck myself to bed and await the first glimpses of the sun. 

And I awaited I did. I couldn’t sleep one bit, I couldn’t even let my eyes rest for a split second. In the case that one persistent beetle had hitched a ride or even persistently followed me, I couldn’t let it go. I couldn’t let them linger any longer as I clutched the pesticides I had stolen. If I had heard or felt even the smallest critter or crawl against my skin, I shot out the toxic chemicals as if they were bullets to a target. At one point, I couldn’t take being stationary for a while and began deep cleaning my entire home only for my awoken parents to find me knee deep in wiping the cupboard walls. 

Obviously I couldn’t tell them the truth. Some would believe a guy killing his girlfriend but no one would believe that partner’s corpse being rebuilt and reanimated by some infestation of bugs. I did, however , spill half truth. I told them that there had been a beetle infestation in one of the homes nearby and we just had no choice but to move. Moreover, I told them this infestation was so bad, no matter where we were in town we’d have to deal with them somehow.  

I know it’s a lot and my parents had realised this too. However, I did note that in the case they would come and infest this place, we’d just have no choice but to kill them. And with my extreme environmentalist parents who claimed they’d never hurt a fly, they had no choice. Even if they may as well have been counted as an invasive species, they’re pride was just too strong and I played on that fact.

So only a day later and my last few sightings of those fig eating beetles, I was able to leave. Except not without one final farewell. 

My parents were inside and my dad on the wheel as we were back to where we usually had parked. The sun was still up and I had been packing up the last few items we kept outside. Like a chair or two. As I had fully compacted them and went to open the door. However, as my hand reached the handle, a sudden tingling sensation had hit my arm. It scurried around my arm and up from my sleeve came an iridescent verdant beetle. I froze as it gnawed its teeth into my own skin. 

Figeater beetles are harmless really. Even if it only gave me the smallest sting, I was still ever so horrified at the sight as I turned my head to face what was behind me. It was Heidi. Of course. I couldn’t tell if she had been disgruntled, sad or even happy to see me leave. As nothing even came out of her mouth, only but a swarm of beetles crawled out of her sleeves and slowly inching their way towards me. I squashed the nearest critters into a puddle of yellow blood and shook the one that had clenched their teeth on my skin. Before I could go back in however, Heidi said this. 

“You know Theresa, it’s real surprising that you live in a trailer van huh? Makes you seem awfully poor.”

My blood wanted to boil at that moment. Seeing her mock the way I lived, seeing how she just assumed my parents financial status without even thinking about other motivations. Seeing my growing rage she only further went to rub in salt into the wound, commenting,

“Guess that just makes it easier to run though.” 

I wanted to start rushing at her but as she said those last lines, a tiny beetle. A juvenile even, had come crawling right out of her eye sockets and she had seemed completely unfazed. However, I wasn’t, from my sacrum to my spinal cord laid out a shiver seeing this gross sight. I chose not to provoke. I might as well have just become Heidi at that point if I did so. 

So I ran away, just as she said. And now I have to run away once more. It’s horrible being here and I don’t know how you handle it. 

Archivist:

Statement.. ends. 

W-well I guess we could start off with the titular Heidi Turner. 

Heidi Turner. A person of interest among these archives. We have been relentlessly trying to track and capture her, unfortunately to no avail. She has been constantly propping up in statements and causing multiple beetle infestations across the states. She seemingly goes wherever, with no path in mind, infecting all her victims. Which is why it’s so hard to find her. 

I guess it is somewhat comforting to hold a bit of background to… how she may have gotten this way. It makes it all the more terrifying the fact she was once a human only until… 

Cartman. Eric Cartman. The man whose photos have been lying around all over the place, the previous archivists’ own son and the man who supposedly both broke, rebuilt and broke Heidi Turner. 

I-I don’t know how to process this information. It makes it all the more terrifying to see photos of him scattered around this godforsaken place. Just brings a shiver down my spine.. heh..

Liane Cartman. I don’t know if this statement had ever reached your eyes but in the case you did, why? Why would you still bare his photos? Was it some way of coping or in reality, did you just choose to dismiss your son's actions?

Statement ends.

[CLICK]

Chapter Text

[CLICK] 

Sophie: 

Look okay. I don’t come here… at all. Actually I kind of avoid this place. 

Archivist :

Then why come? Surely you would have the proper audience that you need on your little webseries, Sophie Gray. 

Sophie: 

I just.. Have some stuff that I’d like to talk about and.. We haven’t really been working on Ghosthunters as of now. Especially after I’ve kind of parted ways with my camera guy slash boyfriend Scott. 

Archivist :

Full names would be preferred. 

Sophie: 

[mumbling] Ugh. This is why no one likes you guys.

[SOPHIE CLEARS HER VOICE]

Malkinson. Scott Malkinson. Honestly, I think he was more enamoured with the idea of me rather than myself but that’s besides the point. There was also my co-host, Casey Miller and sound editor, Millie Larsen. In the end, I have nowhere else to go, my team is still broken so I’d like to ask you paranormal investigators for help. 

Archivist :

We are not. Paranormal investigators. We are researchers. Scholars

Sophie: 

Or that, whatever you say. Look okay, I know we may play up a bit of the spookiness for the audience. Staying up late to record and watching temperature data gets you tired enough. That is beside the point however, we still observe and go over real paranormal events. Instead of just taking some druggies or trauma patients story off the street. Despite being an institute you really aren’t selective on who you let in and out of here. You’re all just a bunch of irresponsible lunatics who have they’re heads too high in the clouds!

Archivist :

And yet you’re sitting right here.

Sophie: 

I have. My reasons. You know, breaking up and all that and…

Archivist :

Only an irresponsible lunatic whose head is too high in the clouds would believe you.

Sophie: 

[TONGUE CLICK]

Guess so. 

Archivist :

Very well, then. You seem ready enough oh- must have already set it to record already. 

Sophie: 

Wait, is this a joke? Are you seriously going to use that outdated piece technology to record me?

Archivist :

Well, it’s all that works around here so we’ve got no choice. So would you like to record a statement or not?

Sophie:

Well, I have no choice but to do so. Let’s just get this over and done with.

Archivist :

Statement of Sophie Gray regarding?

Sophie:

A cult meeting of the Church of the Great Old One, I witnessed at St. Olaf’s Kirk in Bosque County, Texas. The date of filming was somewhere around the early February of 2015.

Archivist :

Recording date June 6th 2016. Statement of Sophie Gray regarding a certain tour guide. Statement taken direct from subject. Audio recording by Kyle Broflovksi, head archivist of the South Park Institute.

Wait. You’re talking about those Texan ghost towns? Pretty sure the superstitions behind each and every one of them are widely talked about so why wouldn’t your coworkers not believe in whatever story you’ve concocted? 

And seriously. That cult you’re talking about? Surely you and your team would be knowledgeable of their actions? Did you sign an NDA and that’s why you're coming here or what?

Sophie(statement):

It’s not. It’s not actually about the church itself. Well that’s what I choose to believe. And regarding the cult thing well, I hate to admit this but… I wasn’t able to retrieve any of what I recorded and my team is fighting against such a powerful force. The last thing I want to do is put them in danger, so if you people would gladly take my privacy into account or maybe take some hits in case they do ever come to get me. Maybe I’ll feel just a tad bit safer. 

It’s just that we’d been recording there for long enough at that point. More than a few months at least. Did the typical stuff such as check equipment, analyse data and not much of the extreme paranormal sort had happened. 

We’d be spending our time back and forth from the hotel we were staying and the town itself. We were thinking of giving up on that place or at least settling in for one last night spent within the cathedral. Superstitions have it that you can hear an eerie organ echo throughout the chapel. Yet once you looked up at the instrument, there had been no one. 

It’s pretty typical at that. Some claim it’s the ghost of St. Olaf or the Norwegian settlers that once called the town their home but had now gone. 

Sure we had a few abnormal occurrences, such as a few temperature spikes or some random creeks within walls.

We were planning on quitting the place soon. As Texas has many other ghost towns we could possibly go to. Also because it took a bit of time to drive over to the nearest pharmacy and stock up on insulin for me and Scott. On the topic of Scott, he was terrified to the bone. Well, he always was to be honest but this time he made it very apparent by almost peeing himself one night. It was kind of funny to be honest. Unfortunately, that did mean he had to stop going to the nightly excursions and stay around at the hotel. Therefore, we were down a cameraman meaning either me or Casey had to hold our equipment on any further exhibitions. He couldn’t exactly do his job. You know, constantly trembling as we wandered through the town streets and halls. I don’t know why he kept insisting on staying in the podcast. Since, even if he didn’t sign up for it, I would have still been with him. It’s not like our relationship centred on one single thing. Either way it would be pretty favourable to find at least some sort of guide or camera person. We had set up a few advertisements regarding an emergency hire. That’s when I roughly remembered one episode of “Board Girls” , a board game podcast if you didn’t know, hosted by Nichole Daniels. Pretty sure she’s stopped making episodes unfortunately. Something to do with committing to her profession. Can’t help but accept that choice no matter how much potential I believe she had, or had a chance at even collaborating on an episode. That would have been fun. 

Apparently, she had gone to explore some Texan ghost towns before. A bit unorthodox for a board games podcast but apparently she was gathering inspiration for either a campaign or trying to get the real immersiveness out of a board game. We were desperate either way. As without a proper cameraman we wouldn’t be able to pull off a show to the best of our abilities. So we were desperate to obtain someone and it didn’t seem like Scott was going to get better any time soon. I contacted Nichole and fortunately she quickly replied. Her reply noted a certain Pete Melman who she had worked with in the past. Nichole claimed that Pete had worked with her during some investigative locations and that he was a reliable guy. He could even act as some sort of a tour guide for us if we got lost. So that was a nice bonus too and apparently, the guy was pretty nearby where we were stationed. I rang the number sent to me and so it was off to down south to Austin Texas with the address Nichole had provided. 

It was dark when we arrived at his house. We had arrived a bit later than planned due to some traffic. We had also gotten rather hungry so had lunch before dropping off Scott at a bus to go home. It’s better than him staying overnight all by himself at some inconspicuous hotel after all. 

The sun had just set yet it already seemed as if it were midnight. The lack of street lamps wasn't helping either. Some of the lamps we had encountered along the drive had even shattered into shards of miniscule glass. Just like the road, Pete’s lights had been switched off. It was still eight o’clock by the time we arrived so it was either he was an early sleeper or he had just not been inside. Either way, we were at the destination and so we knocked three times against the door. We were getting restless and desperate, anyone would do really. 

It was silent for a few minutes. We knocked a second time, and then a third. Unfortunately to no avail. We were on the verge of completely giving up on the episode but as our backs had been turned, there was a man at the door. The lights hadn’t even been switched on, he had simply appeared from the door without any light to help him guide through his house’s hallways. Only things separate from him and the dark were his pale skin, lit cigarette in hand and deep red highlight of dyed hair at the top of his head. Typically you’d at least turn on the front door lights right. It wasn’t even that late either. 

Anywho, we asked if he were the guy we had contacted about a temp job as a cameraman. He shook his head. What a shame isn’t it? Perhaps our one glimmer of hope had already been struck down and shattered into the darkness. However, with a stroke of luck at the location, St. Olaf’s Kirk had gone out of Casey’s mouth, his face swiftly took a turn. He noted that he was in fact a cameraman and that he knew his ways around lighting too. Even though he had toured the location multiple times in the past. Also that he had probably forgotten about the call and he has a roommate who’d like to do such things. He said it in such a hoarse voice in which the cigarette in his hand only provided additional context to how it got in such a way.

Why we were so desperate. We just had to take him up on that offer. So with a few pen strokes, he had been hired. We didn’t really do background checks unfortunately, as we needed to have someone to do the job fast. In hindsight, perhaps we should have but either way we had hopped him inside the car, on our way back to our accommodation.

Pete was immediately dislikable from the start. He kept smoking inside the van like he had no consideration for those around him. When we told him to stop or at least open a window as we coughed through the cloud of smoke he kept persistently making. Sure we had other people on the team like Millie Larsen who smoked but she never dared to do it inside. God, he was such a stubborn piece of work. When he did choose to speak up, his answers were only one-two words and or a diss to how we were “ oh such conformists. “ Probably the most hellish two hour drive I had ridden. I feel bad for Casey though as he was the one driving. Don’t even know how he even did it without going off road or something. 

As we drove through the road however, more of the streetlamps had seemingly broken. They weren’t at all like that during our previous drives at night and we didn’t really notice such a lack of bulbs on our initial drive during the day. It was such an odd occurrence and my team brought up the topic of the Church of Great Old One. Surely you're knowledgeable about that right? That really weird cult that keeps causing black outs all around America. That cult. We figured they might even be nearby at the Church we were going investigating. I mean it wasn’t as if it was impossible. 

With that topic being brought up, I slightly joked about how similar the names of one of the biggest followers, Pete Thelman’s name was so similar to the Pete we had now. I guess you could say it was weird that he didn’t refute the idea and rather went along with it. Except he was already quite an oddball from the first moments we met him and if he indeed was a member of this notorious cult, then it’s just another episode idea. He’s just a temporary hire after all. 

We arrived at our church and recording station for the night. It looked the same as we saw it last time. Dark and uncanny as it loomed over us in the dark. I had handed the camera over and Pete promptly took it. He didn’t bother to stop smoking. A job done is a job done after all, is what I told myself trying not to immediately fire him on the spot. 

Before entering, we had set our flashlights on and from the corner of my eye, I saw Pete scorn at this sight. Perhaps it was just a squint from adjusting to the sudden light but it wasn’t like the light was directed at him, it was as if that face was that full of malice.

We opened the church doors. The gates made a slight eerie creek that rang through the halls but that was all typical. We entered into the walls we had been camping out for so long. It all seemed fine. The only source of light had been our flashlights and the few rays of crescent moonlight that had seeped through the stained glass walls. One thing that was odd however, was that on the pews were a lack of dust among the surface. 

Since, usually we’d try to keep the place as authentic as possible. Seeing such evidence of life remain there was just so jarring. It made me think of the thought that someone may have already been in here whilst we were gone. It’s not that surprising though as the church was public ground. Just a shame that that evidence of the church's abandonment was gone. 

We surveyed the grounds for at least an hour or two. Nothing really happened. At all, really. And with that lack of information extracted we decided we may as well stay overnight at the church. Sure it was unorthodox but not illegal. Besides, my team has their shared experience of sleeping inside haunted locations, so all should be fine as we set up an alarm to go off in the case of any odd temperature spikes.

We don’t really enjoy the thought of having someone to camp the night out, I don’t want any of my team to start suffering from sleep insomnia because of me. Despite Millie’s occasional insistence to do so. 

I woke up in the middle of the night. Not from an alarm but just from pure instinct. The lights were off, there was only the cold plastic texture of my sleeping bag and the freezing hard floor beneath me. I reached over to grab my flashlight and as I switched it on, there was one less person sleeping. Pete had been gone, leaving the camera equipment beside his sleeping bag that we provided him. I’d say that our sleeping bags are warm enough to handle winter nights so it shouldn’t have been that much of a problem for him to sleep and from being unreliable to just disappearing into the night. 

I wandered around the church for a while until, from the doorstep to the lower levels, there had been a lone cigarette butt not fully unlit. Therefore, he must have gotten down there for some sort of reason. Or he just wanted to be unreasonable and head off on his own, not even supplying footage for us. 

It’s not like we hadn’t gone beneath the church before. It’s mostly your typical crypts and such, it’s just not where all the myths and legends take place. But if Pete were to be so unreliable, I might as well get some footage by myself. 

With flashlight and camera in hand whilst other miscellaneous equipment I kept promptly in a small bag as the sound of my shoes echoed down each flight of stairs. 

It’s an understatement to describe the hallways as dark. Not even the minimal light from the crescent moon was at all peaking through. Could he have possibly gone all the way down without even a flashlight in hand? God that guy was insane. 

Since the stairs were rather uneven, I had to keep my head down for most of the flight. Only until the stairs had stopped I raised my flashlight upwards and witnessed an uncanny congregation of dark hooded figures all aghast at the sight of light. A gleam of silver hit my eyeballs to reveal a piece of silver jewellery making the symbol of a closed eye. 

Of course I was knowledgeable about the cult. They were one of the second biggest urban mysteries in all across America. During my free time I gathered as much information as I could in the case I could ever explore their grounds and here I was. 

Pete emerged from the crowd. So maybe my banter was indeed some cursed reality. Haha… this is why you do stupid background checks instead of being rash. Pete Thelman. That notorious Pete Thelman. Somehow he just had to take interest in our work and hitch a ride. Cursing me to deal with the unknown consequences. 

Reasons for leading us to their congregation? My guess is just as bad as yours, archivist. Perhaps they wanted recruits, wanted a small documentary of their ritual or just wanted some new victims. I think that last one fits for both theories however. 

The camera was still rolling at this point. Without saying a word, he took his hand out. I noticed a pendant that had now been taken out. That of a ruby welded into the form of a shut eye. Which indeed confirmed my assumptions of the cult and that this was the notorious Pete Thelman. In the end, I regrettably took it, or at least followed his path through the clearing crowd. Be it the pursuit of knowledge or whatever. I mean, I’m some sort of a paranormal reporter whether you deny it or not, so I guess I was just doing my job. Just to make my actions seem all the more digestible in hindsight.

I couldn’t capture many identities within the crowd. Their faces were mostly hidden by the dark cloaks they bore. All I could note when they almost hissed at either the camera light or flashlight was a glint of silver jewellery reflecting that shut eye. Some even decided to match that closed eye as I saw some had wrapped bandages over their head. From making themselves blind. Within the crowd I could see a minuscule emerald stud amongst a few. Since Pete bore a ruby in his accessory, it's not too far-fetched to think that maybe the founder, Damien, wore a piece of black obsidian . As it is one of the darkest crystals in the world. Or perhaps just an untumbled piece of rock. 

I had been led to a chair. An occupied one. There was a man on it. Dark spiked up hair with highlights of green and the circles underneath his eyes were as dark as the night. Despite that alarming feature, he was sleeping too. Yet his face was full of distress. Seemed like the guy was going through a nightmare. A horrid one at that too, his sweat glands were quite visible even from the distance I had been standing. 

I slowly set down my flashlight to be still lit upon him as Pete stood to the side without even doing a thing. I tried to shake him awake, try to get him out of that nightmare. Even if I was shaking whilst doing so. Whether it would be to possibly save a human life or to extract knowledge from this stranger. Did my intentions really matter? Since, cults are always going about how your faith and donation to some holy dictator should be prioritised above everything else. Some truly believed that they were doing something for the best but in the end, it only feeds into a void of riches held by one single person. Rather than a community.

I wanted to dig deeper into this jackpot I had found myself in. I didn’t scream nor flinch at this distressing sight. If I did, I may have immediately been removed from the special position I had been granted. That of an observer of what should not be seen.

Pete observed from behind the chair. Alongside a conglomerate of bandaged eyes. Blinded they had been. Perhaps on purpose, all for the purpose of faith. With only but one undimmed light, I looked back at the horror that was yet to unfold beneath me. He was struggling, he truly was, sweat, heavy breathing and every other sign of panic. 

What is the best way to wake someone from a nightmare? It isn’t the best idea to shake them as you might evoke even more panic. So I suppressed even more of my panic and brought a flashlight up towards his eyes. This way perhaps it would be a calmer method of waking him. 

I didn’t dare look at the blind observers. All I did was raise my flashlight towards his temples. As the gleam inched closer, I witnessed a hint of his eyes waking up. A sense of relief washed over me but not for long as the light in my hand shattered into a million sharp pieces and the lights had gone out.

I can’t really describe it as it was dark. No. It was literally nothing. A plain of nothing but the void. The flashlight, the cult and the church walls had all been gone. I couldn’t feel anything. Nor could I see anything. And in some cursed way I guess it felt relaxing to be away from the chaos. That’s what I had felt at the time. Until my peace just had to be disturbed.

A flicker of light. And then another. I had lost my sense of direction. No. The better term would be I lost my senses. Until I had retrieved for a split second and witnessed something that should not be seen unfold. 

Spools of dark stygian liquid dripped down onto the hard floor. I looked towards the occupied chair. A wretched silent scream had been let out by the man in front of me. Being shushed by the pools of pitch black substance that seeped out of eyes, ears and mouth. Even if it was only for a splitting moment, it was enough time for it to suck the sight into my retinas and burn it into my brain. Sometimes I wish I had joined the blind rather than witness that moment unfold. 

And before I knew it was just gone, the sun was up. I had awoken on the hard cold basement floor as the sun peaked its rays through the tiny shaft above me, greeting me with some form of salvation as all that had unfolded had dissipated. All of it. The cult, the chair and Pete. The lights were back on and they had succumbed to the dark. 

Archivist:

Just poof?

Sophie (Statement cont.) :

Yup. Just poof. I don’t. I don’t even have any proof. It’s pathetic. The flashlight had broken, alongside the camera. The footage is nothing but garbage noise. I’m a reporter of the paranormal. I’m supposed to have evidence for my claims. And yet I don’t.

The only thing I can really confirm would be the stupid decision of hiring Pete Thelman to help us out on camera and lighting. The irony right? Someone so opposed to the idea of even the sun's rays, applying to work on artificial light. Well work in air quotes, he didn’t really do his job. Unless his job was to torment me, then I guess he was rather good at it. 

I did talk to my team about it. Or at least tried to. Unfortunately, it was only concluded to be but a nightmare possibly cursed by the ghost of St. Olaf that dwelled within those walls. At least they did have a memory of hiring and meeting Pete. Apparently he had left due to some urgent business back at home and took a taxi whilst I was gone. I can hardly believe that was a real excuse however. 

Whilst they could agree the guy was uncooperative as, the most they could say was how he just seemed like a dark fellow. In the end, we took some final shots of the place, picked up Scott and the episode came out. Not my proudest work but hey, the job was done. 

Archivist:

No evidence. I see. 

Sophie:

I know. Do you need to rub anymore salt in the wound? 

Archivist:

Perhaps. Now just to iterate it, you’re sure you weren’t dreaming? 

Sophie:

Ugh… Yes! Yes I am very sure Mr Archivist! [Mockingly]

Why the hell would I be here if I couldn’t even believe my own story!?

Archivist: 

Well- I just need to check every chance. Since your field of work may lead you to have a strong imag-

[CHAIR SLIDES OVER]

Sophie:

Oh I’m so done here. This was such a waste of my time. 

Archivist:

We will do our best to gather information and will send you a follow up if we do find anything to note off.

Sophie:

[acidly] Thank you so much. 

[DOOR SLAMS CLOSE] 

[ARCHIVIST SIGHS] 

Archivist:

Recording ends. I guess.

[CLICK]

[CLICK]

Archivist:

Supplemental. 

I’m not surprised that the church would congregate underneath another religious building. It’s not like this was the first account of them doing so. A shame that there was no found footage. Only makes me lean closer towards the statement being a faulty story or some form of dream or vision experienced by Sophie. 

As mentioned before the Rock Church is known to be a common place of haunting. A Texan church seemingly placed in the middle of nowhere just 2 hours north of Austin. Common urban legends include hearing an organ’s tune but to find no one at the instrument and witnessing misty figures within the graveyard. 

Even heard that Phillip Havisham has made some business trips to the area too. Which is quite a fascination. Yet it is another sign we must tread carefully in regards to this titular location.

We can also assume the fellow on the chair was our Mike Makowski as the appearance profile matches Sophie's description. For what happened to him… well I doubt the church takes lightly to those who would like to depart from them so either this was a farewell ceremony or an execution. 

As of current knowledge, we cannot track down Pete Thelman. The address that has been provided to us has revealed that the flat has been unoccupied for eight months but has once been inhabited by a Pete Melman. What luck for the two to have such similar names.

We have contacted Nichole Daniels. Even though Board Girls has stopped production, she still holds forms of her past employment of Pete Melman. Only thing being, he looks nothing like Pete described. Short blond hair. 

Speaking of Pete, Pete Thelman I mean. Although I am unsure if Sophie has or has not reported her findings regarding him to the police we should probably get to that. No matter how faulty the commission may be. We’ve been putting off doing that, a bit of procrastination on my behalf unfortunately. Getting too sucked into research perchance. Right now, the only visual of Pete within police records would be a young man with ginger hair. Which definitely contrasts with our red dyed fellow.  Maybe he got some new goth makeover as his initiation. There is some mystery on the identity of a few prominent members so it is nice to have a rough even if vague profile of this man. I may have procrastinated on reporting however. I’ll just get Clyde to do that I guess. 

Or I’ll just blame him that he should have just done so even without order. But that’s too mean even for someone like him. 

End supplemental. 

[CLICK]

Chapter Text

[CLICK]

Archivist:

Statement of Kevin Stoley regarding his time spent on the space station, Phaethon. Original statement given April 22nd 2010. Audio recording by Kyle Broflovski, head Archivist of the South Park Institute.

Statement begins. 

Archivist(statement):

I’ve always been enamoured by space. I guess it inadvertently began with my Star Trek obsession back in grade school. The exciting and thrilling journey of men as they explore countless worlds, planets and stars in the infinite expanse of space. I must have spent hours of the little time I got after school cooped up in my room watching in awe of the marvellous space adventures of Spock and Kirk as they aimed to and I quote “go where no man has gone before.” 

This unreachable, boundless world had completely fascinated me. Planets, stars and galaxies we have yet to reach and even fully comprehend. The theories, the unknown and study. Such a mindblowing topic us humans attempt to even grasp. Even simply compared to the sun, the Earth is only one tiny grain of sand, so who knows how tiny we are in comparison to the sun, what about in comparison the Milky Way or the universe? 

There’s some sort of liberating pointlessness thinking of how inconsequential our existence is. But there’s also some sort of nihilistic comfort that comes with that information. If our impact is so small and we mean literally nothing, what’s the harm in anything? 

The vast vacuum of space continued to call me throughout my life. That sensation of breaking from the pull of the Earth’s core and into the mindless free flowing vertigo of outer space. The fiery balls called stars, hundreds, thousands and millions of lightyears out of reach all but a bit closer. That is why I trained so hard to become an astronaut. To explore that boundless vacuum and follow the footsteps of Captain Kirk and Spock. 

It had been a few years of trying to get a job in space. I had already completed my degrees and physical training and yet I still couldn’t find anything that could take me to the boundless universe that I so longed for. It was even more difficult with having to go out of state for all those interviews causing my savings to dwindle. I was considering just catching some low hanging fruit with a desk job but I knew the child in me wanted more. That’s how I found out about The Phaethon. 

Outside my town’s only laboratory they were offering up a position to work at a brand new space station. There wasn’t a lot of information about the job but I was desperate to escape the shackles of gravity pulling me towards the ground. I rushed past the lab’s doors and immediately went to sign up. The entrance exam was a simple psychiatric experiment. I’m not sure why Dr. Mephesto thought of me to be the most suitable. I mean I knew at the time I was a shoddy astronaut but an offer was an offer. 

The launch point was located somewhere up north. Some deserted piece of land in Alaska. There were three of us going up on the Phaethon. Me (Kevin Stoley of course), Firkle Smith and Craig Tucker. 

I only ever saw Craig at launch though. Once again, barely any of us spoke during the initiation. I kept tapping my foot in such awkwardness but it seemed those two were just naturally antisocial. Either way we still got onto the same spaceship, floating in space. 

Craig was on some sort of isolation experiment being conducted. Don’t see what was really worth it about it. I mean, he wouldn’t even be able to actually feel the floating vertigo of outer space. I never really approached his quarters either, they seemed quite daunting to me really. Maybe it was those large, pristine sliding doors? I don’t really know. 

Once in a blue moon though, we did check up on him externally just to see if the guy was alive. Simple maintenance really. His voice always sounded so far through its dryness and subtle vibration of the intercom. 

With no Craig, that left me with Firkle. Firkle had dark brooding hair swept over to one side and deep black eyeliner to match with it. I wouldn’t have been able to spot him whilst outside the spacecraft if it weren’t for his pale skin. 

His attitude completely matched the look too. Through the rare times we actually had the space to talk, he barely said anything. If he did, he’d go on about the existentialism of life or something like how nothing matters in the end and that we should all remove ourselves from life. Of course I somewhat agreed to the statement but, whenever I did concur and give my two cents, he just awkwardly stared at me and commented “aren’t you a conformist?” which got really annoying really quickly. Good thing his work was separate from mine. 

Firkle never really talked about his actual work though, well I never really talk about mine either. It was something about his beliefs that kept persisting on in every conversation. 

In reality, my job was more like simple maintenance. Tasks include, cleaning up air filters, updating computer files and checking the lights. It seems as if Firkle got all the actual experiment work whilst I had to be their pseudo janitor. All in a day's worth though, after all it was my first expedition to space I couldn’t have expected a lot to come out of it. 

As the days went on by, I began to daydream. Not exactly daydream as there’s no proper day in space but my mind began to wonder. I began to ponder back to Kirk and Sprock’s epic adventures through the whole vast universe of space. Seeing them soar through the world in their in comparison, tiny spaceship. Using the Starship’s Subspace Censors to carve out paths of astrogation. Such levels of celestial navigation look to be unreachable for the current human kind. 

Even if I was as far from the Earth as I had ever been before in my life, it felt as if I was tinier than ever. They say the Earth is the size of a single grain of sand. Then perhaps a single human life is but a quark. It’s saddening to think that. It’s saddening of the thought of how puny we really are compared to this wide expanse of matter. If I soared for enough time and light years, would I ever reach a moment of satisfaction with the amount of places I’ve travelled. Maybe not actually. All it would be is just one galaxy after the next until I grow old or get sucked into a black hole until I’ve lost it all. 

I used to find comfort in being so puny. The idea that humans are so egocentric we like to believe that we are found in the centre of this vast universe we subside in. Yet they are wrong. We are but specs, floating in space. That marvel of space and the need for exploration had only made me see how futile it really is. 

Such thoughts left me floating in the Phaethon’s hallways. Like an asteroid's dull movement. I was going to continue floating until the next maintenance alert or if someone had gotten me out of my trance.

Except, you know that subtle sensation of air pressure building up? You don’t feel it at first until your ears pop or you feel that sharp pain rapture in your canals. It was like that. All of it was. I felt a presence around me. Not next to me, not behind me, not even in front of me. Instead, around me. As if it encapsulated the ship, which included me. I thought before I had felt insignificant in this world but now I had truly sensed what it meant to mean nothing. For your actions to never matter. 

I don’t know what it was. It was just there. And it was looming over all that I could comprehend. This realisation of its existence made me begin to rapidly hyperventilate within the spaceship. My eyes darted around as my breath continued to stagnate. I had still been floating across the sterile white hallway so I tried to grab onto a rail. Try to get myself back into something familiar. Something that I knew. Unfortunately, as I went to stretch out, lean out my arm to grasp it, I had failed just by an inch and left to forever float. 

The first law of motion, also known as the law of inertia states that objects have a tendency to stay in constant velocity unless a net force is enacted upon them. Since space is but a vacuum, there was far less air for me to decelerate. Therefore, I would just keep going. Keep floating in this wide expanse until I hit some form of collision. The point where the hallway would be put to a halt or turn. Except I may have lost hope at that point. I imagined and believed that the hallway would simply never end. I had been doomed. 

If only I had the super sonic lasers but those were unobtainable. Too far in the future, too far for me. 

I heard the being shift towards me. Now don’t say that sound doesn’t travel in space. I know that very well. Yet by all laws holding together this fickle universe I heard it. That’s something no astronaut can comprehend. I’m not sure if it had placed part of itself in front or had gotten hold of my floating corpse. The only thing I knew was that I had stopped. Stopped within space. Surely it’s impossible right? The rules, the laws, the physics, all of it. Seemingly impossible. Anomaly after anomaly. Except, some part of me could believe it. Some small bit of my mind realised how much we are yet to learn in this vast expanse called the universe. There’s so much more out there. 

Which only made it far more suffocating. 

In my puny existence, humankind would have never reached the far edge of the universe. We’ll never know what truly reaches out. The wide stretch of the world is all simply too much for the mind to comprehend. Yet I had to experience such ideas all in one clench of some incomprehensible being. 

I had to thank the lords I wasn’t allowed at least. As I was suffocating under our visitor, it seems Firkle caught my distress as he heard the space station shake. I immediately caught sight of him the exact time I had finally been able to grasp onto a rail. He didn’t really seem to genuinely care, his motivations were solely on not having to answer any questions from the media when we got back down to land. I guess it made sense, we were only coworkers after all and he was the antisocial type. He dryly asked if I was doing okay during my signs of a mental breakdown. At that moment, for the first time I had noticed that the ends of his fingers had been stained black and his eyes bloodshot. It was a sight to see besides the fact he didn’t even hold any sense of concern for my suffocating mental state. 

Well, at least the knowledge that I wasn’t the only insignificant being in this place that comforted me. Of course I didn’t dare to tell him that directly. If I did perhaps he might have just left me to my own horrific devices as he floated back into the unseeable void. 

Through my staggered breath I coughed out or at least tried to explain the being that had now been with us. Unfortunately, the moment I had mentioned a certain prescience coming from space, Firkle became immediately disinterested in the thought of extraterrestrials. Sure, I may have gotten a bit overly avid about my interests at one point and began to yap about Star Trek. Which made Firkle visibly dull by such a topic being brought up. So I guess he only saw me as a delusional under prepared newbie astronaut experiencing space for the first time. I can’t blame him though. He was probably right I guess. 

Yet all I could and still can confirm would be that presence among us. The fact that Firkle never sensed only makes my emotions and experience all the more isolated. At least Craig knew what he was getting into rather than being shook by some incomprehensible gigantic being that suffocated you into a nihilistic void. 

We went back to Earth earlier than planned. Apparently with the risk of instability of the spaceship after shaking and some technical issues in the isolation experiment. I never saw the two ever again. 

You’d think being back to a familiar world would make me feel a bit more significant. A planet where humans are seemingly the centre of all technological advancements. But no. I can’t get that being’s existence away from me. The fact that so much more could be happening somewhere else and I will never be able to experience it. It’s as if the stars in the night sky mock me. At least they’re not at their full potential with the city’s light pollution. No, the better term would be full horror perhaps. 

I never knew how long I had been kept in that state for. It may have been a billion years until Firkle had found me in that anxious state. Well it’s only but a blink in the universe so it wasn’t that consequential within the grand scheme of things. Yet it still makes it all seem more pointless. 

Many of the stars that we see are dead. They’re all just so far away that we still see they’re celestial bodies rather than an explosive corpse. In the end they’ll all eventually fade out one day. Maybe if I could fly up into space with a ship I’d be able to reach them. But no I can’t. Otherwise, there would be something blocking them. Something I still, no, the human kind cannot understand. If they tried, the explosion of ungodly shapes would simply make their brains bleed out. Maybe that being could be more malevolent than we thought, protecting us by providing a barrier of itself. I do not wish to ponder about its motivations. If it even holds emotions in the first place. 

Some say ignorance is bliss but if I convince myself into security I fear it may just be the death of me. I mean who knows how many unknowing ants or weeds we have stomped on in a lifetime? 

I’m not entirely sure when I will be ready to go in the field. At the least I’m sure that I want to return to space. Return to where the universe isn’t at the edge of my fingertips but at least it’s closer. In the end it’s all one big void sucking itself into a plain of nothing, a vacuum. 

Archivist:

Statement ends. 

There has been enough said about the spaceship known as the Phaethon I believe. Owned by the Mesosphere group with seemingly many hidden names behind its creation and facilities. These facilities include a planetarium, various research sites and of course their titular spaceship. 

Wendy and Clyde were able to find out that there indeed were three astronauts on the ship during its first orbitals and operation. Those being: Firkle Smith, Craig Tucker and of course, Kevin Stoley. 

There’s not much past that. As we’ll have to navigate ourselves through the bullshit known as corporate establishments. At least Stan was able to discover a list of the participating groups. 

The biggest participant, Mephesto tech owned by the pre mentioned Dr. Alphonse Mephesto. He also seemingly owned the majority of the company and spaceship. Another partner being Phillip and Gregory Havisham. Whose actions include the spaceship being a private investment from the two. Finally, Helios and co. A small company that manufactures cameras, lenses and the like. Probably supplied the ship for their security cameras especially for the isolation experiment. Just an estimate however. The only thing to note however would be how their business address is seemingly written as Utqiagvik in Alaska. 

With such big names behind the scheme, I am afraid that we cannot further delve ourselves into the topic. As there may be some unfavourable consequences if we do so. It’s best to leave the spaceship alone for now. 

Recording ends. 

[CLICK]

Chapter Text

[CLICK]

Ferrari: 

Just let me fucking do the statement!? It shouldn’t be that hard and I can’t be here for that long. My shift’s about to start soon. Can’t you put me on the top priority? 

Archivist:

I see that you seem to be in quite a rush ma’am. Just state your name and subject of experience and we can get this over and done with. 

Ferrari:

[begrudgingly] Ferrari Roma. Talking about… a new job. 

Archivist:

May we know the details of this certain job? 

Ferrari:

Heh. Always asking questions you lot huh? 

Archivist:

It’s our job. Look, do you want to make a statement or not? It’s not like we’re sparse in any statements as of now. 

Ferrari:

Yeah. I can tell from this goddamn mess you call an archive. I’m surprised it doesn’t even smell musty here. Heh.

Archivist:

Well as an academic institute, we do try to take pride in ou-

Ferrari:

Academic this or institute that. Blah blah blah. Who gives a damn? You’re all just bigheaded dimwits who’ve never had a hard moment in your life. You’ll never know the real world from this desk.

Archivist: 

Well we aren’t trying to learn about the real world. We are researchers of the paranormal and esoteric.

Ferrari: 

Oh? [scoffs] So you’re implying that these don’t count as part of the real world? 

Archivist: 

Perhaps. 

Ferrari: 

Well then, I’ve got a story to tell you mister archivist. 

Ferrari(statement):

I work at a place called Raisins. Your typical American restaurant. We sell ribs, beer, wings and all the other stuff you’d usually find on an American menu.  But our main form of advertisement would be our waitstaff. Young, pretty women all here to specially serve and perform for you. 

Sure, it’s not the most honourable job. Unfavourable activities include flirting and pandering to all the staff's needs, performance, wearing a skimpy uniform and all the unsavoury aspects your average unisolated person with a normal and happy love life would give their side eye. Judge all you want. Go ahead. 

Unfortunately for people like me, it's the best opportunity I can get. Call it manipulation or preying on the lonely all you want, I just want to get a paycheck and live for the next day. Okay, I may pander and bargain for a bigger tip from time to time but all the other girls do so. Therefore, what’s the difference if I do so too? 

You meet lots of people at your job. Mostly men though. I mean makes sense am I right? You see people who have just broken up and here to get whatever form of female attention they can get. Meanwhile on the other side of the spectrum people in a rough time in their own love life looking to find some form of affection. But both parts are equally as lonely asthe other. Not to over value the place but at least there’s security. There’s a guy called Maury who acts as our main form of security. Not sure about his last name though. Well, mostly the guy would threaten to beat up any persistent and creepy customers. And that’s a job done I guess. There’s also the rule that you need to buy wings at the least to even talk to one of the waitresses. And the overpriced photocards to take a photo with us. Those one’s give a pretty good deal on our side though. 

It’s a new establishment, Raisins is. It’s a couple blocks west from here, I can probably point to it on a map if you give me one. Pretty sure, the exact address is somewhere across or nearby CTPA town, not entirely sure so don’t blame me if I get it wrong. Anyway, I first saw the advertisement for jobs on Instagram. It was the most transparent and blatant thing ever. The advertisement said that they were looking for a fit commonly known as skinny,  toned young adult woman with an approachable, charming and entertaining personality. Of course those last few adjectives would be but an act. It seemed like a pretty good deal though. 

During that time, I had recently been laid off from another job. Not due to what you expect. Apparently due to a loss of profits and the restaurant I was waiting tables at, they had to cut off a few of their staff. That being me. And a few others I guess but they’re not important. So I saw a lot of people, mostly men flocking over to this place called Raisins, the same fateful one I had seen on the advertisement. It was even a driving factor towards the gentrification happening in my area. In which only further increased the desperation for many. On the brighter side I’d know that the audience I was plucking money off of wasn’t making a dent in them. Makes the exploitation hit softer on your question of morality.

As the pay was above minimum and I just got fired from my previously dull customer service job so I decided to give it a shot. I didn’t really have many places to go to as I live by myself, my parents want me to be independent and rent was due. Even if the commute was quite far, it was a sacrifice I was willing to take. An indication of desperation. I mean I do believe I am quite suitable for the role don’t you think?

…

Well. Not quite the reaction I was expecting but sure. Anyway, back to telling my eek! Super scary story.

The hiring was pretty standard. Besides for the fact I had to be extra flashy for the job applicant photo. Put on a bit of makeup and jewellery here and there. In fact, this ring that I’m wearing right now was one of the pieces I used for a photo. My grandmother gave it to me. It’s such a cute silver butterfly right? Is what I would say to customers. No, it's made out of plastic and I got it from the dollar store for such a cheap price. Quite a steal if I do say so myself. Does it really matter if your hand is simply unreachable to them though? I’d never let them even inspect my hand nor this entrancing yet low quality piece of false silver. 

I got in effortlessly. Was able to breeze through the interviews screening by just saying the same robotic words everyone says. Then, during the dance audition, I did jazz dancing in both elementary, middle and high school. I quit when I graduated but I still had that muscle memory built up in me. And with a few more rounds of waiting, a few days later I finally got that letter of acceptance from them. 

So here I was at this fine and flashy establishment. Ready for my first day at work as they were opening up. 

I received the uniform upfront after sending my sizes and lets say… yeah it was just as skimpy as you thought. A body wrapping low cut shirt in clean white with the Raisins logo wrapped around our chest. Meanwhile, an equally as tight pair of bright orange boy shorts to pair. It wasn’t that bad though, especially with the upcoming job I was going to have. It seemed as if they had a pretty good size match too as it wrapped perfectly around my body, not too suffocating like a cocoon. The uniform looked just fine on my body. That fact didn’t really surpass my expectations though.

I went out of the changing rooms and was greeted by one of my future coworkers. She introduced herself as Mercedes Benz and she was going to guide and teach me for my first day. 

Customers had already flooded in even with just a few moments. Like desperate worms they were, crawling and persisting their way in. Only to be halted by the barrier called our guards. The pre mentioned Maurice. He stood and looked below at each and every puny customer that wanted to take a gander into the garden. They were allowed in, but they had to be patient as a butterfly had to take them away and tug on to their arms first before they wandered off on their own. Whilst they were taken away by its wings, Maurice did give them a menacing look as they waved goodbye to the human realities of the world. 

This was just an observation though. I was yet to escort any customers. Since as per my training under Mercedes, I would have to watch and then participate in small performances they take on from time to time. Roughly a half an hour I believe. 

I was guided towards a set of hula hoops alongside a group of Raisins girls with those hoops in their hands. As they were grouped, Mercedes made myself known amongst them and I politely introduced myself and they introduced themselves back. There was Lexus, Porsche, Bentley and Lincoln amongst the four that I had initially met and were about to perform. 

I could tell no one in their group really knew each other. No matter how in sync their entrancing dance had been, the grasp that each girl had on one another regarding their personality was but a surface and superficial level. They were all solitude beings just using the force of a group to grant them attention. I guess that’s just show business though. Can’t really complain and it’s not like they really needed to dig deep into each other’s past or background. We’re all just marvels to be viewed at. 

The entire run was as typical as your average nine to five customer service job except with the added glamorous bedazzle to cover the monotony I had observed. 

It seemed that there was a formula that each girl had concocted and shared amongst one another. Ferrari had told me this, the key was physical contact. Just the smallest pat on the shoulder would be enough for a guy to get infatuated and dedicated to us in an instant. Therefore, a bigger and more consistent flow of tips that would come through to us. I took that one strongly to my mind as my eyes glinted green. 

We went through the entire day with the same old same old with many similarities with your typical waiting tables jobs. Even better it would still count as doing your job so there wasn’t any risk of doing so. Unless when there’s one customer so naǐve that he genuinely thinks you’re in love with him. At best he’d call the place asking to specifically talk to you and then you’d have to perform fake unpaid banter just to maintain him as a regular which can be irritating especially at a regular base. At worst, he’d follow you outside the restaurant. You see, there’s a policy at Raisins where you cannot be seen wearing your uniform. It makes sense as who knows how much danger you’d put yourself in public wearing that uniform. The thought of getting approached or catcalled just gives me the chills. So for the guy to purposefully wait out the back until you finished changing and had gotten out, only to follow you back home is as creepy as a killer following you through the night. Luckily, that’s when Maurice steps in but those levels of obsession would just lead the victim into one mess of a spiral. There were a few horror stories among the same notion. The treacherous spiral and fear that brings upon someone is all too much. At least they’d disappear one day. Like all customers do. None of them ever stay as lifelong regulars. They all get bored of the dazzled artificial flavours at some point. Whether they overdose or learn to immunise themselves. 

There’s one marvel of Raisins they never told you. It's some sort of a business secret. Best way I can describe it as would be an off-menu item or experience Raisins can grant you. They have to be discreet about it so I’m not actually sure of the code word but I do know you’d have to be a devout enough customer to be granted access. Otherwise the girls would just look at you as if you’re a lunatic.

Behind all the shiny performances, freshly fried feasts and hostesses that would take interest in you, was our tiny butterfly swallowtail sanctuary. All of it was set in a back door behind the kitchen and to the right of the landline telephone with all the numbers for management or emergency written on a piece of paper hung up to the wall. Behind it was the wifi password some girls had secretly written down too. 

I don’t know why we keep it, there’s no reason to. It’s expensive and dangerous to maintain but seeing the winged creatures take flight behind the glass is all but a fascination.

Inside the greenhouse were various patterns of not only warm colours but also shades green, blue and black as painted patterns on each wing. I’m no entomologist but I do have a bit of information about swallowtails. Probably just use it as a place of reference so I don’t know, you can focus your research on more important stuff? I’m being nice here and well, it’s a shame they keep the sanctuary hidden behind walls. I’m not sure if it’s illegal but it sure is beautiful. And a health inspector would have at least inspected it once during a visit. I have my doubts on whether they’ve actually made a thorough search or if a single one has come to that establishment in the first place. 

 Swallowtail butterflies or scientifically known as Papiliondae, are a family of butterflies. They take up habitat in almost every corner of the world except the Arctic. Most swallowtails can be identified by the tails at the end of their hindwings but that is not an end all be all feature. They only live for two months at most. Beautiful but easily replaceable and the species that Raisins had decided to make their main marvel were the African Giant swallowtail butterfly. 

Their wings are painted with a beautifully prominent hue bright orange and paired with almost floral spots and edges of brown to compliment. They can also feature hints of white at the tip of their front wings as it can also go a tinged transparent brown like stained glass upon church walls. Even their juvenile form takes a beautiful form. 

Beautiful creatures yet fragile they were. But they didn’t just have looks going for them. 

These swallowtails are the most toxic in the world. Known to be able to poison up to twenty cats with just its poison. Their toxins probably come from their diet. They fill their slim stomachs with bitter and noxious leaves from the moment they hatch. With enough poison within the system, they can trigger a cardiac arrest. Sudden halt of the heart. And the plants the greenhouse held were definitely placed for them to keep the diet they would typically have in the wild. There was a pharmacy of poison in there. Which is why the butterfly has no known enemies as of now and are atop of the food chain except to an extremely stealthy butterfly collector or some black market dealer. I guess since keeping poison dart frogs are legal therefore, what’s the harm in toxic butterflies? Even if inside the sanctuary contained plants of its usual diet. Furthermore, for some odd reason, whenever specifically a Raisin’s girl would put their fingers against the tempered glass they’d all swarm to that one point as if yearning to be freed or fed. I’m sure fish have done something similar but the butterflies have only ever been attracted to the touch of a waitress there.

If you ask me how we got them in the first place, well let’s say I’ve already broken a couple NDA’s just by telling you of this secret sanctuary. In reality, I am but a waitress and who would need to spill company secrets to a lowly customer service worker? 

I did at least try to ask Mercedes where they had come from and she just bluntly replied “I don’t know, somewhere in Africa I guess?”

So I doubt even lingering there would let the secret escape out of its securely solid case. 

Of course having a kaleidoscope of the most dangerous butterfly known to mankind was indeed a terrifying presence. Fortunately, it did seem the glass was strongly tempered and the greenhouse management made it so there was little need to enter and manage the sanctuary. Except when the plants needed to be watered or carefully planted. Even worse was that they didn’t even have someone actually qualified for gardening and maintaining plant and butterfly life in the enclosed garden. Except if they wanted to keep this thing going on, someone would have to place a hand or two in at some points in time. That must be why the place handed that task towards the disposable of the lot. 

Even if Raisins wouldn’t be as infamous as it is without the gendered and body selective waitstaff, we could easily be replaced within just a week. Guess having to handle clingy customers and that notion was the sacrifice for having above average pay and opportunity. 

The thing about having to handle the butterfly enclosure was that yes, it did seem risky to do so and for some weird policy it was done alone, but most importantly that it was that most people tend to quit after they were forced to take such a task. It’s definitely an uncanny phenomenon. I mean it wasn’t like they died or anything, they just gave in their two weeks notice and went on their way. I would only learn the true reason for why most people who have done the task had to suddenly take departure until I had to take up the titular task. Even if it was just pouring some water diluted with sugar. Hopefully Mercedes said it wasn’t that bad when she did it. Whether it be from others exaggeration, her certain experience or a flat out lie for me to underestimate what I would have to witness. 

Feeding the butterflies was a task given to you if you were all of these three things: 

1. You were a waitress. Therefore, a new face could always prop up in a few days, taking your place as an entertainer. 
2. You were taking a closing shift. Swallowtails are nocturnal creatures so the prime feeding time for them would be once the sun had set. They had to be treated at least once a fortnight.

And finally…

3. You were gaining notoriety over the customers. Possibly even a stalker creeping up your back.

The last one definitely seems unfair. Except when you look at it from a product lense, it doesn’t really make sense for you to want to dispose of the least valuable item rather than the highest selling item. It’s just nipping the bud before it even blooms. 

For me, I don’t usually enjoy taking the closing shift. It’s an hour of rush as you hurry along to get home as soon as possible. Even worse, it was done all alone when the sun had already said its goodbyes a long time ago. Then if you had to wake up early for a treacherous opening shift, you’d get your coworkers complaining and criticising about how badly the closing staff did the last night. It’s funny to joke about it when you don't have to do it but when you are the target of ridicule, it truly sucks. Like I said, the only connections that form here are the parasocially false bond between server and customer. 

Speaking of connections, I had been slowly growing my popularity. Being cautious with the way I handled customers, I had been able to get a few people to have me as their favourite. With that benefit, my tips were rising but so was the growing jealousy. Even to Mercedes. It makes sense. For someone who came before her to easily rise to the top. Someone who she even taught. Whether that pent up envy was rational or not she still had it and made it clear. I never really knew her though. Butterflies are solitary creatures after all, they work by themselves. However, that doesn’t mean another pair of unique wings would want to receive the spoils of their mating dance. Once you reach near the top, the competition is neck and neck only hidden by artificially made masks we made to lavishly present ourselves. So it’s only enough time until you are voted for butterfly duty. And a week ago that had been me. The only thing that could have been worse than this was a stalker. Since for that at least Maurice could take care of them. It’s a shame that Maurice couldn’t do the job. Maybe his muscles would be strong enough to fight against the poison but his job is vital to the Raisin’s establishment and it’s kind of hard to find a physically strong guy who’s not also motivated by being surrounded by attractive women. 

I can’t really describe who had been at my back. All I know was that he was delusional and parasocial enough to think that we genuinely had a relationship and that we were a thing. Of course we weren’t. He just sought himself different from all the other customers that I would tug their arm or fein interest upon them. I can give a rough description of him, just not a name. I don’t want this statement to be turned over to face me behind my back. Even if I write myself up to never be the perpetrator, I’ll take that as my piece of toxicity. It had been a few days after he gave his first call to the establishment asking for me to prop him up to the back of the restaurant waving me a nauseating hello. His chestnut hair just makes me sick to look at. Maybe if my experience is horrible and I do quit, I could at least get away from that guy. Whoever he may have been.

So I had to both mentally and physically prepare myself for such a feat I had to take on. And if I decided to quit afterward well, my funds would have swiftly been depleted with the ongoing gentrification.  

In preparation and fear towards the day I had to do as my assignment said so, I had gone down a job hunting rabbit hole that night. Yet to no avail. 

No matter how tight knit I could make my resume, there just wasn’t a lot going for me nor available. I guess I just had to tough it up. 

They provided you with the proper precautions to tend to the swallowtails. The signs plastered up on the room informed that swallowtails are completely fine to touch, just not to eat. They are described as poisonous for a reason. So a hazmat suit and all the other protective equipment you’d need for something like a hornet was not needed at all. All you needed to do was open the latch and feed them that sweetly diluted water. I was getting less and less anxious as the job veered closer. Besides the fact that the rumoured experience was so horrible it would make you want to quit immediately, it’s not like I would die or anything. Although I’m not the most accustomed towards insects and bugs, at least the ones that would be crawling across my skin wasn’t something filthy like a cockroach or pest. Rather it was a wonderfully winged insect. So that might subdue the sensation if I looked at the forms. And there’s not much danger I’m putting myself in as long as I wash my hands before and after my interaction. Like any customer service worker would do. 

The sun had set a long time ago and it was a moonless night. The employees I didn’t know all said their farewells. Some even wished me luck in my endeavour, even if in a backhanded or sarcastic tone, as they shut the glass or back door behind them. Everything else had been cleaned beforehand. The tables, the kitchen, all the oil spills and tiny remnants of food. It had been a few hours since I had taken a bite of anything. As I don’t find the cuisine at the establishment I work at to be the most appealing nor nutritious. The only thing left was me and the artificial lights that hung above. 

Once I had set myself up with the proper uniform, I had placed all of my stuff ready in my bag. As soon as I finished feeding the swallowtails I would have liked to have left immediately from the establishment. That way I can get it all over and down with as soon as possible. So there I was with nothing but my casual clothes, a pair of white sterile plastic gloves, a cup of water diluted in sugar and a spoon. Nothing else. 

Reluctantly, I went over to the enclosure and viewed the hues of green and the orange that fluttered amongst it. I wished I could linger the view for a bit longer but the more time I stalled meant the later time I’d be going home. So with one deep inhale and exhale, I had diluted the water with some sweet caster sugar that was now invisible. 

With my pair of white sterile gloves, I slowly opened the latch to greet the fluttering beauties. Only for a burst of orange and deep blue wings to immediately fly out of the cage. I instinctively held my breath and my mouth shut as they exploded out. As I stopped breathing, their wings slid right through my skin. It wasn’t strong enough to pierce through but I did feel a surge of fragile insects brush past my face at an enormous speed. I thought I saw my life flashing before my eyes but it was only the streams of dark blue and orange flying past and through my sight. 

This was one of the last things I was expecting. For them to burst out and hurl for a sense of false freedom. As if they’re sanctuary could not suffice. That they needed more, they needed to risk some part of their existence to find something more. That being a new place to lay their eggs or feed. They would just reach too close to the sun, being so forced to be among the alike was all too suffocating I guess. Constantly having to be on top. 

Once the surge had stopped, the sanctuary had expanded into the back room and I stood there frozen. It took me a few moments of viewing the winged insects dyed shades of deep navy and orange flutter across the room before letting go of my held breath and begin to almost hyperventilate at the sight. 

They weren’t exactly hostile. Part of me thought that they’d all attract towards me due to their behaviour behind bars. I guess that wasn’t so as they spread out to every nook and cranny trying to make themselves a place to call home in their new territory. Perhaps being poisonous and not venomous formed such inquiring habits. Thinking about, if you could only harm a predator at the moment of your death, being venomous is more of a defence mechanism. In contrast, holding poison that can be inflicted can be both a defensive and an offensive mechanism. By being able to utilise this weapon, they can afford to be more hostile and raise their ranks in the food chain as they could feed on something rather than plain green plants. Being venomous doesn’t really offer you much really but I guess it’s better than being hunted and defenceless. 

The swallowtail butterfly’s poison also takes time to hone. Although they gain support from their mother as the eggs are laced in poison to prevent any nasty predators from snatching them away. Once they hatch, that gifted poison wears off. They go off their own lives, disconnecting from their mother and the ones that hatched beside them. And the only way to ensure they’re fragile body won’t be gobbled up into pieces was to consume the painfully poisonous plants that lay plentiful around them. It’s just in their ways and their ways work. The plants will grow back eventually if everything is kept balanced and they remain as their kaleidoscopic beauties. 

It would have been impossible to place them back in their cages, not to my abilities that is. At least it was a beautiful sight, the last view that I’d get before I get presumably fired for my one job ending in shambles. It would probably be even harder to find a job thereafter but I’ll push through somehow, hopefully. 

I was safe among the winged insects at least. They were passive enough to mind their own business and one never swarmed close to me. I don’t know how it all happened, I don’t know how all at once something had triggered within them. It would be impossible to wait for them to fall asleep until hours later, as per their nocturnality. Or whatever it’s meant to be called. 

I lost track of time within the room. I couldn’t see the time on any walls and I had now regretted placing my phone back in the bag, not thinking I needed it. I could only assume from the night sky that shone over the transparent window, that it may as well have been past eleven. It’s not as if anyone would be bothered to pick up but if I were to get fired, it would be better to get it done sooner than later. 

With a slow and small creek of the door to not let any butterflies slip past. I let myself slither through however, back to the kitchen and onto the landline phone I was. I dialled in for management as I observed from the piece of paper that hung on the wall. It felt like a century for someone to pick up. I mean it makes sense, who would want to pick up a call in the middle of the night. 

At least someone picked up at one point. A sigh of relief almost washed over me until once I had explained the escaped butterflies, the voice on the other side was that I had not known of. I can’t tell if it was human or at least my mind was registering that it has a human voice. Something in my auditory nerve was just translating it into something comprehensible. Yet all that I can think about it now  was that it had been all but incoherent fluttering set to the phone. It’s all… just so hazy in my mind as if it’s been clouded by some sort of toxin. In the end my nervous system said that someone was coming to help me out and it seemed the situation was soon to resign. To wait, I then slumped myself against the bar shelves among our limited and cheap selection liquors. 

The door was locked. I was sure of that. Despite the fact when someone came in, there had been no clicking, just the screech of a door as my help entered through. Immediately as I placed the phone back on the wall, a strike of starvation and nausea hit my stomach. I realised that I may have spent more time in the sanctuary than I thought as my stomach began to rumble. I hadn’t eaten a single meal in a while. The last meal I would’ve had would be a salad and steak from before I left to go to work. I don’t usually eat food directly from the chicken as honestly it isn’t their strongest forte in both health and taste wise. Probably because they don’t need that high class top quality chicken. People come for different reasons anyway. They would still purchase and gobble those wings if it was poisoned or rotten. 

I didn’t really have anything packed in my bag and it would be a hassle to make something with the kitchen’s ingredients. If it was even permitted for me to do so. That’s when management stepped in. 

It was either I hadn’t realised how hungry I had actually been, the stress of most likely having to find a new job, or some of that butterfly poison had entered my veins before I knew it. All that I could assume was I wasn’t thinking and processing straight nor right. I would have gobbled up anything placed in front of me. Even if it were to be laced in poison. I felt like I was on the brink of death by starvation.  As I heard the sound of fluttering wings approach closer, the only thing I saw that came in had been a kaleidoscope of bright orange butterflies swarming into the form of a humanoid figure of a woman. I think I recognised her too. That sharp point that went to the side at the front of the face, the poof of hair splitting out and then coming back in softly. I am absolutely sure it had taken the form of my past Raisins senior and now jealousy harbouring rival, Mercedes. 

She asked if I was okay. Or that is what I believe she was doing as swarms of butterflies were let out where her mouth should have been. With hesitation, I nodded without saying a word and she let herself into the enclosure making a sign for me to sit out and wait before she came back out. My stomach only complained more as her metamorphosed figure slipped into the door’s cracks. 

It was definitely a surprise for her of all people to come on in and fix that conundrum. Be it her as my own hallucination or a true blot of blurred butterflies. Either way my sudden hunger only increased as time passed by. I could almost hear the growl of my stomach echo through the bar cabinets that I had leaned on. 

I couldn’t really hear anything through the door. I guess all I could assume was that she got the job done as when the door was back opened, no pair of wings took an isolated exit. Instead they had formed to join her figure. 

I can’t really say if I was horrified at the sight. I mean if it was a creepier critter sure I would scream at the sight but a rabble of flapping orange and blue hues fluttering about to create a humanoid form of a familiar face. Some part of it flowed a sense of comfort through me. To think that butterflies would need to take the form of a human even if already deemed gorgeous amongst the mainstream. I didn’t mind the new shape it took I guess. Whether I was hungry or delusional at the time. 

Speaking of my hunger, it seemed that the rabble of winged insects took interest in my starvation. As they all shifted to form the tilt of a head as they observed my drowsy body below. That’s when they relocated themselves to set my limp body on a bar stool. Once again, I felt every fluttering wing against my skin. The only difference being they were more gentle in manner as this time they had a purpose that benefited me as I dropped my head down to the bar’s cold surface. 

I could’ve left right then and there. Yet I’d risk collapsing from starvation. It’s not like I wanted to leave either. It was nice enough for Mercedes to even offer to cook something for me. Despite her pent up hatred that she had toward me the past few weeks. Maybe her sympathy for me has changed over time. I guess that’s a nice thought. That there was a chance we’d truly get to know each other. 

The human need for connection is one fascination of itself. No matter how solitary I may write myself, here I am seeking to knit a new bond. As much as I can’t help it. That’s why people come here. Those who live in solitary and long something. Yet they’re not here for something that takes time and effort. They’ll pick their poison. 

This time, Mercedes didn’t take long to come back. Still as a hoard of winged beauties as with their minuscule wings they held up what was going to be my dinner and placed it upon the bar table I had been leaning on. 

A salad. A small salad of unfamiliar food that could easily be swallowed whole. An assorted collection of heart shaped leaves forming a rose. It was nothing but those emerald hearts and minuscule spheres of complimenting red to provide a pop of colour within the view. It was excessive of course and definitely not something that would be filling. Then again, I was eating at such a late time, there would be no way I would be able to burn off the calories in such little time. 

I have to tell you how hungry I was at that time, it was as if the time I spent within that enclosure seemingly depleted the strength I had. As if it absorbed my energy out of me. Besides, it is common courtesy to eat a meal that has been especially made for you. Even kinder to clean the plate. With little regard for myself, I took the rose to my mouth and ate all in one go. Alongside all its deceptive thorns gorged down my throat. I have to say at least the meal was digestible. I didn’t even need water as it slipped down my throat and into my stomachs. 

The leaves were bitter. Like the writhing taste of fermented beans or ampalaya. Yet I gulped all in one go to make sure the taste would be gone soon. I just needed to feed on something. Otherwise I may as well have passed out on the road. 

The minuscule spheres of orange were just as better except more concentrated as some made a burst of blistering tartness. I tried to avoid popping them yet some couldn’t handle the pressure between my teeth. In the end, I was able to have my fill just enough to survive and say my farewells to this hallucination. As surely Mercedes will be back to what she’s meant to look like. Hopefully she'll hold some empathy towards me from now on. 

I was almost about to raise myself up from the bar seat until my respiration suddenly been put on a halt.  I was sure I had swallowed the meal hole. It surely must have been dissolved into the acids in my stomach. Yet here my body was beginning to malfunction. As if pleading for me to stay. Since, if I did, all connection would be lost. I was hopeless. 

Poison it was. Of course. Of course the person who saw me rise up above her would do this. Of course she’d feed me an uncanny arrangement of a salad. It wasn’t laced with poison. It was poison. I had been lulled in by the winged beauties.

I looked up at the plain off white and the figure of butterflies above me. There had been no movement, no call for help. All there was during my last sights were the subtle blurred flutter of blue and orange wings. 

I only got back up with sheer force and luck alone. It’s a miracle really. Or perhaps it’s from past instances of contact with the poison. It’s all unclear to me. Some part of me believes that the kaleidoscope fed it to me in the form of tough love. Either way, I didn’t want to die now. Even if I may be burying myself deep into a hole. 

The inside of the diner was already humid, like an artificially created greenhouse. Even as I suffocated on myself, The warm wooden flooring kept me back up as I struggled to hurl myself up. It’s all but a blur, yet still I swear to you as I had laid temporarily as a corpse there. A signal of bright orange came to me. Usually, bright and flashy colours in the wild are what is called aposematism. It’s supposedly a warning sign for an observing predator as the blazingly saturated hue screams poisonous and death. Yet to me, it was a saviour. 

It was a fight fire with fire situation. I didn’t exactly swallow the butterfly. Rather I let it inside. I let it into my collapsed immune system. Feeling the soft flutters of its orange and blue painted wings down my throat as it navigated towards my heart.

Ever since then, my heart has stopped beating. When I feel my 4chest it’s all nothing. No life is left within me. For all I may be surviving on is that fluttering creature inside my body. And I can feel it laying its eggs. Calling my body a home. Yet I don’t mind it. It’s not even bothering me one bit. The crawling beneath my skin is neither making me squirmish, uncomfortable nor give me a chill across my spine. 

I haven’t gone to the doctor of course. One because I can’t exactly afford to go to any medical services as of my financial situation. Two because what the hell are they going to do when they see a living and breathing butterfly instead of a functioning respiratory system. And finally three, it’s not at one bit an inconvenience to me. I’m able to live somehow. The only piece of slight bother would only occur the day after I came back to Raisins. 

Yes, I still work there now even after that treacherous night shift. Maybe I'm exaggerating actually. Now my emotions towards it are that of neutrality. I don’t feel strongly about what it has done to me now. Or maybe that’s just the swallowtail cancelling out my negative gripes towards it. 

I came back as if nothing happened. As if my heart was still pumping life and sustenance into my veins. 

Back to the status quo it was. Some girls still held 

Do you recall that one guy that was creepily hanging around me? Well of course he came back. As if everything he was doing was totally not creepy at all. That was sarcasm by the way if you couldn’t tell. 

Anyway, he arrived during the slower parts of the day. I really wished he’d go and move on or something but it seemed not yet as he once again insisted I come and serve him. All in a days work. Again. 

I seated him towards a seat in a corner as space needed to be prepared for any sudden big parties. Besides, the guy always came in alone. Just for me. You can see how his parasociality just gives me the absolute chill upon my spine. 

Unfortunately, I have a career to uphold. He still bought the wings and he was still in the building. I didn’t have much choice but to serve him as any waitress would do. 

He asked to go see the swallowtails as he just heard of it in recent passing. He says it so obviously it made me want to punch him. For either good or bad,  I held my violence and escorted him to the same very room that I had to linger in last night. I really wished this event could last quickly.

Luckily, it seemed that God was on my side. Or the devil in some sick and twisted method of his. 

I was about to let him inside the precious sanctuary. The sanctuary that I knew was back to the status quo.  Yet, as I placed my hand on the knob behind came a heavy thud from the floor. I turned to the sound’s origin and beneath me was a lying body on the cold kitchen ground. 

A mixed wave of salvation and horror conflicted upon me. I went down to check his status and there was a clear absence of beating within his heart. Cardiac arrest. He was dead. 

I knew for a fact he wasn’t on some health issues when it came to his cardio. If that was the case then surely he’d be on some sort of watch. He didn’t seem like the unhealthiest of people as he was what you could call well built. I assure you, this came out of nowhere. 

Well nowhere is what I initially thought. Only for the pesky remains of a bright orange wing to remain crumbled on his tongue. 

I didn’t report it to the police. Not even to the other staff. This is the first time I’ve ever even mentioned it. 

The only thing that remains of that lying corpse would be the parts that have yet to be consumed by the crawling creatures and fungi within the fertiliser. 

Ferrari:

I… I think I’d like to go now. It’s almost time for me to go back to work.

Archivist:

Uhm, well before that it would be preferable for us to ask a few more questions. So we can have minimal contact unless that is unfavourable to you. Assuming from your current situation it isn’t. 

And to be the bearer of bad news, I’m afraid due to the contents of your statement being rather of a concern we will have to report it to the police. 

Ferrari:

Fuck. Right. What the hell is wrong with me? I wasn't going to even mention that part. My stupid self just got so into it I didn’t even realise what I was saying.

Just. Just give me some time to bargain my situation okay. You know what, I don’t even need to come to work on time. That’s right, I’m putting it all aside for this. 

Archivist:

Do you still… work there? 

Ferarri:

At Raisins? Yup. Still do. 

Like I said in my statement, I don’t have much  choice to leave until I rack up enough tips to do so and besides that I can offer you more than a few words. 

Let's make a deal. If you don’t report this entire situation to the police I, as an employee can grant you all the insider access you’ll need. Stops any barriers from getting in your way doesn’t it? 

Archivist:

Whilst that is indeed an offer for you to make. Despite the fact of the absurdity of the heart no longer needing to function by the literal hijacking of a butterfly. Perhaps we will be able to hasten research. 

Ferrari:

Exactly what I’m saying. You get the knowledge as fast as possible, whilst you send that knowledge to me. That way I can figure out what the hell has been going on with my circulatory system.

Archivist:

Yes. Quite prompt. 

The only problem would be is finding someone willing to enter such cesspool you call your establ-

[DOOR OPENS]

Clyde: 

Hey so about the entire weird ass delivery that we- 

Wait. Dude. Kyle. My man. What are doing in the same room as this beauty. 

Archivist: 

My job. 

Clyde: 

Haha don’t worry Kyle, your secrets safe for me. 

Archivist: 

Please get your arm off me. I’d also like to clarify that I don’t typically go through endeavours regarding romance. Especially in this setting, unlike you. 

Hm. Actually, Clyde. Speaking of jobs. I have one for you right now. 

Clyde:

Oh? What’s it going to be Mr Boss?

Archivist: 

Well you see Clyde, our statement giver has allowed us the opportunity for direct investigation. If possible, I’d like you to follow Ms Roma to her working establishment. 

Clyde:

Why of course I have time for this! You can leave it all up to me!

I’ll be back with the best results and maybe have some enjoyment of my own. 

Now where is this fine establishment? 

Ferrari: 

[aside] are you sure this guy is up for the task? Cause he seems like the type of guy who goes to Raisins in the first place. Ultimate victim quality if you ask me.

Archivist:

I assure you ma’am all of our employees hopefully know how to conduct themselves and in fact this naivety could be but a false illusion. You’ll never know what will happen next with him.

Ferrari:

If that’s what you say… 

You better not be lying here. My life is at stake right now. 

Okay. Uh, Clyde was it? Sure I’ll place my trust in your investigation.

[DOOR CLOSES]

Archivist:

I guess that would leave both sides satisfied. 

Oh, she seemed to have left something on her seat. 

A butterfly wing?

I guess we can examine this later. For now.

Recording ends. 

[CLICK]

Chapter Text

[CLICK]

Wendy: 

I just don’t get it. Why the hell would you send off Clyde of all people over to Raisins!? You know how he gets over literally any woman he deems as attractive!

Archivist:

Okay, I understand your concerns as of now. The decision was but a spur of the moment but I’m pretty sure Clyde would be the most willing out of all the four of us to go right?

Wendy:

You do have a point there but that doesn’t provide a proper reason in why would you allow him to go alone!? I’m concerned for his safety there, like any normal person would be. 

Archivist:

Concern over what? Something actually supernatural out to get him or he’d get completely robbed by the service they offer over there. 

Wendy:

To be honest the latter but the chance of supernaturality is still a possibility. 

Just, it’s not my job or authority to call him back, it’s yours. You better take accountability if anything happens to him okay. Although….

I called Clyde up some time ago and he seems to be fine by the way. He says he’s probably going to need at least a week for investigation… rather than a concern about safety it’s really a concern that he’s enjoying himself too much. 

Archivist:

I’m sure that Clyde isn’t too much of an idiot to find himself dead in there. If anything happens to him I’m sure he won’t be dead. I will apologise about making such a rash decision Wendy, genuinely. As of now though we still need to get this place sorted and what I need is at least two other people beside me to help out this hell hole. 

[Wendy sighs]

Wendy: 

If that’s what you say then… but you better take full accountability Broflovski. You’re the one that’s head Archivist, not me. 

It’s too early for this… I’m going to get some fresh air before I clock in… 

Also, do you really need to keep that thing perpetually on? It seems like more of a hassle and less sustainable to buy more tape rather than record every single thing that happens in this goddamn room. Shame that there aren’t any security cameras in the building, that way your whole need to record everything would have been solved already, or at least have already been accounted for.

Archivist: 

Understood. 

[DOOR CLOSES]

Sometimes I think she’s more suitable for this titular role of head archivist. Not only for the fact that she was originally who Liane had wanted as her successor but because of how she actually seems qualified for her job. That’s just the imposter syndrome speaking though. As much as I admire her work, I have a job to do unfortunately. 

And well it’s already running, might as well place another statement in it. Like Wendy said, it’s not sustainable. 

Statement of Mary Gollum regarding an experience at Hell’s Pass hospital during her shift as a nurse. Original statement given June 3rd 2014. Audio recording by Kyle Broflovski, head Archivist of the South Park Institute. 

Statement begins. 

Archivist (statement):

If you go beyond the name, Hell’s Pass hospital isn’t as scary as the name sounds. Sure during the winter season it often gets covered with snow and there was that one time there was a fatal black out due to the extreme weather. It did indeed lead to a few patients kept on life support dying but many people die in hospitals. As much as we try to heal people there are the few that are lost every year. 

That’s the same thing with every hospital isn’t it? There’s always going to be a death rate. As a nurse, sometimes you just have to disconnect yourself from the casualties. Yet there are always some that simply remain in your mind as much as you would like to burn the memory of them. 

Although, I don’t work at Hell’s Pass anymore after all that, I just can’t. I found a new job as an elementary school nurse. It definitely pays less but the casualties and emergency incidents are significantly lesser than that of a public hospital. I also don’t have to travel far, take any night shifts or work in the Emergency department. Meaning no more sleeping in the hospital on a daily basis for me anymore. Which is a rejuvenating change of pace. So just for clarification, I cannot provide anymore information on the matter of Hell's Pass hospital. I can only provide the past rather mundane anecdotes of my long career. Though they do treat everyone as equally as one another despite their differences, which is a nice sentiment that I implore. 

Of course, there’s always going to be something happening in the ER. At least one unconscious drunk will be sent there every night. Only for the moment they sober up realise what dent in their wallet they have made just by a single ambulance ride. Something a bit more interesting yet more tiring to take care of would be a street fight gone typically overboard. Since at least those one’s had a story behind them. 

That night it was in the middle of winter. The building had begun to rack up some snow as the blizzard moved on. A perfect time for an unfavourable accident along the icy road. In fact, there have already been a few ice bound mishaps situated across the department. Worse being an entire family of three skidding off the slippery ice road and being called over here. It would have been almost impossible to even start the smallest of flames in such harsh wet weather. Yet the complete opposite was going to be a major event of the night.

There wasn’t a lot going on at the time though. It wasn’t as bad as what it usually had been in my professional opinion. Of course, there’s always going to be something happening in the ER. 

There were only a few patients hanging around whether they had been conscious or not. A few drunken mishaps here and there and some were just purely unlucky even sober as they held their broken bones. I thought it was to be what can be counted as a “typical” day the for ER. That was until of course I received a call from one of the doctors, Dr. Gauche at 2:37 in the morning. He said that there were two heavily burnt victims arriving soon in an ambulance. 

As soon as I had hung up to the call, I made my way outside to collect. Except, whilst I was walking out of the ER I noticed it had become all too silent. There were no groans coming from the recently injured nor any drunken wails. They were still there but it seemed as if a zipper had been tied against their mouths. All the patients had been doing was reading a book, on their phone or just occupying themselves to not speak. Although, I was in a haste at the time so I couldn’t yet process the soundscape. 

The time I stepped out of the hospital doors, I already saw the blaring lights of the ambulance parked outside. The back door of the vehicle had already been opened and they had already revealed the burn victims. In an instant, I had received orders from the senior Doctor Gauche to transfer one of the burned victims to an emergency room at once.

As those words had exited his mouth however, I was once again met with that uncomfortable lack of sound. It wasn’t a whisper, it was just that his voice was so silent. It looked like he was struggling to get those words out. However, I assumed that it mayhaps have been my typical lack of sleep that was kept consistent throughout all my years as a nurse. 

As the blistering blue and red lights flashed through the scene, I worked in my regular haste escorting the lying patient towards one of the empty emergency rooms. Yet again, in utter silence besides the taps and skids across the shiny sterile floor. Whilst I pushed the patient through, I noticed that these burns were nothing that I’ve seen before. They were only second degree burns and yet the spots of red seemingly wrapped around the entire unconscious body. Although, to all my years of nursing I’ve claimed that burns were one of the most uncomfortable injuries to look at. This scenery only made me further attest to my claim. Except there was something about these scalds that took me aback. 

The location of these burns just looked so purposeful. As if whilst burning, they had control of the violent flames that enraptured them. They were only across the arms, the legs, the body. Not the head nor any of the hands. Like a line or barrier had been drawn in between those parts. 

It was only until I lay the patient down onto the proper bed, I was able to properly take a closer look at them. 

A young woman. Around her twenties. Only the ends of blazing bright red hair had been charred into a deep brown. Even more peculiar was that she had worn clothes. Typically with that many burns across her body, you’d expect her clothes to be mostly seared into ash. Except there were only a few scorch marks that I could count. So it was as if someone had placed these clothes on her after she had been torched. I looked through her pockets if she held any items and failed to ever find any form of identification unfortunately. The single item I had found was the wick of a candle. Not the wax nor any lighters. Just a small wick to hold a flame. I couldn’t really do anything with it though and my priorities were set upon healing my patients, not investigation. So I had simply placed the minuscule wick to the side.

Whilst I had been slathering some cetrimide on the scarred skin, I saw the additional burnt patient being wheeled right beside the other and observed as fellow nurses inspected him. This time, the victim did hold an ID card in his pocket. Thirty two year old, Alejandro White. Short black hair mostly charred off from the flames  unlike that scarlet haired woman. Around his body had been a muted grey jacket. Once again having failed to disintegrate in the fire. This one’s burns were wrapped around his entire body except for a small line across his neck.

According to the fire department, the two unconscious victims were found in the cemetery of Crossroads Church in Asspen from an anonymous caller. As there were alerts of a fire near the building. However, even odder was the fact that where they lay, no flames were left at the scene. The only remnants reported were charred specks of scorched bark marking where they lay and an uncharacteristically scalding hot metal bar that settled next to the two.

They were second degree burns. Yet with the sheer area they took over each patient's body seemed out of this world. It was in such an even spread throughout the skin. No areas were particularly deep nor thin. Trying to spot a starting point within the scalded skin would be a feat to accomplish. It was as if the fire spread as if it were on a pile of leaves and yet it only spread too far from the ground beneath them and with a lacking amount of energy. 

I didn’t observe them for too long however. The night needed to go on and I had other silent patients to tend to in haste. It was only until I was passing by the room the burnt two had shared, I stepped inside. 

It was the witching hour at that point in time and the blistering blizzard had begun building up to its climax. Thus, I had little to no choice to stay for the entire night, to my own dismay unfortunately. The silence was still imminent through the building, no matter how easily sound bounces between the walls. Even the few nurses who I had been close associates with had begun to silently speak between themselves. Unlike a whisper however, it lacked that clear manipulation of air and came straight from what seemed to be struggling vocal chords weakly vibrating against each other. 

The volume began to feel all the more isolating within the hospital's sterile walls. Being around people only helped increase this slowly suffocating discord. So during a rather peaceful hour, I placed myself away from any presence and into a desolate hallway. Nearby where I had stood was a frosted window where the edges had begun to build up pieces of soft white snow in contrast to the raging blizzard outside. It wasn’t the first time I’ve had to experience such extreme weather within the hospital, living in the mountains makes it all the more susceptible for harrowing winters after all. In rare moments I find myself comforted by the dry desolation that laid outside in the cold. 

I was planning to stay in the isolated hallway until some sort of alert, alarm or warning had called me over. As it’s not as if I was the only competent nurse in the vicinity. Call it slacking off but just for a fleeting moment I needed to rest myself in the solitude. I guess I couldn’t call myself alone however as a small arachnid came crawling across the wall. It wasn’t anything harmful, perhaps it was just taking refuge like so many other people within that establishment. 

That was until that solitude had to evolve into a scene of pitch black accompanied by the howling winds outside. A black out accompanied by an unnatural wave of heat. 

I wouldn’t say it’s all too surprising to have a black out within those parts of the mountains. It wasn’t the first time such an event had happened before. However, there were serious dangers, that being of course the patient's set on life support and the mental calmness of any other patients. 

And yet no sounds of panic poured into the corridors. Not even the rushed and hastened steps of nurses rushing over to the generator. The isolation and quiet simply sustained itself with the sudden darkness. A wave of worry ran through my mind. If there was not one person I could hear take action, therefore they may as well have been dead. For the patients on life support only had but a few minutes to live and as I tried to listen for some presence, there were none that reached my ears.

I may have well been all alone in this now uninhabited hospital. Still, I have a job to do. Whether in sleep deprivation or blizzard. People’s lives were on the line after all. Even if I couldn’t see nor hear them. The hospital has a generator outside the building, not far but still a trek to make use of such extreme winter storms. 

So, with as many layers of parkas and winter jackets I could stuff around my body, I made my way towards the generator. However, what had been so peculiar and chilling was the fact that as I made my path down the exit of the building, I was met with no one. No staff, injured patients, drunkards. All gone. A simple sterile station of solitude. 

That scene had chilled me to near death underneath the sick green tones of emergency exit lights. Never in my life would I believe to find myself in discomfort in an emergency room devoid of patients. As if some part of my identity had been lost. Either way, in that hallucinogenic state, lives that I could not see may have still been dying. 

It would be an understatement to call the weather harsh. The blizzard was literally crawling and stabbing into my protected skin, attempting to slowly thaw the heat away to turn my sweat into icicles. Furthermore, I could barely see a thing too with the harrowing winters both attacking my vision and the clouds blocking my few forms of light. Most of my directions and path were majority from my innate muscle memory, of all my years working and hiking around that stone grey building. 

A glint of warm yellow came from beyond the piling snow. I approached it closer to reveal a small metallic structure shaped like a rocket stuck into the ground. In red bold bright words read “DANGER” in all capital letters. It was the generator. The generator to hopefully set everything back to normal and populate the emergency room back to its full connection. 

I approached the metallic piece of construction, only for the surface of my gloved fingers. I jumped at the immediate sensation of scalding hot metal against my hand. Even though the generator was yet to be turned on, it was as if it had already absorbing heat. Muffling out the sounds of the blizzard’s cry, I failed to hear any chugging of a turned on generator but something else.

There were sounds emanating from a nearby window of the hospital. Eerie chants inviting themselves into the cold desolate arctic land. Unlike the last pieces of dialogue I've had to hear they were actually whispers. They came with the sensation and audio of soft breath yet it may have been the loudest sound within the world. A complete antithesis to before. My ears could clearly hear the constant prayers of “Visus, tactus, gustus in the fallitur, moloch, all to cinders. The lightless flame” The air from such cries were felt against my earlobes. I couldn’t ignore the sound amongst all the stillness, it only got louder as my feet stomped through the deep snow. 

In similar silence, despite my feet treading deep into the melting snow, I approached the hospital window. From the moment I grasped a look into the room, Alejandro with his back turned towards the window. He stood unwaveringly still as we watched down onto that flame haired lady. 

Although no light had been blazing through the room, one had definitely been lit. As when I placed my gloved fingers against the clean glass, I almost fell back from the sudden scalding shock. The glass was skin peeling and burning. Even when I began to sense the formation of a burn, I was then hit by the raw chill of the winter blizzard. As I had noticed it had charred right through the tip of my glove and had exposed my skin to extreme chances of developing frostbite. 

I perhaps could have placed my hands only by the surface of the burning window. However, when I sought out warmth, there had been no sensations of heat emitting out the window. I was denied warmth and only subjected to the ferocious elements of what fire can bring to you. However, once I peered closer into the glass’ surface I saw hints of moisture building up against the plane and rising upwards. Therefore, the boiling heat was still imminent yet choosing to remain concentrated in either that window or the entire room in front of me. 

Finally, I looked once more into the patient room and there I saw from below where Alejandro White looked down, lying down on the thin hospital mattress and only lit by the overcast of sickly green light above. The woman. Except she no longer took the form of her scalded body. Rather, she was melting. She was a melting piece of wax, carving herself into the bed. I didn’t want to believe it but it’s all so vivid, it has to be real. As much as I deny my memory, for how much longing I take to disconnect myself. That Jane Doe. That woman of no identity. That woman of no face as it deformed its molten body into an object no longer human. 

Finally, the heat began to meet my face. That absence of light but that explosive wave of humidity. The energy itself made my blood boil just by the sheer power of it. Although I can’t exactly say I was mad, more as if stunned to not exert anymore energy. Or else I may have combusted right on the snow that I stood on. Leaving only my ash to mix in with the white dust and lose all self and remains. 

Still to this day, I cannot possibly comprehend that molten face, that indescribable heat and where exactly it was coming from. Somehow all light energy in the hospital had seemingly converted into one concentrated room of heat. 

Alejandro only continued to loudly whisper his eerie prayer, not faltering from the melting lady that lay in front of him. It was more as if he was causing it anyway, that woman still seemed to remain comfortably unconscious. 

Either way, I couldn’t stand in awe at the melting body and ferocious heat. Even if my hands were left burnt and permanently scarred, I have a job to do. And that is preventing people from death. 

I trenched my way back to the burning yellow generator. Eyes still skewed from the attacking winds and snow. At least this time it was a shorter walk. The only difference this time was that my face had lost all senses to the cold, a sharp desensitising numbness. As if I was lost in an isolating discord landscape. Even as I walked back to the generator, I had quickly lost sight of the grey hospital walls that were meant to have loomed miles above me. It all had faded so quickly before my frostbitten eyes. 

At least that warm yellow shone brightly out in that void. I got close to it once more and it still held that scalding heat in my palms. The prayers were still imminent in my ears too. They had never faded away from my mind. Whether that be from the sheer repetition that had ingrained itself into my mind or that somehow that voice had still reached me. 

Even if the surface could have left eternal scars upon my burnt body, the threads needed to be connected again. Otherwise what is human life without any other? Connection and links are what binds the human race together. If all is burnt then, part of ourselves, our identity may have well been lost to that sacrifice. That must be part of the reasons why hospitals were made in the first place. Why else would someone go all the lengths for survival without searching and keeping greater connection. It would be a shame to burn them all in one go. 

The generator was broken. Despite my heated hands swelling up from the scalding metal surface, all there was in front of me were two broken wires complacently slumped down towards the piled snow revealing its metal colourful innards. I didn’t have much choice in what I could have done. The chants ringing in my ears, although I couldn’t comprehend such cryptic language, I knew it was screaming for me to just let it happen. Let all become lost into the burning heat and turn to nothing but a barren hospital. That way I need not to risk death. I wouldn’t need to feel the immense sharp pain of electrocution. 

Yet, I have a job to do. That is to save lives of course. It was either the death of hundreds or one single connection at the causality of one. So in one hold of a breath a pressed the two wires together. In one big blast of electricity and shock flowed through my veins and I finally let out onto the deep snow. 

The next thing I saw was the bright sterile light of a hospital ceiling as I lay down what felt to be a stiff mattress. Although my hands were scalding I had also gone through experiences of frostbite across my face. Particularly my nose. Although I was prompted to not continue working, I was allowed to stand up. 

The hospital's connection had been back on and so was the population. As now you could clearly hear the cries of the recently injured through the echoes of the hallway. So in that factor I felt reassured. I asked one of the nurses about the life of any patients on life support. And unfortunately, not everyone was saved. There were a few on life support that had met their flatline during the blackout. A shame that such deaths had to happen. I’m pretty sure that event caused some media coverage and near shut down of the hospital due to such negligence. 

There was however, the case of Alejandro White and that woman. Once I had gotten back up to my feet, it was one of the first rooms I ever entered, slowly at that. I didn’t want to see that unsettling melting face ever again after all. Yet, when I opened the door all that I was left with was the cold harrowing winds from a window left half melted with remnants of melted wax and a cloud of ash across the room. 

I never saw the two again. I guess you could assume that Alejandro had become the ash inside the room but that could all be my own speculation. It is of my concern that another power outage may occur once more which is why prior to my leave I did request for the generator to be moved. Right now however, I’d rather disconnect from the events entirely. 

Archivist:

Statement ends. 

Of course we can never confirm what exactly those ashes were made up of, probably just some dust interpreted from a recently electrified mind. However, we can confirm from the medical records of Hell’s Pass that there was an admission of two burn victims that very night. Evidently, there was also an event of minor arson at the cemetery of St Mary’s. Reported by a caller naming himself “Michael” and another female named Annie Knitts, perhaps an associate of his. The fire department commented he held a grungy tone in his voice. Akin to past descriptions of a similarly named. Michael. 

On the other hand, Annie Knitts is a name relatively new to us. With out current accessible information, she doesn’t seem to be actually associated with any people of interest but I do believe she has a statement. Somewhere…In here... hopefully. Well, it's in the records at the least.

Anyway, doing some actual field research there is not much to note on Hell’s Pass Hospital. Despite the eccentric name, the only thing of slight importance is their lack of budget and somewhat lacklustre staff. This lesser quality of staff does hold some doubt in Ms Gollum’s future endeavours. Though from records she was indeed employed at that institution and is taking on other jobs as a school nurse. 

With that I doubt there is much help from her. Besides how her small sighting prevented a found spider's nest from going haywire. 

Within what we assume to be Alejandro's chant he repetitively said the name of the Canaanite deity known as “Moloch.” Some illustrations of this idol include a bull headed figure with a hand hovering over a large flame. Possible linking to a connection with this motif of pyro. Furthermore, it is also to note that Molock often requires a sacrifice. Typically a child but take that as you will. Some other depictions show an amalgamation of both a bull head and lit furnace. Perhaps an entrance for the sacrifices to be turned to cinders within him. 

On a similar topic, there have been no sightings or records of Alejandro since these events. As of current time he has been marked as missing in action as he was never registered out of the hospital. Too bad we don’t have any specimens of the ash found in that room. As it is far too late to make any connections. 

Recording ends.

[CLICK]

Chapter Text

[CLICK]

Archivist:

Statement of Stephen Stotch regarding his son. Original statement given December 12th 2007. Audio recording by Kyle Broflovski, head Archivist of the South Park Institute.

Statement begins. 

Archivist(statement):

There is something wrong with that child I tell you. Ever since he’s been frolicking around, doing his own thing I just can’t understand what on earth his motive is! 

All day and everyday he keeps that cheery smile on him as if nothing wrong is happening. I’ve grounded him countless times for adorning that stupid face of his but whenever he’s out of his room, he’s back if at it again! He’s making my poor wife go near insane and harming the entire family, that means my reputation as a man. I’ve done everything I could do. Ground him, take him away and even exorcise the boy but he’s just not listening to me, he can’t see what’s wrong with himself. 

I have a son. Leopold is his name but we just like to call him Butters. It was originally conceived by his school friends but eventually the entire town began to pick it up. Which included his very own parents of course. 

In my household I believe in very strict discipline. Be a critic all you want but it’s just always been like that. Ever since his grandma at least. And look how that has developed me. See? I’m a completely mentally stable and responsible parent. It’s just a bit of tough love that’s it. It’s for his own good and discipline. He understands it. He understands every reason why I ground him. It’s so he can do better next time, so he can learn from his actions. 

Butters is a good kid. A very good kid. But he does make mistakes and becomes easily influenced by the nastier sort of people around him. Like that one time he made an inappropriate face for his school photo, that earned him a ground. He even got pressured into smoking! Can you believe the kid? Grounded. The worst of all of course would be the countless times he has misplaced the condiments and ingredients inside the pantry. I mean how can someone place Hamburger Helper right where the milk is supposed to go. Clearly it's meant to be in alphabetical order. It’s not that hard at all. But due to his negligence, I had hamburger helper in what was supposed to be my milk. That boy just gives me too much stress all the time. After what makes a family is a well organised pantry.Which is why that little displacement did earn him at least a month's worth of grounding. 

The thing is, he never learns! No matter how many times he is kept stuck in his room. He keeps misplacing every single godforsaken food item in that pantry. I just can’t fix him any longer. He’s driving me insane, that son of mine. I’m trying to be a good parent, in fact I am being a good parent. It's just that mistake after mishap he has to get grounded almost every other day. Trust me, it hurts me more than it hurts him. But I have to say to myself, it’s all for the sake of him to grow up to be a responsible, organised grown up. Just like his father. 

I don’t know how he broke. Or at the least I don’t see how my parenting could have caused it. I am a completely sane man so surely he should take after his father. I don’t think my child could ever lie. He’s too good of a kid for that. At least I want to believe he can’t complete acts of deceit. That isn’t how I taught him. It surely can’t be me who caused it. 

My wife and I had been recently going through a bit of a rough patch. No. A bit is quite an understatement in fact. I had been recently caught by my naive son that I had been doing some, let’s say unscrupulous activities whilst I said I had been preparing for our anniversary. We agreed that we weren’t going to divorce. For our kid you know. And our reputation in town. There’s just no way we could do that to our son. Just too cruel. 

Still, Linda had been acting completely crazy. Her mind had gone completely frazzled from whatever had been going on. So much that she had completely stopped being able to function like a sane woman. She was barely able to comprehend even the most basic of actions! 

Although she had become a complete dysfunctional asset, she still stayed in the family though. And Butters seemed mostly fine. Besides for the fact that he fibbed about my actions and the young man earnt himself at least three months of grounding. Prior to the fibbing I did try to tell him about how sometimes deception can be used for the greater good. That there are things called little white lies he could utilise. Unfortunately, it was far too late. On my lap, he went on with his dumb naive smile that I didn’t need to worry about it at all! As he already told Linda! 

Sometimes I can’t tell whether he holds malice in him or not. I’d like to believe he doesn’t. As my parenting methods teach him the exact antithesis of malice. Yet for him to ruin the entire stability of this nuclear family that I had nicely set up all for the sake of him and how everyone else around him views him as. Why must he innocently destroy it all at once?  

And that’s how it all started to crumble down into boundless pieces. How it all went down one chaotic spiral.  

At first I thought it was my wife’s crazed mind behind all the stunts. But surely it couldn’t have been her. Even through a close divorce she still sleeps right beside me in the same room. And I am no heavy sleeper, so surely I would have been woken up by even the slightest of activity amongst my room. I assure you. It’s all some cosmic being who wants to torment me for whatever reason that may be. =

Like all things do, it started subtle. One morning I awoke with my wife beside me still sound asleep, however I had begun to notice something upon the wall. A collection of shapes. A pattern. A fractal upon my wall. It was such an enticement to look at in fact. Observing closely into repetition of shapes and patterns. Despite being so small, it looked to be masterfully done. I didn’t even see any remnants of a brushstroke nor mishap within the illustrations. It was all so confusingly intricate in its form. It wasn’t just pasted on the walls either. As I felt the boundless twists against the tip of my fingers, the texture told me the fine sketch and paint that had been used in its making. Such quality could never be from synthetic materials.

Although it was only the size of my palm at best, it was an unforgivable sight. For someone to invade my room whilst I was sleeping and completely ruin and vandalise the very wall I worked extremely hard to obtain. It’s just unforgivable. And who else could have possibly done it besides my own son. As much as I would have liked to deny it. There had been no other person who could have possibly committed such heinous vandalism besides him. 

So that exact morning I stomped my way towards my son’s room. With all the air in my voice ready, I yelled to him how incredibly grounded he was for what he did last night. At first he played dumb. Seeming naive to the wicked crimes he had committed whilst I had been sound and asleep. Of course I saw through it as a good father should. Immediately, I reprimanded him for the new painting on the wall and if I weren’t so kind I would have already sent him to jail for vandalism and would not even pay for bail. Seeing the terrified face alongside the profuse apology, I knew he had learnt his lesson at this point. To hopefully never again taint the precious walls with his crude artworks. Yet, just to make sure he never did so ever again. In extra precaution, I had sentenced him to go to his room for at least a week. 

With a solemn face, he retreated and surrendered to my authority and decided to reflect upon his actions. With one last look at that saddened face, I locked the door on him for the boy to further observe his past crimes. I can assure that he was in that room for as long as he needed to be for. After all, why else would I have installed a high tech level laser security system. As much as I can trust the boy, you never know. So you can never let your guard down. Even amongst the ones you trust the most. 

With that done and settled though, I went along with the day. I ate a filling breakfast from my beloved wife and went out for some good time for myself. I could mostly forget about that hypnotising piece of illustration upon that wall. As I hoped that my wife would have painted it away. Covered into ignorance. I could now pleasantly slumber into bedtime tonight. Everything was surely good now.

Until it wasn’t. 

You see my hobbies other than what I do outside of the house involve drones. I find myself to be quite skilled at this particular endeavour of mine. I tend to partake in such activities whilst the sun is still up and it shines as brightly as the love I hold for my family. And in this town that I live in, it is rare to not get such days. With giddy excitement within me I made my way into the garage as the metallic doors lifted open themselves. 

Except when the garage had revealed itself, something impossible had happened. Something so absurd. An event that shouldn’t exist. And yet it did occur. It defied the rules of space and physics itself. That being, for some reason, the drone had been hijacked. My special flying device had been stolen beyond my control. It may have been in the exact same spot as I once saw it but there was just a smidge of the problem laid visible on its plastic surface. There was a scratch. A scratch that no amateur professional like me could have made. 

I looked into its flight history and lo and behold, whilst I was gone it had taken flight. I tried to check the past footage recorded but all I saw was a rainbow static binding and forming across the screen. Just looking at it made me nauseous. Yet I can’t quite describe the extreme ways it made my head spin. Even through the busted footage however, someone or at least something had tinkered with it. Even worse, they possibly still had the access to do so again. 

With this fear streaked upon me, for the second time of the day I made my way upstairs. Making a sound at every step of the way to make my maddened presence known. I was ready to reprimand the boy once again. I was ready to pull all the anger rising down my throat and let out my disappointment. 

But, of course I wasn’t thinking straight at this time. First of all there was no way Butters could ever know how to pilot a drone. He hasn't even received the proper qualifications from me to do so. It’s just infeasible. Even more was that he was meant to be in his room. Locked away to reflect on last night and as a father there would be no way he would even try to break out of there. Because first of all, it’s impossible. That lock is much more than it seems to the average human eye. It’s a premium quality electric infrared bolt after all. To make sure he doesn’t escape and ensure grounding has taken its proper effect. When I went up to the door, I was right, it was locked. As it should have been. 

Yet it still made me wonder who was the perpetrator this time. Now it couldn’t have been my wife as she knows how much value I hold towards my drone and in no possible timeline would she have been able to pilot my precious machine. So the culprit wasn’t anyone in the house. It couldn’t have been.

In a panic, I scoured throughout town and security footage for any possible perpetrators behind this drone scandal. And yet to no avail and they only saw me as a crazed man, paranoid over nothing. Clearly they could never understand the value and artistry it takes to behold a drone but I couldn’t waste any more of my reputation any longer. As if I had kept going for hours, me and my family would have already been completely set up to be outcasts. 

I sighed to myself on the way back home and as I looked up to my son's room, I saw him give a little wave back, ensuring that he hadn't yet breached security. Yet that smug grin on his face revealed that he hadn’t quite yet learnt his lesson. So I profusely exerted my anger towards his lack of reflection from down below. That as in yelling at him for making a stupid face.  

Once I had returned into my humble abode, I was still shaken up and paranoid of the hijacking of my drone. I was considering placing another one of those sturdy locks but this time on the garage door. I wasn’t quite sure how that would work but surely the locksmith would have some kind of idea of how to install it. It’s their job after all. However, there would also be the consideration of money. After all, the lock on my son's room didn’t just cost a single penny. I had to thoroughly tell him of how much time and money I had spent on him to ensure he knows the full weight and punishment of being grounded.  

It’s not like I was in need of money, but the question was how long it would take for the locksmith to arrive. As the lock on my sons’ room took weeks for the man to install and renovate into the walls. With this drone hijacker on the loose too, I couldn’t risk anything. 

So I did what any sane drone hobbyist would do. Completely sane. Like a strategist's mind was at work. Constant calculating and plotting for the next move to prevent the enemies further conquer. To completely eradicate this criminal, I staked out the night in the garage. 

I asked my wife for the strongest coffee feasible to mankind and some sleeping blankets to ensure I do not freeze upon the cold hard floor. Except not too many blankets in the case that I would be so snuggled within the sheets that I would eventually doze off. She complied of course and gave me the just right amount of caffeinated shots and blankets. Perfect for me to set off into the night. 

Now you see, I am no crazed man. I do not believe in the paranormal as much as me writing these words contradict such a statement. The only thing I hold my belief in is the loving grace of God. I know there is no such thing as ghosts, ghouls or haunting. If there were such things, I would have already taken the precautions to rid them of my establishment. In the first place, what kind of ghost would want to terrorise the happy lives of a perfectly bright and functional family? Don’t they have one bit of sympathy in them? Weren’t they one human in their past lives?

It was past midnight at this point. Or at least I thought it was as I didn’t have any lights nor a watch. I should’ve come more prepared but I had been so frayed by my drone possibly being seized, I had haphazardly set myself up for this. For once I had let myself become too overwhelmed. Multiple times through the night, I checked and rechecked the garage door locks. Over and over again. Constantly. Just to assure myself the only man going out of this freezing garage after tonight would be me. The lock was safe. There is no faulty equipment. This thief was just naive and doesn’t know the true consequences of messing with Stephen Stotch and his drone. 

I laid awake the entire night as planned. The spiked arctic floor helped that sensation of anxious adrenaline keep my eyes wide open. Even through all the nausea and spinning in my head, I stayed persistent to catch that cursed drone thief. 

Yet in the end to no avail. Quite anticlimactic if you ask me. Through the small slit of the outside underneath the garage door, the sun's first beams of light peeked through to the deserted room. No one had come to take the precious drone of mine. No one had even dared to approach.

At first, a wave of relief came over me for a brief moment after successfully staking the night out and to find no hijacker. Perhaps through my own presence and realisation I managed to scare them off. I felt my shoulders lighten from stress and already feel rejuvenated despite the sag underneath my eyes. Just to ensure the event had blown over I had even gone over to my drone. From my drowsy eyes it looked newer than it had ever been. As it was back to a safe haven, I wanted to remove it from all memory of that cruel thief that had hijacked her. 

Despite the first few beams of light peeking underneath, it was still a grey coloured world and with a few clicks of a button, I opened up the drone screen. It all seemed fine. Everything was normal. Nothing disrupted nor corrupted. All that was left was to delete that haunted footage from me and my beloved drones memory and all should have been good. Sure. It sounded quite right in my head. This should have all been over. 

Maneuvering my finger left from the on button and onto the one corresponding to the media files. I gave it a push as it gave a click back, loading once more the warped file. It is a shame that the footage does indeed have to begin playing immediately at once when any video has been open. Yet, that is only one of the few minuscule faults of this vehicle of flight. Due to this function however, I needed to be swift with this operation. So that I do not need to plague my mind anymore frames of that horrific video. If my haste had been lacking, then my mind will have to flash upon that memory for a longer while. 

I took a big breath in, and then out. Then one last one to prepare myself for the big swoop. All I had to do was to press the current button I had my index finger on and then with my middle finger, I constantly press and spam on the button adjacent to it until it had been completely shattered into pixelated pieces of dead coding. That’s all I had to do. Simple, even my son could do it.

A slight click came from beneath my index finger and with all the speed I could have possibly mustered in my lifetime, I continuously tapped away at the nearest adjoined finger. Just like when I was speeding through a keyboard once I had messed up on my own piano recital all those years ago. How I knew I was going to be in severe grounding for my slight mishap, I just couldn’t take it anymore and had to show a sign of pathetic weakness in front of all. Yet that should be irrelevant to my current nerves. It was just a flash of a memory that had supposed to be receded but it had come back. 

Remembering that discordant melody. The piece that I had supposedly able to play so eloquently within the living room walls. That disappointment. That shame. That fear of what was to come. I didn’t know what it was yet it lingered from the corner of the audience towards my own mother. That confusion of why I had made such a grave error, how I longed to have one more chance. Yet it never came. All there was left for me was to face the consequences of my own fault and forever scald that horrific moment into my mind. If only I had gotten one more chance to fix that treacherous  melody that I had somehow made. 

I kept pressing. I kept persisting. Until it would have gone out of my sight. I didn’t even dare to look for most of the time I had been endlessly pushing down. Click after click. Numbingly and repeatedly fast. Just to reassure myself it was gone. The video was surely gone. To be honest I don’t even know why I was so irrationally scared of seeing it once more. Just seeing what had lied beneath it perhaps. Witnessing that unfamiliar, unknown footage. Thinking rationally, surely it was just a glitch in the camera lense or processing. No matter how pristine I had supposedly kept the propellers, the technology and everything about my prized possession. Everyone experiences mistakes sometimes, right? No matter how unacceptable they may be. Even the most advanced computers and technology. Although rare. A bit of corruption is somewhat possible even within the world of innovation. 

With all prayers and hopes amongst the rapid clicks and clacks of each press of the button. I sought out the safety that should have been beyond my shut eyes. Yet by all rational thinking. This was no coincidence within the cosmic space of the universe. 

A flash of irritating bright lights came bleeding into my retinas. My ears began to ring sounds of an incorrigible screech, I could even feel my own blood trying to seer outside of its containment. A saddened thrill from sudden pressure. It malfunctioned. All had gone corrupt. All because I decided to just be a bit curious and risk it all away. 

It was that pattern again. The fractal appeared to torment my picture perfect life that I had set up through all my hard work. It was here to mess it all up again and infect it with chaos. The footage. An everlasting zoom of infinity. Burning and tormenting my eyes through the strain and its boundlessness. It’s all too much. It’s all too overwhelming. 

What made the corrupted footage miles worse to the brain, was that it was somewhat familiar. I knew that pattern. I’ve seen those shapes before. Right. It had been the same ones I had seen that tainted the walls upon my bedroom. 

No one else could have been at fault. No matter how impossible, absurd it all could have been. Of course it had to be the mischievous, criminal acts of my deceiving son. If he could have gotten through those locks then he could have gotten through anything. Even wanting to torment me by tainting my most prized possession in the household. I just couldn’t configure why in God's name would he go through such lengths of deception. 

No. I knew why. Of course he couldn’t have acted like this on his own accord. Of course he wouldn’t even dare to tinker into the complex wires of my military grade security system. No. There was something wrong with him. Like I said before, I don’t believe in ghosts or any otherworldly beings beyond this universe. It’s just absurd. Except having to witness and deal with my own home being invaded by these cursed images of infinite. It can’t be done by human hands. No. It’s just can’t. It had to be done by something that was beyond my abilities to even comprehend. That must have been the reason for all the paranoia and tormentation that I had going through. 

Somehow, my perfectly set up and bright family had caught the attention of some vengeful spirit. I don’t know why someone would want to haunt or hurt such a flawless household but either way it had distorted my son into a boy of deception and cruelty. In which I cannot stand for him to do. How after all this Butters might as well be grounded for the rest of time. 

With each step I made up the stairs came with a loud raging stomp. I didn’t even notice that my wife had been absent from the home. It’s not like I would have told you, however. I fear she may have gone to equal levels of insanity as Butters currently does. I needed to stand my ground to prevent such events. Like a real man would, I hit the door against my fist three slow times making sure each sound bang would resonate through the wall. Ensuring that both that demon and my son would fear the acknowledgment of my foreboding presence among them. I just hoped he was shivering in his bed right now at the sound of me. 

The door was locked. As it should have been. The door knob said its denial for entrance and exit of the room. That made me somewhat feel safe knowing it had yet to forever breach containment and had still not chosen destruction. Since that would have removed the costs that this thing had already done. 

With the turn of a key, an input of a code and a dismantling of a laser system, I slammed the door open, making my maddeningly menacing move. I needed to strike more fear into my son and this thing, tell it that I was in charge and it wouldn’t stain this family’s fair minded status any longer. With my first look into the room, I had been faced with a horrific sight. 

Not only had my son been simply unaltered by my supposedly menacing acting but all across his baby blue walls, twists, bends and turns. Patterns that were infinitely spinning with their brightly eye straining hues of paint and colour. They were bigger than ever. Simply all across the room no matter where you looked. Even the ceiling wasn’t safe. 

I tried not to get into the spiral once again and looked at my only son. Seemingly only innocent but I knew there was something more deceptive behind that naive smile that he wore. At the least, something should have awakened fear in him. Whether it had been each deep, booming stomp I made or when with all the fury riling up within me I angrily shouted “Butters!” Letting my furious sound bounce off the distorted walls. Yet no fear had stricken in him nor whatever was messing with my family’s sanity. This thing wasn’t scared at all by me. It was unfazed. I couldn’t do anything. Yet I had to do something otherwise this entire household would end up into one crumbling distortion. We would all go insane. In fact Butters had already and judging from the last time one family member had lost their mind (my wife), it was so hard to fix.

I had two choices. Kill Butters or get someone else to do so. 

Call me unethical or unloving all you want for when considering killing my son. However, this wasn’t my son. It couldn’t have been. How else could he have penetrated through the locks without leaving any remnants of tampering, how else would he have been able to comprehend and even paint such boundless patterns of infinite intricacies. No. It couldn’t be. 

I have to admit, This wasn’t the first time I’ve tried to kill my son. He’s done many wrong things before. Such as fibbing to my mother about what I had been doing in my free time. That didn’t go so well but at least he had learnt that sometimes lying had to be done for the greater good. For the sake of the family let’s say. We were all happy in the end at least. Lest for the fact it took a few extra days of my wife’s manically insane behaviour to get over. We conquered it in the end, like any good family would have. 

Yet now I believe this current situation was far out for my sane mind to even comprehend controlling. 

So of course, I did the most reasonable action. With fear stricken through my mind as I had to witness what looked like to be my innocent boy looking naive to all the unruliness he had caused just by getting possessed, I jumped down the stairs away from the monstrosity of boundless twists and turns. 

I made sure to jump down in one go. Otherwise I’d fear I may have looped into infinity if I had chosen to walk like a sane man. It didn’t matter in the end. Not a lot of things matter, except for this household's sanity and status. 

So how does one fix their child being possessed by an unknown force whilst remaining pious? Well, I frantically tapped upon the landline numbers as I placed the device to my ear. Despite being away from the disorder occurring in my son's room, I felt my blood  rush nevertheless as I tapped my foot waiting for the nauseating ringing to halt. I needed someone as soon as possible to fix this all. To let everything be back in order. 

So there could be no other person suitable for the job besides my town's local priest. Priest Maxi, a man I could trust enough to witness and dispel the ongoing disorder of my house. I mean, who else could whisk away a cursed spirit from possessing a child? As much as I refused to believe the actual existence of ghosts, I do believe in the Grace of God. No matter how paradoxical that may sound to you. If all meaning and purpose can be pointed to God then, we wouldn’t need to dig deep into an insanity inducing existential idea. It just provides that order and purpose to some humans. Like me and my family being the devout people we are. 

As soon as I heard the sound of the ringing be put to a halt and the sound of a pious, familiar voice from the other side, I had let it all out. How there had been discrepancies within my reality. How my son had been possessed and destroyed all order in my own household. That he just needed to do something immediately, exorcise him or even kill him in the name of God if you will. Just stop him from wrecking more havoc on my palace of law and order. Luckily through my cries and demands, he promptly and hastily agreed to come at my aid at this time of confusion. Although parts of me were still anxious and frantic upon the near presence of my possessed child, at the least my breathing could have been slightly soothed by the notification of help arriving soon. 

What I wasn’t expecting however, was when I had squandered open for my so called help was for a young rather edgy looking man dressed to the nines in full black. Not even the black robe a priest would wear, it was like something you’d get from those sacrilegious satanists stores that had been popping up as of the recent. At first I gave him a judging look. Side eyeing at his dark demeanor and single piece of silver ornament. 

Not acknowledging my ill mannered look thankfully, he promptly said that he was to be conducting the exorcism of my child. Now, although people say to not judge a book by its cover, this young man looked like he was going to summon a ghost rather than send one off if I was being completely honest. I wanted to dismiss this possible satanist upfront but unfortunately when he dryly commented that he was a recommendation of Priest Maxi so I shrugged and reluctantly allowed him of entrance. Furthermore, he said that our priest thought that he was actually more suitable than himself to perform an exorcism. I highly doubted he said that to be frank. I was thinking of calling up Priest Maxi once more to call the real deal back over. 

That was until the man in front of me rudely let himself into my abode. He didn’t even bother to look at me nor give himself a proper introduction, he just went straight towards my son's room. Despite the fact I didn’t even tell Priest Maxi the origin of all this, he just knew already. As if he had already known or sensed the spirit from afar. Perhaps that moment may have slightly improved his credibility to me. Even though ill mannered. 

Still, I held up my angered front as he was remaining ignorant towards me. Such behaviour towards an elder should not be tolerated after all. His parents probably taught him that crude behaviour which perhaps also influenced him to dress so sacrilegiously. Although that is just some personal disdain. I guess I still owe him in the end. 

As he made his way up and trailed behind, I noticed that in his gloved hands, held a book. Had been bound by a belt of strong thick leather around its body as it was further protected by a hard wooden cover wrapped in fabric dyed in a muted red hue. Usually you would assume that an exorcist would have something more dark in colour or something clearly labelled the Bible with a cross across its cover. Except this mundane book kept its plain look consistent as it wasn’t any blood tones hue nor featured signs of inscriptions or engravings titled the holy Bible. 

I needed this to work. I needed to get that insanity out of this household immediately. At the highest quality, without having to spend any more than I had already done. That being near to nothing of materialistic value as no priest should ever be motivated by such but of mental aspects to my own sanity. 

The unnamed man stopped at the door. During my escape, I had made sure to set all the security measurements back as it was. Since I sure as hell didn’t want it to be breaching its containment. Even though it could have, at least it would need to spend some time unravelling its chains from the prison cell right? At least I hoped so. It only made me shiver when I had to witness this so-called exorcist slowly make his way through my supposedly pristine security system. 

He never spoke since entering my household. Usually I would respect that behaviour of stoicism. Leave everything nice and efficient. Yet, moments like these I would at least want some sort of explanation. In which the lack of communication led me into a form of grimace and contempt in my mind. A reason, a cause for this curse that had seemingly exploded and destroyed this house’s ways would have been something I’d at least like to comprehend. Even if some say ignorance is bliss.

This exorcist just somehow with a tap of a few buttons, entered the correct code. He didn’t even blink, not even act surprised. Just kept clicking his way through what I thought to be a top notch security system. 

It wasn’t a one step dismantle. There still lay a complex string of locks, pins and codes to unravel. Each time I saw him effortlessly, without any hesitation in his movement, a slight shiver came down my spine. A growing doubt within me, believing that maybe I was never secure in the first place. This confusion, this disruption, this unknown was perhaps always imminent. 

Even worse was that I couldn’t even do a thing as he mindlessly decoded every single measurement of security I had tightly entrapped the room in. What was for me typically five minutes became one to a simple stranger. All I could move was my finger just an inch, trying to unfreeze my body and halt him from supposedly trying to trespass into private matters. No matter how much of a lie that may have been. 

At last, I couldn’t do it and the door made an ear crunching screech open as a ding of a welcoming call had come from where the man had once been standing. He had now stood in front of the very door of all confusion and deceit. Of all the cursed origins of my torment. 

Once again, not batting an eye he went in. Leaving me to wait in anxiety in the hallway. I didn’t choose to not witness the exorcist, I couldn’t as my body stayed trembling across what lies behind that door. What cursed sights I’d see and ingrain into my memory. 

Although I couldn’t perceive, I was indeed very able to hear what had lied beyond that door.

In an occult like tone, the man cast the first words that he would say in the household.

“Yes for you better Beholding than the Distortion.”

I was able to hear those words as if he were still in that corridor. Unmuffled, unguarded by the barrier in front of me. For I could perceive it. That there was something familiar across that border. Some part of me was becoming more inclined to even hold witness to the exorcism. That form of curiosity that kills that cat. 

My hand hovering the unlocked door knob, I had almost thought of touching it. Feeling the kinetic sensation of cold metal against my fingers and turning it clockwise to reveal what had so suddenly piqued my interest. Despite being so paranoid of it just a few moments ago. 

That was until I had been recalled back to that unsightly view of my son's room. Covered in a jumbling set of shapes and patterns. Forever twisting and distorting across the wall. It was as if it had a mind of its own making its way marking and tainting every barrier it would interact with. 

That is but the last thing I’d ever want to see in my life ever again. The pure disorder of it all. To perceive it would all simply be not possible for the human kind. 

I could feel my blood pumping, my chest rising at the thought of it all. Unfortunately, as much as I didn’t want to see it, I had to hear it.

A sharp distorted screech came before me, piercing and scratching its way through my ear drums in a way that made me want to tear out both of my ears right then and there. A high pitched contortion of sound, as if it were a cry, a plea for help. It almost sounded like my son somewhere amongst that deformed itching waves of sound. That childlike nasally tone of innocence. Deceptive innocence that is. 

I couldn’t trust it. If I had dared interfere, no order would have been brought back. Even at the cost of my son I find it a fair price. After all, he was the entire root of all this chaos. No matter how much pain he might have been experiencing in that room, he was still to be punished for allowing himself to even think about interacting with that he does not know or comprehend of. An idiot is what my child is.

At the least, the idiot was still alive when all the sound had dissipated from the injured ears. He came seemingly physically unharmed as he joined the anonymous man, nervously walking outside of his past prison. I looked down at him red in the face, hoping he’s already realised the drastic consequences of his actions. He flinched at the sight and knowing that my threat had been complete I averted my gaze upwards to this so called exorcist. 

I asked on the update and in response he said it was all over in a voice as dry and dull as a desert. All had been cleared for the fact that the drawings on the wall had still remained. However all in all, every bit of supernatural, sacrilege, spooky or whatever I may have called it would have all diminished with the actions he had taken within that room. 

With all that said, he had made his way out. He never asked for any payment, left any remnants of his presence. He had simply gotten the job done. I can respect the barriers I guess but all of the past events had just felt like such an enigma I couldn’t quite process how he was able to even solve it all. I called up Priest Maxi once more but he didn’t have a single thing to tell. In fact, he didn’t even call up anyone to do the job for him. It seems, whilst the exorcism was ongoing, he knocked on the door and yet I didn’t hear a single sound. So I guess I just had to remain with that mystery.

Meanwhile on to the more closer side of things, I couldn’t really ground Butters in his own room. As the patterns that remained would possibly cause him to relapse. Yet, I still had to remain maddened for his naivety into getting himself possessed. Which is why I then found a substitute area for him. That being the basement. This way he’d still meet the punishment as I had gone to destroy those filthy walls and replace them anew alongside an even higher grade security system. I assure it’s so strong that not even the secret service can decode such complexities.

And so, It’s been two years since then and now I feel as if all is back to normal as I am still a great drone hobbyist. Of course I spent money on buying a new one rather than that distorted footage kept in the previous. At least now we can be a happy, stable family all thanks to me. Unless that demon ever chooses to corrupt us once again. 

Archivist:

Statement ends. 

This statement. Feels more like a garbled plea of some narcissistic father. 

With his constant need to shoot the blame to anyone but him. Yet, I am no psychiatrist so I don't think I can properly examine that fact. In the end it all seems like a collection of paranoid events on Mr. Stotch, rather unclear mind. In which he projects all fault and insanity to his son. Rather an unfortunate story if I do say so myself. 

All traces and connections to these events however, have been swiped off the world by no other than Stephen himself. Renovating and destroying all remnants. Even to this day he denies such events happening unto his household. 

He still seems to be married to his wife, although she is not knowledgeable about her husband's experiences. Or at least hiding it in denial. We may never know if she be so insistent. 

More importantly, we tried to get in contact with his son Leopold as he was an important piece to Stephen’s statement. Unfortunately, we are unable to track him down. Looking through nearby school records he at least graduated at the age eighteen yet that is all we have found. His current address is written to be his fathers house and yet he was absent from the household.

The exorcist that gave the family a visit, although anonymous to the Stotch’s, from his overall description we may assume that this could be our Michael. The same moody and dark demeanour that is. Also a keen motif in beholding books.

All in all they refuse to answer any inquiries and deny even sending in the statement. The more we asked, the more they asked us to leave. Even rudely calling us hysterics. So there is not much left of this statement in the physical world. Only the deception and denial of the Stotch family.

Recording ends. 

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