River Teeth

Heart Heart Head

A/N: Hey, I would like to say thank you for sticking around and supporting this story. It means the world to me...

I've always been an introverted person who is guarded, wary of letting people in; let alone see what I write. I'm slowly learning how to openly be myself, even if it means facing criticism or getting hurt at some point.

Feeling hurt is a necessary part of life- it humanizes us, and we can't avoid it no matter how hard we may try. I'm not condoning that we should dwell on pain, but rather, don't push away the feeling before learning why you feel the way that you do. Experience it and grow because of it. The more you push it away, the worse it becomes, and then you're left as a shell.

That's where I was before I started writing this fic. I was a void, actively numbing myself to whatever pain tried to come my way until I was almost empty. Starting this fic was my last ditch effort to wake up; write through the pain of dealing with things (some of which are similar to what's happening in this book), and learn to be in the moment again. The fact that I get to do it through South Park characters, to me, is an amazing feeling. I love the show and I love this fandom.

But I digress, so I won't bear my guts onto y'all anymore.

Reading what you have commented has filled my heart with insurmountable joy that I can't begin to describe. Just the fact that people are even reading this blows my mind.

So, thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

Love,

Kyle, Your Local Garbage Gay

...

Eric,

You'll probably try to have me killed once you read this letter, but I don't care. You took it too far this time. If that were even possible. I know you'll aim to push further.

Stan's body is here, but something in my gut tells me that a sinister presence is here, and there's more to this than just a corpse. You're behind everything, aren't you?

The atmosphere has changed.

I've been seeing spirits everywhere I go. Some spirits I haven't seen in years. But I've yet to see Stan's, which is strange because I feel as though I should.

You've been fucking with things.

You've been fucking with us like a puppet master, safe inside your crazy cell.

I should have never told you about me and where I come from.

If I had known you would take advantage of it, I would have killed you right then and there by that tree.

But I felt sorry for you. You didn't understand what you were seeing and I gave you pity though you didn't deserve it.

Pity is often a privileged feeling... you feel pity for those less fortunate than you. Yet somehow I, the poor kid with the fucked up family, felt sorry for you.

You have no idea what you're doing. You have to be cautious when you get involved with demonic entities. Or just not get involved at all. I was born into all that mess, but you... you just inserted yourself into a world you have no right being in.

They're going to get tired of you. These creatures need strong hosts and once they drain you, they'll move on to others.

I'm going to find out what really happened to Stan, and when I do, however many feet of cinder block is keeping you sheltered won't stop me from coming for you. Consider your days numbered, asshole.