The police arrive within minuets, much quicker than the officers at North Park.
"What's the problem?" The ginger guy, who's obviously the chief, asks.
"A little girl gave my son this brown paper bag and it had a finger in it," my mom hands the officer the bag, "Sheila thinks that it's her missing son's."
"Kyle Broflovski?" The chief shakes his head, "poor kid. Well we'll run some tests on the finger and try to find some fingerprints on something. We'll also need fingerprints from everyone in the neighbourhood."
I look over at mom. She's chewing her fingernail nervously, her face pale, hand slightly shaky.
She's talking to a fat man with brown hair and sunglasses, still biting her fingernail.
"Is there anything else we should know, ma'am?" He asks.
"Yes," I reply, butting into the conversation, "someone broke into our house earlier today and trapped me in the attic."
The officer raises his eyebrow and takes out a notebook. He nods at me to continue.
"I didn't see him, but he left this," I hand him the 'Kenneth Orange' crayon, "he also drew something on my wall and said something weird."
"Oh?"
"He said 'talk less, smile more'."
"Isn't that from Hamilton?" The police officer asks, quickly scribbling down notes.
"Yes, now that I think about it," I shrug, not understanding what that has to do with catching criminals. "I took a photo of the drawing on my wall. Would you like to see it?"
The chief places a hand on my shoulder.
"We'd rather take a look at the real thing," he says, grabbing the notebook from the fat officer and reading his notes, "Barbrady, go up there with officer Jap and take some photos whilst me and officers Ri and Andreea look for signs of forced entry."
He nods and lets my mom lead him upstairs to the attic.
The chief turns to me, his slightly sweaty hand still on my shoulder.
"Son, it's probably not safe for you to be here right now. Could you perhaps stay at a neighbour's house?"
"I could ask my boyfriend?" I suggest with a shrug. "He lives next door."
"Sure, just make sure you're not here."
He removes his hand from my shoulder and walks off to two female officers by the back door.
I grab my coat and head outside into the cold.
I quickly rush to the steps of Kenny's house and knock on the door.
I stand there for a while, nobody answers the door.
I knock again and this time I hear some sound from inside the house.
"Kenny, you go get it." A woman's voice, presumably Kenny's mom, grunts.
There's the sound of cutlery hitting the table, a chair scraping and five locks being unlocked.
The door opens, but not fully.
"Who is it?" Kenny asks, hiding behind the ajar door. "We don't want to donate money to charity."
"It's Butters."
"Oh," he says, sounding nervous, "I can't come over right now."
"It's not you that's coming over, it's me. My house was broken into and the police told me I had to stay somewhere else," I stick my hands into my coat pockets to try and warm them up, "so can I come in? It's freezing out here."
"I'm sorry, we're kind of busy right now."
The door slams shut and the locks click from the other side.
I jump down the steps and try to peer through the window, but it's so dirty it's as if there's a curtain blocking me out.
Frowning, I knock on the door again. He doesn't open the door.
I knock again
And again
And again.
I eventually give up and cross the street to Kyle's house.
I knock on their door and it opens almost instantly.
It's the black haired boy, but he hasn't got eyeliner on today. Instead he's got dark purple lipstick, slightly smudged, and black nails, also smudged.
"Oh, hi! You're the kid who got Kyle's finger," he holds the door open for me to enter, "are you okay?"
"Other than receiving your brother's finger from a strange little girl, I'm fine," I try to sound like I'm joking but I just sound stressed, "i was wondering if I could stay here for a day or so, since there was a break-in and the police aren't sure if it's safe for me."
Ike shrugs and gestures for me to go to the kitchen where his parents are sat at the dinner table, their heads in their hands.
There's a slightly crumpled letter on the table, covered in tear stains and smudged ink.
When Ike shuts the front door, they both look up. Their faces are pale, tears sliding down their cheeks, eyes red and watery.
Sheila wipes her eyes with her sleeve and tries to give me a shaky smile.
"Hi, dear," she wipes her eyes again, "what do you need?"
"I was wondering if I could stay for a day or two since the house isn't safe, but if this is a bad time I can go."
"No, no! It's fine. We just got a note from... somebody," she gestures to the letter, "you can stay in Kyle's room."
Gerald sniffles loudly and lets his head fall onto the table with a bang.
Sheila rubs his back and bites her lip.
Ike grabs the note and quickly reads it, his eyes widening.
"That's fucking sick!" He drops the note onto the floor and storms upstairs, slamming the door when he reaches his bedroom.
I pick up the note and read it, not thinking about how it's probably a private thing.
Dear Kyle's family,
We're sorry for taking your darling boy, but he looked so amazing I could hardly resist the temptation.
I had to take him, had to have a taste.
In case you were wondering, he's in a better place now.
Yours,
The last thing Kyle ever saw xx
"That's sick..." I mutter, placing the letter back onto the table.
"It could be a prank, but nobody we know would be so hateful to do something as cruel and sickening as this," Sheila, still rubbing Gerald's back, sighs. "I know it probably seems impossible, but we all need some sleep. I'll show you to Kyle's room."
She gets up from the table and heads upstairs, griping onto the handrail tightly.
I follow her into the third room on the right.
"Goodnight. I'll wake you up for school tomorrow."
She shuts the door, leaving me in Kyle's room.
It feels wrong, being here. It's like being in a dead man's house... well I suppose that's exactly what it is, although there is a chance Kyle is still alive somewhere.
I take off my coat and shoes, leaving them on the back of the desk chair and beside the door.
I sit on the edge of the bed, unsure of whether to get into it or not. It feels awful being here, I can't quite explain the feeling but it just feels wrong.
After a while of thinking about it, I slip under the cold sheets and eventually drift off into a dreamless sleep.