Disclaimer: South Park and all characters in it are copyright Matt Stone and Trey Parker, not me.

A/N:

Story Title: A nod to one of Byron's poems, though the poem itself has not much to do with the story. (When in doubt, Byron!)

Having realized and fully embraced that I write things that not everyone wants to read, I'm writing something that I would adore reading and chalking it up to fate to decide whether others will want to read or not.

Concisely:

This story is Red Goth-centric, in this story his name is Jude. Everyone is in their late twenties.

There are trans women in this story. There is talk of Polyamory. There is Asexuality. There are relationships that are outside the cis-het norm. In a way there is a furthering of societal existence in this story.

There is also a narrative of the supernatural, of existential horror, and of life. In that case there is a furthering of the doubts and fears that plague minds in the dark of night.

I will never claim to be a horror writer, but I do hope that I succeed at 'author of unsettling and/or weird stuff'.

I hope you enjoy. Please do visit again.

Title: Age-Chilled Blood

Author: theZoshi

Rating: Ranging - PG-13+

Category: South Park

Genre: General/Angst

May contain: Slash & Het, Polyamory, Asexuality, Supernatural, Horror, Adult Situations, Swearing

1

It should have been a cold and stormy night that greeted him, and not the calm night sky lit by the glare of streetlamps dotting the street outside his former apartment building. He grimaced at the sky and its betrayal; as if nature were an actual being he could project his displeasure at. Re-adjusting the duffel bag's strap on his shoulder, he walked over to his car and deposited it in the trunk, and then seated himself wearily in the driver's seat. He reached into his jacket and from the inner pocket pulled out a solemn-looking birthday card. He set it on the passenger's seat next to him, propping it against the backrest. He'd received a few more cards that week, but this had really been the only one that mattered. The streetlights glinted off of the silvery script 29 on the front, and his eyes lingered on it a moment before he finally put the keys in the ignition and started the car.

It had been a while since he had driven anywhere, and he reached out a hand to adjust the rearview mirror, frowning as he noticed that it had gone askew in his absence. For a second he saw himself reflected in its night-darkened depths; once-bright-auburn hair deepened and dimmed to a dingy chestnut brown after years of having been dyed black, skin no longer pale, but just slightly darkened by sun, with a spattering of darker freckles across the bridge of his nose and under his eyes, cat's-eye-hazel eyes gone a cloudy green amber after a parade of long and dreary years. He grimaced at himself, fixing the mirror and turning away. The car's engine idled fitfully, in bursts and spurts that he could sympathize with. Putting the lumbering old beast into drive, he pulled out of his parking space.

The streets passed in somber shades of deep gray and subdued blue, dotted by pools of cool yellow at the edges. Semi-residential housing gave way to warehouses and factories, in turn giving way to weed filled lots and the kind of wilderness that only former urban development could leave behind. He reached the highway eventually, heading south and west toward a distant point on the horizon that he had once called home. Hours slid by, sticky and reluctant, leaving him covered in the residue of his recent past that he was so decidedly and determinedly driving away from.

A stronger past called to him, an older past, a past that dwelled deep inside that dark and shriveled heart he still carried around inside. He couldn't guess as to why the pull was so strong, or why he was so willing to follow it. His entire being seemed to beat with the insistence, however, and he was unable to quench the his pilgrimage continued, solemn despite the rising morning sun casting its bright glow across the land he drove through. Quaint family homes dotted the rural wastes he passed, glowing in the morning light yet still projecting an air of decay and abandonment his way when he turned to look at them. Their glass windows glinted cheerily, yet all he could see was the deep black of the abyss beyond them.

The miles peeled away like skin off a healing blister, painfully revealing to him areas he had once known, new buildings and developments overlapped by his memories of wild fields and cow ranges. He wasn't sure if he should grimace or not at the differences he saw around him, at the strange feeling that invaded him; he was returning home, but he was returning home a stranger, a reverse-prodigal son, returning to the land where all his sins originated from.

He reached South Park in the mid-afternoon. The town had grown in the fourteen years he'd been gone, the outskirts started much earlier than he had remembered. New roads had emerged over those years, and he drove through intersections he couldn't remember, unwilling to take that first step in making the contact necessary to ask for directions. Buildings rose around him like walls, stealing the air and the sky and leaving him in shadows. If he looked hard enough, he could see the glint of sunlight off of newspaper boxes and car windows, but in his mind's eye it was all shrouded in a dark fog that blotted the color from the world and drenched everything in watery gray.

How he navigated to the strip bar at the south end of town he could not be sure. Something was guiding his car, although it was a meandering, lazy sort of guidance. It had taken him most of the day to reach the club, and the sun was falling behind the mountains by the time he reached the building, bleeding red into the sky as it was pierced by those sharp crags and peaks. The parking lot was half-full, but the shiny paint job on the building's outer walls and the glaring neon sign sitting high atop a rotating, glittering pole marked the place as well-frequented and well-funded. Most clientele would arrive after dark arrived, no doubt.

He parked the car in a spot close by the main entrance, locked the door and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his dark hoodie. A mild summer night was coming, but a pervasive chill seemed to hang around him constantly, sending shivers down his spine and setting his fingers tingling with cold. Pushing the door open, he stepped inside, and was instantly bombarded by loud music, glittering and fluctuating lights, and that odd, nerve-twitching feeling he'd learned to associate with…

Speak of the devil, and he does appear. Or rather, think of him, as was the case that time. Black leather cowboy boots shined to a piercing gleam, dark jeans, and a dark-colored plaid shirt that only accented the unnaturally pale skin that seemed almost translucent in the dancing lights of the club. A black cowboy hat sat atop the man's head, eerily golden shocks of unruly hair peeking out from under it. Blue eyes glinted as the man swaggered towards the front of the club and up to the newcomer standing uncomfortable there.

"Well, look at what the cat dragged in," The blond drawled, eyeing the auburn haired man. "Back a little early, Jude."

Jude found himself shrinking slightly from the other man's gaze, unable to resist reacting to that odd aura that hung around the blond. Avoiding that blue eyed gaze, he fidgeted and spoke in a halting voice.

"Figured I might as well spend some time back home…"

"Is that it?" The blond grinned, and laughed. Extending his arms to either side in sardonic greeting, he smirked at Jude. "Welcome back."

Jude shuddered, almost shying away from the other man though the blond hadn't made a move towards him. He hadn't always felt that sense of discomfort and disquiet around the blond, not when they were younger at least. It seemed it had been steadily growing over the years, and he could almost breathe that chaotic resonance, as if it were physical particles in the air.

He didn't know how to respond - all he really wanted to do was turn tail and run from there. He knew now it was no innocent force that had led him to this place. He could feel the darkness hiding in every corner of the place, a malignant, seething darkness monitoring his every move. The blond watched him with a growing smirk that was turning predatory, and Jude was almost relieved when they were joined by a large, buxom woman dressed in a spaghetti strap black top, a bright magenta skirt and sparkling tights. Her hair was a deep chocolate brown and hung past her shoulders in heavy waves. Her makeup was loud; peacock green eye shadow and magenta tinted eyelashes, matched with bright fuchsia lipstick and a spattering of glitter blush over her cheeks that dazzled in the staccato lighting.

Oddly, he almost seemed to know her, a vague sense of recognition fluttered through his brain. He recognized the face but couldn't place it with a name. The dichotomy unsettled him, even as he felt relief that he was no longer alone with the blond.

"Well look at you," She said, leaning an elbow on the blond's shoulder and giving Jude a critical once-over. She seemed amused with what she saw. "Ah didn't think we'd be seeing you for a while longer."

Her voice was husky and attractive, but something was still tugging at his memories. The way she seemed so comfortable around the blond; her drawling accent, lazy as a snake; the way she knew him before he knew her. He felt his heart start fluttering in time with the strobe lights, but it wasn't until she smirked, that unsettlingly familiar sardonic line spreading her fuchsia painted lips, that realization struck him. He faltered a moment.

"Cartman?" He asked, more like breathed. The blond grinned.

"Yes?" The woman answered, almost expectantly. Her hand was on her hip, her hip jutted at just the right angle. Jude bit his lip nervously.

"You look good." He said. He meant it.

It wasn't the answer she was expecting. For a moment she looked annoyed, just a second, but then her smirk returned.

"Ah'd say the same to you but Ah'd be lying." She said, eyeing him critically, then added, "Be a doll and call me Erica, would you?"

"Sure." Jude responded, though his mouth was dry. Even if she was on the opposite spectrum from 'friend', he wasn't the type of person to take misgendering lightly.

Erica grinned, saccharine sweet. It was a deadly grin, he'd learned once before. She glittered like a diamond now but inside she was all cyanide, and the worst part was he knew it.

He was beginning to bitterly regret coming home.

"You got a place to stay?" The blond asked. He almost sounded cordial, friendly, as if they had actually been friends at one point.

"Not... Not really..." Jude answered honestly. He had no doubt those crystal blue eyes would see right through him if he tried to lie.

"Ah know a place that's always got a vacancy," Erica said. Her brown eyes twinkled almost as brightly as the glitter on her face. "It's over on South Staten and Moore."

"That's not just a suggestion, is it?" Jude asked after a moment.

Erica twirled a piece of hair around one finger as her grin held steady.

"It's a strong suggestion." She answered with a low chuckle.

"We'll be seeing you around," The blond said with a cheeky grin of his own. He tipped his hat, and then offered his arm to Erica. Jude watched them walk off into the dimly lit, sparkling club, and it was like a cloud of choking darkness lifted from him. That deep feeling of unsettling grimness wasn't entirely gone, however, and his pace was quick as he turned and headed back for the door, feeling as if some unseen creatures were moments away from nipping at his heels.

Considering the company probably kept in the place, the odds were high that they were.

The sun had already disappeared behind the mountains, and the sky was a curious shade of bruised purple when he got outside. The glittering pole with its neon sign was abhorrently gaudy in the darkness. He could almost see the malignancy inside it as a physical thing. His mind started wondering about the workers and the clientele but he forced it off of such dismal tangents. He would be better off not knowing.

It was only with extreme self-control that he didn't go peeling out of the strip club's parking lot and racing down the street. He knew now this had all been a mistake, but there was no going back now. He could already feel those black talons digging into his shoulders; they would never let him go now that they had him in their grasp.

It was with a shaky heart and shaky hands that he reached the corner of South Staten and Moore. The block was taken up by a low lying, one story motel that had obviously seen better days. The paint was peeling off of the siding and most of the windows were grimy and smudged. A flickering backlit sign read simply "Motel", and under that in hand painted letters directly on the glass, "Vacancies: 0".

The parking lot was moderately full of cars. Some were beat up pieces of junk, multi-colored and mismatched as if Frankenstein had gotten lost in a car junkyard one day. Some were well kept oldies, 70's era Mustangs and Camaros. Parked in the very last spot was a stately black Rolls-Royce with darkly tinted windows. Jude parked in the spot closest to the main office, next to a relatively new Toyota sedan whose model he couldn't name. Pocketing the birthday card and shouldering his duffel bag, he made his way to the office door. He eyed the night sky uneasily; he'd never learned the stars or constellations, though he'd known of their importance, but he could acutely feel a strangeness about them, there in the place where the motel stood. It made the hair at the back of his neck prickle, and hurriedly he tore his gaze away from their odd arrangements.

An old woman manned the desk at the front office. She almost seemed to have walked straight out of an old period movie, some strict governess from the early 1900's. Her steel-gray hair was pulled back in a severe bun, though not tightly enough to smooth the wrinkles of her face. She was dressed in in a somber black skirt and painfully white blouse buttoned to the very top, and on her nose was a pair of antique-looking wire frame glasses. She looked him over critically when he entered. He wondered just how much she could see with those piercing, dark eyes.

Even her desk seemed ancient, a relic of dark wood that seemed to be carved in curious and strange designs around the edges. The legs of the desk ended in lion's paws clutching what at first seemed to be orbs, but at second glance seemed to be skulls. At the third glance they seemed to be eyeballs, and Jude didn't give them a fourth glance. On the desk stood an old electric lamp with a bulb that emitted an audible low buzz, just low enough that at first he wasn't sure he even heard it. The light it cast seemed dim, but reached further around the room than it really had any right to. He hesitated slightly, eyes glancing around the sparsely decorated room as the stern looking woman continued watching him. There were no decorations on the walls, no plants in the corner or stools or anything other than the old woman, her desk, the high-backed chair she sat in, and the board on the wall behind her where the room keys hung. Each hook had a number meticulously written above it, and many of the key hooks were empty.

"A room?" She asked, though it sounded more like a statement. "For how long?"

"I'm not sure yet." Jude answered, licking his lips nervously. She continued to eye him, her expression unchanging.

"Twelve months." He said finally. He was too unsettled and worn out to fight a losing battle that night.

"Eleven months and twenty eight days." The woman stated, looking away from him to make notes in an old leather ledger.

"Sounds about right," Jude muttered as she turned to look at the key board behind her. Peering closely at the numbers, she finally plucked a key off of it and turned back to face him.

"Room 47, at the south east corner." She said as she handed the key over. Then, with a cryptic, knowing look, she added, "It has two windows."

"Wonderful." He answered dryly. Without another word he stepped out of the office and back outside. The air was chilly and smelled of damp wood. He did his best not to look around too much as he got back in his car and drove it around to the south east corner of the motel. He noticed, however, that the nearest car sat a good four spaces away, and the windows between his room and the one four spots away were dark. No next-door neighbors. Thank whatever gods still existed for small miracles.

Entering the room, he found it to be as typical a motel room as possible; a bed, a bedside table with an old lamp; a closet that he could actually fit in if he wanted to; carpeting that had turned a nondescript beige over the course of time, but looked decently clean enough; a bathroom off to one side with a faucet that amazingly didn't drip; and, as promised, two windows; one facing the south, on facing the east. For a moment he watched the windows, as if expecting them to be something different, set somehow different, than ordinary windows. As far as he could tell, they were absolutely ordinary.

With a weary sigh Jude dropped onto the bed and stared up at the dingy ceiling. The motel seemed to breathe around him like a living thing, and he could almost hear the whisper of its lifeblood flowing inside the walls. It was either that, or rats. He found he didn't care much either way. He could just start to make out how it was all connected, the motel and the strip club… and who knew what else. In a town like South Park, a small town that only grew slowly and aged even slower, anything was possible.

He couldn't repress the shudder that ran through him then, however. These were things he should have thought about before he'd returned, things he should have considered, but didn't. In a way, his exit from his previous home was rushed, almost frantic. He'd left behind almost everything he owned as he realized how short his time had become, all to return to the place where everything had begun. What had driven him out, across the dreary miles, and back into the sleepy, eerie town, he couldn't say. He'd hoped that something had changed, or that maybe nothing had changed. He'd hoped that somehow his memories had been wrong. Now he found they'd been absolutely right, and even worse than he'd remembered.

In the end, he'd played the part of unwilling prey too well, and run right back into the web he'd tried to escape all those years before.