A/N: Okay, so there's going to be a lot going on in this story. I'm not totally sure if there's going to be any romance in it, but don't be surprised if I toss some in there. Anyway, this is my first horror fic, so please tell me how I did. Also, I write my stories on WordPad, so you can expect a few spelling or grammatical errors.
Nearly two weeks had passed since my brutal breakup with Stan. Punches were thrown, words were tossed around, and it ended up with me black and blue and in tears.
Vivid nightmares begin to rid my mind of all the ethical concepts I embraced as my garbled screams echoed throughout the thick black slime. My mangled, bloody legs dangled helplessly beneath me as I struggled to breathe; the battle was becoming harder and harder to win as the black liquid gradually solidified, slowly enclosing me in its frigid black prison. Despite the gelid temperature, there were countless streams of bitter, salty liquid cascading down my pale face, each and every one of them brushing the corners of my mouth as they dripped down my chin and vanished into the blackness. I let out one last wail of pure agony before finally awaking from my horrid mental misadventure. My heartbeat was tackling a whole new era of speed, rattling my ribcage every time it pounded violently against my chest. My eyes began to dart around the room, but they nearly froze in place when they spotted a tall, dark-haired figure who was standing in the carpeted doorway. His eyes were as wide as flying saucers, and his mouth was open so wide that it looked disproportionate to his face.
"WENDY!" It cried out, sprinting towards me with outstretched arms.
The cacophonous whine that drifted through the air undoubtedly belonged to Eric Cartman. Simply knowing of his presence ignited a flame of unmistakable hatred within me, causing my chapped pink lips to curve into an ugly pout.
"What are you doing here?" I asked.
"I needed to get away from my mom..."
"But why did you come here?"
"'Cause my mom brought some guy home with her and they've been up all fucking night having sex! I can't fucking sleep, Wendy!"
"Why did you come here? You know damn well how bad you treat me!"
"Because I need somewhere to sleep, hippie!"
"You see, this is exactly why I don't like you! You're stupid, and you're a racist!"
"Please, Wendy, I have nowhere else to go!"
I saw the look of pleading on his face and thought, Stan was right, Cartman does have it bad...Maybe I need to start treating him better.
"All right. I...I guess you can stay. But you better not tell anyone!" I warned, jabbing my finger into his chest to emphasize my point.
He raised an eyebrow and backed away. "Why not?"
"Because...they'll think we're dating." I replied, turning away to hide the deep blush that was sweeping across my cheeks.
"HOLY FUCK!"
"Huh?"
I looked down at my chest and let out an earsplitting screech that reverbarated off of the walls and bounced back into my ears with a loud echo.
There, protruding from my chest, was the blood-drenched handle of a large silver knife.
