Author Note: Much as I'd like to take credit for the idea behind this story, unfortunately I can't - the plot came from a challenge posted by Call Me Blue Streak. It's also my first ever South Park story and I'd be grateful to know where I'm going wrong (or where I'm going right for that matter) and if I start veering into OOC-ness. Enjoy!

&

"Jeez, I don't know about this Eric. If my parents find out, they're gonna be awful sore... I mean, they'll probably ground me..."

Butters trailed off, hoping that Cartman would take the hint and decide to call off whatever plan he had this time. Not that there was much hope of that, his timid protestations had never worked in the past and the other boy didn't even seem to be listening to him, concentrating instead on his destination – where ever that was.

"Eric? Um, where we going?"

Cartman turned his head, resting a finger against his lips to indicate quiet and using a tree to hide behind. Butters looked around nervously, but saw no one that might be close enough to overhear them and put it down to paranoia on Eric's behalf. That was a bad sign. That meant he was planning something that could get them into trouble. Not that Eric ever seemed to get into much trouble; it was Butters who got the brunt of any punishment.

"Did you see that movie last night?" asked Cartman in a low voice.

Butters shook his head.

Cartman smirked. "There was this hot British chick who was really Satan and..."

"Uh, Satan's not a chick," interrupted Butters. "I met him and he's big and red and he smells kinda funny..."

"Shut up Butters!" yelled Cartman. Butters promptly stopped talking and a moment later, Cartman resumed his speech.

"Anyway, she gave this guy seven wishes and he could be all rich and powerful and stuff – and all he had to do was sell her his soul! And if we could track down Satan and get the same deal, it'd be totally sweet!"

Butters widened his eyes in horror. "I don't wanna sell my soul Eric! My parents'd ground me for sure!"

"Don't you get it Butters? They couldn't ground you, coz you'd just use a wish to make sure they never ground you again!"

That idea was certainly tempting, but Butters could see more flaws in Cartman's plan. "We'd have to give Satan our souls and that means we'd have to live in Hell forever and my parents would be all pissed off if I went to Hell..."

"That's the great part!" Cartman grinned widely, clearly pleased with himself. "You can get your soul back if you use your last wish to do something unselfish! So we use the wishes to have some real fun then, on our deathbeds, just ask for world peace and we don't have to go to Hell!"

"Jeez, I don't know Eric..."

"Look Butters, nothing can go wrong, I promise. This is a totally foolproof plan. Just let me do all the talking."

Fidgeting nervously, Butters murmured, "I don't think Satan's gonna be hanging around South Park. Probably we'll never see him again."

"Nah, he comes by to play chess with Jesus or something," replied Cartman, incorrectly as it happened. Satan played chess with God on occasion, but Jesus found it pretty boring and tended to break out a game of Twister when the Devil showed up. "But we can't hang out outside Jesus' place forever, he barely even goes there anymore and he'll know our plan. I have a better idea."

Peering around the tree, Cartman indicated to something and Butters glanced around his ample frame to see what was of interest. At first he saw nothing but a somewhat run-down house, then the door slammed open and a child emerged. A familiar looking child, protected from the perpetual Colorado cold by an orange parka.

Cartman gave an unpleasant grin and Butters began to wish he'd been grounded that morning.

&

Two weeks before, Stan had come up with the idea of heading to the outskirts of town to practise their sledding. Previously they had used four person sleds and raced against another team, but that was before he had discovered that an upturned trashcan lid would fit one kid comfortably and went ridiculously fast. Controlling it once it got some speed going was almost impossible and usually, the easiest way to stop was to bail out at the end of the hill. It beat the hell out of ice skating and most days he and Kyle could be found trying to out-do each other (and see who could stay on the longest before tipping over). Kenny was usually there too and Cartman, even thought the fat kid usually complained about it – on a traditional sled his weight was an asset, but not in this game. Butters had tried it once and screamed all the way down, to the amusement of all, and ever since had been content to merely watch.

But that day, it was Stan and Kyle alone. Kenny had said he would be there but had not yet shown and they hadn't heard one way or the other from Cartman or Butters. Not that it was any big deal; on a Saturday they pretty much kept their own time and it was still early.

Stan flew down the hill on the trashcan lid, hanging on to the edges and trying to steer, without much success. Spying something partly hidden in the snow ahead, he attempted to swerve, leaned too hard and spilled off the lid, hitting the snow face-first. Kyle wasn't so lucky, being only a couple of seconds behind Stan but not seeing the object until the lid hit it and he flew forward off the lid, hitting the ground and making an impressive skid mark in the snow.

Stan was first to his feet, going over and pulling the object out of the snow, an abandoned bicycle. "Huh, guess someone ditched it here."

Kyle sat up, brushing snow powder from his jacket and gloves. "You bastards!"

"Dude, don't you think you're overreacting just a little?"

Shrugging, Kyle retrieved his trashcan lid and examined it. There was a small dent in the riim, but nothing that would prevent him from using it again. "I would totally have beat you that time."

"Nuh-uh!"

"Uh-huh!"

"Nuh-uh!"

"Uh-huh!"

"Only one way to prove it."

"Rematch?"

"Rematch."

Both boys took their lids and trailed back up the slope, stlll bickering good-naturedly, the bicycle that had brought the race to a sudden end tossed to one side and forgotten about. Getting to the top, they balanced the lids and carefully scooted into them – it was easy to set them into a slide before one was ready and that situation never had a happy ending, as both boys could attest to.

Kyle grinned, hands resting on the snow beside him ready to push the lid forward. "Ready?"

Stan nodded. "Ready!"

"Set – GO!"

With a push, both boys sent the lids down the hill. But Stan had put more strength into his left arm and the lid immediately went sideways. Trying to straighten it up without falling off meant instead of a smooth downward ride, he was sliding from side to side. Kyle meanwhile, was going in a straight line and had taken the lead.

Finally getting on course, Stan resigned himself to losing this particular race, reminding himself that he was still technically ahead after winning the most races this week. Looking at the hill, he saw Kyle speeding down and hanging on to his lid for dear life, the end of the slope rapidly approaching...

...And then the snow at the foot of the slope began to move.

To Stan, it looked like something erupting from the ground, throwing snow in all directions, directly in his path – in their path.

"Kyle!"

Either hearing the alarm in Stan's voice or seeing what was happening for himself, Kyle tumbled off the trashcan lid and landed heavily in the snow. Stan had time to see that the snow did not seem to be falling back to the ground as he did likewise, noticing that the combined flakes seemed to be clumped together in the air; then he laded on his back and for a few seconds lost sight of what was going on, seeing only the sky above him. Sitting up hurriedly, he looked back, expecting to see some giant creature having burst from the ground like something from a horror film, twenty feet tall with dripping fangs and an insatiable hunger for human flesh.

There was no creature. That made it somehow worse.

The snow had risen into a solid wall before them, pulling up from the ground like a living entity instead of individual drops of frozen water, cutting off their exit. For a moment both boys gaped at the sight, completely at a loss.

Then the wall began to move forward.

Kyle, closest to it, turned and ran as it made its way toward him, yelling something at Stan that the other boy didn't hear, rendered immobile by the phenomenon. He continued to just stare until Kyle drew level with him, grabbed his hand and dragged him away.

Finally, Stan managed to tear his eyes from the wall and run. "What the hell is that?"

"I don't know!" Kyle risked a glance over his shoulder. "Oh shit..."

Stan looked back to and realised two things; the snow wall had gained on them to the extent that it was inches behind them – and there was no way they were going to outrun it.

This is so weak, he thought to himself in the seconds before the wall collapsed, burying them both on the slope under an impenetrable mound of snow.